Queen Of Knights (37 page)

The instant she submitted to it, the light calmed, and the sword hummed in harmony with her thoughts.

"Use the power, Daughter of Thunder, ride the heavens and see your desire." The calm, wordless voice of the priestess soothed her mind, and Gwendolyn accepted the old one's advice.

The gentle wrenching separation of body and mind was smooth this time, and no discord shook her thoughts.  Then she entered the multifarious layers of the otherworld, to float within a crimson cloud.

"Welcome, Daughter."

Gwendolyn's mind shook, and emotions threatened her very existence.  The sparkling sapphire eyes of Gwyneth Kildrake gazed lovingly at her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

WITHIN
the swirling ethereal plane, Gwendolyn faced her mother.  It was not the wavering images of the woman she had seen in the company of the old Druid priestess, but the actual and pure spirit of Gwyneth, with her beautiful features and soft glittering eyes.

"It is time for you to learn more, my daughter."

"And time for you to grow," added the Druid priestess who appeared beside Gwyneth.  "You have used your powers wisely, Child of Thunder, and have striven to reach your destiny.  Look!" she commanded with a wave of her hand.  The crimson cloud parted, and Gwendolyn gazed upon a kaleidoscopic scene that tore at her imagination.

It was a changing, fermenting vision which turned her mind into a mass of confused thoughts.  When the realization of what she saw struck her, tears fell from her bodiless eyes.  Years passed before her, hundreds of them.  She watched Devonshire and Radstock change.  She witnessed battles and death and plague.  She saw lives become meaningless existences, their only purpose to serve the cruel needs of others.

She saw wars and machines that defied description lay waste to the beautiful and bountiful earth; and then she witnessed the end.  Throughout the land, horrid inventions of death rained.  Volcanic clouds of unknown magnitude spewed across the face of the earth, and almost all life ceased to exist.

"No!" she screamed, denying what she saw.

"It is the path mankind has chosen long before your birth, and one that we must follow."

"Then why am I here? Why do I exist? For what you have shown proves only the futility of life!"

"No, Daughter of Thunder," said the old one.  But Gwendolyn no longer listened to her mentor; the horrors she witnessed were too strong in her soul.  Then she felt the gentlest caress she had ever known.  A soft, lingering caress of love and devotion rippled through her mind.  Turning, she looked into the shimmering pools of her mother's eyes.

"Look now, Gwendolyn, and see what your purpose is."

Gwendolyn gazed again through the crimson veil and saw a small tunnel within the earth open.  Although they were much changed and deformed, she recognized the hills of Radstock and saw that the opening was the very tunnel that led from the training pit Miles had built for her.

The land surrounding it was strange, with unknown foliage and vegetation.  Intuitively, she knew that the terrible weapons which had destroyed her home had wrought these changes to land and life.

Then she was startled from her thoughts when two figures emerged from the tunnel.  Both rode strange beasts that barely resembled horses and both wore glistening armor that resembled a shining second skin.

When the two rode out of the tunnel's mouth, they stopped to look around.  Suddenly a scream ripped through the air, and a golden eagle flew from the bowels of the earth.

Gwendolyn's first thought was of Valkyrie.  But she noticed the eagle's wings reflecting light in an unnatural way.  A moment later she saw the bird was not a living thing, but something made of metal. 
How could it fly?
she wondered.

The two riders, acting in concert, removed their helmets.

Gwendolyn cried out voicelessly and again felt Gwyneth's soothing caress, for before her, she saw duplicates of herself and Miles.

"No," whispered the old one, "look closely."

Gwendolyn did.  The woman was as tall as she, with long hair of gold and silver, and if Gwendolyn had not known better, she would have thought herself to be looking at her reflection within a still pool.  But then she saw the difference.  The woman's eyes were the sea-green of Miles's own.  Then she looked at the man who wore the face of her husband.  His eyes were different, too; his eyes were the blue of a morning sky—his eyes were Gwendolyn's.

"I don't understand," she whispered.  She cried out again when the woman drew a sword.  "My father's sword!"

"It belongs to the issue of Kildrake, who will rule the earth and all upon it in the generations to come," intoned the Druid priestess.  She waved her arm, and the picture dissolved.

"You have been blessed, Gwendolyn, daughter of Gwyneth, and cursed.  For what you have seen is a thousand years distant.  A thousand years of darkness and death to survive.  You have been chosen and blessed, yet that blessing is a curse, for you and your issue are what stand between life and darkness for all."

"Why?" she whispered.

"There is no answer to satisfy your question.  Ask me not, for only the future can respond.  But know you well, that you have proven able.  You not only defeated the puppet of darkness, but aided your father, as well.  In defeating Morgan, and that which controlled him, you have set yourself free to continue your life, and also lifted the earthly bonds which held the son of thunder at bay."

"And Miles?"

"We cannot control the destiny of all.  Morgan's deceit was guided by darkness; we knew of the possibilities, but not of the actualities.  That is why we prepared you.  Saladin is but a man, as is Richard.  You have the sword of your father.  That is the legacy we have given you.  Our time on this plane is done, and we must leave you forever."

"No!"

"It is as it has been ordained.  We have taught you and guided you.  We have given you knowledge and understanding.  You are the beginning, you are the chosen.  You have defeated the power of darkness for now, but it shall return.  You and your line must be vigilant, for you are now the guardians.  Ask not for more; accept not less.  Now is your time to live and take control of your existence.  You have the sword and the power to wield it.  One day, in the far future, you will watch over your issue, as we have done over you, and see the world led back to sanity."

"But Miles?" Gwendolyn asked, her mind growing heavy with the weight of sadness and loss.

"You must secure him and free him.  There are no powers to aid you, only yourself, your mind, and your heritage.  We bid you farewell, Gwendolyn, Daughter of Thunder."

"Wait!" Gwendolyn commanded.  The power of the thought, hurled from her with the force of her father's hammer, captured both her mother and the old one in its grasp.  Only once before had Gwendolyn dared use the strength of her mind against her mentor.  Now she knew she must use it again, for there was one more thing that must be done before she would allow them to leave her.

"I understand what you have said and accept it.  I am the chosen and am ready to fulfill the destiny given me.  I yield to your wishes and accept that which I cannot deny.  But before you leave forever, I would ask of something."

"If it is within my power," replied the old one, and Gwendolyn felt the satisfaction and pleasure of her mentor's thoughts.  "Yes, my child, you are strong and have become what I declared to all, twenty years ago.  But hurry, for we weaken with each moment and must leave to find our own peace."

"You have said that I will no longer have your aid, but my sword will be my power."

“And your might."

"Will it be my guide through the heavens?"

Sadness spread throughout her mind, a sadness reflected from the minds of her mother and the old one.  "When your earthly body dies, you will ride the heavens again.  Until then, rely you must on our first earthly link."

"Then let me see my husband as he is now," Gwendolyn asked, knowing it would be the last time she could do so, and accepting the decision and its finality.

The old one waved her hand.  Again the crimson cloud parted.  Gwendolyn's ethereal embodiment floated through the opening, and she found herself within a walled chamber.

She gazed at Miles asleep upon the cushions and saw, also, the blood-soaked cloth that bound his head.  She hovered above him and slowly let herself cover his earthly body with her spiritual one.

"He has hurt you needlessly, my love," she whispered to his mind, "but I shall ease the pain.  I am coming for you soon, Miles, and we will be together.  Remember." With a final caress of her lips upon his, she returned to the crimson plane and the two who awaited her.

"I shall free him," she promised.

"Be not oversure of your actions.  Be as cautious as you are brave.  Be as wise as you are loving," intoned the old one, in a final benediction to her pupil.

Their voices grew dim and their bodies wavered.  Suddenly, Gwendolyn was caught in the whirlpool of the crimson cloud swirling around her.  Then she was again sitting within the desert oasis.  Lowering her sword, she gazed up at the sky.

A glittering ball of fire flashed across the sky, leaving behind it a bright trail of lingering light against the black heavens.  She saw the ball suddenly split into three flaming arrows which rose upward together until they disappeared from sight.  Within their bright specter, Gwendolyn was sure she saw the forms of her father, mother, and the old Druid priestess, making their final ascent into the vast body of the universe.  "Good-bye," she whispered.

Before lowering the sword completely, she had one more thing to do.  Slowly, fighting the weariness that her just- ended journey had brought on, she raised the sword high.  She formed a picture of Miles, and the chamber he was imprisoned within, in her mind.  The sword sang with power, and Gwendolyn directed the healing purity of the light toward Miles.  She guided its force to his head and expanded the channel within her mind.

Only when that was done, did she return to herself, and to the cool air blowing down from the valley's walls.

She sheathed the sword, lay down upon the cape, and closed her eyes.  Valkyrie would wake her before the sun rose, and she would prepare herself for meeting Saladin.

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Miles woke slowly, and for the first time in three days, felt no pain in his head.  When he had returned to his chamber after Saladin's dismissal, he remembered attacking the guard, and then blackness had come.  He'd wavered in and out of consciousness, aware only of the few times Aliya had attended him, washing his face with cool water and bandaging his head.  Most of the time, he had thought himself dying.

When Aliya had cleansed his wound, he'd heard her gasp of despair and knew that he'd been hurt badly.  But this morning it was as if he'd never been touched.  He closed his eyes and invoked the memory of his dream.  He'd dreamed of his wife, and of the softness of her lips on his.  He'd drawn comfort from her and had willed himself to be with her.

He remembered vividly the pure white light that had encased him.  The gentle warmth which had entered his body and filled him with peace.  He had dreamed of Gwendolyn after that and knew he would live to see her again.  Suddenly, Miles heard footsteps entering the chamber, but he kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep.

Aliya came in, accompanied by one guard.  The man stood at the entranceway with his arms crossed, but did not follow the young slave to Miles's side.

Aliya knelt beside Miles and gazed at him just as he opened his eyes.  Her indrawn breath went unnoticed by the guard, as she stared at his open and unglazed eyes.  "You are better," she whispered in a relieved voice.

"I—"

"Say nothing!" she ordered.  First she wiped his face and then she stood.  Turning to the guard, she spoke.  "He has not woken."

Grunting, the guard left the chamber to take his post in the hallway.  When he was gone, Aliya knelt again at Miles's side.  "There are two guards in the hall, and two more in the courtyard," she whispered.  "Thank Allah you are better."

Carefully, she unwound the bandage, and when she had finished, another indrawn breath echoed in the room.  "I ...it is impossible.  The wound is healed.  How?"

"Was it very bad?"

"The physician thought you would die.  The guard split your scalp and you bled for many hours.  How is this possible?"

"Aliya, none must know of this.  My wife came to me last night and healed me."

Aliya closed her eyes at his words, trying to understand what he said, but she could not.

Seeing this written in her face, Miles spoke quickly.  "What has happened since I was brought here?"

"I am sorry, Master.  You are now a prisoner truly.  None are allowed to see or talk to you.  No one may visit this chamber except myself, and I am allowed only twice a day to bring you food and cleanse your wounds."

“As it should be.  Aliya, I am a prisoner, not your master.  Do not compromise yourself for me, for I shall be gone soon."

"It is said that if you live, Saladin will send you to the farthest corner of his land, to be a slave in the poorest of places."

"What else is said?"

"That Saladin left last night to meet the Frank woman he has heard of.  He rides to meet your wife."

"I warned him; I tried," whispered Miles.

"I still do not understand."

"There is no need.  Aliya, soon I will be gone.  Remember me with kindness."

"There is no other way to remember you, Master."

"There is one other way." Miles turned and reached out to touch the wall.  There, he pried away a small stone and took out what he had hidden many months before.  He had found it beneath a cushion when he'd first arrived in Jerusalem and had secreted it away, hoping that he could use it to help free himself.  When he learned the impossibility of this, he'd put it out of his mind.  But now he knew what its use could be.