Every time the wagon hit a rut or a rock in the dirt road, it would rattle slightly, shaking the nailed-together wood almost unnoticeably. But every movement made waves of pain wash through Vera's body; her head, her neck… Moving them felt like… like… she didn't even know.

She didn't want to move them.

But there was no smoother way to travel, and she'd come to the conclusion that her neck was not broken (but probably sprained), so she didn't think she would drop dead of the movement. However, her head wound was making her nervous—everything was fuzzy; blood was clotted in her hair; an ache had spread down her head into her back. She knew it was still bleeding some. If anything was going to do her in, that was going to be it.

She gritted her teeth and bore it. She'd prefer to cry, but the poor farmer in the wagon next to her jumped if she so much as grunted and asked her if she was okay. And answering hurt too much, so she was silent.

They were not far from home, now; they'd been traveling for hours and she could just about feel it in the air.

Vera closed her eyes against the pain and tilted her head back, watching the light flicker against her eyelids as the sun peeked through tree tops. They were going through the forest as fast as the horses would take them without Vera screaming in agony.

"I think we might be almost there," said the man tentatively. "From your directions."

He was scared of her. She'd realized that soon enough. It was a little funny; not many people were afraid of Vera in her own right, but she was used to people scared of her because she had her father's ear. Usually she wouldn't hold that over anyone. Now, though, she felt like she was slipping away and she needed to go home, so if using a man's fear of the Mortdestin would get her there, she would use it.

His farm had been right near the back exit; he'd just been sitting around when she came crawling up, bleeding, injured, and needing a ride.

"Yes," she said. "Don't worry, they'll stop us. There's always a lookout. They'll see me in the seat."

Just then they hit another particularly bad bump, and she hissed through her teeth as her head bobbed loosely. The farmer began to jabber apologies.

She ignored him and recollected her wits.

"Halt!" The call echoed through the forest, and she winced at the sound in her ears. Did they have to shout like that?

"Whoa," the man muttered gently to his horses, pulling back on the reins. The horses slowed immediately, and Vera opened her eyes reluctantly, but she did not turn her head to look around. That would be too much.

"Halt," the voice repeated. "Who are you?"

She thought she recognized the deep, low tones—Aberforth, or she'd eat grass. Just then the man himself stepped into view on the road and out of the trees, his bow taut and his arrow nocked and aimed.

The farmer looked worried, but his hands were steady.

"I'm just a poor farmer," he said. "The lady wanted a ride home…"

Aberforth looked towards her. "Vera? What happened?"

"My father," she said weakly. "Is my father nearby?"

"He should be just inside." Most of their headquarters was underneath the ground, dug out partly by magic and partly by nature. On the surface, it was just a normal but rackety building, and several hundred feet away there were few more similar buildings. Cliffs with caves – just out of sight here – were the only natural way in from the surface. Under the ground, it housed all of the Mortdestin—perhaps a hundred people give or take several dozen. Aberforth raised his voice and called out, "It's Vera! Saul!"

Several moments later there was the sound of footsteps cracking through the underbrush. "This had better be important," her father griped. On anyone else, it would have sounded petulant, but only Saul could make it sound honestly threatening.

And then he stepped into the road. Saul was a large man, but not fat—he had a large build, brown hair and gray eyes like his daughter. But he had a dark coloring and an unattractive but fearsome face, marred by tiny white scars from various incidents. When Vera had been so young that she had not known it was rude, she had been known to comment that it was a good thing that she'd gotten most of her traits from her mother. Her father's face was not frightening to her, but she would not want to look like him. She'd seen people go white when he sneered.

That might have been his reputation, though. It was slightly exaggerated, of course. Slightly.

Then he saw Vera.

"Vera," he said with some surprise.

On shaking arms, she pushed herself up and stepped off the cart. She made to walk towards him, but she barely got a step before she plopped right down on the ground, her hand on her forehead.

The farmer started and seemed to be about to go help her up, but Aberforth tightened his hold on his bow when the man even twitched.

Saul went over to his daughter, something like worry on his face, and helped her to climb to her feet. She leaned against him as though he was a wall.

"Sorry," she said. "Sorry. So dizzy. Very dizzy." She moved her eyebrows a bit, pulling her eyes open. They'd started to close. "I'm pretty injured," she added.

Her father glanced at the back of her head. His face hardened as he looked towards the farmer.

"Kill him," he told Aberforth.

"No!" snapped Vera, waking up abruptly. She sniffed a bit, shook her head, and regretted it hugely. "He had nothing to do with it. He wasn't even there. I…" She looked dizzy, but her knees held this time. "I promised him that there wouldn't be trouble."

"Now he knows where we are," Saul responded.

"I promised," she insisted. Her eyes closed. "I might've died otherwise. Had to get home."

"Alright, dear," he said in a voice softer than she'd heard since she was seven and broke her foot, "I understand. He won't be hurt."

Aberforth lowered his bow. The farmer reseated himself, having completed his job, and taking the reins, ordered his horses to move. The wide road let him turn around as he clip-clopped away. Vera didn't watch him go; the speech had been too much for her, and she dropped her head onto her father's chest, etiolated.

"Important things to tell you…" she murmured into his shirt, her eyes still closed. "Emrys… Once and Future King… Know who they are."

"Where are all your men?" As he spoke, Saul looked over her and jerked his head at Aberforth, looking where the farmer had disappeared, until the man got the message. Nodding, the armed fellow slipped into the woods to grab his horse and go.

"Dead," she said. "Except maybe Saxon; don't know… Had to leave. All Emrys. So tired…"

"It's alright. We'll take you instead, get you a doctor."

He helped her into the cabin and then down some steps into the first room they came to. It actually belonged to him; hers was further down, but he wouldn't make her wait that long. He brought her to his bed and put her down, choosing to overlook the blood seeping into his pillow.

"I'll get a doctor."

"Send Ma," Vera muttered. "Send someone. I have to tell you, and I don't have time." She opened foggy eyes to stare at him.

Not breaking eye contact, he nodded. "May!" he called as someone passed by in the hall. A young girl – not Vera's mother, but just a Mortdestin member – slipped in.

"Sir?"

"Get the physician. It's an emergency."

The girl was gone in an instant. Saul drew up a chair and sat heavily, a worried tinge in his eyes.

Vera took a deep breath. "Got the king," she told her father, having a hard time inhaling. Her head hurt so badly that it almost no longer hurt. She was so dizzy. The room was spinning. She didn't think she had much time. "Wouldn't tell us who Emrys was. But then he got rescued… Emrys killed all the men, threw me into wall… Merlin. King's servant. Merlin. That's the Emrys." Her eyes drifted closed.

Her father nodded again. "I understand," he said. "We will make plans to get rid of him." Gently, gently (so unlike him. It was so strange, she thought) he pushed her hair out of her face.

"Good," she said.

The first time she'd seen a dead body, she'd been nine. She'd known there was a prisoner, and known her father was going to talk to him. Something about some prophecy concerning a war. The man had been tied up in a chair, but she wasn't supposed to see him. She'd been sent out to play. And when she got back, she wondered why the man who used to make noises had gotten silent. So, when her father was turned away, she went and looked. She'd never forgotten that sight, and never told anyone that she'd seen when she wasn't supposed to. But since then, she'd never wanted to see someone dead. She did her duty to the Mortdestin, but she didn't want to kill or see carnage.

But Emrys had done her in. Her father didn't know it. But she could feel it. And she wanted Emrys to pay for that even if she wasn't around to make him.

She opened her eyes again and looked to her father. "Love you," she said. Vera hadn't told him that in years.

And then she closed her eyes once more and went away.

Her father stared at her for a second, recognizing that her breaths had stopped coming. He bit his lip as he reached out and took her wrist in his giant hand and felt for his only child's pulse. But there was nothing.

The physician burst in behind him, out of breath. "What's the emergency? Who's hurt?"

Not seeing anything, Saul stood from his seat by his daughter's bed. Still staring blankly, he said, "Other than my daughter and the men we sent, who else knows that spell to take on someone else's shape?"

The medical man was surprised. "Only Aberforth," he said, naming the talented-in-weapon-and-magic young man.

"Very well," said Saul. "When he gets back, tell him I want to see him at once about a trip. And in the meantime, call her mother." He gestured gruffly at Vera.

The physician's eyes wandered to the dead girl, and he gasped, showing off a lack of teeth. The old man looked shocked. "I'm sorry," he said.

Saul looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"

"I said I was sorry. About her. I know it's hard." The doctor was beginning to feel that he'd forgotten who he was talking to. But Saul was still just staring in a distant way. Only now he was looking in the other man's general direction.

"Revenge is better than sorrow," he said at last, and exited the room, leaving a bewildered man behind to take care of everything.

The farmer didn't breathe for about half a mile, when he finally relaxed. He'd thought he was a goner there for a moment or two.

But no. Everything was okay. He was headed back home to wait for the knight to return his horses, and the girl had gotten to her place, like she wanted. It all worked out. He worried for nothing.

The arrow that cut through the air and then the muscles of his chest, into his heart, was so fast and swift that it didn't hurt. He just had time to look up in surprise at a familiar figure of a man in the woods beside him before he toppled off the cart and to the ground. He was dead when he hit the ground.

The horses kept trotting unconcernedly on.

A/N: And so the story goes on! We'll be back to our heroes next chapter. Please review. I'm not sure what I think about this one...