Chapter 14

[Armory—One Hourglass Turn Later]

Three floors below the royal chamber, craftsmen and blacksmiths toiled over their forges. Sparks flew. Other instruments pushed coals and wood in their burning areas. Flames sprang toward their task. Hammers rang against hot metal. Water hissed as said blades dove into it. Pincers straightened links in chain mail.

Such were the sounds of a people preparing for battle….

Britomart inspected her gear. Her eye ran up and down her chain mail's links. She checked the sleeves and the torso. Then she slipped it on over her plain serving dress. She cinched a leather belt around her waist. The sword and sheath's weight reassured her. She drew her sword and swung it about. She feinted with it briefly. She admired how balanced it seemed. She noted the glint from its edge.

Battle called to her. It whispered of Glory and Achievement's riches. It promised Freedom and Amor's embrace. Temptation rode its intoxicating aroma.

She breathed a composing breath. She willed her heart to slow its frantic pace. No she wasn't just some dream-befuddled girl. She'd sparred with a few of the knights over the years. She'd accompanied her mistress on several hunts. On those occasions, she'd skewered her share of boar and stag with her well- worn spear. Even if her male counterparts in Rodor's service would never admit it, she had proven herself their equal.

Men! They think they're the only warriors? The Princess can hit anything from fifty yards with her crossbow. I've held my own. She frowned. Don't worry about them. Focus on the problem. We must help Camelot. She bit her lip. She felt her heart skip a beat. You have more to worry about than just that oaf! Think of the others who suffer from that witch! She considered her sword again. Despite the promise given to the King, she knew Mithian would not hesitate. "I will do what I must."

"And I'd expect nothing less from you."

Britomart froze. Embarrassment sapped her. She slowly turned to find Mithian watching her. "Milady, I wanted to be prepared."

Mithian chuckled. "As if I'd expect any less? Britomart, it is quite all right." She patted the crossbow resting against the wall. "To go off unprepared especially against the likes of Lady Morgana is a fool's errand."

"Even prepared, it might be." Britomart sheathed her sword. "I respect our knights, Princess. I know of our skill. Still we're fighting magic and a massive army!"

"Says the one who charged the wall before?" Mithian arched her eyebrow.

Britomart rolled her eyes. "I'll give you that one, Milady. Still we should take care. King Rodor made a good point in there. I'm not the only one who rushes in where Love insists we tread."

Mithian's lip curled in defeat. "Well we do have our duty. Don't we?"

"We don't want to be hostages in that witch's game. Do we?" Britomart reminded her mistress. Then she bowed her head. "My apologies."

"I've come to count on your blunt assessments, Britomart. You assess people well. You see things from a different frame of mind than my father or me," Mithian assured her. "We should all be cautious. I do not intend to charge into Camelot this time." She rubbed her chin. "We'll skirt the city. I am not about to recklessly barge into a trap."

Britomart cleared her throat. "No that would not be advisable, Princess." She considered her mistress. Instinct told her that the latter knew something more. She saw Mithian's eyes narrowing and skittering in any direction save hers. She noted the Princess' renewed consideration of her weapon and quiver. Now what? "No. Interrupting a siege is not a diplomatic solution. Is it?"

Mithian ground her teeth. "No. It isn't." If there was a siege to interrupt. She turned lest the maid saw Worry turn her face white. She felt Merlin's anxiety as he and the others made their way away from Camelot. What's going on? Is he all right? "We should take care in our preparations as you pointed out before." She cleared her throat. "Is there anything else you'd require from Gylswyth? Has Master Wyngate given you what we need for the journey?"

Britomart recognized the change in subject. Rather than probe with further questions, she relented and went along with it. "I have our supplies ready. They're in my chamber. I have packed for the journey as well."

Mithian smiled. "Thank you. Perhaps you might finish up here soon? We shall be leaving shortly." With that she picked up her gear and walked briskly toward the door.

Britomart shook her head. What now? She shook her head. Then she followed her mistress' footsteps toward the door and the campaign beyond.

[Rodor's Private Chamber]

Rodor surveyed the views from his eastern window. His eyes imbibed deeply from the rich rouges, golds and oranges streaking the early morning sky. Despite the enclosed glass, he shivered in spite of himself. He would've preferred to lead this expedition and have Mithian serve as his regent.

Age and Health however insured that wouldn't be the case…..

Sharp pains seared through his back muscles. They stabbed at the arthritic bones therein. They insured he'd never be able to ride more than a few leagues much less the entire distance. That and lying on the ground rendered the point beyond moot.

I have to trust her. He scratched his chin. In most political matters, he knew she'd handle herself with aplomb. He'd watched her negotiate treaties and make agreements. He'd heard most recently about her diplomatic masterwork with Arthur to save face and cement matters between Camelot and Nemeth. He knew she'd bring Gwen back there insuring further stores of good will beyond that. Still he worried about her rashness. He wondered if she could show patience and prudence. He'd heard her talk about balancing Love and Duty's respective weights.

Now if she could actually do it. That would be the question….

She almost started a war to save that servant. Merlin has done us great turns. He is worthy even if Arthur Pendragon refuses to see that. Still Mithian cannot simply charge into every matter as she did before. I want to have faith but she needs to prove herself in that regard. He shook his head.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Aye?"

"Father? Might we talk before departing?" Mithian asked from the doorway. Anxiety flared in her stomach over that conversation. Hesitation rooted her feet in place.

"Of course. Please come in and close the door," he invited. He sucked in a composing breath allowing both the paternal and royal countenances to show on his face. He took in her plate metal hauberk over the chain mail showing over her arms and down to her knees. He watched her set down her crossbow and quiver of bolts on the floor. "I see you have what you need?"

"Aye, Sire. Thank you for the gear, military support and advisors. They will serve us well in the coming expedition," she expressed.

His ears perked at the word expedition. Granted he'd expected to hear campaign. Still he felt better that he hadn't. "Remember to temper Instinct and Emotion with Logic, Mithian. The others have experience that can benefit you."

"Sirs Galahad and Ywain have already shared some insights on our last trip to Camelot, my Lord. Even if he cannot speak, Malodius can point to things he hasn't seen. He is loyal in ways that might not seem apparent," she concurred.

He quirked an eyebrow at mention of the lion. While he didn't doubt Malodius' loyalty or abilities on a battlefield, he didn't exactly understand how their magical ally would be able to counsel her without the ability to speak. Still he liked that she acknowledged the others' experience. "Their perspective offers things which you or I cannot readily see, my Daughter. Do not hesitate to ask them for insight. Make your decision. Still consider their views." He picked up a goblet and sipped from it.

She nodded. Already she'd planned to organize a council of sorts at the first rest stop. "It would be foolish of me if I did not, Sire. Thank you for the reminder."

"You are quite welcome. Remember we must consider the needs of our followers. The heart can pull us astray. Yes we should heed it. Still we cannot rush blindly into battle over it. You do remember the account concerning the Trojan War?"

She rolled her eyes not really caring for the history lesson. "I do, Father. I would not sink our kingdom for love."

He smiled. "Please remind the Lady Blancheflor and Guinevere of that notion as well, Mithian. I am well aware of your feelings…all of your feelings. While we serve our friends and subjects, our primary responsibility remains with Nemeth on the whole. Our interests must remain with the good of the kingdom first."

"Of course. As you bade me, I will seek to remain an ambassador for peace. That is my role," she assured him. Admittedly she said what he wanted to hear. Still she needed to convince herself of that rationale. She fought to restrain her own youthful exuberance. She kept her drive to ride off after Merlin in check….

…All for the Greater Good….All as Merlin would've had her do it…..

Now if she'd just could stay on that course…

He embraced her. "That is my greatest hope, Mithian. I do not want you to be alone forever. I just want you to balance Duty with Temperance and Love in all things. One day, I will meet this Merlin and see how he measures up. From what I've heard from you and the others, he has a great deal of potential. For now, be strong and hold firm. Remember your course and that you are a Princess of Nemeth first. Go forth and do us proud."

"Aye, Father," she concurred.

He kissed her brow. "It is time then. I should see you and your expedition off. Follow me." He led her from the chamber and down the grand stairs. From there they walked out of the citadel and into the square.

A sizable contingent awaited them. Two dozen armed knights sat on horseback. Their armor and weapons glinted in Sol's rising light. Gwen and Blancheflor waited as well. Silence maintained a hold on Impatience's spurs to action. Beside Mithian's chocolate colored horse, Britomart held the reins and watched out for her mistress.

"It is time then," Mithian declared. She surveyed the scene. Appreciation and Gratitude blossomed in her heart. Purpose steeled her mind. Caution provided perspective. "My friends, thank you for being here on such short notice! Today we ride to the aid of our friends! While we hope that the threat would crash against Camelot's walls and scatter, we would make sure of that fact. For now, we ride. We would stand strong with our allies. We would stand for a strong Five Kingdoms. I've heard King Arthur speak of a strong Albion and Britannia. That would benefit Nemeth as well as Camelot! We ride for Duty as well as Love and Destiny today. May we do so with Prudence in strong context as well." She turned to Rodor. "Wish us well, Sire."

"In all things, my Daughter. Be well and mindful," Rodor bade. Once more he embraced her.

She nodded. Her eyes sparkled catching and reflecting the early morn's light. She bowed to her father once more. Then she walked toward her waiting horse. A smile broke through Seriousness' mask for her loyal servant and friend holding the reins. "Always there and waiting, aren't you?"

"As always, Milady," Britomart affirmed. She steadied the horse. "We await your lead."

Mithian mounted her horse. She inhaled a deep breath. She knew of her servant's inner conflict. She understood the other accompanying ladies' issues. She could very well do so for they mirrored her own. Still, as she promised to Rodor, she would hold the line at least outwardly. She watched her maid climb onto her own steed. Then she turned back to her King. "Be well, Sire."

"And you and the rest of you," Rodor replied evenly. He struggled to maintain the Mask of State even as his heart ached with Worry and Fear.

For a brief heartbeat, Mithian exchanged glances with Malodius. Her mind flittered for a brief minute reaching out toward the east. Then she collected herself. She rebalanced her sensibilities anew. For Duty's sake, I will keep myself composed.

For Duty's sake, Princess, Malodius confirmed. We ride for everything shortly.

For everything. The Princess signaled to the group to depart. She spurred her own horse and started the deliberate pace toward the lower town below.

For their part, none of the company looked left or right. Their eyes remained locked on their leader. Their purpose set in stone.

After the last rider had disappeared through the upper gate, Rodor sighed. Destiny and Fate, it seemed, rode down hard on them all despite wishes to the contrary. Now all seemed contingent on the next spin of Fortuna's whimsical wheel.

All seemed to be in Chance's hand at that point…..