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THE HEART OF CERRIDWEN

By Kathryn Michelle Ancheta

Chapter 3

"It seems that the Dark Lord fancies you," the sultry voice of the evil sorceress, Tatiana, bounced and echoed against the bare walls of the dank corridor that led to the dungeon.

For the most part, the girl kept her head high and her eyes forward but she caught the sly and malicious glance the taller woman gave her through her peripheral vision. She averted her eyes quickly, tears threatening to spill and cloud her vision. In her anger and frustration, she tripped on the uneven floor. The two burly guards that had vise like grips on her arms had to lift and drag her forward until she was able to regain her footing.

"There is no hope for you, Eranelle," Tatiana continued, not noticing the little mishap. "Even if your brother succeeds in delivering the princess, the Dark Lord isn't going to release you."

The ensuing malevolent laughter hurt the girl's ears. She could not help the tears that fell. But they were tears of anger. She had to escape. She could not let her brother kidnap the princess.

She had skills for fighting. She thought about her chances carefully. Her wrists were chained, there were two towering guards flanking her, each one weighing more than triple her weight, and a sadistic sorceress who most likely possessed powers she had no hope of countering. It all seemed hopeless.

Except that they needed her alive.

She glanced surreptitiously at the guard on her left, assessing his height. And then, with the speed borne out of desperation, she elbowed the guard's midsection with all the might her diminunitive frame could muster, causing him to double over in pain.

The guard on the right reacted quickly, pulling on Eranelle's arm, gripping it tightly. She gritted her teeth as she ignored the pain. The guard was already swinging his arm, his clenched fist rushing forward to make contact with her face.

She swiftly ducked under it, the fist missing her by only a hair's breadth. The guard had not counted on not hitting his target as his arm still moved forward, taking part of his heavy upper torso with it. The guard had to let go of the girl or he would completely lose his balance.

"What in--" Tatiana was actually already several steps ahead by the time she became aware of the commotion. "Why, you insolent girl!" She raised her bejeweled arc wand and began chanting a spell. Her hair and cape began billowing as if a strong breeze was blowing. Her entire being was swathed in a pillar of light that seemed to emanate from above.

The entire awesome image registered in Eranelle's mind. She was almost mesmerized by it. She doubted that she was going to survive the spell Tatiana was conjuring up, forgetting her notion that the Dark Lord needed her alive. She had to do something!

She focused back at the guard whose punch she had just dodged. Because of the momentum, the guard had gone past her and she was now between him and whatever destructive force the sorceress was going to unleash on her. She grabbed hold onto the back of the guard's tunic and swung him around with all her strength, using him as a shield.

At just the right moment, a blue ball of electrical energy streaked out from Tatiana but it hit the guard! Eranelle was still holding onto him though and the jolt of the attack threw her several feet away, causing her to land painfully on the cold cobbled floor of the dungeon corridors. It dazed her momentarily.

The girl immediately stood up on wobbly legs, her eyes glued on the guard who was wriggling like a fabre (a green worm-like creature) on a hook! The electrical energy that the sorceress cast had engulfed the man and was doing its grotesque damage.

Eranelle didn't waste another second. She ran as fast as she could. Behind her, she could hear Tatiana bellowing like the crazed woman she was, calling for the guards, calling her all sorts of names, using expletives that would make the sailors of Comodo blush! But it galvanized her and so she ran as fast as she could, not caring where she went as long as it was as far away from this place as possible.

---

Cerridwen watched with wide-eyed terror and amazement as the bare-chested and as yet unarmed Branagan, who was in front of her, dispatched warrior after grizzled warrior that came after her.

He sent the assassin in front of him flying with a frontal kick. He then immediately had to dodge two katar swipes from two other assassins that quickly appeared at both his sides to replace the two that he had just dispatched a second ago.

Even as he managed to duck and weave through and between the deadly metal blades and claws, more and more of the vagabonds came to join the fray. He was now surrounded by six black-clad warriors like winged scavengers fighting to get a morsel from their prey.

Cerridwen continually sent healing energy towards Branagan. Her energy reserves were nearing depletion. For a split second she wondered why she even bothered. He was responsible for putting them in this situation in the first place. The red-haired teenage princess of Rune-Midgard decided this wasn't the right time for an internal debate.

She had to do something drastic. Her champion, if in fact he was that, was not doing significant damage to the attackers so that they would stay down long enough for them to escape. After sending one more heal spell to cure the new wounds she saw, she immediately chanted another one. It was the Kyrie Eleison spell; this she cast on Branagan, which immediately caused him to glow, giving him the appearance of being ethereal.

All of sudden, every time a blade would strike Branagan it would hit a barrier, making a distinct clang. In that instant, they all stopped fighting. The other assassins stepped back in surprise, only then realizing that something had changed, and only then taking in the subtle glow exuded by their target.

Branagan knew, of course. He turned to look at Cerridwen. She flashed her green eyes at him in annoyance in an attempt to tell him to do something.

"By the pyramids of Morroc!" Arnak exclaimed, being the first to recover from his surprise. He turned to stare at the princess. "She's a priestess! Get her!"

Branagan had precisely less than a second to act. He grabbed the arm of the nearest assassin, ripped off the katar from his arm as he threw him bodily towards his guildmates. The thrown assassin toppled the others, temporarily rendering them incapacitated.

Arnak acted quickly, realizing it was going to be up to him to capture the girl. He rushed forward, sharp, metal claws extending out from each fist. Branagan also rushed to intercept. It was going to be a race.

Cerridwen saw the onrushing assailant. In her alarm, she failed to realize that Branagan was closer to her. Every fiber in her body was poised to flee but that part of her that no longer wanted to cower in fear won out. She did run--but towards Arnak!

"Cerridwen!" she heard Branagan cry out her name but she ignored it. She was a warrior, trained by one of best knights in her father's service. She saw how this Arnak moved. He wasn't as fast as Branagan and she was able handle herself well enough.

Arnak's surprise at this unexpected development registered only briefly on his face. He recovered quickly, stepping up his attack. He raised his arms in front him, his metal claws aimed right at the girl, intending to impale her with them.

Cerridwen narrowed her eyes, focusing on the implements of death directed at her. It was now or never.

---

Not good. Not good! Branagan fumed as he changed direction as quickly as humanly possible, keeping his eye on the princess. He wasn't going to make it!

"Cerridwen!" he cried out again in frustration. It was also a prayer. He swore he was going to tear Arnak's limbs from his body one by one if it was the last thing he did. And, if by some miracle Cerridwen survived, he was going to do the same to her!

The two were about to collide. He fought the impulse to look away.

Once again, the girl did something amazing! At the last moment, she leaped up, stepped on one of the Arnak's claws just as one would when stepping on a stair step, and with her other foot planted a good kick on the assassin's face.

The force of the kick was considerable because of the speed at which both combatants ran towards each other. Arnak's head, together with his chest, began falling backwards, while his legs continued on its forward direction. Just before the assassin's head touched the course desert sand, Cerridwen propelled herself into the air once again to land just a few feet away.

She turned, pivoting gracefully on a bare foot, and looked down at her attacker. Arnak was unconscious. A large, rapidly reddening, print of her foot could be clearly seen on his face.

Branagan came to a halt just a foot away from the fallen body of his rival. He didn't have to make any further examinations. The man was indeed unconscious. He looked up at the princess. She was beaming at him, feeling obviously proud at what she'd done.

"What in the deserts of Morroc was that stunt all about?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes at her. He was so angry he had to control himself from throttling the girl.

"He was attacking me and you were--"

"Only four steps away from you!"

"Well, I didn't know--"

"Well, see? That's the problem there. You didn't know! You don't know anything!"

Cerridwen's lips started to quiver and her eyes were brimming with tears. "I don't even know why I bothered…" she said this in a very soft voice.

The evidence of emotion jolted Branagan. It instantly hit him that he was being too hard. After all, the girl did magnificently against a trained and ruthless assassin. He opened his mouth, hesitated and then opened it again, intending to apologize but the princess pressed her hands together and chanted a spell.

"No, no! Don't--" was all he could say before the girl disappeared in a thin veil of light. She had teleported. What have I done?

He had to go find her. He turned around to get back to the camp site, gather his things and weapons. Only then did he realize that he'd made a terrible mistake. Before him were the assassins of Arnak. He had forgotten about them. He shook his head imperceptibly. He had been careless again.

He would have to fight them all over again. He no longer had a priestess with him but he was at least now armed with one katar already attached on his right arm.

His last thought before he engaged the enemies was a prayer for Princess Cerridwen's safety.

---

It didn't take a genius to know that she was in big trouble. She was still somewhere in the deserts of Morroc, that much she knew. She had already teleported more times than she could keep track of. And she was still nowhere near any discernable civilization of any kind. At this point, she didn't know how far away she was from Branagan, that…that…assassin! Just the thought of him made her blood boil!

If she only knew which direction led back to her home. It was fortunate that the moon was out, providing some light in an otherwise completely dark and featureless landscape.

Away from the fire, she also realized that it was actually quite cold. Especially since the only protection she had was the thin silk robe she had on, the same one she was wearing when she was abducted. She raised her hands to rub some heat into her bare arms, which had become pimply with goose bumps.

This was all Branagan's fault! If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be in this desolate place. She wouldn't be cold or hungry. She wouldn't have been in any danger…or adventure…or would never have realized that she was truly a fighter…

Cerridwen shook her head vigorously as her thoughts began to stray. It occurred to her that she had walked quite a distance while contemplating her predicament. Up ahead, she was elated to see light in the distance that could only be coming from a fire. She quickened her pace, eager to get to the source of heat and possibly sustenance. She was starving. It didn't occur to her that coming up to a strange camp was dangerous for someone like her, who was also ill-clad.

The camp site was partially shielded by a low-rise dune. She almost ran to reach it. As soon as she crested it, however, her spirits sank. Oh, please, not again!

The gloved hands that suddenly grasped her bare arms from behind no longer came as a big surprise. The six assassins that were standing loosely and relaxed behind the campfire all bore the same smiling expression. They all knew who she was and were expecting her.

Cerridwen wanted to cry. About the only consolation she had was that this bunch didn't seem as filthy-looking as the group led by Arnak. But looks, she thought grimly, could be deceiving.

---

Feral arrived just as the resident priestess, Faemie, came out of the prisoner's tent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two heavily armed swordsmen he posted just outside the entrance stiffen in attention at his approach.

"How is he?" he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

Faemie, who was already a veteran on many of Feral's excursions, pretended not to notice the loathing and hatred in her leader's voice.

"The prisoner is completely healed," the priestess replied, cooly, again ignoring the expression on the other's face that seemed to say, "why even bother."

"Very well," Feral said, moving past the priestess, intending to enter the tent.

"Sir..." the First Knight turned to look at the woman. "He isn't what he seems."

Feral's first impulse was to scoff at this pronouncement but then stopped himself. He looked at Faemie as if he were only seeing her for the first time. She was waif-like, someone no one would suspect was fearless in the face of danger. He had always trusted her judgement. He nodded once at her. It was enough to let her know he was going to keep an open mind.

He was also going to keep his sword loose too, he thought as he looked away and entered the tent.

---

Branagan looked up to see an imposing figure enter the tent. He already knew who it was. Feral, the First Knight of Prontera, made the tent look a lot smaller than it did before he came in. The assassin attempted to adopt a more defiant pose but it proved to be difficult given that he was kneeling on the desert floor with his wrists chained above his head. He looked up and sized the knight standing imperiously in front of him.

Feral was a few inches taller than him and considerably bulkier too. The lower half of his face was covered in a neatly trimmed, albeit dusty, mustache and beard. He had dark brown hair and eyes that looked both cruel and kind at the same time. All in all, the man commanded respect and was someone to be feared. Although Branagan did not fear him.

"What is your name, assassin?"

Branagan considered lying but after a moment's reflection decided that he would not gain or lose anything by telling the truth. "Branagan."

"You kidnapped Princess Cerridwen." It was not a question but it was obvious that an answer was required.

Branagan hesitated for a brief moment, noting that the knight's grip on his sword's hilt grew tighter. He raised his eyes, looking straight into those of his inquisitor's. "Yes."

Feral's eyes narrowed and his jaws clenched. "Then, assassin, you will please tell me why I should keep you alive."

"Because I can help you get her back."

The knight snorted derisively, shaking his head. "You think too highly of yourself, assassin--"

"I am not an assassin!" Feral raised his eyebrows, looking down condescendingly at the chained prisoner. Branagan took a deep breath. He fought to quell the pride in him that incessantly reminded him that he owed no one an explanation. Princess Cerridwen was in real danger. He should have thought out his actions more clearly, before setting out to kidnap her in the first place. Now that he had gotten to know her...

"I may have been trained in the ways of the assassin," he continued, his eyes boring into the other unflinchingly, "but my guild exists only to provide protection for a fee."

"So, earning your living by providing protection didn't seem profitable enough you had to add kidnapping to your list of services, eh?"

Branagan endured the snide remark calmly on the outside but he was seething on the inside. His fists alternately clenched and relaxed as he struggled to control his temper.

"Well?" Feral asked, goading the other. "Nothing to say for yourself?"

"Listen, I had no choice!" Branagan knew that he had overstepped but he no longer cared. "My sister was taken hostage and would not be returned to me unless I delivered Cerr--the princess."

If the knight noticed the slip he didn't show it. "And who has taken your dear sister?" he drawled, taking on a disinterested pose, becoming suddenly preoccupied with the tips of his glove.

"The sorceress Tatiana."

Branagan saw Feral stop fiddling with the fingers on his right hand. Tatiana was once renowned not only for her powers but also for her beauty. When she still fought on the side of good, she was much sought after but then madness took over. In a fit of rage and in front of dozens of witnesses, she murdered six people and then managed to elude the authorities, disappearing into the many little-known passageways that dotted the central city of Prontera.

Feral looked up, his eyes now boring once again into his prisoner's. "You know where Tatiana is."

"We have agreed to meet in the great coal mines of Mt. Mjolnir."

"When?"

"At noon, two days hence."

The knight fell silent. He looked away, a thoughtful look crossing his eyes.

"What about the princess," Branagan asked, frowning at the way the other seemed to have forgotten about Cerridwen.

"What? Oh!" Feral waved a gloved hand in dismissal. "It's only a matter of time before we are able to locate her. My master tracker is on her trail right now."

Just then the outside light that was illuminating the inside of the tent was blocked as a figure stood at the entrance. Both men turned to look.

"Ah!" the knight exclaimed. "Speak of the devil. Come on in, Madison and meet our guest. We were just talking about you."

The woman named Madison sauntered in. She looked very well built. She was tanned, which meant that she spent a great deal of time outdoors. The sturdy bow strung over her shoulder immediately identified her as a hunter. It appeared to Branagan that the woman would rather be anywhere but where she was.

The huntress spared the assassin a glance before looking the knight in the eye. Uh oh, Branagan thought, she has bad news. Madison spoke in low tones but the resulting roar from Feral confirmed it. She took a step back, terrified at the other's outburst.

"What's happened to Cerridwen?" he couldn't help himself as he strained against his bonds. But it was a mistake and he knew if the moment the princess' name left his lips.

"Cerridwen?" Feral growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously at him, the huntress forgotten. "How dare you use familiar terms with the princess?"

"Listen to me, Feral!" The knight's eyes widened in rage. "If the princess has been captured, you'll need my help."

"I have yet to hear a good reason why I should even trust you!"

"Because I'm your only hope in retrieving her! I alone know the way to the secret chamber within the coal mines where they will surely take her. Listen to me, man! Don't let your pr--"

"Enough!" the knight bellowed, unsheathing his broadsword, raising it high above the assassin's head.

Before Branagan could react, the sword came swooshing down. In that instant he realized that he had indeed miscalculated things. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He certainly wasn't going to give this pompous knight the satisfaction of seeing him cower in fear.

He heard the sword make contact with something metallic. He immediately became aware of two things before he even opened his eyes: first, he was still alive, and second, the bonds that held his wrists above his head had suddenly slackened causing his arms to fall down of their own accord to his sides. When he finally did open his eyes, he found the razor sharp tip of Feral's blade a scant inch from his chin.

"Put just one toe out of line, assassin," he snarled, "and I will personally make sure you suffer a fate worse than death."

---

Eranelle lay huddled atop an abandoned wooden guard outpost that rose several feet from the ground. Cold, hungry, tired and weaponless, the younger sister of Branagan thought that it was a godsend after spending a good portion of the day running. Up here she was also at the very least safe from the fierce creatures that roamed the jungles of Mjolnir like the poisoned web-slinging argos and the deceptively beautiful but carnivorous flora.

It was only when she encountered these monsters earlier that she realized where she was. If her bearings were correct (and she fervently hoped she was) then the town of Geffen shouldn't be too far away. She was certain there would be goodly citizens who would be willing to help. She was the only one who knew of the existence of the evil Dark Lord and his plans of dominating all of Rune-Midgard. The people had to be warned.

Her final thoughts just before she drifted into a troubled sleep were of her brother. Please be safe...