Part XII

© Copyright 2005 by Elizabeth Delayne

From the distance, over the chaos and war, came the shrill of trumpets. Sara pointed across the horror of battle, drawing Ashton's attention. "Galladin."

Across from the king's forest the bright colors of Galadin's banners exited from between the trees. Sara watched in fear, and for a moment she hesitated, uncertain. The numbers seemed to pour from the forest edge. Friend or foe? Knights on steeds to aid in battle for Fowler or Bilingdor?

Ashton grabbed her hand just as water splashed to their rear. Sara turned and found the point of a sword held towards her neck. Suddenly, all was still.

Slowly her gaze passed upward, passed the imposing steed, up over the armor of the man that had killed the Black Knight. His armor was covered in the dust of battle. His eyes dark and shrouded, sunken with age and slightly crazed.

The Dark Dragon.

She shivered as the memory passed. She too remembered that dark night so long ago when he had first swept through the kingdom. It had haunted the edges of her memory. Fowler, who had killed, who had slain two loving people in the presence of their daughter.

He slowly led his steed from the water, his eyes on hers as he moved to dry ground. She held his gaze and thought of the words on the plaque that Percy had shown her.

May the God of Peace ...

Was that it? Was that all she could remember?

May the God of Peace ...

His laugh was more of a cackle. "You've come such a long way my dear, to loose both body and soul."

Then, like a strike of lightening, sword clashed against sword. Ashton pulled Sara back. They turned, looked up at the proud knight who had taken on the dragon. Arthur, Sara realized, as she watched him face his enemy. Their swords met, again and again, clashing one against the other in rage. Their horses moved, controlled and deliberate.

"We must go—" Ashton warned, drawing her along the lake's edge. Sara looked back, saw the sword fly from Arthur's hand.



Percy glanced toward the lake, watched as Arthur faced Fowler—saw Sara in their shadow. He grabbed a horse, and swung himself up, just as the sword flew from Arthur's hand.

Sara dove in after it.

He heard the bellow, realized it was his own. Not now. Not Sara.

Fowler lunged in Arthur's direction. Arthur evaded. The battle moved into the lake. Water danced around them as their horses pranced. Water was dangerous for a knight. He could sink under the weight of his armor.

They were perilously close to Sara, he realized. His heart beating with fear, Percy dug his heels into the horse's side, and pressed further, harder. He'd wasted time with her, he realized, letting his anger dampen her already fragile spirit. He had to get her to safety.

He came upon the lake as Sara rose, the water glistening from her in the stark sunlight, steaming from her as if she were one with the lake. She held the sword aloft.

Like something out of a legend.

He led his horse into the water and reaching Sara, seized the sword. He tugged at the reins, spotted Arthur. It took some doing to reach him, the two knights maneuvered quickly through the water. Arthur saw him then, maneuvered his horse so that for a moment they were side by side. Percy passed the sword on a prayer. For a moment Knight and noble's eyes met, connected and lifted a joined prayer toward heaven. Palm to palm their hands met and the sword was delivered.

Arthur then wheeled on Fowler.

Percy pivoted his horse and grabbed for Sara with his good arm. He pulled her into the horse with him. The water on her was like ice. It soaked into his garments, soothing his body, heated from battle. He could feel her shivers as he rode from the water and held out a hand toward Ashton.

But even as she screamed he realized it was too late. Holding Sara, he rolled even as the horse fell. He looked up, spotted the soldier and unsheathed his own sword.

"Run!" he ordered as he sprang to his feet. He could only pray she would obey.



Still astride his horse, Alex spotted the flags of Galladin. He looked across the field, spotted Brock. He had moved from the warring center to the outer edges. He, too had noticed the flags. Brock at his side, they raced through the battle, looking for the leader—knowing the worst.

Alex spotted the knight in the aged armor. Long, white hair streamed from the helmet. His mail was woven into a pattern worn only by the patriarchs of the King's Chamber. Away from the battle, he waited on the edges of the forest. Waited and watched.

"Onecie."

The old man turned and lifted the shield of his helmet when Alex drew near.

"My son—"

"The King?" The question came out breathless for Alex knew whom Onecie had been guarding.

For a moment, Onecie's eyes roamed over the battle. He was silent, taking in the death that already littered the fields. The passion of the fight was still roaring, barbarian against defender.

"The king," Onecie said at last, "is at rest."

"Then Fowler has won."

"Never ... a time has ended, but the Dark Dragon must not prevail. We will not let him prevail." Onecie's eyes, made old with hard-earned wisdom, finally met Alex's eyes. "The royal family is dead. His children, his wife. His sister and her son. But there are others."

Alex thought of the king's three daughters and his sons. Wealthy and spoiled or not, they had still been lives, young and free. He fought back the abhorrence. It would only blind him in battle.

"It was planned. A planned massacre. The Dark Dragon had allies close to the king, his family. They swept toward him before our eyes. By the time I was at his side, he had already passed." Onecie looked to his hands, now gloved in metal. "Those that betrayed will never live to see the consequences of their betrayal. Not this time."

"Then William was right," Brock murmured.

A knight rode up along side Onecie, wearing the colors of Galladin. Brock raised his hand in salute, knight to lord. Sir Monty, Alex realized, lord of Galladin. He had served valiantly in the last crusade and was regarded in high esteem by all of the knights of the king's chamber.

Sir Monty lifted his shield, unveiling his eyes. The lines of age and worry edged from the creases, but they were sharp and demanded truth.

"You've seen my son? William?" he asked of Brock.

Alex looked over as Brock lifted the shield of his helmet. "I'm at your mercy, my lord. He ...."

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, my lord. I'm sorry."

The old man bowed his head and for a moment he seemed weak and tired. When he lifted his eyes, the grief was masked under a look of defiance.

"Dead," he repeated, "along with his plans to be king. Do not regret his death, but his life, wasted." He looked to Onecie, then to Alex. "He would have had to go through me to seize the throne and he knew it. He'd lost a long time ago."

Onecie dropped his chin with a single nod. "That he did."

Sir Monty drew in a weary breath. "And Arthur?"

"Valiant and strong. He has led in battle."

"There—" Onecie pointed toward the lake. "He faces the Dark Dragon."

Sir Monty lifted his reigns, and turned his horse. "Fowler. It's not his battle to face alone."



"This way," Ashton said and pulled Sara along the outer edge of the castle wall. How many times had she walked the castle wall with Lila, listening to the ripple of the lake, thinking peaceful, frivolous thoughts?

She looked back, saw the blur, the clash of swords. Knights on horses, men on their feet, fast an brutal warriors meeting one against another. Her father, her brothers would be out there, somewhere. For a moment she scanned the warriors, but they were so far away.

And where was Brock?

Be with them. Protect them.

"I don't think I can make it."

"You will make it," Ashton vowed even as Sara seemed to melt against the castle wall, sliding down to the ground. They'd lost their satchels not long after leaving the woods. They had no blankets, nothing that would add warmth beyond her already chilled hands.

"Sara," Ashton knelt down before Sara and held both of her hands between her own. "We're almost there. We must hurry."

"I can't."

"Don't loose hope. Not now. We're so close. With only a little strength, we'll be inside. We'll see Lila. She'll make sure you get warm."

"Lila was hurt because of me. And Percy ..." She sounded so weak, so frail ... so lost. Her eyes looked off toward the battle, but Percy could no longer be seen. She was no longer the same person who dove into the lake after a sword. It was as if she were escaping, from the cold, from the hurt, from the fear.

No, Ashton thought. They would not have come this way for them to loose now. Not now.

"Lila was taken because of William. Percy saved you to give you a chance," Ashton reminded her firmly. "And you were hurt because of William. If we don't make it into the castle, then William has won. Don't let him defeat you. He shall not follow you from his grave."

Sara stared at Ashton and then nodded, a weak, barely perceptible nod. Together they struggled to their feet.

"Let's go."



Riding closer to the dark dragon, Alex saw that Percy was in an exchange of his own. He was injured, and weak, bleeding from his left arm. Alex rode near and with one fatal swoop, the exchange came to an end.

He slid quickly off his horse, casting a fleeting glance to the exchange between Fowler and his foes. It was no longer the old against the young, but now Fowler squared off against his true adversaries. Onecie and Sir Monty—neither yet weary from battle. They faced off, the air thick as if with the beating of a drum.

Arthur, a knight of honor, had stepped back. This was no longer his fight.

Alex turned his focus on Percy. There was pain in his friend's eyes, weariness and an age that had not been there before. The cut on his arm was deep, bleeding badly. He held it to his chest with his other. His sword trembled then fell to the ground.

For a moment, he tried to smile—but it failed.

"I've done it," Percy said and winced at the pain. "I got myself into a battle I couldn't get myself out of." He drew in a deep, raged breath, more hollow than strong.

"You've done splendidly."

Beads of sweat lined Percy's forehead, his hand hung limp. He was pale and somewhat confused, disoriented. Weak—Alex had never known Percy to be weak.

"We've got to get you inside the castle walls."

Percy nodded and let Alex help him onto Bartholomew. "Sara—"

"They headed around the castle. They should be inside by now."

"Safe."

"Yes—" Alex said and watched as Percy dropped forward, passed out.

At least, Alex thought, his friend was no longer in pain.

Suddenly Brock joined him. He pointed toward the castle walls at the figure that rounded the edge. Clothed in a dark cloak, she stood out against the white stone.

And even from afar, Alex could see the blond hair.



"Lila!"

Lila turned and saw her friends. Ashton, tired; her dress and skin streaked with mud, the hem frayed beyond repair.

And Sara, her long blond hair draping around her face, tangled and mused.

But they were alive. Alive and safe—having somehow slipped in during the midst of battle.

Lila laughed, tears running down her cheeks as she rushed to them. She didn't know whom to embrace first, so she reached for them both. "What happened to you—you both look a fright," she asked as she held on tight.

Ashton chuckled, though it sounded hollow and served as evidence to her tears. "You don't want to know."

No—not now, not when the weariness and fright was so close. And Sara was cold. Her dress was soaking wet. She shivered, nonstop.

Lila leaned back, took her friend's cold hand. "We have to get you warm. Sara—"

Sara's eyes, not long ago a dancing blue, were weary and afraid—dry—and seemingly so lost. William had damaged her, Lila realized, and the journey, the battle, was deep inside—not only outside the castle walls.

Reaching out, she took Sara's face in both of her hands. "My darling friend. You are welcome here. Do not be afraid."

Sara closed her eyes, "You were hurt because of me."

Lila glanced over at Ashton. "Ney, my Sara. I am alive and home. And so are you. You may always call Castle Billingdor your home."

Then Lila turned to Ashton and, after only a moment, read the sorrow within.

"You've seen my uncle."

"Lila ..."



They leaned on each other, buried in their greif. Lila didn't weep, not yet. She did not wail. She just closed her eyes and held onto Ashton. Together they stood, almost motionless, almost one, and absorbed such a great loss.

They'd loved him, Sara thought. Had she ever loved another so much?

She did not belong here. Not in this castle of reputation so stout. She'd betrayed her friend, drawing her into danger. She'd betrayed the very ideals this castle rested upon.

Love and family and honor.

Turning, she and began to walk, right down the hall and into the path of a woman with golden hair. She held out a sword, pointed it at Sara's heart.

"Come with me."

Sara stared at her. She had not the energy to struggle. The woman grabbed her arm and drew her back into the Great Hall where Lila and Ashton had just begun to follow after her.

Run! she wanted to scream. Don't pause because of me. Not because of me.

"You escaped, only to meet your end within the midst of battle," said the golden haired woman to Lila, still holding the sword toward Sara.

Lila looked first at Sara then turned her eyes on the woman. "Catherine, this is between you and me. Let Sara go."

For a moment Catherine considered, then released her. "Fine, then. Have you considered my words?"

"No—I haven't had the time."

"You believe not."

"That I am your sister? That I was taken from your father and given to the people at Arlington? How could I? They were my parents."

"No. The king seperated us. We were but little children."

"There was a boy at Arlington. He had not much strength. He died." This came from Sara.

Catherine spun around, the point of her sword angled toward Sara. "Liar!"

"No, I remember. There was a boy at Arlington. Not a girl, but a boy. He was brought there and he was ill. He was too young to be Lila."

"They traded their dead son for my sister."

"Lila isn't your sister. She can't be. If it were true, I wouldn't have grown up with her. Don't you see?"

"You all lie! You all have lived in lies!"

"No—" Lila said, and carefully stepped forward. "I do remember. There was a young boy brought to Arlington. My mother and father tried to nurse him, to care for him, but he was weak. I really never saw him—not for long. Mother and father bided their time with the boy and sent for ... Sara. She was there at the castle with me."

The memory flashed in Sara's mind—of Fowler, of the fear, of the long hours holding onto Lila until the servants had arrived to whisk her home.

"You were taken to Galladin," Sara realized. "You were the girl in the portrait with William."

"Hold old were you when you arrived at Galladin, Catherine? Do you not remember life before? We are not so far apart in age."

Looking from Sara to Lila, Catherine shifted her sword. "My father warned me you would not believe. My role was not to convince you, though I thought I could save you. My role was to destroy you. To end the house of Billingdor forever."

She started to charge, but Sara grabbed at her arm. Weakened, Catherine only thrust her aside. Sara tumbled to the ground and looked up in time to see an armor plated hand grasp onto Catherine's wrist. She shrieked and the sword clattered to the ground.

"It is over," Alex said, looking toward Lila. "Tis really over."

"We will still win. My father will triumph."

"Your father is dead."

"He wasn't the only one to rule. William—"

She must have seen the truth in his eyes, she must have believed it, because she let out a mournful sob. "Not William. Not my William!"

As Alex turned the weeping Catherine over to the castle gaurds, Lila and Ashton rushed over and knelt at Sara's side.

"Are you injured?"

"No—just fatigued." Someone finally brought her a blanket and draped it over her shoulders. Lila tugged it around and covered her legs with another.

"You remembered, that night at the castle, the boy. I had forgotten. I had forgotten that you were with me. That we were force to separate days later. How did you remember that?"

"I suppose the more curious answer was why you didn't. I suppose it was all tied into that dark night so long ago."

"Yes."

"Your mother and father—they would be proud of you. They would love your Alex."

Lila smiled, and rested a hand on Sara's cheek. "And you, our heroine."

"Twice in one day," Ashton murmured.

Just then a shout rose up from beyond the doors. A cry of men in warfare.

And someone shouted, with the weariness of battle pushed from their lungs. "This Over! The battle tis over! The Barbarians flee and we are free."



It took months to drive most of the remaining Germans and Barbarians from England. Even still, there would be small raids and uprisings over the next few years.

One day Arthur would be king, but for now Sir Monty reigned. Across the kingdom, the people rejoiced, for they remembered Sir Monty and his deeds of valor. The decisions made from the throne were conferred between the two men, including what must have been the most difficult. Monty sentenced his father, and several other nobles and men, to death. They had aided Fowler, allowing him to strike fear in the kingdom for nearly a decade.

But it was for the king of the past, the father of this last, that they made their decision. His reign was mourned all over again, and the patriarchs who had died with Fowler's first imposing strike were remembered.

Including the Duke and Duchess of Arlington.

Alex, who would soon take on the title of lord of Billingdor, was given the responsibility, along with the Duke of Wentworth, Percy's father, and Brock, to end the secret that had plagued the kingdom. The underground tunnels were destroyed, the arches blocked, their entrances covered over. There would never be a need for a family to carry the legacy of the black knight. Blakely of Billingdor was buried with honor, and his memory was repeated in joyful song.

It was with great cheer that weddings were planned. First the joining of Brock with Ashton. Their simple ceremony had taken place in the small chapel at Billingdor, and as a wedding present, Sir Monty had bestowed upon them the grand estate of Galliden—for service to their country and fellow man. From that day forward they were the lord and lady of Galliden.

As for the lady of Billingdor, Lila nursed to health the people of her keep, awaiting her own wedding day. For weeks, she chased a fever that settled on Sara's spirit. Then she nurtured and soothed the woman beneath. And as much as she longed to be united with Alex, the pieces for their wedding had not fallen into place. For one could not get married to a man when the man's estate was not settled.

And his estate rested in his honor to serve his king and in the people he could call friends.

As for Percy ... he spent months in bed at his family home in the country side, taken there by his father to heal. He'd lost his arm, for the sake of his country. Several times, he nearly gave up his life. The fever was fierce, the struggle was immense.

Even so, as his health returned, he stayed away from Billingdor for months more.

His family home in London had been burned. His mother had shed a few noble tears, then laughed, stating that Terrible Truce had earned a proper tribal burial at last. His parent's were moving on, rebuilding and making new plans to travel gain. They were restored into the sacred advisory to the king. Their children were safe, their family was whole.

As his father let out a sigh for all that was lost, Percy was able to give him a sack of gold coins. Coins he'd found among his pack when the battle had ended and the sickness had passed.

Coins that had cost him more than their worth.

So it was now, on the eve of Alexander of Edinburough's wedding to the lady of Billingdor, that he returned.

Lila met him at the front room. She was lovely as ever, glowing. Her dress was a dark, as she still mourned, but her smile cast away the gloom.

"Percy," she said, and held out her hands. She took his single one between both of hers. "It is so good to see you."

"And I, you."

"You're last to arrive. I was afraid you would not come. It was so important to me that you be here, for Alex and myself. If it were not for you, I don't think I would have forgiven him so long ago."

"But you would have. You are a woman of discernment."

"If I am, then I shall speak. You are missing your joy," Lila returned, her eyes sharp. She squeezed his hand. "It no longer dances in your eyes. Times are hard for you. Stay here at Billingdor for while and gain your strength."

He worked his jaw and for a moment, for a short moment, thought he felt his left hand move. Then he remembered. It was no longer there. He only had a sleeve hanging limply at his side.

He drew in a breath. "I am fulfilled," he said, but when she lifted a brow, he only shrugged. "This too shall pass."

"She's still here, Percy," Lila murmured, finally releasing his hand. "She's waited for you, though she hasn't believed you would come. I had hoped she would be wrong."

He thought of his arm, thought of his scars. "She is better off without me."

"Alone? She is better off alone? Or are you?" Lila asked. "She's in the chapel right now, preparing herself to enter the church. Father Bryan has held her off, assigning her duties, giving her small tasks. He is hard pressed. It is her wish to escape. She thinks she has no one. She thinks she has no place. She won't accept the forgiveness of the House of Billingdor. I think, because she looks first for the forgiveness from the house of Wentworth."

He closed his eyes, fighting against the memory—of Sara as a child at court. Of her eyes—looking right into his. Of her, rising from the lake, with the sword in hand, the water streaming from her, glistening under the sun.

Brave, beautiful, Sara.

"Go see her," she murmured. "Go see her and see if together you can find your place. We all have lost. Let us not lose what can be saved."



Sarah knelt before the alter and said her afternoon prayers. Here in the chapel was the only place that she found comfort. The demons in her mind seemed hard pressed to enter. The past remained at the door.

Here she could be quiet. Here she could be safe.

May the God of Peace ...

The words drifted through her mind. Here she had found peace...but only here. Under Father Bryan she had learned the rest of the words to the verse. She'd held onto it. Held it close. And begun to learn others.

Soon she would forget Percy. She would fill up her mind until all was gone except for the words and their meaning.

She would forget. She had to.

"Sara."

The name was spoken quietly, reverently, befitting the small chapel. She froze and closed her eyes. Had the voice been a reminder that had slipped in? Was she imagining again? Why did she bring such grief on herself?

But then she remembered. He would be here today. He would be coming for the wedding.

If only ... if only she had the courage to turn. If only ... if only she could turn and face the contempt that would be there.

But he wouldn't come. Not for her. Not after she betrayed him.

"Sara."

The voice was closer this time, and so were the footsteps. She heard them stop behind her.

Slowly, she turned and looked first to the hand that reached out to her. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her to her feet. She stared at his chest, then betraying her greatest need, she lifted a hand and rested it on his heart. It beat strongly, erratically, proof that he was alive.

"I was so afraid for you. Lila said you were very ill." She swallowed and finally, finally looked up and into his eyes. "You are well?"

Those dear eyes seemed so dark, hiding from her his true emotions. It only reminded her that those same eyes had once looked upon her in contempt.

He swallowed, then placed a hand over the one that rested on his heart. For a moment she feared he would remove it, that her touch repulsed him, but his fingers curled around hers and he held it close. She concentrated on the warmth of his hand and the feel of his heartbeat.

And so it was not long after, that they emerged from the chapel, her hand still held within his. They stood up with Alex and Lila the very next day, and a few months later, celebrated a wedding of their own.

As a gift, Lila bestowed upon them Arlington, giving them a home, a place, to call their own. It is said that together they found healing, and that a bright, dancing laughter, male and female, was discovered again, and filled the halls of the old estate of Arlington. The love there chased away the shadows, and the last remaining remnant of the Dragon's fury.



The end.


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