Dragonblade Trilogy - 02 - Island of Glass (28 page)

Kenneth didn’t push. He sensed
the man was telling the truth. Moreover, he was in no position to punish him
for past sins or send him away out of anger. He needed him at the moment, as
the last person who saw Aubrielle alive.

“I would hear your stories now.”

“As you wish. But if you ever
tell her that I told you, I shall deny it to my grave.”

“If she finds out you’ve told me
less than kind things about her, the grave may come sooner than you think.”

Grendel grinned. He liked this
man.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

One of the men had given her a
dirty, worn cloak to protect her against the cold. They had taken her with
nothing but the clothes on her back, in the heavy yellow brocade gown she had
been wearing for almost a week now. The thin sleeves were torn and the
voluminous skirt was soiled to the core. She used to love the garment; now she
hated it. There were spots of Kenneth’s blood on the hemline and she fingered
the stains on a regular basis in a bizarre comfort ritual. The gown reminded
her of the darkest moment of her life but as much as she hated the article of
clothing, she knew she would never be able to part with it. Part of Kenneth was
on it and she would keep it forever. 

The darkness of time and space
were passing in a blur; they carried no meaning to her. Several days of travel
saw her and her captors on the outskirts of Bristol. It would be at least
another four days to reach Glastonbury. At a quickened pace, they were covering
nearly twenty miles a day. In Gloucester, they had stolen a horse for Aubrielle,
so at least she was riding alone and no longer with de Gaul.

The weather was improved during
the day even if the nights were cold. The black knights kept a tight watch on Aubrielle,
always keeping her in the center of their group and making sure to steer clear
of cities, crowds, and people in general. They didn’t want her raising an
alarm, and they themselves were used to staying well out of sight. The Templars
had been an increasingly reclusive order during the last years and were
conditioned to remain hidden.

De Gaul selected an area well
away from the road in which to camp for the night. Since they did not want to
draw attention to themselves, there was never a fire. Aubrielle was given
whatever they could scrounge to eat; berries, roots, and the raw fish they
caught in the streams. It was horrible fare. She had gagged on more than one
occasion. De Gaul had promised her more decent provisions once they reached Bristol,
for apparently he intended to steal it.  Aubrielle had heard him talking with
some of his men about raiding food stores. She didn’t care, nor was she hungry
for any of his ill gotten gains.  She was so numb, emotionally and physically,
that nothing in the world mattered to her.

Her bones were cold in spite of
the warmth of the day, and she was filthy from travel.  At sunset, de Gaul
planted her squarely in the center of their encampment so she could be easily
watched. Being the summer season, the men scavenged about and were able to find
ripe apples and pears for their sup, and soon she was up to her ankles in
offerings. Aubrielle had to admit that they attempted, as best as murderers
could, to see to her needs. Cleaning two of the apples off on her skirt, she
ate them in quick succession.

“You are hungry this eve,” De
Gaul came up behind her. “That is good. You need to keep up your strength.”

Aubrielle wouldn’t look at him.
She tossed the cores to the ground beside her and pulled the dirty cloak around
her shoulders.  De Gaul crouched a few feet away from her, toying with stalks
of grass.

“Bristol is over the hill,” he
said. “You shall have meat and bread tonight.”

She glared at him, gave a heavy
sigh of disgust, and looked away.  She had been intent on giving him the silent
treatment for the past few days so he would know how much she hated him. De
Gaul snorted softly.

“You are welcome.” His gaze moved
over her soiled clothing. “I shall also try to find you something clean and
suitable to wear.”

She forgot her plan of not
speaking to him. “You’ll not touch this dress. I will not take it off.”

“But it is torn and dirty. Surely
you would like something warmer and cleaner.”

“I do not want anything warmer or
cleaner. I want this dress to be a constant reminder of what you have done to
me. I do not know you, nor have I ever harmed you, but still, you are driven to
murder those closest to me to destroy my life. Let this dress remind you of
that, always.”

De Gaul considered her words.
“Your mother was an unfortunate casualty.”

“Is that what you call it? Then
what was Kenneth; a necessary one?”

“He was an obstacle.”

“You had Lucius kill him,” she
snarled.

“The man you call Lucius was a
fortunate happenstance. He hated your companion and was quite willing to help
us.”

Aubrielle had known that all
along, but it was still sickening to hear it. She fought off her grief, but
pieces slipped through and her anguish was apparent. “At what price?”

“Oh, there was no price, my
lady,” de Gaul said casually. “He provided his services for free.”

“I do not understand.”

“He did it for the pleasure of
it.”

It was a stab to her heart. More
anguish became apparent.  “Where is he?”

“This, I am not sure. But he did
mention paying the king a visit.”

No doubt to tell the man lies of
Kenneth, and of Kirk in general. Lucius would do such a thing to protect
himself and to find himself reinstated at some other post to finish out his
career. He was ruined at Kirk; there was no one there now to refute his lies
other than Everett, Reid and Bradley, but for the lower rank officers to speak
against their captain, true or not, would be considered treasonous. Lucius was
politically savvy and cunning, as always. He killed Kenneth and would now
retreat to London, find favor with the king, and move on to another royal post.

The very thought disgusted her.
Lucius would get away with murder.  She struggled with her anger, her tears.
“Kenneth was a strong, virtuous man with more integrity and compassion than you
can possibly comprehend. He was perfect, and you murdered him as if he meant
absolutely nothing.”

“Some must be sacrificed for a
greater good.”

“There is no greater good,” Aubrielle
exploded. “You have done all of this killing to find a holy relic. You mean to
use the Grail to destroy and destruction is never for the greater good. Do you
really think God will allow you to carry out your plans?”

“God has destroyed, when
necessary.”

“But you are not God. And you are
arrogant to assume that you can dispense retribution as He can.”

Something in de Gaul’s gaze
hardened.  “Do not speak to me of retribution. You know nothing.”

“I know that God will punish you
for what you’ve done. I pray every night that you will die a thousand painful
deaths, as my mother and Kenneth did. I hope you burn in hell.”

He lashed out, striking her
across the face. Aubrielle fell back, her hand on her throbbing cheek. She
watched de Gaul walk away, his strides long and angry. For a moment, she had
seen her death in his eyes. It did not frighten her. She realized more that she
wanted to see Lucius and de Gaul punished for what they did to Kenneth. She
knew they had written her off, a foolish woman that would soon be dead. But she
would not die so easily.

She wanted to live long enough to
see them pay.

***

It was the morning of the seventh
day after Aubrielle’s abduction.  Kenneth knew this because Grendel had told
him. Otherwise, he had no concept of time. All he knew was that today was the
day.

It began as any other day. He was
awake before dawn, listening to the little dog snore at the foot of his bed.
He’d been listening to that dog snore for days and it brought him comfort. It
reminded him of Aubrielle. Slowly, he rolled onto his side. He’d been able to
do that since yesterday and though the pain was agonizing, he was able to
manage it. He used it to toughen him. It reminded him that he was indeed alive
and that every day was seeing his strength return. Aubrielle was out there and
she needed him to come and rescue her. He could not do that lying on his back.

Sitting up was another matter,
however. Since it was apparent he was on the road to recovery, the day and
night bedside vigil had stopped. Only Argus wandered in and out, a few times a
night, to check on his patient. At dawn, the old man was asleep and Kenneth was
able to struggle to a seated position on the side of the bed. The room was
rocking and his body felt like jelly, but he was determined not to let it ruin
him. There was so much pain it seemed to come from every corner of his battered
carcass, but he knew from Argus that he only had two wounds, one to his lower
back and one in his left shoulder. Strangely, it was the wound to his shoulder
that hurt the most.  His left arm was virtually useless.

Eventually, the room stopped
swaying. He actually felt better to sit up and take the pressure off his chest
and stomach. He gingerly stretched one arm and then the other, one leg and then
the other.  His blood began to flow.  Feeling confident, he tried to stand up
and immediately realized it may not have been the best of ideas.

His legs felt like they had the
strength of a newborn colt. He stood for several minutes, determined not to sit
again, absolutely determined to walk to the wardrobe and find some clothes. He
was in the earl’s chamber and knew there were still clothes in the wardrobe, at
least enough to cover him so he could return to his quarters and retrieve his
own.

He heard thumping on the floor
and glanced down to find the dog at his feet, wagging his tail happily. Like
the crowds in the lists during a tourney, he sensed that the pup was cheering
him on. That flopping little tail was encouraging him. Foolish thought, he
knew, but he liked to think it nonetheless.  He took a couple of steps and the
dog followed. He was able to make it to the wardrobe and retrieve breeches and
a tunic. Garson had been a tall man, but hadn’t nearly Kenneth’s bulk. He had
to sit on the bed to pull on the breeches, which were too snug, but the tunic
was moderately acceptable.  By the time he stood back up again, Argus was
coming in for his morning rounds. One look at Kenneth and his eyes flew open
wide.

“Sir Kenneth!” he exclaimed.
“What are you doing?”

Kenneth was pale, but he was
moving better than he had been initially. “It is my intention to retrieve my
armor, my charger, and go after Reid and Everett.”

“You are mad!” Argus hissed. “You
are still a very sick man. If you go, you’ll only do more damage.”

“Be that as it may, I am going.”

Argus did something then that,
under normal circumstances, he would have never attempted. He grabbed Kenneth
by the arms. “You are not immortal,” he said. “You’ll do your lady no good if
you kill yourself in the attempt. You have a wound to the lower portion of your
back that, by the grace of God, missed your spine, but the healing wound is
still fragile. The wound to your shoulder is worse; it nicked a major vessel
and it was a miracle that you did not bleed to death. You must allow yourself
time to heal.”

Kenneth’s ice-blue eyes had lost
none of their intimidation as he glared at the tiny old man. “I will heal. But
the more time passes, the more Aubrielle slips from my grasp. She is alive and
I intend to find her.”

“Reid and Everett have already
gone after her. They have several days head start. They will get to her before
you can.”

“I must go. If you cannot understand
why, then I cannot explain it to you.”

“I know that you are in love with
the lady.  That is no secret. But if you kill yourself trying to save her,
everything will have been for naught. Your legacy, your memory, will seep into
this earth to be forever forgotten and Lady Aubrielle’s fate will be consigned
to God. Would you waste so easily what has been given to you?”

For the first time since Argus
had known him, Kenneth’s rock-hard gaze softened. There was a vulnerability
that he had never seen before.

“I am not attempting to waste
anything, nor am I ungrateful for the blessing God has seen fit to give me. But
I believe the fact that I did not die from my wounds to be a sign.  I am living
for a reason, and that reason is to save Aubrielle.” A pained expression
crossed his usually stoic face. “That irrational, headstrong woman means the
world to me. I must go.”

There he stood, with all of his
frail human characteristics.  The mighty Kenneth was finally showing what he
was made of and Argus knew there would be no discouraging him. “Then I shall go
as well. You may have need of me.”

Kenneth didn’t argue with him.
He’d seen Argus in battle and the old man was as strong as the rest of them.
Stiffly, he moved for the door with the physic at his side, making sure he
didn’t injure himself. The little dog brought up the rear.