The Iron Locket (The Risen King)

by Samantha Warren

  "Arthur." Lancelot stood behind him, the other knights hesitating as they began to pair themselves up.

  "Yes, my good friend? What can I do for you?"

  Lancelot's hand went to the empty space where his sword would be. He frowned briefly when he realized it wasn't there. "Would you like one of us to come up with you?" He lowered his voice. "Just in case it is a trap."

  For the briefest of seconds, Arthur considered the offer, then he grinned. "No, I am sure I will be just fine. The queens would not have brought us back just to kill us. Besides, I believe we are already trapped."

  Bowing his head in respect, Lancelot took a step back before turning to follow his son into one of the rooms. Arthur stood on the steps, watching his knights disappear from the hall. Clenching his teeth, he steeled himself, praying that it would not be a trap after all. He ascended the steps slowly, his fingers trailing across the cool stone of the stair well.

  As he reached the top, he discovered a wide landing that was the home to several velvet couches, numerous windows, and two doors. One was a set of double doors, straight ahead. The other was a smaller door off to the right. He stared at the smaller door for a moment, wondering what hidden treasure or danger lay behind it, then focused on the double doors.

  They opened as he approached, swinging inward. He stepped inside, holding his head high and his shoulders square. The room was enormous, taking up most of the third story of the castle. A fireplace large enough for Arthur to stand up in without crouching was along one wall, a roaring fire already built. It was surrounded by couches and chairs, all arrayed across a thick red woven rug. On the opposite side of the space was a big table with several chairs, suitable for taking meals or playing games.

  The bigger room was split in two by a wall on either side that each extended a third of the way into the room. A thick red velvet curtain covered the middle third, effectively blocking off the other room. The curtain was pulled back so Arthur could see a large canopy bed on the other side, bearing the same red color for bedding. As he walked toward it, a man stepped out from behind the curtain.

  The man was older, what few hairs remained around his temples were gray and his face was wrinkled, but when he saw the king, his ghostly eyes lit up. "Ah, my liege. Welcome home." He swept into a deep bow, nearly touching the floor. "I am Rogan, your humble servant, your personal valet. It will be my greatest pleasure to serve you while you are here." He rose, a genuine smile on his face.

  Arthur returned the smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Rogan. I assume the other room on this floor is yours, then?"

  "Indeed so, sire."

  "If I may ask, how long have you served here?"

  Rogan hummed as he thought. "Centuries, my liege. Five hundred, perhaps? After the first hundred years, one tends to lose track of time."

  "How is it that you appear so solid when the others are more like ghosts?"

  "Oh, well, that all depends on how content we are with our position. Some of us were forced into servitude here for one reason or another. I, on the other hand, volunteered. It is my greatest joy in life to serve to the best of my ability, and I am much happier, thus more solid, as you say, when I have a charge." He offered an apologetic smile before pressing on. "Would you like to get changed for supper? I have laid out an outfit for you already, if you do not mind."

  Arthur smiled inside as he remembered the many valets he had in his previous life. He had a feeling Rogan would surpass them all. "That would be wonderful, Rogan. Thank you." Arthur stepped into the bedroom as Rogan closed the curtain behind him.

  *~*~*

  An hour later, Arthur found himself dressed once again in the finery of a king and seated in a large chair at the end of a very long, very lavishly set table. The knights were lined up on either side of him and barely a quarter of the table was filled. Foods of all sorts were arrayed on the table, catering to every possible desire the knights could have.

  Female servants dressed in flowing gowns drifted from knight to knight, refilling goblets and plates whenever one seemed in danger of going empty. Many squawked eerily as Kay's grabby fingers found their rumps. The knights ate and laughed, recounting the most memorable and exciting times of their varied pasts. Some of the younger knights sat in awe as the older knights, dead before their time, recounted tales the youths had only heard rumors of. They listened with awe on their faces to hear the tales from the mouths of those who lived them.

  The older knights were just as impressed when the youngsters shared their own stories. Having died before the tales even happened, they knew nothing of the deeds and were an excellent audience for their retellings. By the time the knights were done eating, their faces were flushed with the influence of wine and good company and their bellies were so stuffed they could barely move.

  The door to the dining hall swung open, revealing the red-haired queen. She swept in, wearing an elegant blue dress that clung to her form in all the right places.

  "I trust you have eaten your fill?" Her voice oozed sweetness as she walked along the line of knights, tracing her fingers along the backs of their chairs. They all murmured agreement as they watched her pass. "Excellent. Now we must move to the council room to begin planning how to take back Faery from the evil clutches of the wicked Leanansidhe."

  The knights smiles turned to groans as they clutched their full stomachs and moaned about having to move.

  "Come on," Oonagh said, ignoring their protests. "Chop chop." She clapped her hands and looked at Arthur expectantly.

  Taking one last swig of his wine, he pushed his chair away from the table and rose, stifling his own groan. Seeing their king rise, the other knights had no choice but to do the same, though few did it with the same dignity as their noble leader. As a group, they stumbled their way out of the dining hall and into the council chamber, some leaning on each other more than others.

  Inside the chamber, the other three queens waited. Four large wooden chairs had been set up, one in each corner of the room. Once the knights were seated, the queens also settled in, taking a chair in the corner respective to the corner of the land they ruled. When all the knights had taken their seats, several servants came in bearing more goblets and more wine.

  The queens waited until the servants had left and the door was shut securely before speaking.

  Titania spoke up first. "You will not have as much time to prepare as we had hoped. We waited too long to raise you and the war has escalated quicker than we predicted. Leanansidhe has been longing to get her sharp talons into Faery for as long as she has existed, but until now, she has not had the chance. My son," she spat the word as if it were bile in her mouth. "My son, Kane, has given her the opportunity to do so. He murdered my husband, his own father, and with it, he took his father's powers. Oberon was stronger than I, but I was smarter. Together, we made a formidable team. I cannot stand alone against Kane and Leanansidhe together."

  Isobel spoke up. "And neither can any of us. The last thing we want to see happen is for Leanansidhe to gain control of any of the four points of Faery. If one falls, if she gains a foothold anywhere, we all fall. That cannot happen. We must stop this coup before it becomes too much for us to handle."

  "But why do you need our help? You are some of the most powerful beings to ever exist." Galahad sat on the other side of his father, twirling his empty goblet in his fingers.

  Isobel's eyes shifted to Titania before answering. "In Faery, the throne of any land cannot be held by one person. There must be a king and a queen, always. That is the way is has been since the dawn of time. With Oberon gone, Titania is weak, her power if failing. There is no one yet ready to take her place and we cannot let Leanansidhe take the throne. It would be the end of us all."

  The Queen of the West let her gaze wander around the room. “That is why we have brought you in. You are elite warriors, the best to ever exist. Backed by the powers of the Four Queens, you will be greater than you have ever been. When we raised you, you were granted certain character
istics. You are stronger, your bodies are not as weak. With the thirteen of you together, you should be a powerful force."

  "Should be?" Kay was leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He raised an amused eyebrow at the Queen of the West. She stared coolly back at him, not rising to his bait.

  "You are still a mere human, knight. Nothing can be done about that. And you all still have your flaws." She held his gaze, even as he shrank back into his chair. When she felt he was sufficiently cowed, she broke away and let her eyes sweep over the rest of the knights. "Put aside your petty squabbles and human desires. Here, you long for nothing. There is no power to be had, no titles to be won. You have only one purpose, and that is to beat Leanansidhe. Should you fail, you will die as one. See that you do not fail."

  "You will meet your army at first light on the seventh day, outside the gates." Titania rose to her feet, as did the other queens. They floated toward the door as one and left in single file. The blond queen was the last to leave. Before the door shut behind her, she turned, her blue eyes engaging all of the knights at once. "My fate rests with you." She spoke so softly, the knights barely heard her. Then the door slammed shut, bringing a heavy weight down on their shoulders.

  *~*~*

  SEVEN

  *~*~*

  "Time to rise, your highness." Arthur groaned in protest against Rogan's gently shaking of his shoulder. His first few nights of sleep in eight hundred years had been fitful, broken by dreams of long forgotten nightmares and soon to be discovered fears. He found himself briefly longing for the peaceful nothingness of death and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, forcing the thought from his mind. Longing for death would only bring it closer, and he had a job to do.

  He rose and shuffled to the small table nearby where Rogan had a hearty breakfast waiting. As he plucked a piece of toast from the plate, his servant set a box down beside it. The box was small and covered in a plush fabric the color of drying blood. Arthur raised his eyes at the man.

  "From the Four Queens, your majesty." He bowed briefly and stepped away to finish shining a set of armor that sat in the corner.

  Arthur tore a chunk off the piece of toast and discarded the rest. As he chewed, he picked up the box, eyeing it thoughtfully. A present from a faery queen was not one to be taken lightly. More often than not, there were unspoken stipulations attached to the gift, a debt to be called in at a moment's notice, an expectation of loyalty. Gingerly, he opened the box, peering inside.

  A small broach lay on fabric that matched the outside of the box. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The silver was twisted and warped into delicate filigree imitating vines that tangled into a surprisingly intricate design around the outside. In the middle of the glittering hedge sat a flower with only four petals. Yellow, green, blue, and red, the four colors of the queens. The petals shimmered with a strange glow as he tilted the broach into the light of the candle beside him.

  Glancing back at the box, he noticed a small bit of parchment tucked into the lid. He plucked it out and unrolled it. Wear this over your heart. The writing was done with a fine hand in delicate, precise flourishes, but the note was not signed.

  "When you are ready, sire. Dawn will be here soon." Rogan was at Arthur's side once more, bowing expectantly.

  Arthur returned the broach to the box, but didn't close the lid. The trinket lay there, glinting in the flickering light as he rose. Grabbing the unfinished piece of toast, Arthur shoved it in his mouth and followed the servant to where the armor stood. With practiced efficiency, Rogan dressed the king, first in his underclothes, then in the armor. As the man removed the chest plate from its stand, Arthur raised his hand.

  "Wait a moment." He walked to the table, clanking as he went, and retrieved the broach. He pinned it over his heart, as the note had instructed, then nodded to Rogan.

  A faint smile tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, but the servant said nothing. He slid the undershirt of elvish mail over Arthur's head, resting it gently on his shoulders. The heavy chest plate came next, and with the combined weight of the armor, the broach pressed tight against his shirt. He feared it would dig into his skin, but instead he felt a warmth inside grow with the increased pressure. It calmed him, giving him a sense of ease despite the anxiety growing in his gut. Rogan strapped the scabbard around his waist and handed the king his helmet.

  Arthur took the helmet with a nod and tucked it under his arm before reaching for the sword. His fingers wrapped around the hilt with surprisingly familiarity and as he pulled the blade from its home, his heart sang with joy and a tear sprang to his eye. He had not expected to ever again see the friend who had fought by his side faithfully until the end, but there it was, gleaming brightly in the dim glow from the candelabra nearby. Excalibur, the best sword he had ever known, stood strong and firm in his hand, carrying with it a faint power he did not remember. He took a gentle swing and a lifetime of battles came back to him in a moment. He could not fight the grin that sprang to his lips as he kissed the shining blade.

  "Is that Excalibur?"

  Arthur jumped only slightly at the words spoken from beside the chamber door. He turned and greeted Lancelot with a grin. "It is indeed. Can you believe it?"

  Lancelot strode over to where he stood and admired the blade with a smile on his face. "It is only right that you lead us with the same blade that brought you so much glory before." After a brief moment of silence, Lancelot cleared his throat. "The sun rises over the hill and the army awaits us outside the gates. Are you ready to lead once more, my king?"

  The smile fell from Arthur's face. He slipped Excalibur into its sheath and walked to the eastern window. Pulling aside the heavy curtain, he could see not only the first rays of light creeping over the trees, but the mass of bodies that lined the hill. His breath caught in his throat. He had commanded many armies in his time, but never had he imagined this one would be so vast. It stretched from the wall all the way up the enormous hill, disappearing into the woods beyond. He turned his head both ways and saw that it disappeared from view around the corners as well.

  "The armies go all the way around the castle, on all sides. I do not know how far up into the woods they stretch. There are creatures of all sorts, too. Trolls, elves, pixies... Balin claims he saw a dragon on the south side up near the treeline, but I do not know how true that claim is."

  Arthur turned to look at his friend and their eyes met, his holding disbelief, Lancelot's holding a childhood wonder. For the briefest of moments, the situation overwhelmed him, until Arthur felt a bubbling sensation rise into his throat. Trying to hold back the laughter, he ended up snorting like a pig until he gave up and let the chuckle overtake him. A grin broke across Lancelot's face and together they laughed and laughed until they could barely breathe. Rogan looked on with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

  When he finally managed to regain his composure, Arthur straightened himself and glanced back toward the army gathered outside. "Never in all my years as king would I have thought that one day I would be commanding elves and dragons. Myths and fairy tales come to life."

  Lancelot shrugged, his own armor clanking softly with the movement. "As my father always used to say, every myth begins with truth. The trick is figuring out where the truth ends and the tale begins."

  Arthur watched a large winged creature rise from the horde below and take to the sky, soaring low across the ground to the north. "I guess we know the answer to this myth. Come, let us get to work before Kay gets bored and takes another serving girl into the dungeons. I do not relish having to rescue them again." Side by side, the knights descended the stairs to gather the others.

  "Up there." Balan pointed to the wall above the front gate as Arthur and Lancelot approached him out in the courtyard. They could see the others gathered together, all dressed in matching armor.

  "Come, let us go meet our new allies." Arthur beckoned to the knights. When all twelve were on the ground, he gave them a quick once-over. He couldn't help bu
t feel a warmth grow inside him. He had fought with these men many times, but never all of them at once. Before him stood some of the bravest, fiercest, and most noble knights he had ever known. He could not have chosen a better group to face the coming days with.

  With a grin spreading across his face, he turned to the gates. They opened as he approached, again without assistance. The uproar of the numerous bodies outside quieted as the gates cracked apart, giving Arthur pause as each face turned toward him. An expectant silence fell over the land, the bulk of it coming down heavily on his shoulders. He squared them and raised his chin as he strode through the gates and under the wall. His men were right behind him, he could hear them, and their presence gave him strength.

  A small semi-circle was left open just outside the entrance, thanks to the unmoving gargoyles in front of the gates, giving the knights room to gather. A deep echoing boom swept across the clearing as the gates slammed together. For a brief moment, Arthur felt a panic rise in his gut. His eyes darted over the crowd in front of him, taking in the numerous types of faeries arrayed in the clearing. If this was a trap, he and his knights were cut off from safety, there would be no escape.

  A tall, lanky man stepped forward. He had sleek black hair that fell in sheets down to the middle of his back. His skin was pale as the snow and his lips red as blood. He towered over Arthur as he approached and eyed the knight down his sharply pointed nose. Arthur met his cold black stare with one of his own, raising himself to his full height. The world seemed to freeze around them. No one moved, no one dared even breathe. Then the faery sank into a bow, folding himself nearly in half with his arms splayed to the sides.

  "We welcome you to Faery, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot." The man rose and thrust out his hand awkwardly, as if he did not often partake in such a gesture. "I am Deklen, the first born of Mab, Queen of the North."