"Where you will be going, you will encounter danger. This is a charm of sorts. Keep it with you at all times. It will protect you."
She started to examine it.
"Do not play with it," he said, sternly. "It has powers you would not understand. Merely keep it on your person. Take it as a token of my concern for you."
She stared at him steadily. "Who are you?"
He raised his eyebrows. "I am your king."
"Or the devil," she said.
"If you like."
As she reached her quarters, she took out the charm that he had given her and, for a moment, she considered throwing it away. She wanted nothing to do with black arts, but it was too late for that. She had allied herself with a sorcerer and, king or not, he was her master. She hated him. She would kill him if she could, but could the sorcerer be killed? She had tried before and failed. Perhaps he had such a charm himself. She stared at it. If it could give her some measure of protection, she would do well to keep it. She knew that she would need all the protection she could get before the day was out.
Marcel assisted her in arming for battle.
"I will go with you, Andre. You'll need my help."
"No, little brother. You remain here, where it will be safe until I come for you. I would not want to lose you now."
"Nor I you," Marcel said. "Sir Brian is a strong knight. He will make a dangerous opponent.''
"And I will fight better knowing you are safe," said Andre, "than I would if you were by my side and I had to constantly watch out for you."
Marcel drew back indignantly. "I can take care of myself," he said in a wounded tone.
She pulled him to her. "Of course you can. But I would worry anyway. Indulge me and set my mind at rest. There will be other battles for you when you're older. Now I must go. Remember, stay here and do not be tempted to look outside upon the battle. The Saxon archers shoot straight and true."
With sword and shield in hand, she left him and walked quickly down the corridor. Her heart was racing, as it always did in the excitement of a battle. She would have to find a way to kill Bois-Guilbert in such a manner as to not leave herself vulnerable to the men whom he commanded in defense of the castle. She stopped by an aperture and, holding her shield ready to protect her face, risked a quick glance outside. The barbican had fallen. Any moment now, they would begin to attack the outer walls with scaling ladders and they would start ramming at the gates. Given their number, it was inevitable that they would soon gain entry to the castle. Given a firm hand and strong leadership, the defenders of Torquilstone might still repulse them, but not if they were deprived of their commanders. De Bracy was already accounted for. Only one remained.
She stopped a man at arms who went rushing by her in the corridor. He looked terrified.
"You!" She approached him. "Where are you going?"
"I... I was..."
He was running away to find a place to hide, no doubt. "Where is Sir Brian?"
The man was near hysteria. "You ask for Sir Brian," he said. "Sir Brian bellows for Sir Maurice! The Saxons bellow for our blood! They are on us like flies upon a carcass and where is De Bracy?"
"DeBracy'sdead!"
They both turned toward the sound of the voice and saw De Bracy's torturer. Andre cursed her luck. She had bolted the door to the dungeons, but the man must have broken through. He held a mace in his hand. The beefy torturer had murder in his eyes as he pointed at her with his mace.
"There stands the culprit! Sir Maurice breathed his name before he died!"
Andre ran the man at arms beside her through with her sword and pushed his body aside. Holding the mace with both hands, the torturer advanced upon her. Suddenly, he stiffened and dropped his mace, a look of surprise upon his face. He pitched forward. As he fell, Marcel stood revealed, a bloody dagger in his hand.
"Marcel! I told you to remain behind! I could have dealt with—"
Marcel's eyes widened. "Andre! Beware, behind you!"
Instinctively, she threw herself to one side, thereby avoiding the killing stroke. The nysteel armor might have saved her, but her reflexes were too quick for her to think of that. As it was, she caught a glancing blow on her brassard and, stunned, she dropped her shield and staggered. Marcel leapt forward with his dagger.
Andre heard him cry out and raised her head in time to see Bois-Guilbert withdrawing his sword from her little brother's stomach.
"God! Marcel!"