The Black Sorcerer

By Brenda Gable

An army amasses on the desert border of medieval New Camelot. Stolen documents are given to Druids with King Wolfrick’s command to decipher the odd-shaped writing. Lord Dillon Asarlaís is a trainee. He and his peers strain in futility to decipher the cryptic writings. He needs a computer and a code breaker from the Old World. He focuses his sorcerer incantation on the individual who can help him; the one he wants more than life itself. Ethereal Titania of modern New York City is a reclusive linguistic. A young man appears in medieval costume and rescues her from muggers. Dillon explains his quest and asks for her help. She thinks he needs psychiatric care and leads him to a hospital. Betrayed, he slams his staff on the floor and whisks them both away. Unnerved, she studies her odd surroundings in a turret room and gives him scant heed while he rants at her perfidy. Overwhelmed by events, she faints when Abraxas, the Queen of the Fey’s pet dragon, inserts his head into the room and pronounces that Titania is an elf. When she recovers, she’s informed that she’s crossed a time and space continuum and is in a mystic realm created by Morgan Le Fey. After reading the documents, Titania realizes that the invaders are Sumerians that seek lands to homestead. Wolfrick growls, “They can’t have mine.” She discovers a prophesy that portends, “When the three queens unite to save the day from the dark, the light will come forth and prosperity will bless the people of the delta.” She points out that there are three queens: Wolfrick’s queen, the Queen of the Fey, and the Sumerian queen. A peaceful outreach between the warring factions goes horribly wrong. Titania is captured and bound for human sacrifice. Dillon, using a transformation spell, comes to her rescue. Beset by young nobles hoping to claim her hand in marriage, it is Dillon that has captured Titania’s heart. True love will not be denied and they become lovers. Dillon knows that the desert was once a fertile delta. Oral myth recalls that Morgan Le Fey created the wasteland to punish culpable elves involved in the battle for Camelot 800 years ago. The only pertinent scrap of parchment found from that period cites “Morgan’s revenge.” Titania hypothesizes that when Morgan wrought her revenge, she captured all of the elves, not just the guilty parties. She fears that when the New Camolites unite to repel the Sumerians, blood will soak the desert and release a monstrous evil. Titania suspects it was Morgan Le Fey’s sister who betrayed her people. The evil Morrigan has manipulated events to allow her to escape her entombment from under the desert sands. A fierce storm grows at the battle front. Carrion birds in the thousands have flocked to the site and wait to feast. Despite the ominous portents, Wolfrick has no choice, he must attack or lose his lands. The young lovers take desperate measures. Abraxas teleports Dillon and Titania to behind enemy lines. There she uses a willow wand to elicit the sacrificial alter to bring forth the river, hoping to release the light elves and keep the dark elves and Morrigan imprisoned. Nothing happens. In frustration, she snatches Dillon’s wand and slams it onto the granite altar. The stone on his wand is a meteorite. It shatters against the monolithic rock. The alien stone cracks the altar and unchains the river creating an increasing deluge. A river and delta slowly take shape. The invaders abandon their positions and fall back to their families. Titania is torn between the freed elves pleading that she is their queen and Dillon’s love. A compromise is negotiated: Titania will be the elfin queen, Dillon her consort and an ambassador. Dillon pulls Titania into his arms and absconds to his room to demonstrate the love he bears for her. After Wolfrick levies dictates of taxes and fealty, the chastised Sumerian leaders retreat across the flooded plain to settle in their new home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda Gable
• Release date: Feb 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310968822

Brenda Gable

An award-winning author, Brenda Gable is a graduate of North Carolina State University and the Air Force Institute of Technology. She is published in southern magazines and anthologies. The mother of two adult children, lover of an absentminded yet brilliant husband, and caregiver to a clowder of cats, one hyper dog, and a noble horse, she's a very happy woman. Brenda enjoys sports and daydreaming up "what if" scenarios while she attacks the weeds in her flower and vegetable gardens. Her twisted mind has produced a series of New Camelot tales. She hopes you enjoy reading them as much as she enjoyed creating them.

Book preview

Tales of New Camelot

THE BLACK SORCERER

By

Brenda Gable

Book Four

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN-13: 978-149742608

ISBN-10:1497421608

New Camelot Books in Publication

Rogue Prince

Crystal Sorceress

New Camelot’s Thief

Black Sorcerer

Fire Sorceress

Bernard the Bard

High Sheriff of New Camelot

New Camelot’s Lion

New Camelot’s Brewster

Rogue Dragon

New Camelot's Sally the Whore

New Camelot's Fafnir

New Camelot's Bronson

New Camelot's Tarnished Knight

New Camelot’s Dragon’s Breath

New Camelot’s Baker

New Camelot’s Merchant Prince

Kingston Books in Publication

Vindication

Redemption

Retribution

Dedication

This book is dedicated my husband who has repeatedly kept me from throwing my computer out the window when it did what I told it to and not what I wanted it to.

Chapter 1

Titania Dreher’s electronic stylus traced the sand pitted imprints with measured precision with her right hand. Her left hand held a half-eaten bagel slathered with cream cheese. Her silver-blue eyes watched the computer turn the gentle caresses of the electronic pen into bold print on the plasma screen. Recognizing the first characters, her full lips grinned in anticipation. The Mesopotamian tablet was a love letter and written in a version of ancient cuneiform called Akkadian.

Was it a Romeo and Juliet type of affair? Or was it a lonely man in a faraway land sending love to his lady? She was eager to find out. Ancient peoples held a fascination for her. She’d bid on this deciphering project and won it by citing her intent of gleaning information on the lost culture and thought processes of the citizens.

She snorted aloud. Who am I kidding? She was a voyeur living her life vicariously through the writings of people who long ago turned to ash in the desert wind, leaving only this tablet to prove they ever existed.

Time had no meaning as she poured over a clay writing tablet turned to stone and lost in the desert sands for archeologists to uncover. Hours later the phone startled her out of her concentration. A lank of premature white hair dislodged from its tenuous confinement on the top of her head and fell into her face covering her almond-shaped eyes and pert nose. She glanced at the display. Damn. It was her mother. That was the second call today and it wasn’t even noon yet.

Her jaw tightened in rebellion. There was a reason she moved out of their posh penthouse on her twenty-first birthday. She pushed the mute button and returned to the missive from a low-ranking government administrator. Based on the first row of icons, he pined for a noble’s daughter far above his economic and social reach.

The phone interruption allowed her stomach to scream at her to feed it. She always got the munchies when she was translating. The more difficult the text, the more ravenous she became. Hitting the speed dial number of her favorite delivery, she placed her order then shoved up the sleeves of her sweat top and resumed her translation.

Lost in the wedge shaped forms of the cuneiform language, she immersed herself in the woes of the unfortunate man. It took the furious pounding on her apartment door to pull her back to the twenty-first century.

Her mother’s shrill voice reverberated through the door. Titania, I know you’re in there. Let me in.

Titania sighed and saved the file. Everyone on your marks. Begin scene one, she mumbled to herself, Once again she felt like a secondary character in one of her mother’s emoting scenes.

Her tall slender form reluctantly padded across the room on bare feet and opened the door to quickly step aside. An ebon-headed whirlwind dressed in Gucci left a cloud of French blended perfume in her wake on her march to the kitchen in stiletto Italian shoes. The petite woman’s arms waved theatrically despite the two bags of food they carried. Mimi deposited the bags, emblazoned with Le Cirque’s red oval icon, onto the dinette table.

Mimi Van Lowenstein of New York City’s Upper East Side, formally Madeline Janković of Jersey’s inner city, was on a well-rehearsed tirade. I agreed to let you move out providing you took care of yourself. She tapped across the small kitchen on her Prada heels and opened the refrigerator. She found milk, condiments and dried, green-splotched cheese. Mimi turned and threw an accusatory glare at her daughter. What are you eating?

Titania pulled the wire-handled white cardboard boxes from her trashcan. Delivery from Wong Fou’s.

Mimi’s face assumed the terrified lines of a woman about to be stabbed by Jack the Ripper. With her hands clasped to her bosom she gasped, That stuff will kill you. Whirling around, she opened the Le Cirque bags and pulled out containers. By the time the last of the plastic tops lifted and released their savory smells, Mimi’s emotions had morphed from horror to coy. From under her smutty eyelashes she smiled guilelessly. I thought we could have a little picnic and chit-chat about your latest project.

The young woman rolled her eyes at the white lie. Crossing the city to eat upscale takeout was not Mimi’s purpose. No, Mimi was on a thinly disguised campaign to insure her adopted daughter’s marital bliss. This was just another skirmish in a protracted war between them.

Titania went over her options. She could cause a scene and evoke the drama muse out of her actress mother replete with copious amounts of tears and recriminations. Or, she could just do what she always did: go with the flow and cater to Mimi’s overbearing protectiveness. The second option would not entail humbling apologies and she’d get an overpriced meal to replace the General Tso chicken that was now a mere memory.

While Mimi was preoccupied setting out plates and utensils, Titania waved her long slender hands in the air with a flourish. It was the prelude for scene two. Right on cue her mother said her lines. Honestly, why you’d want to live in this hovel is beyond me when you could be in Paris or Milan. It’s beautiful there this time of year.

Titania’s head picked up a dull throb left over from prior arguments about her wellbeing. She wanted to point out that a two bedroom loft in a prestigious apartment building off Park Avenue was not a hovel. Experience in their numerous conflicts caused her to stifle her retort behind stiff lips. She’d learned long ago she could never win a shouting match against Mimi.

Mimi rummaged in the cabinets for glasses. I can’t believe I tolerated you learning all those languages. How many is it now? Ten? Twelve?

A meek, Fifteen, came from Titania’s lips.

Fifteen! You speak fifteen languages yet you can’t seem to find a nice man to talk English over diner and drinks. Mimi eyebrows arched in ire.

It was her cue to give a nominal protest. I talk to nice men all the time.

Mimi slammed her hand down on the table top. Over the computer to men as ancient as your languages. How do you expect to give me grandchildren?

Titania’s stomach registered the enticing aroma from an open container and growled in eager anticipation of the promises it was making. She tuned Mimi’s lecture out and investigated the smells coming from the mouth-watering containers. Blah, blah, blah. She knew the rest by heart. Her language skills aside, her greatest achievement was when she found the courage to move out on her birthday over Mimi’s vociferous protests and temper tantrums. Mimi was still having trouble a year later dealing with Titania’s cutting of the apron strings.

Her head snapped on a slender neck away from the savory chicken almandine and roasted garlic green beans when her mother said, Doctor Haverstein will pick you up at eight. We have enough time to gobble this down and get you to my stylist. She’ll cut your hair in a chic bob that will hide your ears.

Titania’s elegant fingers touched the curvature of her ears, so much a part of her unique weirdness. So what if they looked like Spock from Star Trek? So did the rest of her. Who is Haverstein? And what do you mean he’ll pick me up at eight?

Mimi threw her hands into the air in exasperation. Have you not heard a word I said? You have a date. A real life man under the age of sixty and living on this continent is taking you out tonight. Hurry up and eat. We don’t have much time. You need a new dress, a manicure, a haircut.

No. The word was quiet and firm.

Mimi put on her affronted face. What?

No. I’m not going out with this doctor. I have a project due in the mail tonight. I don’t have time for him.

Her mother was derailed. Rigid in disbelief she glared at her daughter while she regrouped her thoughts and revised her plan of attack.

Titania was the first to admit that she was abnormal. The fact she could function on her own kept her from being labeled an autistic savant. At the tender age of thirteen she was fluent in most European languages. When she was fifteen she’d conquered Mandarin Chinese and Japanese. Like potato chips, she’d gone on to devour ancient languages and earned a PhD in cryptology, the language of codes.

Mimi found her wind and set out to sea with full sails. After all the trouble I went through to convince him to date you—

Titania cut her off with a curt. If he’s such a deal, then you date him.

Really, Titania. You’re going to shrivel up into an old maid. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a man willing to date a certified genius?

Especially one that looks like she stepped off the USS Enterprise? Titania was very aware of her curved ears, slanted eyebrows, milk-pale skin, ethereal eyes and long slender appendages. The ability to absorb languages like a sponge was just part of the eerie package. Some said she looked exotic. They were being kind. She was a freak.

Mimi released a heartfelt sigh that could reach the rear seats in a packed Broadway theater. It was the one to imply she was carrying an onerous burden. Darling, how many times do I have to tell you that you are special? You’re a very unique girl with very special abilities. You can’t hole up in this apartment all by yourself for the rest of your life. Lift your chin up and go out in the world. It’s really not such a bad place.

Titania rolled her eyes again. People looked at her shapely step-mother in admiration and lust. Mimi had never been stared at with curiosity or been an object of ridicule. Titania didn’t go out because it was too painful. She earned the respect of her colleagues and her business associates just not their friendship. They’d gotten used to her strange appearance and treated her as a distinguished peer, but didn’t socialize with her. The rest of mankind considered her an oddity.

Please, Titania, for me? He’s a nice young man. He’s a neurosurgeon with a substantial practice. Give it a try.

Titania shook her head sending her silver hair rippling down her back. She was never going to curse her warped DNA on offspring so she didn’t need a husband. There was no need to go through the disaster of another blind date and subsequent rejection.

Go home, Mother. I appreciate you thinking about me, but I will not go out with him. Please, go home.

Mimi’s face screwed up. Her perfectly painted lips pouted in a quivering chin. Titania hated to hurt the one person who truly cared about her, a woman who was not even related to her by blood. By the heavens above, she’d rather take a thousand lashes than be rejected again.

Tears seeped over Mimi’s lashed embankments. Titania steeled herself for the erupting drama required for in scene three. She grabbed paper napkins from the designer food bag and pulled the petite woman into her arms. Shoving the paper product into her mother’s manicured fingers she said, I love you. I really do. I just can’t do this. Not again. Never again.

Mimi carefully dabbed at the tears to avoid smearing her mascara and liner. Her shoulders shook with her sobs. I try so hard. I really do. I want you to be happy. I want you to find that special person that will give you joy and fulfillment. I want—

Happy ever after. It doesn’t exist, Mom, at least not for me. I enjoy my work. I get paid an ungodly amount of money for doing it. I am happy.

Mimi clutched Titania’s shoulders. Determined dark eyes peered into Titania’s opal-hued slanted orbs, forcing her will on her. Darling, what about companionship? What about a warm body in your bed at night to hold you? I still miss your father. He was a great comfort to me and we enjoyed each other.

Titania reflected back on the man who had helped raise her. Hubert Van Lowenstein was a renowned photographer. He was the one who found her as a toddler wandering in the Alaskan wilderness. The authorities found a large cabin burned to the ground with two charred bodies in it. When no one came to claim her as a relative, Hubert convinced Mimi to adopt her. He called her his Fairy Child and named her. He was a good man. A stroke felled him on the African plains while photographing migrating wildebeests. His loss still reverberated in her heart.

I miss Papa. He looked past my strangeness. He loved me for who I was.

Darling, Mimi clutched her bosom, you wrong me terribly. I love you for you. I just wish….

That I was normal?

It isn’t that, sweetheart. It’s just… More tears seeped out.

Titania felt a pang of guilt. Her adoptive mother tried so hard to bring her daughter into the fold with other young socialites. It wasn’t Mimi’s fault she was…odd. She squeezed her mother’s small shoulders. It’s okay, Mom. Just drop it. I tell you what. I’ll change clothes and you and I can go shopping if you want. We’ll go to Fifth Avenue and check out what Dolce & Gabbana and St Laurent have to offer. I’ll let you pick out a dress for me and I’ll even pay for it.

Mimi gave a delicate sniff. I guess that’s better than nothing. A forced crooked smile that the Coen Brothers would have applauded lifted Mimi’s distraught features. That was the thing about Mimi. She was such a good actress, Titania had trouble knowing when she was acting or truly upset. Had she just been conned into shopping with her mom? Had there even been a doctor lurking in the wings to take her out? Titania would never know because the tears had dried up and she wasn’t going to upset the delicate détente between them.

* * * * *

The symbols on the papyrus document blurred. Dillon Asarlaís rubbed his eyes. By Merlin’s pimpled arse, he could make neither heads nor tails of the icons. Even though he recognized the various symbols for fowl, beetle and asp, he didn’t know in what context they were used. And what were the other symbols, those squiggly lines? No matter from what angle or how often, he could not make any sense out of the documents stolen from the enemy by Queen Carla. He cast a surreptitious glance to his mentor, Liam Ironwood. The circles under the Druid’s eyes said he wasn’t fairing any better with his scroll.

Dillon stood up from the oak desk and stretched the knots out his back. Half the Druids in New Camelot were pouring over the strange writings. The other half were destroying the rigid order of dusty libraries in search of a code to break the cryptic markings.

Their new king, Wolfrick Asarlaís, son of Gunnolf and Bardou, demanded they succeed. New Camelot had precious few trained warriors, whereas the enemy had tens of thousands poised to attack.

Find the key. Wolfrick’s thundering roar rang in his ears. Tell me what the documents say. I need that information to give me an edge against the invaders.

The door to the library opened allowing a hearty draft in from the castle’s main hallway. Dillon slammed his palm on the document that threatened to take flight. He froze when he looked up and recognized the three female nobles that had come in with the breeze. His eyes jerked left and right looking in desperation for a door he knew wasn’t there. Disappearing in a black cloud of magic would have been excessively rude and disruptive to the other laboring Druids. He was trapped.

Wolfrick’s marriage to Carla had dashed all the marital hopes of maidens throughout New Camelot. Hence, they had to look elsewhere for a regal alliance. As the only eligible male in the ruling family unencumbered with a wife, as well as being King Wolfrick’s cousin, he was a target for every scheming young lass and her mama. It didn’t matter that he was a bastard. He was a Royal sorcerer through-and-through with the ability to form electricity in his spine and project it from his hands as a weapon.

Lacking an escape route, he dropped his feather quill and bent over, his nose almost to the floor. Maybe they wouldn’t see him. With his heart pounding in his ears, he remained in the cramped position until three pairs of dainty brocaded slippers appeared and peeped out from under silken tunics and kirtles in front of him. He released the breath he’d been holding in a put upon sigh.

Ignoring Liam’s snicker, he stood to face his stalkers. Liam could laugh. He was safely married to his true love, Princes Seraphina, Wolfrick’s youngest sister. They were expecting their first babe in the summer.

Lord Dillon, I baked you a tart so you’d have energy to decipher your scroll. Lady Agnes, full breasted with matching hips, shoved the sweet pie in his face.

He took it and set the oozing confection to the corner of his desk where it wouldn’t damage the cryptic documents. Thank you, Lady Agnes, for your consideration.

I prepared you a fresh quill to draft your findings. Lady Mary tickled his chin with the feather shaft. He snatched it from her before she could get more creative. Tall and angular, she had knife edge cheekbones and a tongue reputed to match.

Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Lady Mary.

Lady Catherine, fair of face and body, and lacking in serious intellect, laid a perfumed handkerchief atop the document he was studying. The hand-made gift had rose petals embroidered on the corners and reeked of an overpowering scent. I spent hours making the perfect gift. You can wipe the sweat from your brow with this and think of me.

Dillon grimaced. Not if it was the last scrap of fabric in the world. I’m sure I will.

He looked at their expectant faces and wondered why they didn’t leave. Lady Agnes answered his silent question, We’re going to watch you decipher the invaders’ code.

Dillon stiffened in horror. He’d never break the code with them breathing down his neck. Ah, I think it’s going to be awhile.

Lady Catherine said with finality, We’ll wait.

He felt the laughing eyes of the older Druids on him. His face went from pink to flame red. How was he going to shake these husband hunting females loose without putting a noble nose out of joint?

He was saved by Master Druid Ironwood, Liam’s austere father. The man responsible for coordinating the deciphering effort strolled over and based on the scowl on his face, was not pleased by the girls’ presence.

Entertaining, Lord Dillon?

Dillon looked into a foreboding set of steel gray eyes