Chapter 6: Siege

"Uther's not the only one who's lost his damn mind," Cenred muttered to himself as he stared out across the vast expanse of gathered forces setting up camp in the valley below. "I should call the whole thing off and march them straight back to Essetir."

But something had changed during the journey to the border, urging him to continue upon this treacherous path despite his reservations. The desire to please Morgause remained his strongest motivation, of course, but the coming siege was also affecting him in other ways he didn't quite understand just yet.

It had started with the heady feeling of power that had come over him upon seeing hundreds of soldiers in perfect formation, ready to act at his slightest command. He'd been able to boast of a substantial army ever since he'd inherited his crown, of course, but never before had they all been brought together for something of this magnitude. It wasn't just his own men either – scores of mercenaries had responded to the summons as well, clearly after whatever spoils might be involved in the sacking of the richest city in five kingdoms.

Greedy bastards… well as long as they could fight, why question their reasons for doing so? If they succeeded…

Cenred couldn't allow himself to think about that just yet, not when the entire operation was balanced on a knife's edge and so many things could still go terribly wrong. It wasn't that he didn't have faith in Morgause; it was difficult not to believe that victory was within their grasp when she plotted and schemed with such unwavering certainty. But this accomplice of hers was another matter, especially when she refused to even disclose their name.

"Don't you see, Cenred? Your strength of numbers combined with the strongest magic Camelot has ever seen. We can't possibly fail!"

They could be defeated in any number of ways, actually, whether magic was involved or not, but he'd elected not to mention anything to that effect. Morgause wouldn't pay any heed to his reservations anyway, and he wasn't in the mood to be labeled a coward – her favorite insult whenever he chose to approach any given situation with a fair amount of caution.

Although he was a capable commander in his own right, it had been his father who'd devoted his life to large-scale warfare, not Cenred himself. Having spent his childhood watching the bloody, exhausting, and ultimately futile attempts to conquer all and sundry, he'd found it far more preferable to simply defend his own kingdom whenever the need should arise and leave it at that. He was an undisputed leader, blessed with youth, wealth, and good looks, and no one truly threatening had ever stood against him. What more could a man ask for?

Nothing in truth, though Cenred was beginning to understand why his father had never been content to stay home and enjoy the considerable power he'd already possessed. The air was thick with anticipation, an almost palpable electricity radiating from hundreds of men who shared a single thought – what they were about to do could very well change the course of history. It was hard to resist that sort of fervor, for what man didn't dream of taking part in a story that would someday become legend?

"Sire, do you require anything?"

Startled by the interruption, Cenred shook his head and waved the lieutenant away. The rest of his personal guard left him alone after that, quite accustomed to their master's fluctuating moods after so many years of faithful service. Good men, each and every one of them… they'd follow him to hell and back at the slightest command.

But with that kind of loyalty also came a responsibility that a woman like Morgause couldn't possibly understand – the obligation to consider their interests as well as his own. She spoke of his soldiers as if they were disposable, a means to an end and nothing more, having no awareness of the deep camaraderie that existed between a commander and those who served him.

The mercenaries were irrelevant – they could be cut down like sheaves of wheat and it would make little difference. But Cenred's own army, men he'd personally trained and fought alongside in countless minor skirmishes… could he really stand aside and watch them die on the morrow if the battle turned against them?

The hours ticked by as he remained lost in thought; before he knew it, the sun was rising and he hadn't had a wink of sleep. Irrelevant, really, since every nerve in his body fairly crackled with a restless energy that made weariness seem like a foreign concept.

"Move out!" he called just a few minutes later, breathing deeply as the steady vibration of hundreds of hooves pounded in rhythm with his racing heart. Riding ahead at a fast and furious pace, it wasn't long before he spotted her, a cascade of golden curls glinting in the bright morning sunlight as her eyes flashed with an excitement he'd only ever seen in moments of desperate passion. Suddenly, it wasn't so difficult to push his doubts aside and allow himself to be swept away upon a wave of anticipation. Just imagining her gratitude when he handed her everything she'd ever wanted on a silver platter…

"My dear Morgause."

"Cenred."

"My army shall be here by nightfall," he said, gratified to receive a genuine smile in response. "I'm glad that pleases you."

"I'll wait and see if you deliver before I say I'm pleased."

It was a direct challenge, one that set his blood on fire and overwhelmed him with the urge to take her right then and there in the middle of the field. But no… better to restrain himself for now and embrace the opportunity to show her he could be everything she expected and much more besides. Then perhaps he could finally have what he wanted… the right to possess her in ways that went far beyond physical pleasure.

"And when I do?" he said softly.

"Then I will give you a feast you will never forget."

Well, that was certainly enough to satisfy him for the time being.

Cenred was drunk on a heady cocktail of lust and power by the time his troops had amassed just outside the walls of Camelot. Yes, just hours away from the city falling into his hands, only to be presented as the ultimate gift to the woman he loved. Perhaps she was right – the battle would go off without a hitch, and the might of their combined power in the aftermath would be beyond comprehension. Together they could rule the world, without a single enemy in all the five kingdoms that could stand against them.

The strength of his imagination was enough to carry him through the first half of the battle, effectively silencing the lingering doubts that still played about the edges of his consciousness. And it was with an air of unrestrained triumph that he rode back to her side as the night deepened around them, proclaiming that the lower town was now in their possession.

"That will hardly fill the pages of history. What of the Citadel itself?"

He sighed, struggling to ignore the slight twinge of resentment on behalf of the men who'd fought tirelessly for more than three hours to achieve such a victory. Perhaps it wasn't everything she wanted, but couldn't the woman give credit where credit was due? And what had she done… where was this secret weapon she'd used to sell him on the idea of an open siege in the first place?

"Their defenses are strong," he reminded her rather pointedly. "Time for you to deliver your side of the bargain."

"Patience, Cenred. You will not be disappointed."

Half an hour later and he was seething with impotent fury, brought crashing back to reality by the sight of dozens of corpses littering the ground in the distance. He wasn't close enough to recognize most of the fallen soldiers, but it was impossible to miss the head of flaming red hair as a tall, broad shouldered figure collapsed to his knees, then fell facedown in the mud. Meilyr… one of Essetir's best soldiers, a steady and dependable warrior who'd been around since long before Cenred had inherited his crown. He'd been a veteran of countless battles, loved and respected by all. Cenred had the sinking feeling that his death, no doubt among countless others, would weigh upon his conscience for the rest of his life.

"Enough of your games, Morgause," he snapped irritably. "What has happened to your traitor?"

"For such a great king, you have very little patience."

Damn the woman… how could she sit there looking so cool and unperturbed when good men were dying all around them with no end in sight?

"The time for patience is over!"

Anger soon descended into an overpowering urge to yank her from her horse and strangle her, when he finally realized what was happening in the distance. This was her failproof plan? He'd been led to expect some mighty force of allies, imbued with all the powers of magic. An army of sorcerers, perhaps, or maybe even an uprising of Druids; peaceful or not, they certainly had the strength of numbers to change the course of the future if they chose to do so.

But no… all Morgause had to offer was a handful of clattering skeletons, mindless drones who could hardly be expected to possess the conviction they so desperately needed if they were to win this battle. What a fool he was… he'd known better, and still had allowed himself to be manipulated with exaggerated promises and outright lies. And all for what? Morgause cared nothing for him; believing it could ever be otherwise had been a waste of time, resources, and precious lives.

That was all upon his head – she might've offered the poison, but he was the one who'd chosen to drink it. Yes, he'd downed it in one swallow and then allowed countless innocents to lick the cup when he'd finished.

He was so resigned to inevitable failure by then that it came as no surprise when the ragtag collection of skeletons abruptly disintegrated into so much dust. With that, the facade was over – his ill advised siege upon a kingdom that was twice as strong as his own had ever been, all for love of a woman who saw him as nothing more than a hapless pawn in her treacherous games. He couldn't even say he was sorry, couldn't bring himself to dwell on his numerous failures. All he wanted was to gather what was left of his troops and make his way home.

"Your traitor has failed us, just as I knew they would," he said flatly. "I'm calling off the siege."

"You can't!"

"I cannot take the city unaided. That was not our bargain!"

He couldn't, and damned if he was willing to keep trying to no avail. He'd gotten a taste of war, sweetly intoxicating in the beginning, but like so many things in life, enough to make a man sick with regret if he overindulged. The same could be said for Morgause herself, who was looking at him with an expression of utter contempt that would've crushed him just hours before.

Now? He felt nothing.

"You have failed me, Cenred."

"I would rather fail you, Morgause, than watch thousands of men die."

If she couldn't understand that, then he was well rid of her.

Miserable coward! She should've known better than to trust him, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so in the most brutal terms imaginable. Oh yes, and many other things besides… starting with the fact that a softhearted king had no business being king at all. She'd seen that look in his eyes, a nauseating combination of sadness and regret that had no place on the battlefield. The sentimental fool… he'd ruined everything.

True, casualties were always… unfortunate. But that was the reality of war, and any man who couldn't stomach it might as well put on a gown and spend the rest of his days immersing himself in fairytales and needlepoint. Foolish, worthless… did he not know there would always be more to take the place of those who'd fallen? Could he not see that even the slightest chance of victory was far more important than nameless soldiers whose only purpose was to live and die according to the dictates of their betters?

Such thoughts were harsh even by Morgause's standards, but she was simply too furious to care anymore. Too many failures, so many years squandered upon a desperate need for vengeance that never came to pass. They'd been close… so painfully close… and once again, it had all been for nothing.

Watching Cenred as he knelt beside one of the stiffening bodies on the ground, she snorted in disgust as he bowed his head in obvious grief. The man had given his life for a worthy cause… what need was there to treat his death as if it had been some great tragedy?

No, the real atrocity was Uther Pendragon, still very much alive and free to continue his tyranny. And there was a world of difference between the loss of common soldiers who'd willingly signed up to make such a sacrifice, and the vicious slaughter of countless innocents who'd committed no crime other than having been born with the gift of magic.

If Cenred wished to squander his time mourning anyone, he should save his tears for those who were far more worthy of them – her own people, forced to live in secrecy and constant fear lest they end up like so many of their brethren – beaten, bloodied, beheaded, burned at the stake, as the man who'd condemned them smiled in response to their screams of agony.

Yes, an honorable death on the battlefield was nothing compared to that.

In the end, however, there were far more important matters to attend to than dishing out the humiliation her former ally so richly deserved. She needed to confirm Morgana's safety, then see if she could discover why the mighty power of the Rowan staff had failed. It couldn't be any flaw with her sister's magic – there was no mistaking the pure, raw power that had set the city walls to trembling at the moment of impact. Morgana was well on her way to becoming a formidable priestess; the most important thing now was to determine what forces presented themselves as obstacles and then destroy them, one by one.

Cenred was free to return to Essetir and resume his miserable existence with no further interference from Morgause. She'd find better allies, those who'd never question her judgment or show weakness at the most crucial moment. And when she did… well, this unfortunate incident would be nothing more than a faint memory. Come what may, she wouldn't stop until Uther was dead and the kingdom of Camelot was firmly under her control.

And all the mercy in the world wouldn't help those who had the audacity to stand in her way.