Previously in The Exile
"It was on the king's own wedding day actually," Dresden explained with a deferential shrug. "We'd had the handfasting of course, but hadn't yet married. When the news came that King Arthur was marrying we decided that we would do so on the same day," Dresden shook his head. "It was days later when we learned of Guinevere's treachery.
"I suppose it turned out better for us than him," Esylt said and Dresden kissed her on the forehead.
Arthur stared at the pair of them hands clenched into fist, lips working though he made not a sound. How was it that they picked up the two most happily wedded individuals in all of Camelot?...Chapter XXXIV By Fire Do I Test My Gold
Concerned about getting separated, Arthur kept an eye on his cousin and that was how he missed them in the crowd, three of Morgana's men.
In less than a breath they surrounded him, shoved something dark over his head, and then the most peculiar thing happened.
An exhausting drowsiness overtook him,and Arthur knew no more. In the plain view of hundreds of people, the king of Camelot was made to disappear, and no one noticed….Chapter XXX By Fire Do I Test My Gold
...The interruption turned out to be far more important than anything else. King Arthur had led a revolt at Caer. She wanted to turn her full thoughts to to Caer and Arthur, but Caer was at least five days away on horseback, riding hard. Which meant the revolt had been five days ago. Who knew where Arthur was now? That he was not on his way here with an army was certain. The Caer revolt had been peopled almost entirely by locals, and the locals at least would remain in Caer holding the town against her….Chapter XXXIII The Queen's Time
The Exile
-Part II, Chapter XXXIV-
The Liberation of Caer
Arthur surveyed the street. Splintered wood, rent furniture littered the street, thatch from destroyed roofs danced on the wind, and there was a stink in the air. A foul combination of human waste, spilt blood going stale, and corpses beginning the slow process of rot. Caer was liberated, and the morning sun lit the night's destruction in pitiless detail. Already the reapers were out to collect what was left of the dead.
Old Caer- the buildings just outside the walls of Caer Keep- had seen the worst of it and this was where Arthur walked now, an effort to bring some sense of surety and comfort to those whose homes and had been destroyed or had watched loved ones die. Debris crunched under foot as he approached the ruined church. Arthur sighed, his eyes of their own accord shot to where Alfwyn knelt with the remains of her twin brother's body. Gorian had died a mere twenty yards from their goal. It had been Alfwyn and Gorian who had pushed Caer into rebellion, and the youth had paid for it with his life.
Now he went to Alfwyn's side.
They'd found him in pieces. Head still attached to shoulders, but everything down to the waste gone, eaten. The wyverns seemed to favor the torso, eating groin, belly, and chest, but leaving the rest. Arthur rubbed his forehead and rolled his shoulders in an effort to loosen the ache that had settled into his head hours earlier.
He watched her a moment, kneeling amongst the debris, whimpering in disbelief. They had imagined horror, feared torment from Morgana, feared the fate of Bayberry. They- none of them- could have fancied this desecration.
"H-he's a hero, Alfwyn."
"Is he?"
She looked up at him mute, eyes wide, unshed tears glistening in the sunlight, and Arthur faltered at the desolation he saw there.
Her hair was wild, her face and neck and hands smeared with blood, dirt and gore, clothing torn, but it was her eyes that made him falter, stopped his words. There were times when he knew just the right thing to say to his subjects. Moments when he was a perfect prince, a perfect king when he knew what to say, to lead, to comfort, to shepherd-
But what did you say to a seventeen year-old maid whose twin brother had died while being eaten alive by a beast out of stories. What did he say?
"He's dead," she said those two words.
"I'm sorry," he said at last. "He died a hero and Camelot is lessened without him."
She sobbed then and surprised him by forgetting that he was king and she a grubby peasant and threw herself into his arms. Arthur did the only thing he could, put an arm around the girl and let her cry on his shoulder. The reapers, dressed in their mask and cloaks, as if for plague, moved to gather Gorian's remains and she pulled away.
"Wait- you-" she faltered and stared at them for a moment.
"This youth was a hero," Arthur said to them. "And this maid too. They readied Caer for rebellion, and he died trying to stop the horror that Morgana's men unleashed upon the city."
One of the reapers lifted their mask, face grim.
"Don't worry, miss, we shall treat him with honor," the man said and gave her arm a comforting squeeze.
"They have to take him, Alfwyn," Arthur said and she nodded.
Corpses left to rot in the summer heat would bring vermin, disease, and scavenging beast, all of which might visit death new upon the living. The reapers tagged Gorian's remains with a bit of thread and lifted the canvass tarp that covered their cart. He was placed beside a number of others; most appeared to have died in the same way. Watching them work, Arthur saw two pairs of legs in a familiar pair of pants and skirt. For a moment he stared, and then he started toward the reaper's cart.
Yester morn they had been alive, yester morn he had seen them, and envied them. Yester morn he'd have switched his and Guinevere's lives for theirs. All the months of anguish after Guinevere's death came swimming up over him, an ocean of unhappiness pounding in his ears in time with his heart, weighing down his limbs even as his hands started to shake.
"They," he said words too soft for even the most attentive to ear. "They go together," he said. The reapers went about their business, and he took a deep breath. It was important that they know that Dresden and Esylt went together.
Arthur cleared his throat, and they looked up now.
"Your majesty?"
"These two, Dresden and Esylt," he sighed,"they go together."
"Yes, your majesty."
"Good," he said. He had to go. Seeing them together and happy had stirred up all of his own unhappiness. Seeing them dead, dead so all their happiness and hopes were lost, crushed…
This was not what was supposed to happen. Arthur started toward the ruined church. He had to get out of the street. No one would be there; they would not brave the monsters even as they were now.
He still had to push the heavy wooden doors open. The wyverns had torn through the thatched roof. The morning sun filled the the chapel. And he could see the things that had menaced them only hours ago.
He studied them a moment, wondering how they had ever been accepted as statues. No work was so detailed. Each tiny scale rendered immobile in stone, deadly teeth, long and sharp, wicked claws that tore through the church walls, powerfully built muscular bodies straining even now to reach them. He could still remember the hate and rage in their eyes.
Morien had suspected they were angry, and at the death of one of their own and in that very last moment, Arthur had been convinced that the younger knight was right. Now he touched one and found it the same cold stone it had been the moment Sir Morien had shone the valspar upon the wyverns and saved them all.
Sir Morien knight of Camelot threw himself face down in the dusty street and felt a rush of air on the back of his neck as a stooping wyvern missed its target. He looked back and saw the thing circling above, screeching to its counterparts. The light of the moon, full and bright, gleamed a dull silver-gray on leathery scaled wings and red eyes glared down at them.
There was a clamor of squawks, clucks, and screeches as the beast which were neither bird nor lizard circled communicating with each other. He needed to get into better cover before one of them stooped again. The hold with its heavy stone walls and a promise of safety was perhaps twenty feet away, but there were terrified people and screeching beasts between he and the safety its doors promised.
The knight got to his feet, keeping low. It was from this line of sight that he saw a wounded Gorian struggling to rise, staring at the sky in horror. Sir Morien glanced up and back over his shoulder. One of the wyverns had spied the wounded rebel leader as easy, vulnerable prey, lying prone in the street, the moonlight beamed down on him almost guiding the wyverns to their next meal.
The knight launched himself at Gorian covering the young man with his own body and getting his shield up in one motion. He muttered the words of a long memorized incantation and just like that they winked out of sight. A moment later, he heard a terrified shriek as some other unfortunate was grabbed and dashed to the ground to meet death.
"Hey! Hey!"
Somehow, the shout carried over the tumult of battle, and Sir Morien peaked out from the safety of his shield.
Ambrose, the king's uncle had come from- he did not know where- in one hand held a torch that burned blue, and in another a carved staff. All eyes, human and wyvern alike, were on him. The wyverns following the slow steady wave of the torch as he moved it back and forth and the humans tense, frightened, wondering, hoping for a chance.
Not wanting to draw the attention of the wyverns, the young knight eased his shield to the ground. The hold door opened and Rhosyn, crouching, carrying a second staff emerged. She went to those closest to the hold doors. While Ambrose's shout had carried over the street, whatever Rhosyn said to those she went to was a whisper, but they started a long low creep toward the hold doors, some crouching, some crawling, all making a slow journey towards stout, stone walls.
Morien turned his attention back to Gorian. There was blood in his blonde curls, but no other injury that he could see.
"Can you move?"
The young man swallowed and nodded.
"I hit my head, but am feeling better."
"Come on then."
The last thing Sir Morien had imagined when he'd seen King Arthur playing cloak and dagger games in the streets of Caer with a little blonde look-alike, had been this.
Ambrose started to sing, magic projecting his voice so the words carried up to the wyverns now perched on the rooftops watching him. The thing's heads began to sway to the melody of his words. He hadn't expected to meet a figure out of legend either nor that that figure would live up to his legend. Sir Kay had told the young Eritrean much about General Ambrose, brother to King Uther.
Morien did not duck into the safety of the hold when he reached the hold doors. Here, against the heavy stone walls of Caer Keep, the shadows were thick enough to hide them if they were still, and made no sudden movement. He urged Gorian through and crouched on one side, while Rhosyn crouched on the other. Another wyvern landed on the roof, eyes on Ambrose.
"Rhosyn?" He looked to the sorceress for explanation.
"It's a keeper's song; it will call them here, giving our people a chance to get to cover."
"Oh," he started to smile, but saw Rhosyn frown. "What is it?"
"The keeper is supposed to have a seal."
"I take it Ambrose does not."
"No, he doesn't," she sighed nostrils flaring.
Sir Morien looked at the long line of people creeping toward the safety of the keep and Ambrose and Rhosyn staffs.
"Your staffs are at least made of rowan?""
"Yes."
"Allah be praised in that. We might yet get everyone under cover."
"He's nearing the end." Rhosyn said and at that moment six more joined the creeping line. Sir Morien did a double take at the two blonde heads at the end and bit out a curse.
He'd come initially to Camelot seeking the whereabouts of his father, but found himself like so many others drawn to the charismatic Prince Arthur, a leader, a ruler who saw kingship not as the exercise of power, but as service. Even in his homeland of Ethiope, such a king was rare. Of course seeing kingship as service, as shepherding, Arthur seemed always ready to take the greatest risk.
"Look who's at the end of the line."
Rhosyn took her eyes off her husband and swore. Ambrose reached the end of the song, and one of the beasts flew down and chirped at him. The sorcerer fumbled through his pockets a moment before raising his staff and planting it firmly on the stone.
"Hold!" Ambrose shouted one word, golden flames dancing round his eyes. Drawing a line with his staff, the older wizard chanted a spell. Morien saw a brief flare of blue-green light as Ambrose finished the incantation.
The beast squawked and called its friends. Rhosyn ran to her husband's side planting her staff and fronting the beast with equal temerity.
Morien sighed, he wished he could help them, but he'd let his magic studies slide since he'd come to Camelot. Magic required patience, stillness and if he hadn't had a natural gift for it, he wouldn't have learnt any. Moments like this though the young knight, his impatient nature. Still he kept his eyes on the pair fronting the wyverns; he was ready with his shield if any needed it.
A battle of wills ensued, and the knight watched as the boundary Rhosyn and Ambrose protected inched backwards. Two against twelve, it would not be enough.
"Run for it!" Sir Morien shouted to the last few, and those remaining dashed for the safety of the hold, throwing themselves through the door, even as Rhosyn, Ambrose and Morien and their staffs were practically pushed through it. The door slammed shut, and the young knight to surveyed the packed hall.
Someone had lit torches, and he counted thirty smudged, dirty, and bedraggled faces in the flickering torchlight. Ambrose, Rhosyn, Arthur and Aikat were amongst them. Though he searched, Morien saw neither hide nor hair of his fellow knights, Sir Kay and Sir Palamedes. Morien muttered a swift prayer for his two friends and hoped that they still had the charms he'd made for them.
"Well now what?"
The things outside shrieked, and Aikat went to the window.
The girl gasped and he felt a tingle of nerves. He'd only known Aikat a short while, but he knew she was stout of heart, if she feared they all should fear.
"What is it?" Ambrose asked that question and started toward the window.
She looked at them with wide horrified eyes. "They're eating them."
An involuntary shudder passed through him, and he swallowed bile though someone, somewhere in the hall retched. Morien fanned himself against the heat. Things were about to get very uncomfortable. No, this was not how he had planned to end this day at all.
Sir Morien held the pouch between two dark fingers and raised it for his companions, Sir Palameds and Sir Kay to see. The surprise had been finding such a thing hanging about the neck of his king.
"So it is magic?" Sir Palamedes had asked, none of them realizing that their king was only feigning unconsciousness.
"Oh most assuredly." He sat the pouch down on the table between them and spared a glance for the cot where the king lay unconscious.
"Do you think he knows that?" Palamedes had pointed at the king.
"Does his majesty, King Arthur of Camelot, know that he was wearing a charm?"
Sir Morien laughed at the absurdity of the question.
"Come now, Palamedes?"
"I suppose you're right, but perhaps we should probably be a bit more careful in what we say, his majesty might be awake."
He'd scoffed at that idea as well. He liked and respected King Arthur, but patience, subtlety, deception were not the man's strong points.
The young knight shook his head. He needed to listen to Sir Palamedes more. What had Sir Kay said of them? "Sir Palamedes' cautious nature is a foil to your boldness my friend."
The king had been awake and giving his full attention to everything they'd said. Later when he'd introduced them to his aunt and uncle, he'd challenged Sir Morien about his own magic.
-Morien shook his head. The king might have been lifting the ban, but that didn't mean he wanted it known that he was a magic user.
Morien mopped sweat from his brow, and wrinkled his nose. Closed up and packed tight with hot, sweating bodies, the air in the hall was heavy and rank.
"Sir Morien," the king's eyes landed on him, "Rhosyn, Ambrose, do you know anything at all about those beasts? Perhaps how they can be turned back into statues? Also," now the king's attention turned to Caer's rebels, "surely your people have some stories, some legends about these wyverns, perhaps a tale that tells how to turn beast into stone? Try to think, or remember any such stories."
There was a loud thunk, and then a screech, and more thuds.
"Are they trying to get in?" Another of the Caer rebels asked.
"I don't think they can," Sir Moren said. "The keep is solid stone, well made, and for the moment, they are flesh and blood."
Some of the tension seemed to ease then.
"But not every building in Caer is," Arthur said. "We need a plan."
Everyone started talking at once, with the king standing in the center glaring. None of the them noticed the stranger, standing silent, apart from the others until he was right beside the king.
"Excuse me, your majesty," the stranger spoke in latin rather than Welsh. "I think I have an idea."
"But who are you, stranger?" Morien asked. "Because you most assuredly are not one of us."
"You are right. I am not one of you, but I am here with you, because I am in just as much danger from those things as the rest of you. All a mercenary wants to do is survive."
There were gasps and then shouts demanding that the mercenary be killed out of hand, insisting that he could not be trusted.
"Quiet! All of you!" Somehow Arthur managed to project his voice over the din, and the room went completely silent, the only thing to be heard was the sound of the wyverns thudding against the walls of the keep along with their screeches and squawks.
"This man is most assuredly our enemy, but I want to hear what he has to say."
The king was met with bowed heads and shamefaced apologies. It was unseemly to argue in front of the king; everyone knew that.
"Thank you, sire," the mercenary inclined his head a slight smile on his face. "My mother was a hedge-witch of remarkable ability. Some even claimed that she was a sorceress of Camelot from the time before King Uther."
There were grumbles at this, but the merc did not pause in his story.
"When I was a boy, a thing not unlike these beast came to our village, during the height of winter when the nights were long and the days were short, a time when there was almost no sunshine. For you see, in the light of the sun, these things will retreat into stone, and as long as their seal is intact so they shall remain unless summoned forth again."
"So you are saying we simply wait the six hours until sunrise and deal with them then?" Arthur sounded annoyed, and Morien didn't blame him.
"No, I am saying you get the sunstone from your church and reflect the sun's light upon them. That is what my mother did."
"But it is still the middle of the night," Ambrose challenged.
"Ahhh," the merc smiled now. "The sun's light is always shining upon us only the strength of it waxes and wanes. The sunstone will increase the potency of that light and turn those things back into stone."
The king seemed to consider for just a moment.
"Gorian, Aikat, keep an eye on him. Morien, Ambrose, Rhosyn you're with me."
They took a torch and left the main room of the hold to speak in privacy and settled on the room that had served as their headquarters when he, Sir Kay, and Sir Palamedes had pretended to be Morgana's men.
"Thoughts?" The king asked.
"There are a number of beast that wear a guise of stone during the day and take a form of flesh in the dark of night," Ambrose said.
"The Others-"
"The Others?" Ambrose's tone was laced with sarcasm as he spoke, and the the king and Rhosyn, as one, shot him such a strong look that the older man held up his hands as a wordless apology.
"As I was saying, The Others do not believe he is lying, but they do caution us," Rhosyn said "and not simply because we cannot trust the mercenary nor the danger of the wyverns themselves."
"If we do accept this story, then we still have to get to the church and get the sunstone,"Ambrose pointed out.
"And that of course means going back out there." Arthur finished the older man's thought for him. "You're quiet, Sir Morien."
The young knight shrugged for his answer.
"I've never dealt with beast like these before, sire." He summoned to his mind everything he knew about valspar. "I do know that sunstone is very powerful. In Eretria where the sun itself shines more strongly, we let sunstone soak up light and then shine them for any number of purposes. If the stone here has been allowed to sit in the sun, then it shouldn't matter much. It is essential in some magic rites. The more light it has soaked up, the more powerful it is."
"_, didn't mention that bit," Rhosyn remarked.
"Probably because he already knows that it is hidden somewhere in the church vaults," Morien remarked. "Locked up as a thing of magic," he frowned on his last words letting his disapproval leak through and then regretted as the other three shot him a curious look.
"If it has been locked up, will it work?"
"I think it should," Morien said in slow thoughtful words. "We have a full moon tonight and even though the common name is sunstone, it is still powerful in the light of the moon. Perhaps the merc is right, and moonlight and sunlight are the same."
"Something else you mustn't forget," Ambrose said an urgent tone to his voice. "That man is a mercenary and for him surviving also means putting his own needs above all others. If it suits him, he will turn on us just as quickly as he turned on Morgana. I believe he is telling the truth about the sunstone, but most likely he is also waiting for the right moment to capture or kill the king."
should I bring that up since I have no intention of bringing that merc back at this point….?
Arthur nodded as if he had been following a similar thread of thought. Even still, Sir Morien already knew what the king of Camelot would do. It was after all the reason he had accepted knighthood here. He watched the other man, firelight dancing over the planes of his face and pale hair.
"We shall have to take that chance," Arthur said.
The young knight smiled and nodded his agreement.
"Quite right, your majesty, quite right."
Sir Morien crouched and leaned into the lee of the building. Gorian, knowing the quickest way to the Cathedral was in the lead. Only the occasional scream or cry of the wyvern punctured the night's silence now. Behind Gorian came Rhosyn armed with her rowan staff, and then Aikat, leaving himself and Arthur to bring up the rear. The king was with them, because apparently after hearing it just one time, he had already committed the keeper's song to memory. Morien wondered at that. He'd never known of any association between King Arthur and music.
Sweat trickled down the back of Sir Morien's neck. The summer heat remained with them. In spite of nightfall, the air, hot and damp, created a sticky film on the skin. Up until this moment, they'd had the cover of hearty stone buildings, and though the things could obviously stoop from above, keeping low and close to the ground, dressed in dark colors and moving slow meant that they were near impossible to distinguish from above; at least that was the hope.
Ahead of them now lay a wide street, empty of people and cover. According to Gorian, two more just like it lay between them and the church. Morien scanned the street, the sky, the rooftops looking for any sign of the wyverns, squinting into the shadows in which they planned to hide themselves for any hint of glowing red eyes.
"Now," Arthur whispered, and the six of them dashed across the open street in one long diagonal line and into the relative safety of an alcove of another building.
The rebellion had been the idea of siblings, Gorian and Alfywn, local youngsters, but it was King Arthur's endorsement that had made it a reality. People described Sir Morien as bold, and he was, but he knew he could back up whatever bold choices or actions he'd made. For the people of Camelot, peasants and farmers, boldness in matters of war and rebellion was not wise; boldness was foolishness. Morien had taken the king to see them hoping that his majesty would agree, but that hadn't gone as he'd planned either.
"With all due respect, Sir Morien, we're not waiting any longer." Gorian, a young man with curling straw colored hair and sun browned skin had greeted them with those words as soon as they entered the woodland shack that served for their headquarters.
"Right, we heard about what Morgana did in Bayberry, and she's not going to do it to us." A young woman with similar looks and bearing had said then. The two were siblings, perhaps twenty years of age. Sometimes Morien had wondered if the difficulty he'd had with Gorian and Alfwyn had come as a result of the disparity in their ages. The twins beat him by about three years agewise.
Sir Morien had sighed, but King Arthur had pulled off the helmet they'd found for him.
"Sire!"
"Your majesty!"
The words had come out in a gasp even as the youngsters, Gorian and Alfwyn included, had knelt. They would listen to their king.
"You've told Sir Morien. Now I want you to tell it to me."
The pair lifted their heads, eyes fixed on their king.
"Stand up." The king had directed, and exchanging uncertain glances with one and other, the twins got to their feet. "Now tell me your plan," Arthur directed.
"We-we-wellll you see, sire, M-m-morgana, M-m-morgana has removed s-s-s-o many tr-tr-troops and, and Bayberry, after what happened-"
"Whatmybrothermeanstosaysire," the girl had taken a deep breath and Sir Morien could see her draw up courage before looking her king dead in the eye, a look of steely determination in her face. "We must act now. We don't want to be tortured and killed as they were in Bayberry, we don't want to starve because our crops were burnt, or be arrow shot to compel some others deemed more important than ourselves."
"Right, exactly so," the king had said to Sir Morien's surprise."With so many soldiers gone, now is the time to revolt."
"Yes," the girl said crossing her arms and thrusting her chin forward. "The South must join the North in rebellion." And the King had agreed with them.
They made it across the second street without incident, drawing nearer to the heart of old Caer and the cathedral. Morien understood the king's reasoning, but he still doubted the decision. None of them could have imagined the present situation, but something struck him just a bit amiss in encouraging the peasants to go against seasoned mercenaries.
A wyvern shrieked, drawing his full attention to the moment at hand just in time to hear an accompanying scream ripped from a human throat, and Sir Morien felt a twist of fear in his gut. They must be nearby.
"Just keep to the shadows, all of you," the king ordered, and Morien saw their faces grim, but determined in the moonlight. They pressed on, keeping close to the buildings and freezing whenever one of the beasts sounded too near.
It was when they reached that third and final crossing though that the young knight felt that telltale prickle on the back of his neck. They surveyed as they had at the two previous crossings, looking, and listening for any sign of danger. When nothing revealed itself, they dashed across the street darting into shadows for safety, and Morien felt his worry prick upward into true fear- the buildings here were made of wood. He'd not thought about it as he'd gone about his days in Caer, but now the realization sickened his stomach. It was stone walls that had saved them earlier.
"There's the church."
Gorian pointed to a silver cross mounted atop the wooden church, gleaming high and bright in the moonlight, a beacon, calling them. Only a few moments walk from where they now stood.
It lay at the heart of Caer, the oldest part of the city aside from the keep itself, built at a time when the people expected that they would simply hid themselves and their things in the keep for safety and rebuild when any marauders had gone.
It was walls of stone that had saved them earlier. Here they would be easy meat for hungry, wyverns It might take, but a few moments to reach the church, but a few moments was 270 seconds, a long time if you were trying to dodge an attack from the sky. If the things found them here- Sir Morien took a deep breath, if the wyverns found them, they would finish their mission or they wouldn't, and they would be beyond caring.
There was another cry, this one shrill and human and then whimpering.
"We're almost there," Arthur whispered. "The only way to surely help everyone is to get the sunstone from the church, understood?"
There were nods all around.
"Go, Gorian," the king ordered.
The young man started forward, and the fear that had raised the hairs on the back of Sir Morien's neck stirred again somehow stronger still.
"I'm worried, sire, something is going to happen," he whispered it for the ears of the king alone.
"Of course, something is going to happen," was the king's surprising response. "It is inevitable."
"No, your majesty, I know for certain that-"
The only warning was a loud curse from Gorian as they heard him stumble over something in the dark.
"I tripped over- Oh, God!"
Morien heard the sudden panic and desperation in Gorian's voice, and his palms broke out in a sweat, the last thing they needed were shocked, panicked reactions.
"Gorian, what is it?" The king asked voice low.
"It," Aikat spoke now her voice trembling ever so slightly. "It's a half eaten body."
He did not know the king's cousin well, but he knew Gorian. For all the lad's bravery, neither he nor his friends had seen much violence in their lives. Death by accident or illness was common enough, but cruel vicious, violent death was unfamiliar to them. Morien could recall a time not that long ago when he'd shared that innocence.
"Gorian, we are almost there," Morien heard Aikat say. "We've come very far. You wanted to liberate the people of Caer. The King of Camelot himself came to help, and we've almost done it. Just a little while longer, you can do it."
"Thank you, Aikat," Gorian sounded almost relieved. "I'm well now."
Morien felt himself frowning; the sense of imminent danger was still with him.
"Good, then let us continue."
"Take my hand, Mom, and I'll lead you around it."
Holding hands, they took careful steps around the half-eaten corpse, and somehow Sir Morien kept himself from clenching the king's hand as the foreboding in him rose to near panic.
"Down!" Rhosyn's shout was a command, and already tensed for action, the young knight dropped, pulling the king with him -and felt the close swoop of a sudden breeze on his neck. Drawing his sword, the knight shifted to face another attack and saw the wyvern silhouetted against the moon, circling them.
"Now what?"
The wyvern shrieked then, a horrible sound that seemed to vibrate into his heart and curdle the blood and then, it shrieked again. Sir Morien felt an urge to leap to his feet, to run to- He shook his head and clenched his hands into fist.
This panic was not him!
It was coming from outside- from the wyvern's shriek!
"No one-"
Gorian let out a panicked scream even as he leapt to his feet and started toward the church. The youth did not get far. The beast stooped, and before they could blink, the young man was in its claws and shooting upwards again before any of them could do more than draw their swords.
Helpless, they watched as the wyvern, having made off with its prey, flew up high into the sky and then dropped the youth, putting an end to any possible resistance, and then another flew into view.
"Get ready," the king said, Morien could see the determination in his liege's face. Then King Arthur lit the blue burning torch before dashing into the middle of the street singing the keeper's song. The two wyverns flew in a circle before perching on the rooftops, drawn once again by the keeper's song.
Rhosyn and Aikat started toward church again at a brisk walk. Running would only draw the beasts' drawn, Morien went to the side of the king.
Standing shoulder height, the things were easily the size of a cow, but shared no other feature with those sweet docile beasts. Grey and scaled, their chest were muscular and broad, their snout-like faces held two red eyes that seemed to glow. Wicked spiraling horns topped their heads, and a row of spines decorated their backs.
One of the things hissed cat-like at him, and Sir Morien swallowed, suddenly doubting his own courage.
The king did not falter in his song, but glanced at him questioningly.
"You'll need my help, sire," was all he said, and his majesty dipped his head in response and continued to sing as they backed toward the church doors with slow, careful steps.
He could understand why the king had agreed. It should have worked after all. Morgana's focus on finding the king above all else had led to a troop drawdown. Then Rhosyn and Ambrose had come up with a little alchemy to create what one called a Panic Wind -a cloud of dust that had carried a mix of drugs straight into the hold- the confused and frightened mercenaries had been easy meat, and with the added presence of the king Caer's rebels had felt a heartiness of spirit that made them near unstoppable. It should have worked; it had been working.
And then Morgana's commander -no magician himself- had blown the _ and the grim gargoyles that had topped the oldest buildings of Caer had come to life. They attacked indiscriminately, of course, but come sunrise they would revert until summoned again. All the captain had to do was wait it out with whatever of his troops he could gather in the keep itself or any stone building. The rebels -caught unawares in the streets- would be wiped out, and the people of Camelot taught the dangers of resistance.
A part of Sir Morien wished that the king had tried to dissuade them, but the other part knew that an enemy who would do something like this had to be resisted at all cost.
The wyvern chirped. The keeper's song was finished, and they were nearly at the church doors. Just a few feet, but-
The king made a show of searching for the seal and Sir Morien took his chance, thrusting his drawn sword straight into the beast's unguarded breast.
The thing screamed in pain and clamped down on one of the young knight's shoulders, claws crumpling the armor like so much paper. His shoulder blazed with agony and then there were people everywhere, shouting stamping, singing, and waving torches. The head of the uninjured beast swung back, and forth unable to settle on a target.
King Arthur grabbed his uninjured arm pulling him toward the church as the familiar metallic taste of copper coated his tongue. Morien burst forward with unthinking speed, the king hard on his heels. The heavy iron oak doors of the church opened for them and swung shut when they were safely inside.
For a moment the pair stood surveying the church. Morien could feel his heart battering his chest, as he took in the shadows of the dark church. Beside him the king stood breathing hard, winded, and he wondered at that. They hadn't run that far and King Arthur was fitter than all of them.
"Sir Morien-" the king said between breaths. "how is your shoulder?"
"I am fine for the moment," the knight replied the pain in his shoulder a distant thing as the world and his mission came into clear, fine focus.
"Sire, the two women have explained," a priest dressed in his night clothes lantern held high approached them. "They are in the vault now."
Sir Morien and Arthur nodded.
"We'll join them in a moment," the king said and turned to the church doors. He pulled open the peephole and, curious, Sir Morien joined him. With their king saved, the people had gone back into their homes. Only the two wyverns remained. The one Morien had injured lay in the street whilst the other nudged and chirped at its fallen comrade, showing a concern the young knight would not have considered them capable of. He wondered and worried at that.
"How long do you think we have?" Sir Morien asked.
"I do not know." As one they looked up at the wooden walls of the church. "It cannot be long. Where is this vault?" Arthur questioned the priest.
"This way, sire." One of the priest said and gestured toward the back of the church, but the king demurred. "My friend is injured. Do either of you know anything about medicine?"
"I can tend him," the other priest said.
"Good. Sir Morien, stay here and-"
A screeching wail, the likes of which neither had heard before pierced the silence, and the four men stared at one another with widened eyes. There was anguish in that cry, and it could not bode well for them.
"I'm coming with you," Sir Morien said battle fever still running high. "My shoulder does not pain me so very much and-"
More shrieks filled the air, echoing the unhappiness of the first and deafening all else.
"This way," the priest ran for the vault, and they followed him.
The vault was a rude structure, carved out of what must have once been the remains of an old stone chapel. Solid as the carved stone and ceiling walls were, it was wooden doors that were affixed to its entrance; they could not stand against the wyverns here. Rhosyn, Aikat and the aforementioned brother were already going through the boxes in a desperate search for the valspar.
There were baskets, crates, piles of relics, locked chests, old scrolls, and just thrown away things collecting dust.
How long would they have to search?
"I am so sorry, your majesty-" the priest said.
"No time for apologies, priest," Arthur replied, tone sharp. "Just search."
They dumped the baskets, rattled the chest, destroyed the piles, but there were so many shelves. They hadn't been searching long when an acolyte, breathless and panting, ran into the vault with the grim news that the wyverns were attempting to tear through the roof.
"I'm going, your majesty," Rhosyn said gazed filled with such intensity that Morien doubted anyone would object. "I can hold them off with this." She held up the rowan staff.
Arthur hesitated for but a moment before nodding. It was instead her daughter who protested. "But, Mom-"
Her eyes grew steely with determination, the set of her jaw grew firm and he could practically see her drawing the strength of the earth and stone around them up into herself. No, Rhosyn, would not be moved.
"Find the valspar; I've no desire for a hero's death," and with those words, she hurried from the room.
They continued searching, and Morien went through the mental catalogue of spells that he knew, trying to think of what might bring the valspar to him were spells that would bring to the caster any object they had previously handled, spells that made one's aim true, spells that might make fire brighter, all manner of spells. But with the wyverns, like dragons, being immune to magic, he could think of nothing that would sword thrust had been a lucky blow, delivered when the thing was caught off guard. They needed the valspar.
There was a crack the likes of which Morien had never heard, and they all knew that it must have been the wyverns tearing through the roof. An idea came to him; it would be an improvisation, but it might his eyes to concentrate Sir Morien began muttering the words of his improvised incantation calling the hidden light to reveal itself.
Morien finished the last words of the spell and heard a gasp from Aikat.
"This chest!"
"That's it!" Morien hurried to the girl's side and saw a plain old chest that glowed as if it held a small sun. Golden light escaped from its seams, through the keyhole and anywhere it was not sealed.
"That's the valspar!"
"Good work, Sir Morien," Arthur said drawing his sword. "Now get it open. Aikat, you're with me." The king ran off to the main cathedral with Aikat in tow as the priest sorted his keys with trembling fingers.
There was another crash, and a triumphant roar reached their ears.
"Which one is it?" Morien shouted in frustration.
The priest settled on a key and with fumbling fingers attempted and failed to get it into the lock.
"Oh dear, lord." Morien snatched the key from the priest, tried it, and swore when it failed. He looked at the young priest's distressed face and felt a worm of sympathy.
"It is a bad situation," Sir Morien said. "But even in the most urgent of times, haste makes waste. Pray with me."
Surprise flashed across the young priest's face.
"All prayers go to the same God, my friend, no matter the name we call upon."
The priest smiled and ducked his head making the sign of the cross.
"O, blessed St. Anthony, the grace of God has made you a powerful advocate in all our needs and the patron for the restoring of things lost or stolen. I turn to you today with childlike love and deep confidence. You have helped countless children of God to find the things they have lost, material things, and, more importantly, the things of the spirit: faith, hope, and love. I come to you with confidence; help me in my present need. I commend what I have lost to your care, in the hope that God will restore it to me, if it is His holy Will. Amen."
"Amen," the priest said and took a good long look at his keys before selecting one long iron key among many. His hand still shook as he tried it, but Sir Morien smiled as he heard the lock click open.
The glow of the valspar had died, and it looked like a lump of crystal clear ice. Morien snatched it from the chest and ran for the chapel ignoring the wound in his shoulder.
The bright, silver white light of the moon filled the cathedral illuminating the scene. The wyverns had torn through the roof and backed Arthur, Aikat and Rhosyn into a corner with only the staff holding them at bay. But the valspar was already glowing in his hand. The beast did not know it, but their victory would be their damnation. Sir Morien ran toward the beam of moonlight crystal held out before him, its glow growing with each passing second.
One of the wyverns upon sighting him roared and started toward him, and the young knight had just a moment to wonder if he'd heard vengeful, anger in that cry, and then the crystal in his outstretched hand met the direct light of the moon. It shot into near blinding white, brilliance and when their eyes adjusted to the light of noon day, they could see that every wyvern had turned back into stone.
"Arthur, has something happened?"
"Aunt Rhosyn."
For a confused moment he stared at her and their surroundings. He'd walked from the destruction of the old village with only one thing in mind, escape. Escape from the watchful eyes of people looking to him to lead them through every horror of this war. Escape so he could be who and what he was, escape before he forgot who and what he was, a weak mortal, just a man.
He'd only just ducked into this room at Caer Keep, the occupants leaving at his dismissal.
"Aunt, leave me-"
"No," she said, her rebuke sharp. "We're caring for you, Ambrose and I- and you look as if you need care." She closed the distance between them, expression warm and encouraging. "Tell me what happened."
He wanted to order her away, insist that he was king and she the servant, but the soft sorrow in his aunt's expression, the warm tone of her question- She was offering to let him share whatever unhappiness he was suffering.
"I-I-I found them," he voice shook as he spoke. "Dresden and Esylt. They were dead, eaten," Arthur shook his head. "I envied their happiness, their wedding. When we saw them just yesterday morning, I wanted nothing more than to take up their lives in place of Guinevere's and my own."
She didn't say anything, so he kept going.
"Aunt, I do not even know if Guinevere is dead or alive. And Morgana -my sister- she is relentless in her destruction." He felt so tired. "So many innocent lives ruined."
When she gave him a puzzled look, Arthur sighed.
"Guinevere did not betray of her own will. Morgana sent her a charm in the guise of a gift from an old and trusted friend. This charm took her will-" For a moment he thought of the two Sarah Goodes he'd met the night the woman died. The lascivious, selfish, callow woman who thought of nothing save her own base pleasures and the broken woman unable to live with the world that had destroyed her happiness.
"This charm was in the form of a silver bracelet, and it made Guinevere into a selfish, callow woman who thought of nothing beyond the moment.
"Powerful magic," She said softly.
"I saw its work upon another unfortunate with my own eyes."
"I'm so sorry my nephew, but" and she started to smile now, "I think I can help you. I can answer the question that is weighing upon your heart and mind. I can show you whether or not Guinevere lives."
A/N- Sunstone also known valspar is a real stone. It doesn't have the magical properties I describe in this chapter, but it is pretty interesting. It's mainly found in Norway though sometimes in Oregon as well. It doesn't glow like the sun, but there are some myths and stories about it resonating with the sun and being used in for navigation.
*Despite following the modern global trend of intolerance, Islam has a history of welcoming all peoples of the book, that would include Christians and Jews, even Zoroastrians.