The Named (30 page)

The guard laughs, but not a friendly one. ‘Wallow in your own medicine,’ he says sarcastically and walks off.

‘Quickly,’ I whisper.

At the sound of retreating footsteps, Richard struggles to his feet with my arm for support. I take the silver cloak Penbarin gave me for the job, wrap it around the king, and call Arkarian.

Nothing happens.

The guard hears me call and comes back, thumping
again on the door. ‘What’s that strange name you call?’

‘What?’ King Richard snaps at the guard. ‘I call no one. Dreaming is all I do. Who do you think would help me in this godforsaken hole?’

I see the guard peering through the bars and hold my breath, while hanging on to Richard and trying to conceal myself between the folds of the wide cloak. I need to call again, as nothing has happened as planned, but to call again will surely raise this guard’s curiosity too high.

‘What are you doing there?’ the guard asks, seeing Richard standing in an unusual position with his back to the door and wearing a strange silver cloak. ‘Something is going on.’

The sound of the key going into the lock has me deciding quickly to risk calling Arkarian again.

Nothing.

Oh, hell! I never meant to kill us both.

‘
Arkarian! For God’s sake, where are you
?’

‘You do have someone in there.’ The door now opens wide. ‘You! Who are you? Where did you come from?’

‘
Arkarian!’

The guard draws his sword. I manage to hold Richard up with one arm and draw my sword with the other. Just then I feel the familiar sensations of imminent transportation taking hold. But I can’t allow this guard to watch us disappear. Surprising him, I aim a sharp kick to the back of his head, and he falls to the ground out cold an instant before my body begins to shift.

At last, the king’s prison cell fades from view.

Chapter Forty

Isabel

Marduke’s tumultuous roar fills Arkarian’s chamber, letting us know our wait is over. The unnerving sound causes chills to slice through my body, and the others feel the same, I sense. Our eyes shift to each other around the room, understanding that we can’t wait any longer for Ethan to appear, and that we must go into this battle disadvantaged.

Arkarian hands us each a small bottle of blue-tinted liquid. ‘It’s time. You must all go back to your beds before any one of you is reported missing. Take the vials I’ve just given you; their contents will put you instantly to sleep. We’ll meet in the Citadel and get outfitted with secure identities before shifting to meet Marduke in the Ardennes in the year 1349. Are we all clear?’

With Arkarian’s instructions ringing in our heads, the four of us leave. I’m glad of Jimmy’s company as we make our way down the chilly mountain to our respective beds. He keeps my mind occupied right up to my bedroom door, where he gives me a small encouraging smile. ‘Everything will work out, Isabel.’

‘How can you know that?’

‘I trust in the Guard.’

‘I don’t know them like you do.’

‘I understand, but you will.’

‘What we’re doing tonight, it’s going to be dangerous, isn’t it?’

He nods. ‘You know it is.’

‘If something happens to us …’ Suddenly a hard lump forms in my throat. ‘I mean, if something happens to Matt, and to me, and to you too, who will Mum have left?’

He glances down at the small bottle held tightly between my fingers, then closes his hand over mine. ‘Don’t think such thoughts, Isabel. Take the drink, and let’s go rescue Matt.’

When I get to my room I swallow the sleeping draught in one go. It starts working instantly. It feels as if I’ve only just laid my head on my pillow when a familiar weightless sensation sets in.

I wake suddenly in a room in the Citadel that simply takes my breath away with its overwhelming pink decor, so much like a page out of one of the many fairy-tale books Mum and Matt kept shoving at me when I was a little girl. Books that I would have nothing to do with. I wanted to read adventure stories with wild animals, danger and heroic rescues. These are the things that would have made him proud of me. This last thought takes me by surprise for I was
not
thinking of my father. No!

A feeling of intense sadness sweeps through me, making me want to fall to my knees and sob. Arkarian appears before me, his eyes full of compassion. It snaps me out of my sudden melancholy. ‘Is everyone here yet?’

Unfolding a finger, Arkarian indicates a point beyond my shoulder. I spin around and see Jimmy, Shaun and Mr Carter already waiting.

‘Let’s go then.’

Arkarian leads us to one of the wardrobe rooms without saying a word, but I know from his lingering gentle expression that he knows my every thought, the inner turmoil I suddenly find myself in. Why am I thinking of a father who has never been a real part of my life? Why now?

We end up clothed in medieval armour, which protects our chests and backs mostly, our legs remaining free of the stiff metal, but still protected somewhat by soft chain leggings. I glance into one of the many surrounding mirrors and see a reflection of myself and the others. This time I have reddish hair and freckles. The four men have all reached for their swords, testing them for feel and weight. A shiver slithers down my spine: how many of us will return with our lives?

Arkarian catches my eye through the mirror and stares back at me with a concerned frown. He’s obviously heard my negative thought vibrating – probably pounding – through the air. He shakes his head slightly and asks about the feel of my armour; I sense it is meant to distract me.

I shrug my shoulders, trying to accustom my small body to the bulk and heaviness. It takes a few minutes to adjust, and I realise it’s moulding itself to my shape. ‘It’s OK,’ I tell him. I feel for my sword but the scabbard hanging at my hip is empty.

Arkarian comes towards me with a sword in his hand. I reach for it, my fingers wrapping around the hilt with ease. It feels as if it were made for my hand. A
warmth penetrates into my palm.

‘I’m not very good with a sword,’ I say as I lift it into the air and feign a forward thrust.

He stands back and looks at me seriously. ‘This sword belonged to Gawain, one of King Arthur’s favourite knights. He was small, like you.’

‘I’ve heard of him. History has it that he was very courageous.’

‘Oh, yes. I had the pleasure of witnessing him in action a few times. He handed me this sword on his deathbed.’

I stare at the sword, wondering if Arkarian’s words are going to be an omen. ‘So was he killed fighting with this sword?’

Arkarian gives a small laugh at my misunderstanding. ‘Hardly! He died aged eighty-two.’

‘Oh.’

He looks down at the sword I hold with comfortable ease. ‘The handle was carved by Merlin himself, dipped in gold at King Arthur’s request.’

This information floors me. I turn the handle over in my hand, marvelling at how snugly it fits, and how light it feels, for the blade is as long as any other I’ve trained with.

Arkarian watches as I study the sword as if waiting for me to figure something out. ‘It’s enchanted to fit the hand of one who will do it proud.’

I almost drop it. ‘Wow! That’s a lot of pressure, Arkarian.’

‘Do you think so? The sword obviously doesn’t. It likes your hand, Isabel. Besides, it grew tired of its previous owner.’ He grins and I realise the sword’s previous owner was him. ‘Almost six centuries is a long
time for any relationship, even that of a man with his sword,’ he laughs lightly.

Arkarian is so right, six hundred years is a very long time. He smiles at me and I remember again his ability to know what I’m thinking. I’ll have to make sure Ethan teaches me how to mask my thoughts – if we survive.

‘It’s yours now,’ Arkarian says softly.

I feel honoured and bow my head as tears suddenly fill my eyes. Why is Arkarian doing this – giving me his sword? An enchanted sword that he’s had for so many hundreds of years, given to him by a great and respected knight on his deathbed? Arkarian lifts my face with his hand; our eyes connect and hold – brown with violet. The room spins for a moment, then seems to disappear as if there is nothing else in my vision except Arkarian’s deeply violet eyes.

Slowly, we become aware that Shaun is standing beside us. ‘Marduke grows restless.’

Arkarian nods, breaking our connection. ‘Then we must hurry.’

Following the others, I too go and stand near the open doorway. One after another we leap into a thick, dark forest, five instead of six, to battle an embittered and traitorous warrior who has been living the past twelve years only for this event. And how prepared are we, I wonder? I ask this question of Arkarian the moment we land on firm ground. The plan they’ve been working on has for the most part been kept from me, whether intentionally or not.

‘It’s a solid plan, Isabel. You have your part in it.’

‘But you’ve only told me the part that concerns me. “Draw the female warrior to the side and deal with
her.” I can do more than that.’

‘And you will, when you have dealt with the female warrior the way I told you—’

‘Unmask her.’

‘Yes. She’s Marduke’s central spy. Her eyes – her only identifiable feature – will somehow be concealed, I suspect, by a skin-tight facial mask that conceals the shape and perhaps even the colour of her eyes. Unmask her and she’ll run; and we’ll have one less to contend with. Her position is too valuable for Marduke to risk revealing her identity. Those will be her instructions, I’m sure of it. But it won’t be easy. Her mask will be like skin, and probably stretch in a band from one ear to the other.’

‘OK. But what about Marduke? How do we get to him while keeping Matt safe?’

He hesitates. ‘The plan is not a secret from you, Isabel. We just want you focused on your part.’

‘Why do you have such little faith in me?’

‘It’s not that.’

He’s being vague on purpose. ‘I wish I could read
your
thoughts, Arkarian. Don’t I deserve to be in on this plan too? Matt’s life is at risk. He could be dying right now, his body out of its normal time. He’s an innocent in all of this. And I’ll be fighting too, or else why did you give me the sword?’

He stops mid-stride, turns and looks at me. It’s dark, but the moon, though half, lights the whole escarpment for me. ‘As much as my first instinct is to protect you, Isabel, because you have limited experience, this is not the reason you haven’t been told the plan.’

‘Go on.’

He remains silent as if considering whether I can
handle the reality or not. It occurs to me that maybe they don’t really have a plan – but no, I heard them organising one. They’re up to something. Jimmy even disappeared for a while, running out on some urgent errand.

Finally, I think I guess the truth. It sucks the breath straight out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. ‘The success of your plan depends on Ethan, doesn’t it?’

He remains silent for a moment. His pause sends chills deep into my soul. ‘Not entirely.’

I laugh a kind of hoarse cackle. ‘You’re relying on someone that may not even show. My brother is lost.’

Wordlessly, we continue walking through thick woodland, and I tell myself to be more positive. Ethan
will
turn up. He must! But I can’t stop the negative thoughts from punching through my brain. ‘Ethan doesn’t know the plan, so how can he help even when he does get here?’

Arkarian sighs softly, ‘Isabel, have faith. It won’t take much on Ethan’s part. He’s very good at what he does.’

‘So where did Jimmy go?’

‘He had to locate someone – a girl – and plant a visual image of her in his brain, which ultimately he will pass to Ethan.’

‘Who is she? What does she have to do with all this?’

He holds his hand up to silence me as we suddenly find ourselves at a small clearing. I hold on to my question. I have a feeling I will soon find out, if I live long enough to see this battle through. I can’t easily forget Marduke’s threats and torments. For whatever reasons, he wants me dead too.

I look up and groan, ’cause with the help of my gift
of sight, I can see Matt clearly ahead. He’s standing on a makeshift platform, tied to a massive tree, his head hanging in unconsciousness or slumber, the side of his face swollen and streaked red with blood, his skin ashen with an eerie green tinge. Weirder still are the numerous patches of dark circles on his exposed skin, as if blood lies trapped beneath the surface. But worst of all, beneath the small platform, a bed of wood stacked haphazardly, almost a metre high, sits ready for lighting.

My body shivers at the sight, for beside him stand four of Marduke’s warriors, two on either side, all with one hand resting on the hilt of their swords, knees slightly bent, eyes scouring the landscape. They can’t see us yet, I realise. But there is one who can.

‘Ah, at last! What took you so long?’ Marduke appears before us, the masked female warrior at his side. ‘Waiting for someone?’ he teases in his rough, thick voice.

I ignore him, concentrating on the masked warrior, the one I’m supposed to single out. A sense of familiarity pulses through me as I stare at her, and I know in my heart that this is the woman who tried to murder Abigail Smith, and she is also the servant who tried to poison me at King Richard’s table. Poison must be her specialty.

The harder I stare, the more she avoids making eye contact. I think this strange, considering she’s wearing a mask meant to conceal her eyes. I get swamped with another strong sense: this woman is nervous, and possibly afraid. But of what? Does she think I’ll recognise her by looking into her masked eyes? It’s not her eyes that will give her away, but more her subtle flowery
scent. I smell it already. But I can’t jump to conclusions, for what if I were wrong? A mistake in judgement could cost a life tonight. But if my suspicions are correct, how can this woman stand here ready to defend her master when the one she purports to love stands ready to be executed?

Marduke suddenly roars, nearly shattering my eardrums; but all I can think is, good, maybe Ethan will hear you and come running. What could be taking him so long? With the roar comes movement from the trees. My eyes flick up and around. The trees have come alive with more warriors, a dozen at least. They jump to the ground, quickly surrounding us, while the four guarding Matt stay put.