Lord of the Blade (12 page)

"I can't tell you now, lad. But as your
training progresses I will answer any questions you may have."

Corbett looked up at the tall winding
staircase and thought of the songs the bards sang about the baron's
wife behind her back. Listening to them alone was enough to make
him want to turn and leave. He felt as if something were about to
happen and he prayed not to be a part of it, yet he knew he had no
choice. He turned back to the old sorcerer and took a deep
breath.

"Is this really necessary?"

Orrick looked at him with piercing eyes that
bore into his very soul. This was probably the most important thing
the sorcerer would ever ask him to do.

"'Tis necessary for the babe's sake. The
amulet will protect the first born of the baron until the day the
child takes the vows of marriage. I've seen in my gazing crystal
that the child will be in great danger up until then. Its safety
depends on you now."

That was the last thing Corbett wanted to
hear him say. He didn't want anything to do with the baroness or
her child. But he would, to keep a baby from danger.

"Danger? From whom?"

Orrick looked solemnly down to Corbett and
then up toward the screaming which had increased. "Sometimes the
danger lies within ourselves," he said. "We need to know ourselves
in order to know truth. Listen to your heart, child. A child's
heart is pure and not muddled and blackened by power or coin. Know
yourself and you shall never experience the danger of which I
speak."

Corbett wished the old man wouldn't talk in
riddles. He didn't understand a word he said and was reluctant to
ask again. This was just probably part of the training. Orrick
reached down and grabbed Corbett's fingers, closing them over the
mysterious piece. He then turned him back toward the tower
staircase and gave him a gentle push.

"Go," he instructed. "Your destiny
awaits."

"My destiny?" Corbett asked aloud as he
moved slowly up the stairs. Lightning flashed through the turret's
lone arrow slit
window, followed by a crash of thunder,
echoing off the walls. Another flash, another crash, another scream
and the sound of ice pelting against the outside walls. A cold
breeze sent shivers through him, yet the heat from the amulet
burned his palm. Opening his grip he watched as the flickering
firelight from a mounted torch jumped upon the amulet and caused
the dragon to come to life.

Dragons.

Fire.

Magic.

Corbett couldn't help but think of the
rumors of how the baroness could turn a true warrior into nothing
more than a mouse. She had a way of making men do what she wanted,
taking Torquey Castle into her own hands, making the baron seem
less than worthy of his title. No woman should have such power over
a man. Even at his young age he already knew this. He would never
let a woman do to him what the baroness had done to the baron.
Corbett looked straight ahead as he bravely climbed the steps of
fate.

Was he a warrior?

Or was he a mouse?

That's what his father would have asked him
if he were there. Unfortunately, he was feeling like a mouse at the
moment, but deep inside he wanted nothing more than to be a great
warrior like his father, Evan Blake.

He climbed two more steps and found
himself wondering if the baroness could
shapeshift like
Orrick could, or if her turning men into mice was just a figure of
speech. After all, he was about to venture into her chamber and had
no promise he would leave the room in his original form. He had to
know the answer before he dared go further.

"Orrick, can ...” The landing was empty.
Orrick was gone.

"Orrick?" His voice came out as a startled
whisper. "Are you there?"

He scanned the surroundings, firelight
flickering wildly, a strong breeze blowing in from the glassless
window. The only sound was that of a wailing hound from somewhere
down the hall. Strangely enough, even the sounds of the baroness
giving birth had ceased. Corbett could feel a shadow hanging
densely over the castle and knew once he delivered the amulet his
life would never again be the same. A small scratching noise
brought Corbett's attention to the far wall of the tower. There on
the floor, the back end of a large rat could be seen escaping into
a hole in the crumbled stone.

"Orrick? Is that you?"

He didn't really expect an answer, but
asked anyway. He'd never really seen the
sorcerer
shapeshift, but believed the old man when he said he could. He
bolted up the stairs, eager to be done with his assignment and find
Orrick once again.

Light peeked out from the partially open
door at the top of the staircase, and he heard voices from within.
The amulet lay hot inside his closed fist, the dragon no doubt
breathing its fire against his palm. It was then he heard the soft
whimpers of a newborn babe, a slap and the loud cries that came
with it.

He knew what he had to do but couldn't help
but feel he was walking straight into the dragon's lair. He raised
his fist to the massive wooden door, feeling the gnarled wood under
his knuckles as he softly knocked. The door shifted open a bit but
still no one acknowledged his presence.

He could see the baroness lying on a large
bed, her black hair pulled back taut enough that her eyes seemed
mere slits in her bony face. Sweat dripped from her brow and her
bedclothes were stained from blood. In her arms lay an infant,
squalling and writhing as if trying to escape her grip. Corbett
stepped into the room and she screamed.

Corbett jumped to his feet at the sound of
her scream. The baroness’s scream had turned into Devon’s scream.
His reoccurring nightmare of Devon screaming, reaching out and
begging for his help. Where was she? He had to help her. That
scream! That horrible, bloodcurdling scream.

His chest frantically tried to catch the air
his lungs lacked. He picked up his sword, ready to attack anyone
who would dare hurt this beautiful, fragile woman.

As the sweat clung to him, he heard the
piercing scream again, but up in the sky. And through the dim sun's
rays through the early morning fog, he saw his raven flying back
and forth calling him, warning him, with its piercing call.

"Get up!" he shouted to the others, as he
hurriedly pulled on his boots and strapped on his sword. "Something
is wrong."

He ran into his tent and grabbed a sleeping
Devon, pulling her to her feet.

“What is it?” she asked startle. “What’s
wrong?”

“I believe we’re under attack,” he told her,
pulling her out of the tent. One of his man approached with a
saddled horse, and he lifted Devon and placed her atop.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“Take her back to the castle to safety,” he
instructed the man. “Do not turn around or stop no matter what
happens. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord,” he said, mounting the horse behind Devon.

“Go!” Corbett slapped the horse on the rear
and it took off at break-neck speed. The fear he saw in Devon’s
eyes as she left, only made him wish he could be the one to take
her to safety. His raven screeched from a branch and Corbett gave
it an order as well. “Follow them,” he commanded. “Make sure to
distract anyone who would want to harm her.” The raven did as
instructed, and Corbett quickly mounted his own horse, though it
hadn’t a saddle.

“Let’s go,” he shouted to his men, causing
them to emerge half-dressed from their tents, running in all
directions.

He clutched the reins in one hand, sword
drawn in the other, and quickly pivoted toward the direction of
thundering hooves now coming closer through the forest. As the fog
thinned, Corbett discovered a large party of hooded men on
horseback, swords raised, quickly approaching his camp. Delwynn was
at his side instantly, saddle in his hand.

"What is it my lord I brought your
stallion's saddle?" He spoke so fast, it all came out as one
sentence.

"We are under attack," he shouted, charging
his horse through the forest toward the mysterious riders.

Metal clashed against metal as Corbett
managed to hold off several of the attackers hoping to bide time
for his men to mount their steeds. More hooded men appeared from
nowhere and charged their horses toward the camp.

"Nay!" shouted Corbett, knowing his men were
still feeling the affects of last night's wine. Without time to
mount their steeds, they would never have a chance. Delwynn came
riding toward him from the camp, spear in his hand.

“Behind you, my lord,” he cried.

Fighting off two attackers at once, Corbett
moved aside as Delwynn’s spear hurled through the air, piercing the
heart of another attacker. The man fell to the ground and was
trampled by his own horse. Corbett managed to slay the two men he
dueled, and rode quickly toward Delwynn, as his squire was now
unarmed.

Another hooded attacker, this time of a
larger size, swung his sword toward Delwynn but the boy managed to
quickly get out of the way. Once more the attacker lunged toward
him, but this time Corbett shouted a distraction.

“Stop!" he screamed, taking the man’s
attention. Dark shadows from the large hood covered the attacker's
face, but Corbett was sure his expression must have been one of
revenge. The attacker raised his sword but Corbett was much faster,
and disarmed him along with severing several of his fingers. The
man screamed in pain and rushed through the forest.

Corbett turned to meet his next foe. He
yanked his stallion's reins sharply to turn, and the horse reared
in fear, frantically ripping its hooves through the air. Corbett
slipped down the horse’s back, not having a saddle to secure him. A
glancing blow unseated him completely and he fell to the ground,
his sword thrown from his grip. He rolled to dodge a deadly hoof.
His weapon lay several arms lengths away, out of immediate reach.
From his side vision he saw Delwynn charging back toward camp with
several armed attackers in tow, trying to distract them from his
dismounted lord.

An attacker on horseback charged forward,
having retrieved Delwynn’s spear, and now aimed it toward Corbett.
With a loud war cry, he brought back his arm, ready to thrust the
spear through Corbett's heart. Corbett dived for his sword. Raising
it to meet his fate, surprise overtook him when the attacker arched
his back and dropped the spear before falling to the ground. The
cause of his demise was an arrow embedded in his back.

Corbett scanned the forest looking for the
man who had just saved his life. There, in a small clearing,
Malcomn stepped forward, bow in hand. Corbett acknowledged him with
a quick nod of his head, then jumped back onto his horse.

More attackers charged through the forest,
and things didn't look favorable for Corbett or his men. Their
small hunting party was no challenge to a small army.

Then thankfully, as if their prayers were
answered, the sound of a horn cut the air. Corbett spied the banner
of the baron’s brother from Cornwall as his soldiers came to his
aid. The attackers saw they were now outnumbered and disappeared
into the forest.

Chapter 9

Devon paced the floor of the baron's room,
wringing her hands, wondering if Corbett was still alive. There was
still no news of the hunting party, and her stomach soured at the
thought they may all be dead. Corbett had seen to her safety, and
for that she was grateful. Would that she could only do the same
for him.

It had been hours since her arrival back at
the castle. The baroness had been frantic when she’d heard her son
was in the midst of an attack, and sent out a group of soldiers
immediately to try to find them. But Devon was sure by the time
they’d reach Corbett and his hunting party ’twould be too late.

Helplessness engulfed her, the waiting
driving her mad. The baron still slept, and she’d been warned by
the baroness not to wake him, so she had not even that to distract
her mind. Brother Ruford had told her the ailing man would not live
to see another day. In despair, she prayed for his life as well as
Corbett’s.

She watched the new maidservant cowering in
the shadows, so frightened of the baroness, she had hid in the
wardrobe earlier. The woman was short and plump and at least ten
years Devon’s senior, though her fears made her seem much younger.
Devon’s mind had been too preoccupied to even approach her, but she
decided it may be good for both of them.

“I am Devon. What is your name?” Devon
smiled, hoping to relax the woman.

“I am Mercia.” Tension crossed her face.
“Was it horrible?” she asked. “The attack?”

“It truly was.” Devon spoke in whispers so
she wouldn’t wake the baron. “I didn’t really see anything until I
was riding away. Then I saw the hooded men with battle axes and
maces approaching Lord Corbett and his men. I escaped because Lord
Corbett saw to my safety.”

“So he risked his life to save you,” she
said.

Devon stopped to think about that comment.
Mercia was right. Corbett risked his own life and those of his men
to take the time to send Devon out of harm’s way. She wanted to
converse with Mercia further, but the woman’s own uneasiness only
added to her own. The baron needed no attending at the moment, so
she led Mercia toward the wardrobe, planning on introducing her to
Leahla. She rapped three times upon the door to the adjoining room,
and Leahla poked her head out.

“Devon!” She rushed forward and hugged her.
“I feared for your safety, as well as the safety of Lord
Malcomn.”

“I am fine,” she reassured Leahla, breaking
from her embrace. “But I know naught of how Lord Malcomn
fares.”

She introduced the two women, then suggested
they talk in Lord Malcomn’s chamber so as not to wake the baron.
Once they were gone, she hurried to the man’s side, sitting beside
him, running a damp cloth over his forehead and doing all she could
to make him comfortable. Her body felt the strain of the day, and
she laid her head upon the man’s chest, assuring herself he still
took breath.