Chapter One

The Mystery

1307, October 13
     In the Highlands of Scotland, Bret de Colville dreamed of the Lady of QuickSilver. "Early yonder morning, Caleb, my squire, was found dead in the forest," Bret whispered. His eyes fluttered, then opened from a dream. He sat up in bed. A mist formed against his large window. “Caleb,” he sighed.

     “Dear God, why Caleb? First my lady, Briana’s kidnapping, now Caleb.”

     Bret’s heart stung at the thoughts of the two of them. Five years ago, Zarelda kidnapped Briana, and carried her to Hell, or so Zarelda claimed. "Now, I must enter this place of darkness to rescue my lady.” How could he possibly agree to such a quest? Zarelda promised to help him, but would she? Could she? Would she even bother to show up? No one had seen her lately.

     Someone murdered Caleb, and left him for dead by the creek at the end of the village. Bright red blood covered Caleb’s head, and a large rock lay nearby, also covered with blood. “Someone struck Caleb from behind, that much is clear,” Bret said. 

     Before Caleb died, the poor boy managed to draw the letter-Z, in the dirt. Bret knew Zarelda murdered the lad. “First, she made Caleb tell her of the Lance,” Bret said.

     Bret rested his head on his goose feather pillow, and closed his eyes. “Why did the witch come to our village?” he asked himself. Then, he remembered. It was he who brought her here, from France.

     Bret blamed himself, and why would he not?

     It was his own doing. “If only I’d never allowed myself to become involved with the witch, Briana would be here, as well as dear Caleb.” Because of Bret’s want for lust, and his weakness to turn from Zarelda, evil had come to the village, Colville.

     “My squire lost his life, and the Lady of QuickSilver, kidnapped and taken to Hell. All because of my own feebleness.” He banged his fist on his pillow, and tossed about in his bed.

     “Dear sweet Caleb, he was not only my squire, but my kinsman,” Bret whispered. He wanted to destroy the witch, but knew Zarelda must remain alive to lead the way to Briana. But, he wanted to kill her.

     “Zarelda must die! She took Caleb’s life.” Bret sprang from his bed, and pulled on his trousers. He turned, and drew QuickSilver, his famed sword, from its scabbard hanging over a chair. He pushed open his shutters, climbed out, and jumped off the cottage roof. He bolted to the forest faster than Sully, his falcon.

     He turned into a madman, an avenger!

     "I’ll destroy the witch and find Briana myself, " he vowed.

     The knight’s vision became clearer, and he felt like a wild animal. His heart and mind longed for justice for Briana and Caleb. He rode the invisible horse of death like a demon through the forest, for his legs no longer carried him.

     He stopped sudden. Did he run into a forest tree? The towering wizard appeared before Bret. Alpin's voice roared like a lion. “Listen to the voice, Sir Knight. The Lance will aid you.” 

     There in the thick morning mist, Briana’s spirit reached out to Bret for redemption. He saw her, asleep on a carpet inside a dungeon cell, somewhere in time and space. Then, voices came through the fog, and Bret heard his brethren, the Knights Templar.

     “God save us!”

     “God grant us mercy!”

     “The curse of God will fall upon ye!”

     Bret stepped deeper into the mist, and saw many of the Templars arrested, and persecuted by King Philip’s men. “God grant me out of this vision—this Hell,” Bret pleaded. The haunting sounds of the forest caused him to tremble.

     Instead of turning away, Bret dared to tread even closer inside the mist. He watched brave Templar Knights scream out in pain and agony. He knew they could not see him.

     Bret walked among them as a ghost, for when he tried to attack the tormentors, he went right through them. He watched the knight’s bodies attacked by wicked men in the king’s torture chamber. Bret was unable to help them, for he walked in his spirit. “Alpin! Release me from this soul walk!”

 

 


     Downstairs, Bret heard his mother’s voice. Was he still in his soul walk? No, he was in the comfort of his room. “Praise be to the God of Solomon for placing me back in my bed,” he said. He touched his bed, his pillow, his cover. His trousers and red half-sleeved tunic were hanging over the chair.

     QuickSilver was resting inside the scabbard. Kodax lay in a deep sleep across Bret’s bed. Sully perched on his pedestal with his eyes closed, his broad chest moved in and out. Bret knew Ajax was safe inside the stable. All was normal again. Or was it?

     The knight’s heart ached for the captured Templar’s. What could he do? There must be something. Was it even true? “Why would I have such a vision?” He positioned himself on the side of the bed, and placed his hands over his face.

      Bret’s mother spoke again. “And to think the Templars once saved Philip Le Bel’s life. They hid him inside a Templar castle to keep his own people from murdering him. Now he wants to kill Templars? This man is evil. He is of the devil!”

     A man’s voice spoke. “We’re accused of engaging in secret correspondence with the Muslims.” Bret sometimes stayed with his Muslim friends in his worldly travels. His friends came from different parts of the world. Many had their own religions, and even though he did not agree with all of them, he accepted their friendship.

     Jared, Bret's father joined in the conversation. “Aye, his own people wanted to kill him, and he dares to plot against the Knights Templar. Is it not enough Caleb was found dead yonder morning?” Then, Jared's voice calmed. “Lo, I fear the wrath of Phillip will come to pass. He’s already had two popes murdered.”

     “Pope Boniface and Benedict, you mean?” a man asked.

     Who is this voice they speak with? Bret wondered. It was hard to say for Jared had many secret friends. Bret guessed it was one of the Templars. Was Bret's vision real? “’Tis real, for I’ve never had a vision that was not real. And I even soul walked.”

     Outside, a horse nickered. Bret leaped from his bed, opened the shutters, and peeked out his large cottage window in the loft. He leaned out the window. A tinge of daylight glinted over the dark mountains, but night still covered Colville.

     Bret grabbed a blanket off his bed, and wrapped it around him. The new morning proved to be frosty. “I should wash off, and get dressed. Something is amiss,” he said. What, he did not know. Did he even want to know? Mayhap he should crawl back inside his warm bed and stay there.

     He leaned further out his window when he heard more horses nickering. “Horsemen!” Men carried lit torches on horseback, as they moved in silence along the entrance of Colville.

     “By Odin! Why are they here this early? Is my journey into the unknown to begin so soon?” he asked. His thoughts scrambled about inside his head.

     What day is it? he wondered. “Thursday mayhap—nay, Caleb died on Thursday. ‘Tis Friday, the 13th day of the month of harvest.”

     “’Tis The Brus, on this dreaded morning,” Le de Colvillle announced, from downstairs.

     Bret heard footsteps moving across the cobble walkway, then the front door to the cottage opened. “Welcome knights, come warm yourself by the fire,” Jared said.

     Bret heard the voices of knights as they entered. He heard his kinsman, Robert de Brus. They were upset. But why?

      “Jared. I sent my messenger ahead to tell ye the rumor. I’m sorry I had to wake yer this early. Pray to God, ‘tis only gossip.”

     “When it comes to the knighthood, it can never be too early,” Jared replied. “Pray to God, ‘tis a tale.”

     Le spoke. “Please knights. Warm yourself. Come quickly out of the morning frost.”

     Bret must go below and find out what the matter was about. He was still horrified by the vision he saw. “The Templar Knights tortured? Why did I see this vision?” he asked himself.

     He shivered in his blanket, and shut the shutters on his window. He paced about in circles. “I must go down. I must.” Could he take any more bad tidings? Bret was not sure he could, for lately all he heard was bad. Was there ever any good? When would it end? When he drew his last breath? “What would my famed grandfather, Sveide the Viking do?”

     Bret knelt at his bed, and prayed to his God for guidance. He needed strength to get through this morning. For what awaited downstairs, he knew not. Nor did he want to know.

 

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