I: A Tempestas Supremus
The song of a pack of wolves rose up from the valley nestled in a mountain range, their voices hauntingly piercing through the icy, clear night air when no other creature made noise.
An unusually tall, young, gangly black wolf pricked his ears with his amber eyes illuminated by the night's full moon into eerie white orbs in its likeness, but did not respond. Long, white fingers reached out towards him, offering a strip of smoked venison which he of course would never refuse. His plumed tail stirred a cloud of dirt as he licked his chops before delicately taking it. The hand, relieved of the meat, rubbed his head between his ears.
"How can you still be hungry?" the girl asked the wolf incredulously, recalling the pheasant he'd proudly captured on their way to their campsite, and promptly proceeded to consume in its entirety not even half an hour earlier. "You're going to be so fat, Syhier."
"When you talk to him like that," said a soft voice from behind her, "I'm increasingly more convinced that you're alone way too much." She spun in her seat, to see her sister walking towards her through the trees.
Kevay sat down beside Eracura, and they pulled their heavy bearskin cloaks tighter around themselves before Eracura even thought to say anything. "How did you find me?"
"Morgaine told me," Kevay said flatly.
"How did Morgaine know?"
Kevay gave Eracura a skeptical, sidelong look. "Are you serious? Morgaine knows all." At Eracura's equally cynical look, she sighed heavily and admitted, "Alright, Morgaine knew where you were because she passed by your camp on her way home."
"Did Veire get sick?" Eracura inquired. At Kevay's nod as she was gnawing on a piece of jerky, Eracura rolled her eyes. "I told her she'd get sick. Didn't I tell her she'd get sick?" Kevay nodded again, and Eracura continued, "Why didn't she leave her at home?"
"You actually think that lazy swine would do anything for anyone else? Even his own daughter?"
"She could've left her with Father," Eracura said reasonably.
Kevay's voice was suddenly quiet, full of apprehension as she said, "He's got enough to worry about." Eracura had to agree. Lately, with the Saxon activity in the north, there was a lot to be concerned with. In fact, Eracura was at this moment on a particularly significant scouting expedition to estimate the odds against them, as Saxons were notoriously unmerciful.
"So where is Morgaine?" Eracura asked.
"Three miles west of the camp – or was, the last time I saw her which was about an hour ago."
Morgaine was their eldest sister, and wed to a loathsome man by the name of Caradoc, that had a tendency to fake his own illness every few weeks to worm his way out of his duties. Apparently, Caradoc's way of thinking was that if he married the headman's daughter he was ultimately exempt from … well, everything. Eracura had seriously considered killing him herself more than once, just to put him out of his misery, counterfeit or not. But, Morgaine had gained one thing from her unfortunate wedlock; a lovely young daughter by the name of Primeveire, who was almost three years old.
"So we move out at dawn?" Kevay asked, fracturing the silence that had ensued.
Eracura looked at her sister sharply. "We?" she echoed.
Kevay nodded. "Father thought you might need some help."
"How very perceptive of him," she stated wryly. Kevay chose not to acknowledge the sarcasm in her sister's voice, and Eracura chose not to confess that she was glad for Kevay's company. Since she'd left Tristan a year ago, she'd never felt as lonely, and with each passing day it only got worse. Even as she closed her eyes to sleep, Tristan's face seemed engraved in her eyelids.
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The weak dawn sunlight cascaded through the canopy and into Eracura's eyes, waking her. She awoke slowly, reluctantly, having been indulging in a painfully realistic dream of randomly organized Tristan-related moments. Her face was buried in Syhier's musky coat, and he stirred only slightly as she sat up. Kevay was still sleeping peacefully – she had always been a heavy sleeper. In fact, Eracura had already dusted off her bearskin cloak – in which she had slept, and had packed it away, and had begun to eat before Kevay showed any sign of consciousness.
"Five more minutes …" she grumbled.
"Get up!" Eracura shouted, a smile tugging at the corners of her full mouth, as Kevay groaned and covered her eyes in protest. Eracura reached behind her to poke Kevay's side, "Up, up! Unless you don't want to eat."
That was usually the trick to get Kevay out of bed – threaten not to feed her, and it worked once more. Kevay sat bolt upright, taking a fistful of jerky from Eracura's pack of food, munching happily on one, while Eracura coaxed the others out of her hand and back into the pack. They needed to ration their food. This close to where the enemy was massing, Eracura did not want to risk a fire, lest they detect the smoke. They would be fed well upon their return home. Syhier, on the other hand, Eracura mused as the wolf himself returned from hunting with a fat jackrabbit dangling in his jaws, could eat well every day, for he was not selective when it came to eating raw food.
While waiting for him to be finished, Eracura and Kevay tidied their makeshift camp, tended and burdened their horses with their packs and their bodies. Kevay had borrowed Merlin's horse, a sturdy, pretty chestnut mare called Wimarc, but Eracura had Astolat, her gorgeous bay mare given to her by her cousin Arthur. By the time they had mounted, Syhier was finished and had joined them, and they set off to the north. Eracura was hopeful that when they finally reached the Saxon encampment there would still remain sufficient daylight to make their estimate and begin the journey home. She was prepared to travel all night in order to return home.
They ate on the move, Kevay having agreed with Eracura's desire to be home, and could finally hear the ocean on the cliffs of the northernmost shore of the island just one hour after high noon. The sound of the waves was accompanied by the constant, low hum created by the voices of men.
"Can you hear that?" Kevay asked anxiously.
Eracura nodded, maneuvering Astolat beneath a low, sturdy bough. "Stay here," she ordered, both her sister and Syhier. She pulled herself up onto the bough, climbing as high into the canopy as would support her. It was high enough that she had an only slightly inhibited view at the bare grasslands near the ocean. As she gazed down at the horrifying sight below, Eracura felt her heart nearly stop, and the blood drain from her head, making her dizzy and compromised, high in a tree as she was.
There were nearly two score men down there … two thousand fearsome Saxons, armed to the teeth and prepared for battle that had invaded her Britain. They were an enemy the Woads could never defeat on their own, at least, not divided as they were. The Saxons would sweep through the forests and down the length of the land, killing anyone who got in their way. And the Woads would be the first to fall.
Eracura pulled in several deep breaths before sliding back down the trunk of the tree, and was pummeled with questions as soon as her feet touched the ground.
"So? How many are there? Can we defeat them? How many?" Kevay finally saw the distraught look on Eracura's face and decided to wait for a response.
"Too many," Eracura said softly, rubbing Syhier's ears before mounting Astolat once more. "Now let's go. I want to be as far away from here as possible by nightfall." She urged Astolat into a brisk trot, a pace they maintained until the fires of their camp could be seen through the thick mist of the night. Merlin greeted them as though he'd sensed their arrival. His expression mimicked their own grimness, and he ushered them into his tent after designating two kids to tend their horses. They fought for a minute over Astolat, as Wimarc was notoriously mean.
"What news?" he demanded, not wasting any time.
"Two score, at least," Eracura declared, slumping disparagingly onto the floor.
"And Einar reported at least six more additional barges – maybe another nine hundred men," Merlin said, with a weighty sigh. Eracura felt nauseous, and she lay down, covering her face with her hands. "And this is not the only troubling news. Einar returned alone."
"What?" Kevay breathed, leaning forward with her hands covering her mouth.
"Didn't Guinevere -" Eracura began to ask, sitting bolt upright.
"Yes. She was captured. But not by Saxons … by a Roman lord whose lands reside to the east of here." Eracura felt the breath knocked out of her, but was given no time to lament, for her Father was speaking once more. "You must return to the fort, Eracura. There is only one man who can unite our people."
Eracura knew immediately who he spoke of. How could she not? She firmly believed it herself. And though she dreaded returning to the fort, she knew the time had come. "Arthur."
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Eracura did not sleep that night, but she ate heartily in the morning with her Father. She could sense his gaze on her while she ate, but she didn't say anything until it started to irritate her. She put down the roll stuffed with venison she'd been eating with a sigh.
"What?" she snapped impatiently.
He shrugged, "I've just been worried about you."
"You worry too much," she replied, taking a bite of her sandwich.
"I worry just enough," he stated.
"Why would you think that?"
"You fear seeing him again."
Eracura paused mid-bite, her stomach spinning. The blood that rushed to her head in that moment made her nauseous and her temples throb. He could read her as easily as a book, and it was a little unsettling. She put down her sandwich, swallowing hard and nodding.
"If he truly loves you, he'll have forgiven you," Merlin said reasonably.
Eracura drew in a deep breath, and said, "Father, do you remember the night before Adonis died?"
Merlin thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes."
"Do you remember when you told me that there was a last bit of beauty left in the world … but it wasn't the ocean?"
His eyes twinkled, and he gave a half-smile. "Yes."
"I understand what you meant, now … but I'm so afraid I've lost it. It's been so long …" her voice shook and her eyes stung. "Wh … what if … what if …" She let her face fall into her hands and a sob escaped her throat. Merlin's arms encircled her, stroking her back comfortingly as she tried desperately to smother her tears.
For better or for worse, she left that afternoon for the fort at Badon Hill.
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Author's Note: I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, so expect revision. I would like to send a special thank you out to Scouter, who has so faithfully been reviewing my chapters and being so wonderful, and also to LoveMuse, who only has words of encouragement. Thank you! lovelovelovelove.
