Queen Of Knights Page 25

  She waited, drawing comfort from the sword and preparing herself to battle this mysterious void that claimed her. Time was meaningless in this world of darkness that held her. All she was conscious of was her determination to battle against this new enemy, and to find out about her husband, the other half of her being.

  Fighting within herself, drawing on her love for Miles, Gwendolyn curled her fingers around the pommel and willed her mind to push back the veil. She concentrated completely on her objective, using Miles's training, rather than the priestess's, in her effort. She focused on the small pinpoint of light, willing it to grow and push back the dark. A wrenching suddenly tore through her, pulling her madly asunder, until, once again, she felt herself separate from her body. She floated upward in the darkness toward the speck of light, clinging to it with the single-mindedness of purpose that would not be denied. And just as suddenly as the darkness had claimed her, she emerged within a sparkling universe of brilliant light. Rainbow hues caressed her body, and the soft sparks of stars washed along her length. But above it all, was the sensation of peace and right.

  She sped through the heavens of this place, searching everywhere for some sign to follow. Then she broke through a crimson layer of mist, and before her was a plateau of shimmering green grass.

  She floated to the ground and let her feet sink deeply into the living carpet. Then she looked around. To her right she saw a circle of stone. The surfaces of the stones glowed with an unearthly power and beauty that drew her to them.

  Gwendolyn could feel every blade of grass under her feet.

  The very texture of the grass, and the soft dirt beneath it, sent vibrations of calming waves through her. Her muscles rippled in response, and the gentle heat that fell from above washed her body with love. She stopped just before she reached the stone circle to raise her arms and look into the sky of the multihued universe. Naked to whatever powers rode there, she presented herself for inspection. A moment later she lowered her arms.

  Entering through a stone arch, Gwendolyn stopped only when she reached the altar stone. There, gazing into the misty orange surface, she spoke.

  "What has happened to my husband?" she asked. The dark hollowness which had been growing within her since Miles had gone was also a part of the black curtain which had shrouded her mind and carried her senses from her earthly body. Yet she knew it was only a part. Something else controlled the black void. Something terrible.

  The altar stone glowed brightly, and before her eyes she saw a scene unfold. Even before she recognized anyone, she knew she was seeing Palestine. Gwendolyn stood transfixed by the scene within the stone. Her hands curled tightly, and her knuckles turned white.

  She watched two armies gather. She saw the banners of the Christians flutter in the gusty wind, and watched the Saracen army charge forward. Murky clouds shrouded the battlefield, and wet ground made the horses lose their footing easily. The rainy season was full upon the land, and with it, Gwendolyn knew, came the caprices of life and death.

  She saw Morgan of Guildswood, the dark aura of his evilness surrounding him, giving orders to several men before the battle was joined. She cried out when the two lines met and trembled when Richard and Miles were attacked at the head of the troops.

  She watched helplessly when Miles was separated from Richard by a large group of Saracens. Then she saw even more of the scene as Miles was surrounded by a large band of Moors. He fought gallantly against them and Gwendolyn's heart throbbed in response.

  She watched Richard and five of Miles's personal knights vainly try to break through the ring of Saracens to come to Miles's aid, but the greatest fighting king in history could not breach the wall of men.

  She saw Morgan withdraw slightly, and with him half the men who fought. More knights rode to Richard's side to force him from the melee. He argued, fought his own men, but soon logic claimed him, and he knew he would be unable to rescue Miles. Gwendolyn saw it all, and saw, too, how Morgan held back.

  Soon the battle ended, and as each side withdrew, Gwendolyn was the sole witness to what happened next. She saw her husband, his body covered with blood, carried to a horse and tied to it. Then, with a hundred men forming an unbreachable phalanx, the Saracens rode off with Miles's body in its center.

  Why did they want it? she wondered, her sadness overcoming her and shaking the very beliefs that had brought her here.

  "Miles. . ." she cried sadly. "No!" She screamed her denial loudly within the stone circle and felt herself swell with power. The stones themselves seemed to call back to her, increasing the loudness and rage she cried out with.

  But when she looked into the altar stone again, she saw nothing. Turning, Gwendolyn gazed at the stones surrounding her. She did not speak; rather, she formed her questions in her mind and hurled them upwards at the violet clouds hovering over this unearthly world.

  "You are power. You are beauty. You are good." The reply seemed to come from everywhere, including her body. But she stood still and waited.

  "I am Gwendolyn, daughter of Gwyneth, wife of Miles. That is all I am."

  "You are that and more, Daughter of Thunder," came the voice of the Druid priestess.

  Whirling, Gwendolyn faced the black-robed figure. "I am only that. I am more, when I am complete. Now that will never happen."

  "You have learned well, my child. It is as you say, but not as you say."

  "Have you brought me here to speak more riddles, or to verify that I have died this day with my husband?"

  "I did not bring you; you came by yourself. You have not died this day, nor has your husband. He lives as do you!"

  "I…" But Gwendolyn was taken aback by her mentor's words.

  "The darkness was not of our doing. The darkness was of the other powers, the powers that would rule your world."

  "Morgan?" she asked.

  "Is within their power. He was born vile and he lives only for his own satisfaction. Yes, Morgan, although he is but a tool, is the earthly visage of your enemy. "

  "But I defeated him before."

  "A testing. They were unprepared for you. It is not so now."

  "But why does he plot against Miles?"

  "Why does man war upon man? Ponder not in terms of your own mind, innocent Gwendolyn, but in the terms of others."

  "Then what vision did I see before me?" But Gwendolyn already knew the answer.

  "You saw but the truth."

  "Yet you say Miles lives?"

  "It is time to prepare yourself. Make ready to leave your home. You must travel across the world. It is part of your destiny."

  "And you will say no more?"

  The Druid priestess threw back her hood to stare at Gwendolyn with dark, berrylike eyes. "You will learn soon enough the answers you seek!"

  "No!" The uncontrollable anger flaring from within Gwendolyn's mind was unlike any before. A cold rage shook her, filling her mind, her body, and her soul. Within her hands, she pictured the hilt of the sword that at this moment rested within her earthly fingers far from where she stood. "I will have the truth," she demanded, directing the sword toward the priestess.

  A flash of sparks exploded within the stone circle, and where the priestess had stood was empty space. Spinning, Gwendolyn searched for her mentor but could find her nowhere.

  "Do you presume to fight me?" asked the priestess. Gwendolyn looked up and saw the robed figure standing astride the top of a stone.

  "Only if you force me. I want the answers to my questions!"

  "You think yourself so strong then?"

  Gwendolyn didn't answer; instead she drew on the power within her mind, directing another thrust of her sword-like thought.

  Again, sparks flew at the spot where the priestess had stood, but as before, she was gone. "You surprise me. You have learned more than I thought."

  "I have learned only what you told me." Gwendolyn stated bitterly to the priestess who had materialized before her again.

  "Yet, I did not tell you of the powers within y
our mind when you are in the trance of knowledge."

  "You told me all, when you told me of the sword."

  "I bow before you, Daughter of Thunder, for you now teach to me what I failed to see."

  Confusion reigned within her mind as she tried to understand and make sense of her mentor's words.

  "Worry not of what you hear, but look upon that which has not been said." Gwendolyn followed the priestess's long pointing finger and found herself gazing deeply into the altar stone.

  She was looking at the walled city of Jerusalem. Then the scene changed, and she was within a large, ornate room. Bright tapestries hung on the walls, and torches burned brilliantly over the mosaic-tiled floors. She watched a single man, resplendent in finely woven robes, walk into a chamber. There he bent and lifted the head of a prone figure. Gwendolyn gasped when she saw Miles's blood-smeared face. Then the man began to issue orders and, following that, a dozen slaves swarmed over Miles, removing his armor and treating his wounds. She stared at the man for a long moment, impressing within her mind every detail of his face.

  "Saladin," she whispered. "The devil!"

  "No, child," came the soothing sounds of the priestess.

  "No devil, only man." The picture dissolved, and with its surcease Gwendolyn lifted her head.

  "Come, child," called the other, and the warm caress of the priestess's mind blended within hers. "Have faith, for I warned you the road you travel is a harsh one. And today you have seen for yourself just how hard it is."

  "But why?" Gwendolyn whispered.

  The priestess opened her arms, and Gwendolyn, a full head taller than she, came within the robed arms, sinking to her knees and pressing her cheek to the priestess's breasts, accepting the comfort of the old one.

  "We must all fulfill a destiny. Our roles in life have been chosen, and yours is the most important of all. Wonder not of why you must walk this road, but of how it is best done," she cautioned.

  Gwendolyn let herself go and relinquished her anger and fight as she listened to the woman. "Prepare yourself, for soon will come your confrontation with the dark powers. Think not of other things, for when you have proven to be the chosen one, you will become whole again. There is reason and need for this earthly confrontation. And when you have given of yourself, your rewards will live to bring about a new world."

  "I must go to Miles," Gwendolyn stated.

  "Yes, but not until the proper time. The dark powers must be lulled. They must think themselves victorious. Here, in the old land, the people suffer. Their golden warrior, their lion-hearted leader is fighting another's battles and leaves them in the care of the black prince, yet another tool of darkness."

  "John… whispered Gwendolyn.

  "The black prince must be fought another time, in the years ahead. Think only of Miles."

  "But . . ."

  "There is nothing else."

  "I understand. I will prepare myself." And Gwendolyn did understand. She knew why she had fallen victim to the darkness that had claimed her and she also understood how she had won free. The specter of Miles's death was the darkness, and the pinpoint of light had been his life returning. Miles needed her and she would be ready when the time came.

  "Give nothing away. Allow no one to know what you do, lest they gain the ability to stop you. When the word comes, you will go because you are ready."

  The priestess pushed Gwendolyn from her and waved her hand in the air. Light encased her in a whirlwind of brilliance. It caressed her skin and filtered into her mind; easing her hurt and loss while it guided her safely back to her earthbound body, and the sword that was in her grasp.

  When she felt her mind joined with its earthly covering of flesh and bone, she took a deep breath. She was suddenly aware of all that had happened; from the moment darkness had captured her, until she rejoined her body. In the instant she'd drawn her breath, she knew that James and Roweena had sat watch for three days and three nights, and the castle had become rife with rumor and frightening tales.

  Slowly, Gwendolyn opened her eyes.

  "Thank God," Roweena cried. But James only gazed into Gwendolyn's strangely iridescent eyes.

  Gwendolyn held his gaze for a long moment before she spoke.

  "We have much to do."

  <><><>

  Rising through the foggy bonds of his mind, Miles tried to remember what had happened to him. He started to open his eyes, but could not, and a low moan was torn from his throat by the effort.

  A voice spoke to him in an incomprehensible tongue.

  Then he remembered what had happened and stopped his struggles. A cool cloth was pressed to his brow, and Miles forced himself to stay calm.

  He remembered the battle clearly, up until the last. He and Richard had been leading their men in a surprise attack against Saladin's fortifications on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Richard, master strategist that he was, had taken it badly when Saladin had refused to negotiate any longer and had thrown the offer of Richard's sister back at the English king.

  Angered, Richard had set out to teach the Moor a lesson in courtesy by following his original plan, which he'd set aside for the negotiations. It was a good plan, made even better by the early winter rains, but something had gone wrong, and Saladin had been prepared.

  When they'd started their attack, Miles had seen that the Moors had more men than usual. Before he could warn Richard, another wave of Moorish knights charged from behind.

  While Miles had fought, he kept the king in his sight and soon realized that the day was lost. But before he could reach Richard to fight by his side, he had been surrounded by Saracens.

  Yet, though surrounded, he shouted orders to his own knights to protect Richard at all costs. And then Miles had seen his fate. He was cut off from his army, totally. Not even Arthur was near him, and for that, Miles was glad. Arthur was too young to die so far from his home. With a prayer to Gwendolyn, he turned to meet his enemies. Miles Delong knew he would die on the field, and his only regret was that he would never see his wife's face again. But the thought of Gwendolyn only served to make his arm stronger, and he fought as he had never done before.

  The knights of Saladin who faced him had never known fury as they fought against. Before they had Miles ringed, a full half dozen had fallen. Then something hit his helmet and he almost lost his balance. With his ears ringing painfully, Miles readied himself for his last act upon this earth.

  He lifted his sword high and shouted a battle cry through his clenched teeth. Then he charged the circle, uncaring of who would strike the fatal blow.

  Spurring his horse forward was the last he remembered.

  Darkness had come suddenly, and now he realized he was still alive.

  Again he heard the strange language and realized he was being spoken to. "I do not understand," he said in a voice that cracked with dryness.

  "She is but telling you her name. It is Aliya," said a man speaking French. "Hold still so that she may remove the cloth from your eyes."

  Miles did as he was told, and a moment later he blinked his eyes. It took another minute for his eyes to adjust to the light within the chamber, but when they did, he saw the woman, Aliya.

  She was olive-skinned, with large eyes. That was all he saw of her face; the rest was hidden by a veil. Then he saw the man standing behind her, and recognition came instantly. He was tall, with a lean body encased in the strange dress of the Saracen. Hanging from the wide sash at his waist was a gleaming scimitar.

  "Yes, you are alive, Frank."

  "I am not a Frank, I am not French. I am of the English," Miles replied.

  "All Christians are Franks to us. Are you not pleased that we spared your life?"

  "I would rather know why."

  The man threw his head back and laughed loudly. The laughter ended abruptly when he fixed Miles with a hard stare. "Do you know who I am?"

  "Yes."

  "And that does not frighten you?"

  "I do not fear my own king, why should I fear yo
u?" Miles asked in a mild voice.

  "Because I could have you killed with the snap of my fingers," stated Saladin.

  "And lose the ransom?"

  "There will be no ransom for you."

  His words shocked Miles, and it took him a moment to fully understand this. It was custom to hold captured knights for ransom; it was one way both kings financed this war. Only a personal hatred ever stopped the exchange of a prisoner for ransom. Miles held back his question when he realized that he had somehow come to the attention of Saladin in a very deadly way.

  Miles forced his protesting body to move. Sitting up, he ignored the lance of pain in his side. But he knew he had been hurt worse than he thought.

  Saladin saw the knight wince, but kept his face expressionless. Instead, he ordered the slave girl to give Miles water mixed with a small amount of powdered hashish to ease the pain.

  "You are a brave fighter, Miles of England. But I have made a promise that of all the Franks I capture, only you shall remain un-ransomed."

  "Then kill me now." He stared at Saladin's lined face for a moment in challenge before he took the bowl the slave girl held out. Miles drank the water, ignoring its rancid taste, and a moment later the pain in his side diminished.

  "Your wounds are not great, and you will recover. I have seen to their care and dressing and have been told they will heal quickly. Although I am not permitted to ransom you, your life with us will not be overly harsh."

  "Any life not of my choosing is harsh."

  "But it is life just the same; Death offers no opportunity for change."

  Miles listened to the Moorish king, but the effect of the drug began to slow his mind, and soon it seized him fully. Saladin's words began to recede and Miles was again enveloped in the pleasant forgetfulness of sleep.

  Outside the chamber, Saladin was met by his grand vizier.

  The two men, accompanied by Saladin's bodyguards, walked in silence toward the audience chamber of the castle. Only when they were inside, with no other ears to listen, did Borka-al-Salu speak.