The Knight and the Seer (2 page)

“Aye.” Gwenellen started to sit up, but when she saw the sky spinning in dizzying circles overhead, she fell back against the fragrant flowers and allowed her mother to ply her gifts of healing. “One minute I was riding Starlight past a bank of clouds…” She looked over to see her winged horse standing nearby, calmly nibbling grass. “…and the next I was tumbling through space.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you were trying to beat Jeremy in a race again, would it?”

Gwenellen saw the little troll running to keep up with the brisk strides of her grandmother, Wilona, who wore a look of concern as she headed across the meadow toward them.

“Are you hurt, lass?” Wilona tossed long silver hair back from her face and began to probe Gwenellen’s wounds. “Jeremy said you fell from Starlight’s back in midair.”

“She was trying out a new spell that would let her fly.” The troll’s voice was a nervous, high-pitched croak. “It’s worked before. She was certain it would work again.”

“Certain. You’re always so certain.” There was something new in Nola’s tone. Not just accusing, but something more, rising up to grab her by the throat. Terror? Despair? She turned back to her youngest daughter. “You may be certain of this. One of these times those failed spells will get you into serious trouble.”

As always, Wilona tried to smooth things over between her daughter and granddaughter. “Well, it seems there’s been no harm done. I see nothing more than a few simple cuts and bruises.”

“You see, Mum?” Gwenellen sat up carefully and waited for the world to settle.

“You could have been killed.” Nola got to her feet and shook down her skirts. “When will you learn that you can’t keep taking these foolish risks without paying a price?” She turned to the troll. “Jeremy, you may as well unsaddle Starlight. Gwenellen will remain on the ground for the rest of the day.”

Jeremy shot his friend a sympathetic wink as he turned away to see to the horses.

When Nola stalked away Gwenellen turned to Wilona. “Mum was furious.”

“She worries over you.”

“Oh, Gram. Why do I keep making all these foolish blunders?”

“It’s called growing up, my darling.” The older woman ran a hand over the silken curls that were now a mass of tangles. Such glorious golden hair, in rich contrast to those honey-brown eyes. Her grandmother was quite certain Gwenellen didn’t have the faintest idea that she was a stunning beauty. How could she? There were no mirrors, except the smooth surface of the Enchanted Loch. And no one here in the Mystical Kingdom to reflect back her beauty.

“I’m never going to be grown up. Look at me. I’m ten and eight, and still can’t heal wounds like Allegra, or cast spells like Kylia.”

“You have your own special gifts, Gwenellen.”

“What gifts? Oh. You mean talking with my father. But what good is that?”

“What good? I’ll tell you. In that other world…”

“I don’t care about that other world. Here, my spells fail more often than they succeed. I can’t tame the weather.” She gave her head a shake, sending fair curls dancing. “I can’t even tame my hair.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m never going to be like you and Mum and Allegra and Kylia.”

“That’s true, my darling.” Wilona got to her feet and drew her granddaughter up before gathering her close. “You’ll never be like anyone but yourself. And that’s exactly as it should be.” She framed the pretty, heart-shaped face with her gnarled hands. “Listen to me, Gwenellen. Life is a journey. At times it’s a grand adventure. At other times it can prove to be a bit of a challenge.”

“Mine seems to be all challenge,” Gwenellen muttered with a pout.

“Pay it no mind. What we see as mistakes are simply lessons we must learn as we travel through this world.”

“Why then do I seem to have so many more lessons to learn than my sisters?”

Wilona smiled. “I haven’t the answer to that, my darling. But this I know. You’re very special to me. And one day you’ll prove your value, not only to yourself, but to someone who will mean more to you than any you have known so far.”

Gwenellen kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “I know you mean to comfort me, Gram, by suggesting that I will one day have a man who loves me the way Merrick MacAndrew loves Allegra, and Grant MacCallum loves Kylia. But I have no interest in snagging a mortal man who will carry me off to his Highland fortress, so I may play mistress to his castle while he marches off to battle. I much prefer my life here in the Mystical Kingdom with you, Mum, Jeremy and Bessie.”

“You say that now because you haven’t yet met the man who will claim your heart.”

“My heart is not to be bargained for.” Gwenellen stepped back, feeling the return of her impish good nature. “I would, however, be very happy if I could perfect one good spell that would work every time I attempted it.”

“Name one, my darling.”

She thought a moment. “A spell that would let me fly.”

“What need have you of flying, when you have Starlight to carry you wherever you choose?”

“Starlight can only carry me to the heavens and back. You and Mum can travel anywhere with but a thought.”

Wilona laughed. “My darling, it’s taken us a lifetime to learn to travel as we do. Be patient. In time it will come to you. In fact, it will probably happen when you least expect it. Now.” She turned away. “I promised Bessie I’d make up a batch of biscuits to go with her stew.”

She started away, then paused and turned. “I believe it would greatly please your mother if you and Jeremy would bring home some berries from the forest for our dessert.”

Gwenellen nodded. “You mean, it would go a long way toward making amends?”

Wilona smiled. “Aye. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Very well.” Gwenellen turned away. “Tell Bessie to whip some clotted cream to go with the berries.”

“Here, Jeremy.” Gwenellen handed the little troll a bucket and pointed to a row of bushes heavy with roseberries. Sweet as cherries, tart as raspberries, luscious as strawberries, without seeds or pits, they were a special treat that grew only in the Mystical Kingdom. “You get those in the lower branches and I’ll pick the ones higher up.”

They picked for several minutes in silence. Finally over a mouthful of berries Jeremy asked, “Are you certain you’re all right, Gwenellen?”

“I’m fine. It was only my pride that was hurt.”

“You’re as fine and clever a witch as your sisters. You’re just too ambitious for your own good. You ought to accept the gifts you have, and not worry about the others.”

“Now you sound like Gram.” Laughing, Gwenellen got to her feet and began to pick once more. “She says I can talk to the dead. That may be a fine gift, except that there are no dead here in our kingdom.” She stood on tiptoe to reach a cluster of perfect berries. “Gram says I must keep on trying to find my other gifts, because each failure is simply another lesson to be learned.”

“If that’s so, you should be just about perfect by now.”

“Aye.” As she enjoyed his joke, Gwenellen’s laughter rang on the air, as clear as a bell. Then she stood back, considering. “Maybe I am trying too hard. Perhaps the answer is to just relax a bit more, and play with a variety of spells, without regard to the outcome.”

“Why not?” The little troll shrugged. “It’s worth a try. Want to start with something simple now?”

Gwenellen looked around. Spying the juiciest berries at the very top of the bushes, she smiled. “I believe I’ll try that flying spell again. Only this time if it fails, I won’t have so far to fall.”

Slipping the handle of the bucket over her wrist, she extended her arms and closed her eyes as she began to chant the ancient words. With each phrase the air grew softer, warmer. The birds and insects fell silent as clouds gathered overhead.

She could feel the sudden rush of air, billowing her skirts about her ankles as she became airborne. Oh, it was just the nicest feeling in the world when a spell went the way it ought.

She opened her eyes, determined to pick the berries at the top of the bushes. To her horror she discovered that she was so high in the air, the Mystical Kingdom was little more than a dot on the landscape far below.

“Oh, no. This will never do.” She closed her eyes and repeated the chant, reversing the words in the hope that it would take her back to the beginning. But when she opened her eyes she saw fields and forests, mountains and rivers, moving below her in a blur of dizzying movement that had her feeling more than a little light-headed.

Where had she gone wrong? She went over the chant in her mind, hoping to speak the words that would break this spell.

Home. She needed to get back home.

To keep from being sick she closed her eyes and concentrated all her energy on her home, her family. She visualized each of them in her mind. Mum, at her loom, weaving the beautiful cloth that was unlike any seen by mortals. So soft, so fine, it could have been spun by angels. Gram, taking perfectly-browned biscuits from the hearth, and slathering them with freshly-churned butter, and honey fresh from the comb. Old Bessie, a soiled apron tied around her ample middle, wooden spoon in hand, stirring the most fragrant stew in her blackened kettle. And Jeremy, probably running as fast as his little legs could carry him back to their cottage, to relay news of her latest blunder.

Oh dear, she thought. Now they would all know that she had once again failed.

Perhaps, if she concentrated very hard, she could make it back before Mum had time to worry.

As if by magic she could feel herself descending. With a smile she opened her eyes just in time to see the ground coming up toward her. This time, instead of crashing into a meadow of heather, she drifted to earth and landed without mishap.

“Well, that’s better.” She looked around for Jeremy.

But instead of the roseberry bushes, she found herself standing amid the smoldering rubble inside some sort of fortress. The space around her was littered with charred timbers and bits and pieces of furniture and tapestries.

The stench of smoke and death was all around her, filling her lungs until she found herself coughing and retching. When the fit of coughing passed, she straightened. Hearing a footfall she turned.

And found herself looking into the eyes of a man whose features were twisted into a mask of fury.

In his hand was a sword which he lifted until it was pointed directly at her heart.

“So. They left one of their number behind.” His voice was a low rumble of anger. “Prepare to die, woman.”

Chapter Two

G
wenellen struggled to think of a spell. Any spell that might freeze this stranger before he could run her through. But her mind went completely blank. All she could think to do was hold her hands out in front of her, as though they could somehow stop the path of a sword that was nearly as big as she.

He stared in suspicion at the bucket on her arm. “What weapons are you hiding in there?”

“Hi…?” She swallowed and tried again. “Hiding? I hide nothing, sir. I was out picking berries.”

“Here?” He swung a hand to indicate the charred rubble. “You expect me to believe you were picking berries and didn’t realize you’d wandered into my family fortress?”

“This is…yours?”

He nodded, eyes narrowed on her. “If you lived in the village, you would know of this place, for I am Andrew Ross, and this castle is known as Ross Abbey. My ancestors have been here for hundreds of years.” When he saw no flicker of recognition in her eyes he hissed out a breath of impatience. “Tell me quickly who you are and what you do here.”

“My name is Gwenellen, of the clan Drummond. My home is in a land known as the Mystical Kingdom.”

That had him taking a step back. “I’ve heard of such a place. All Highlanders have heard the tale. Of the mortal, Kenneth Drummond, who married a witch, then gave his life to save hers. Of the dragon that guards the Enchanted Loch. Of the Forest of Darkness that lies between it and the rest of the Highlands. But it is no more than a myth.”

“If it be a myth, than I am one, as well.” When she lowered her bucket to show him the berries inside, he seemed unconvinced. She reached out a hand to touch his arm. “I assure you, sir, like these berries, I am real.”

All too real, he thought, as he was forced to absorb a strange rush of heat that nearly seared his flesh. He pulled away as though burned and looked down to see if she’d left a mark on him. Though his skin was without blemish, he could still feel the tingling all the way to his fingertips. “How do you come to be here?”

She shook her head. “I know not. One moment I was picking berries, the next I was standing here before you, as you now see me.”

“Perhaps you’ve been bewitched. Have you brought witchcraft to this place?”

She paused. “In your land it is called witchcraft. In my kingdom we are simply practicing the gifts of the ancient ones. My sisters, my mother and my grandmother have many gifts.”

Again she saw his look of disbelief. “What of you, woman? What are your gifts?”

“I fear I’m not much good at the art of mysticism. But I’m very good at falling from the sky. And getting lost, it seems.” She started to laugh, then thought better of it when she saw his frown. “I have no idea what my gifts might be, nor why I’m here.”

“Nor do I.” He abruptly turned away and stared at the smoldering ruins of his home. “Leave me. For I have graves to dig and loved ones to bury.”

“I could help.”

“I doubt one small female could be of much help. Unless you can conjure my enemy and have him kneel before me to face my sword, for he will surely pay for destroying everything I hold dear. Leave me now.” He strode away, leaving her standing alone in the smoke and ashes.

She watched as he began tossing aside charred timbers, unmindful of the burns he was forced to endure to his hands. Like a madman he pawed through the ruins. Suddenly he dropped to his knees and lifted the body of a man whose hand was still clutching a sword.

“Oh, Father.” His voice was a low rasp of pain mingled with fury. “How has it all come to this? I was such a fool. If only I’d stayed.”

“Nay.”
The word was little more than a whisper on the wind. But Gwenellen heard it as clearly as though she had her ear pressed to the old man’s lips.
“Ye mustn’t blame ye’rself. I was the fool. Such a fool.”