The Quest (The Sons of Camelot Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The slopes of Ben Macdhui—as Alpina called the mountain that stood glaring over them as they rode out of their camp the following morning—were already beginning to become obscured by a thick mist as it rolled down from the snowy peak and tumbled in a slow, steady advance toward the valley below. It appeared that, though the stern expression of the mountain did not favor them, it did wish to aid in carrying out the plan that John had devised.

Dressed in full armor and with the two squires in chain mail, they passed along the trail at the same pace they’d kept the previous days. They wanted to appear as though there was little change in their mode of travel and that no plan to draw the brothers into a fight had been hatched.

There had been sounds of terror in the night, just as Merlin had promised. His Circle of Nightmares, as he called it, had done the trick. The barrier might have kept them all awake as they listened to their stalkers fleeing in fear, but Merlin had once again cast a spell of sleep on them and they had awakened refreshed and ready, with nervous anticipation, to face the day and the challenge that lay ahead of them.

Alpina seemed a bit more subdued than normal and that worried John. Would some tragedy, of which she alone was aware, strike them? He hoped for an opportunity to ask her, but that opportunity had not come, mostly because she seemed to have been avoiding him throughout the morning.

When John had laid out his plan for everyone to hear the night before, he hadn’t noticed that Alpina had become very silent. It was only after seeing her try to avoid him the following morning that he recalled how she had behaved the night before. Initially, he wondered if the kiss had been too bold and if she had begun to regret the moment that they’d shared; however, as he examined her actions more closely, he knew that it had more to do with something connected with the execution of their plan. There was no way for any of them to know who would be involved or what would happen. Perhaps it was best to not know too much or they might all lose their nerve. Maybe that was the reason that she was avoiding him.

As they followed the trail further up the valley, the fog loomed closer and John felt a lump build in his throat and the dry taste that he got in his mouth prior to battle. Before the fog engulfed them and all about them began to disappear, his heart began to pound in a loud, steady rhythm. Alpina’s singing was to be their signal to start and John waited for the sweet sound of her voice; a sweet sound that might be the last earthly sound he ever heard.

The first word of the tune had barely passed from her lips when Merlin began the brief incantation that would cast the spell upon Thomas, John and the two squires. Because their clanking armor would give them away, Merlin had come up with the idea of casting a spell that would make their armor completely silent for a short period of time, giving them enough time to move away from the horses and then prepare for their attack.

“Maiden’s locks and cobra’s venom,” Merlin began. “Brave knights’ armor soft as linen.”

The instant the spell was cast, the four of them slipped without a sound from the backs of their horses and crouched for a moment on the trail. As the sound of Alpina’s voice and the plodding hooves of the horses grew more faint, the four of them began to move silently along behind, allowing enough distance that they didn’t come upon their enemy too soon, but not so much as to lose their way in the fog.

John was certain that though his armor was silent, for the moment, his heavy breathing and thundering heart would give them away. He drew his sword and crept forward, waiting for the mist to clear and hoping that he hadn’t committed a grave error that would bring harm to Alpina and leave them without horses or supplies.

Though the distant sound of Alpina’s voice was still clear, silence was wrapped around them as they moved forward. John was certain that their stalkers had not taken the bait and his plan had been for not, until suddenly, a terrifying din of screeching pierced through the fog up ahead of them.

The four of them froze in place in the space of several heartbeats, feeling the terror that the Roman Centurions must have felt whenever they fell under the attack of the ancestors of Dunmor and his kind. As soon as it began, the screeching ceased and only a confused clamoring could be heard. John urged the others ahead. “Light or not, we must press the attack.”

Running toward the sound of the noise before them, John not only felt the fog beginning to clear around them, but he heard the sound of his armor begin to clank as it hardened once more. It had no sooner become its proper form when John caught sight of the first of their stalkers. Raising his sword, he charged forward, slicing easily into the flesh of his adversary just as the other turned and raised his long, thick sword for a strike.

As the first of Dunmor’s brothers fell by John’s hand, the mist had thinned to little more than a soft veil and Dunmor and his brothers turned back to face the oncoming attack. The sound of clanging metal, grunts of straining and cries of pain or mortal wounding overtook what had been a silent morning. John, as he dispatched another of the brothers, turned just in time to see Dunmor strike heavily with his sword upon Chatburn. The chainmail shirt was little protection against the massive claymore and Chatburn went down. Instantly, John closed on Dunmor.

For several, exhausting moments, John circled, thrust and parried with the elder of the brothers. Dunmor’s heavy blows taxed him to the limit of his skill and tested the temper of his armor on numerous occasions and John was certain that he was overmatched by the powerful man and his heavy sword. Just as he was certain that he could go no longer continue and would soon meet his end, Thomas and then Dufton suddenly appeared, surrounding Dunmor with their blades at the ready.

Turning in circles, Dunmor snarled at each of them in turn as they held their swords at the ready and waited for him to make his first move. All but the sound of the groans of the wounded had stopped and Dunmor was still weighing his options when John spoke.

“If you will yield,” John offered, “you will live to see another day.”

“Why should I yield to the likes of you?” Dunmor snapped.

“You’ve brothers to tend to from the sound of it,” Thomas joined in.

“They’ll be on their feet and joining me in a moment,” Dunmor grinned. “They’re like these stones.”

“Only if stones bleed,” John retorted. “Yield and tend to the needs of your brothers, but first, you must help us.”

“What reason do I have for helping you?”

“Do it not and the lot of you will be erased from the earth,” John threatened.

“What do you want?”

“You said that you had knowledge of my father.”

Dunmor’s grin broadened and he lowered his sword and started laughing.

“I see no humor in your situation, Dunmor,” Thomas cut in.

“Oh, there’s plenty of humor to be found in it. More dangerous by tenfold is a quest to the cavern of Nimueh. I’ll have all that you’ve brought with you once she’s through with you.”

“Then you’ll yield?” John asked.

“Gladly,” Dunmor smirked. “I’ve served as the devil’s usher to more than one man before.”

Chapter Sixteen

Disarmed and eagerly anticipating the future fate of John and his companions, Dunmor began to tend to his wounded brothers. Three of the nine had already passed from the land of the living and two of the remaining six would likely not see another sunrise. The other three were disarmed and tended to by all.

As the others went to the aid of their fallen foes, John kneeled beside Chatburn who had a long, deep gash in his flesh, which was opened up nearly as wide as the chainmail and was well beyond what the most advanced healer might do for him. John felt his own throat begin to swell as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

“Chatburn,” John whispered. “Not you. Please, gracious Providence, not my faithful squire.”

“Sir John,” Chatburn gasped. “It has been an honor to serve you.”

“You’ll serve me yet, dear squire,” John replied. “I’ll call Merlin over, perhaps there is some magic that can…”

“It’s too late for magic,” Chatburn replied, smiling. “It’s not magic at all, just tricks.” More than once, the two of them had debated about magic and wizardry; John certain of its existence and Chatburn as equally convinced that it didn’t. The content of those debates was something of a private joke between the two of them.

“We’ll prove that I’m right in an instant,” John responded and then stood to call out for Merlin.

Though the wizard came quickly in response to John’s call, his arrival came too late. As they knelt over Chatburn together, his eyes were fixed in a steady gaze, the smile still lingered on his face and his spirit had left them.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for your squire, Sir John,” Merlin said in a soft tone as he used his fingers to close Chatburn’s eyelids.

John’s first reaction was to draw his sword and start after Dunmor. “You’ll lose your head for this Dunmor!” he bellowed.

“John! John! Stay thyself!” Thomas shouted at him as he blocked his path. “There is no honor in this.”

“Honor be damned!” John responded, attempting to move around his brother knight and pursue his quarry, who had risen to his feet and faced him with a taunting smirk.

“Think of your father!” Alpina called out to him. And then, in a quiet voice as she moved toward him, she added another bit of wisdom. “This man can lead us to him.”

It was the sound of Alpina’s voice and the reference to his father that stayed John’s hand. With his anger unquenched, John thrust his sword back into its sheath and strode away several paces away from the rest. Having steamed for several moments, he heard the soft footsteps of Alpina approaching him.

“I suppose you knew of this,” he grumbled.

“I knew that there would be a tragedy today, but I knew neither who nor what form it would take,” she answered.

John remained silent and Alpina didn’t press him to speak; she simply stood beside him, offering the comfort of her presence. Their silence was broken a few moments later as Thomas approached. “I think it is best if we pass the night here and tend to…”

“That will be fine,” John interrupted, not eager for a discussion.

“Your plan worked,” Thomas said after a moment. “We lost a good man in Chatburn. However, we’ve not only wiped out our adversary, but we’ve gained the use of a captive who can lead us to your father.”

The words fell on deaf ears as John continued to mourn the loss of Chatburn. After some time, Thomas’ words took effect and John realized that they had to press forward with their quest and rescue his father. With a heavy sigh, he turned toward the others, stopping for a momentary glance at Alpina before he moved in their direction.

“I will tend to Ganador and to your things,” Alpina offered.

“I’d rather tend to them myself,” he muttered. “And to Chatburn as well.”

“Then I will come along to assist,” she replied.

“That will not be necessary,” he answered in a stern voice.

“It wasn’t a request,” she responded in kind.

In spite of his initial irritation at her joining him, John was glad that she had. She did not speak nor try to console him, she just worked alongside him as they wrapped the squire in a blanket, set up his tent and laid his lifeless body inside of it.

Together, they tended to their mounts and to the pack animals that carried their supplies and then set up their own tents for the night. With a fire going, they prepared a meal and settled in for the evening.

“We’ll need to be makin’ pyres for the dead,” Dunmor suggested in a low tone. The smirk on his face continued to linger as he looked around at them.

John glared at him, but did not respond.

“It would be the best way,” Thomas said quietly.

The following morning, pyres were built for Dunmor’s brothers, though John only worked on the pyre for Chatburn’s body, setting it well apart from the others. At sunset, a few words were said and a prayer was offered up after they laid Chatburn on the pile of wood and stones and then set it ablaze. John looked on, saying his final goodbye as the blanket-wrapped body of his squire disappeared within the flames, and then turned away, more determined to find his father and return him home so that it would all not have been in vain.

The following morning, after another restless night, the wounded brothers of Dunmor were sent on their way and Dunmor was mounted on Chatburn’s mare in order to lead them to the cavern of Nimueh.

“I don’t need to remind you that you’ll be the first to die if you lead us into a trap,” John growled as Dunmor and Thomas rode forward to take the lead.

“You don’t understand, Sir John,” he said in a mocking tone. “I won’t lead you into a trap. You’re eagerly riding right toward one by facing Nimueh. Your death and the spoils that will be mine afterward will go a long way toward assuaging my grief.” He spat out the last as though it had a foul taste and then touched his heels to Chatburn’s mount and went to the head of the column.

Unless called upon to lead them through a fog, Alpina was content to stay back and ride with John.

“Thank you,” John said after they had been on their way for some time. Alpina had not offered words of condolence, but, instead, only her silent presence beside him. “I don’t know how to say how grateful…”

“Then don’t say it,” she replied quietly.

John turned and looked at her. He no longer felt uncomfortable when he looked into her piercing blue eyes, though he wasn’t certain at what point that had changed.

The trail narrowed and they traversed a sheer rock wall, clinging to its face, high above a narrow stream that wound its way along the canyon floor. It required all of the attention of both rider and horses to prevent any sort of misstep, the result of which would send them plunging a thousand feet to their death. In the silence, the only sound was the sound of hooves on stone echoing along the canyon walls.

The trail came to an end on a wide shelf in front of a cavern from which the stream flowed and plunged into the canyon below.

“Here you go,” Dunmor announced, drawing up on Chatburn’s mare. “The cavern of Nimueh. I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

As little as John wanted to admit it, Dunmor had done his duty and the honorable thing was to let him be on his way; however, he would not do it on Chatburn’s mare.

“Very well, then,” John replied. “I will keep my end of the bargain as well, but you will return to your brothers on foot.”

Dunmor smiled at him. “I’ll go back along the trail a ways and wait. I’ll no doubt be ridin’ out of here on that flea-bit mount of yours.”