by Kim Dragoner
The Quest
(Book #2 of the Sons of Camelot series)
Kim Dragoner
Also by Kim Dragoner
THE SONS OF CAMELOT SERIES
The Knights (Book 1)
The Quest (Book 2)
The Dragon (Book 3, coming soon)
The Quest
Published by Kim Dragoner
Copyright © 2016 by Kim Dragoner
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
THE QUEST
Prologue
510 A.D. — The Twelfth Age of the Glastenning Sisterhood
Leeds, Yorkshire county, England
John sat perched on the highest point of the church in the middle of the town. He loved sitting up there, wishing he could fly like the many pigeons and crows that nested near the steeple and belfry.
Leeds had always been a special place for him, even when he was forced to spend whole seasons out in the countryside at Otley. There were only cattle at Otley and John hated cattle. The look of them, the smell of them, the sound of them. It was all unbearable.
Today, he wasn’t thinking of how much he hated Otley and cattle. Today, he was thinking of how much he loved Leeds and would miss her, but also of how it made him feel to defend her and save her; their country as well. After he had been knighted, his father had told him briefly of the possibility that he may be called to a gathering of the Sons one day. Then when he had sailed to the Shetland outpost with the last of Arthur’s men to defend the north against Norse invaders, he had told his son that if anything were to happen in England, then Arthur would have no choice but to call them to assemble.
“Be ready, John, and do not disobey the commands of your king when they come.”
***
Jofrit of Leeds had been in the Shetlands for only three years when that call had come from the king. Bravely, unselfishly, his son John had led the men of Yorkshire out to join the king’s armies. But a similar summons had also come from a young and unknown squire called Rhys ab Tywysog of Kenilwurt and in response to the combined directive, many had rallied to the defense of England.
The forces of Avalon, under the leadership of Morgana le Fae, had set aside their neutrality and answered the call, so had the creatures of the generally indifferent Seelie Court. Queen Mab herself had stepped across the divide between the worlds to obliterate the opposing forces of Arcadia.
Fell creatures had crossed the cosmos between worlds in opposition to Arthur’s crown. They’d formed an unholy contingent with brutish men and evil elves to fight for Arthur’s bastard son, Mordred.
The Viking hordes of Yarl Lodbruk and Sven Bossig, along with the evil ranks of the Nineteenth Covenant of The Dark Elves under the command of the Drow King, Erandur, had all flocked together in the north of the country to support Mordred’s misguided coup for the throne. Why he’d thought deposing King Arthur from the throne of England would be an easy business, John still wondered to this day.
None of the eight Sons had had much experience in battle, but nonetheless, they gathered their men and their supplies and rode north with Rhys of Gascogne. Through even their darkest hour on the battlefield, the young knight from Kenilwurt had shown nothing but respect to his fellows, and had given not a single order; not that there were many orders to give on the long march north. When they had received word from fleeing peasants that an army was forming in the north, Rhys had bravely turned his horse toward Kendal and gone to their aid.
The boys had all called on their liegemen to go to war with them. The forces of Dumnonia had waited for them at a camp just outside of Preston, and they had found that as they journeyed toward Kendal, men in all manner of dress and carrying anything that could be used as a weapon had attached themselves to the contingent.
The struggles and the glories of the battles they’d seen would never be lost on John. In fact, from time to time, he still communicated with his three remaining counterparts, and every year on the anniversary of the Battle of Camlann, they gathered on the field and offered up a prayer for their fallen brothers.
Owen of Nottingham, Derrick of Liverpool and Henry of Kendal had all perished in the fighting, struck dead by the Dark Elf king, Erandur. Richard of Dumnonia, Rhys’ cousin, had been killed by Mordred, the usurper.
Though their numbers had been halved, the camaraderie among the Sons of the Round Table had grown to an apex that day and continued to do so with the passing years.
Rhys and Naida had also been betrothed that day in the High Hall of Camelot. King Arthur placed the cloth around their shoulders and tied the string about their clasped hands himself. There was understandable rejoicing, none more so than at the reunion of Rhys with Erasmus. The Nestaron greeted his former tutor with amazement, not only with the appearance of his friend at the Battle of Camlann at all—for that is what the defeat of Mordred came to be known as—but by the cheers and chants of “Erasmus! Erasmus the Valiant!” that accompanied his entry. Erasmus explained that there had been the minor event of his having to battle Ragnar Lodbrok, chief of the Vikings, and he was regretfully forced to slay him when Ragnar would not yield. The humbleness in his retelling was met with mirth from his fellow soldiers, and gratitude from none other than King Arthur himself, who had not forgotten that it had been Erasmus who stepped forward to meet Mordred in combat, knowing it meant certain death.
Erasmus became Sir Erasmus of Avalon that day. Of King Arthur, there are many other stories that detail his deeds and nobility after the great battle against his son, Mordred. Arthur could not bring himself to slay his misbegotten son and put him in chains in the dungeons of Camelot. Mordred, for his part, refused to swear fealty, and instead, spat on his father’s hand of forgiveness. Later, he would escape and return to make mischief; though never again so great as when he had the power of Arcadia at his side.
Thomas of Manchester, Gawain of Sheffield and John of Leeds were also joyously reunited with their fellow Son of the Round Table, and they near fell over each other, trying to recount their tales since they had been parted at Kendal. Rhys, for his part, remained quiet. He could not find the words to put his tale across well until many years later, by which time the events that transpired after he saw the beautiful nymph at the Everlasting Pool seemed almost the stuff of myths themselves.
His sisters Glynnis, Aelwyd and Cadwynn would go forth from that day to rule Avalon as the Thirteenth Glastenning, and to have it heard tell aright, they were, if anything, ever more loved than even Morgana le Fae had been, though they would not hear of it themselves. The family was finally brought together when Merlin began to bring Rhys’ parents and relatives through his back doors between worlds, one by one. Anlawd came first, his genial grandfather, followed by Gwallawc. Rhys greeted his father on one knee, but his father raised him up.
Irelli and Mucuruna, his grandmother and mother, also came through on the arm of Merlin and Rhys smiled greatly to see the not quite matronly eye Irelli favored Merlin with. And so, the Tywysog line was brought into completeness; and Rhys found himself happy to be among them, not raised up as a savior of worlds, or a knight of the realm, but simply a son and grandson once more.
Naida met her new family nervously, though they showered her with love and encouraged her to come live at the House at Red Ditch as soon as she may. As a mortal, her eyes would slowly change color from purple to deepest blue, but she retained all of her faery beauty; save for the points of her ears, which became as rounded and fair as any maiden’s the moment she renounced her immortality to Queen Mab. Sh
e had no wedding dress, but this did not seem to matter, neither to her new family nor her new husband.
The same evening as the Battle of Camlann, there was first a great and splendid feast. The great hall in Camelot was swelled to bursting, and every lesser hall was turned over to make room to feed the soldiers of Camelot and Avalon. After the feast was done and the minstrels had played their fill, the Knights of the Round Table formed a guard of honor for Rhys and Naida as they passed down the hall toward the dais where King Arthur and Merlin sat. The great fraternity of noble knights was in good cheer with their four new members and thrice hailed them when Merlin pronounced them man and wife.
Across the seas of reality, the realm of Eon spanned on in its happy way, quarrelsome and chaotic though the Seelie Court could sometimes be. The Lifetree grew strong again, and no longer were the faefolk dependent on the attention of humans for their vigor; although it has been rumored that sometimes when men and women walk alone in the woods, they can still hear the muses whispering stories to them.
Chapter One
515 A.D. — The Thirteenth Age of the Glastenning Sisterhood
Five years had passed since John of Leeds had ridden beside his brothers-at-arms, the Sons of the Round Table, against the combined armies of Mordred. Unfortunately, his overwhelming duties at home due to his father’s prolonged absence had prevented John from taking part in the memorial for the past two years. It had been a long time since he’d seen his friends.
As he often was, John sat perched on top of his beloved church, looking down over his adored city and feeling grateful for the day that Mordred was defeated. It was quite possible that Leeds would have looked very different by now had they not been successful.
These weren’t the only things on John’s mind, however. As he sat looking out over his lands, he was deep in thought about the journey that lay ahead of him. His father was still stationed in the Shetlands but after four years of peace and seemingly no future threats of Viking invasion, the time had finally come for him to return home.
Jofrit of Leeds had been scheduled to arrive a week prior but he had not turned up. None of John or his family’s queries had received a favorable response. From the news that had arrived in Leeds, and gone to the king in Camelot, Jofrit seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.
He had received his dismissal papers at Skaw three months prior and successfully traveled to Sumburgh where he took ship for Fair Isle, and then Kirkwall. A month after that, word had arrived at Leeds Hall that Sir Jofrit had quit his lodging at Burwick and would board a ferry for Gills. The last they had heard was that he had alighted from the ferry at Gills and taken on supplies and horses at one of Arthur’s armories near Wick and would be southbound on the King’s Highway to Leeds within that week. That had been four weeks ago and John had the sinking feeling that his father was lost, kidnapped or dead.
An icy wind threatened to rob John of his balance on top of the church steeple. With a quick look west, he decided that the storm rolling in quickly toward the town was his cue to get down and head for home. He knew hot venison and barley stew would be waiting for him in the kitchen; fresh baked bread too. His stomach rumbled and he quickly climbed down, mounted his horse and raced home.
As he galloped toward the stable yard, John saw several horses being attended to by Andrew and Kale, the stable boys. The livery they’d already removed from the animals and thrown over the railings for cleaning were richly appointed, royal even. As he reigned in his horse beside them, John leaped from the saddle and asked excitedly, “Is it father? Or news of him?”
“We do not know, my lord,” Andrew replied, his face blank of expression. “They looked to be men of the king’s court. Your lady mother received them immediately into the Great Hall so it seemed to me that they are very important people.”
Andrew was right in taking that guess. The Great Hall was the largest and yet probably the least used room at Leeds Hall. Breniya, John’s mother, was a well-bred, high-born lady and she ran a strict house. Meals were taken daily in either the morning room, the library or the dining room; the Great Hall was reserved strictly for receiving important people and hosting celebrations.
John walked briskly through the kitchen, stopping only to wash his hands at the tub. The cook handed him a warm, damp cloth which he used to clean the dust from his face. His mother would never forgive him if he came to greet their guests with a dirty face.
Cautiously, John pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped inside. Seated at the head of the long dining table was his mother. She looked up at him; her expression was grave, and the four men seated near her kept their heads bowed and their eyes fixed on the ancient wood of the table before them.
When John closed the door behind him, the four messengers looked up and everyone’s demeanor changed in an instant.
“By the stars! Boys! Erasmus! What are you all doing here?” John could hardly catch his breath as he ran over to embrace Erasmus, Gawain, Thomas and Rhys. He had not seen his friends in too long. “Mother, do you know who these men are?”
“I am quite aware, son,” she replied calmly. “Perhaps you should sit down and hear what it is they have to say.”
The story the four men told John was disheartening. It was all as he had feared; his father was lost somewhere on the road between Inverness and Yorkshire. An utter and complete nightmare seeing as that was a lot of ground to cover. An attempt to launch a search for his father would take all the cooperation of all the lords from the midlands to Scotland, hundreds of men and thousands of hours. It was impossible.
“We suspect he may have gotten lost after leaving Aviemore, especially if he decided to abandon the road and head straight across the Cairngorms for Pitlochry,” Gawain suggested. John noticed that wherein Thomas nodded in agreement to Gawain’s suggestion, neither Rhys nor Erasmus did. They had both returned their gaze to the table top.
“I appreciate your explanation, friends, but my father is a seasoned traveler and a man of the realm,” John replied softly. “He would not leave the safety and surety of the highway in favor of a shortcut. If he entered the Cairngorms, rest assured he was lured there.”
Erasmus’ demeanor changed and his eyes met John’s for a brief moment. The message was well received.
“Lady mother, the cook informed me on my way through the kitchen that the tea would be ready presently. Would you mind showing Gawain and Thomas through? I’d like a brief word with Erasmus and Rhys, please.”
“As you wish, son,” Breniya replied courteously, as she stood up and led the way to the library.
When the door closed behind them, John quickly turned to his two remaining friends.
“Explain yourselves!” John said sternly. Rhys jolted at the sound of his voice; he couldn’t remember ever having heard his fellow knight use such a commanding tone. Erasmus was the first to respond.
“We understand that you were already making preparations for going in search of your father,” Erasmus said, remaining calm and ignoring John’s tone. “There is no doubt that it is a noble undertaking and one that a man of your station must carry out. As envoy to Arthur, I want you to know that you have all of the support that the crown can provide and my own as well.”
“You and Rhys will be joining me then?” John asked. He was hopeful that the two of them would accompany him on his quest, especially Erasmus, whose prowess was beyond equal. With Erasmus riding beside him, his success was nearly guaranteed, even if he ran into trouble in those barbaric lands to the north.
“I’m afraid that we cannot,” Rhys responded.
Erasmus nodded his agreement with Rhys, but with a painful expression on his face. “Arthur believes that it would be spreading us a little bit thin if we accompanied you.”
Disappointment washed over John’s face and it quickly registered with Erasmus.
“I would relish the adventure to be had,” Erasmus smiled. “There is no doubt in my mind that we would all distinguish ourselves greatly in
all manner of ways, but with Rhys and me along, we might rob some of your own glory from you.”
“Glory is the farthest thing from my mind, Erasmus. I am not ready to be lord of all this!” John was waving his hands around the hall erratically. A few moments after the outburst, he regained his composure. “What truly concerns me is the fact that so far north, the King’s Highway is not a road that is always easy to follow. If my father has been drawn away or taken from it, then my own success at retrieving Sir Jofrit might be in question,” John added, feeling the effects of his disappointment.
“Nonsense!” Erasmus replied. “You are every bit as capable as your father and any one of us.”
“Here! Here!” Rhys joined in.
“The key element is that we are still awaiting word from Merlin,” Erasmus continued. “He’s always off on some strange errand in any of seven worlds and it isn’t always easy to track him down these days.”
“Merlin?” John asked, not sure why the sorcerer was being mentioned in the conversation about his venture into the north to find his father.
“Arthur hopes that the wizard will be able to meet you in Kendal as you journey into the land of the Scots,” Erasmus responded.
“Can at least one knight be spared to accompany me?” John asked. He had already been thinking of asking his friend from Manchester to join him.
“Who did you have in mind?”
“Thomas.”
“I think that Thomas has been chomping at the bit to go off on another adventure with any one of you boys,” Erasmus laughed. “Even if you told him you would be looking for a long lost teapot.”
“Gawain too, but he has urgent business awaiting him at Camelot at the moment,” Rhys added.
