by C J Brown
Didn’t they realize she needed to practice? How could she help in this oncoming war if she barely understood her magic? “I am practicing!” she said. “In the oaken grove, as I have promised to do.”
“It is not safe for you here alone,” the captain said. “Come out.”
“I must be here.”
The guards dashed toward her, herding her back toward the keep, and she sighed. Then, she chanted a spell, and they all disappeared.
“What is this?” One of them shouted, and then she heard the sound of crashing armor as two of them collided with each other.
She laughed and ran past them as they struggled to find their footing.
“Guinevere, release us from this at once!” The captain bellowed. He sounded closer than he had been, though. The others blocked her path back to the oak grove, and they were coming at her quickly. She ran.
As she reached the edge of the oak grove, she raised the invisibility spell. She didn’t want people running into them in the city.
“Guinevere!”
She darted out of the oak grove and ran along a street where stall owners had set up their shops.
A cart that had been overturned when she passed this way before was already back up, though there were still a few apples and barrels of spice and other fruits on the ground.
She harnessed the energy of the universe to return the shopkeeper’s goods to their proper places as she ran past.
“Lady Guinevere!” The captain yelled. “Stop this madness at once!”
Stop what madness? Her magic? She couldn’t even if she wanted to. Wouldn’t they rather she learned how to control it? Guinevere kept running, tapping into the energy of the universe again to topple an empty wagon before the guards.
“Gods!” One of them swore as he stopped before he could collide with it.
She cast a spell of invisibility upon them once more and heard them shout and collide with each other as she ran off toward the Green Keep.
Its stone facade rose high from the center of the city, and she could see the guards walking the parapets.
The streets here were still crowded with stalls and customers, and wagons rattled here and there. A cacophony of voices could be heard from all the blocks of the city, and Guinevere found she did not even need the guards to be invisible and falling over themselves for her to lose them.
So, she lifted the invisibility once more, but kept running.
Within moments, she was running through the Torch Gate, and then she saw her parents standing at the doors of the Green Keep.
The captain and his guards thundered through a moment later, tired and cursing.
“Guinevere!” her father yelled. “You have been told not to disturb the people with your magic! And you have been told not to cast your spells upon anyone else!”
“It was not anything harmful,” Guinevere said. “And I must know how to control my powers.”
“Perhaps,” her father said, sharply, “but you are nevertheless a disturbance to the people. So, stop bothering them.”
“Your lord father is right,” her mother told her. “You are powerful, but that does not mean you can practice those powers anywhere. You have chosen the oaken grove. Practice your powers there. And don’t make anyone invisible again. I can imagine it is quite disturbing.”
“I was trying to practice in the oaken grove, but they came and chased me out,” Guinevere said.
Her father huffed and turned back to the doors of the keep. “It is not safe in the oaken grove today.”
Her mother followed.
Guinevere paused, thinking through whether to follow or return to the grove.
The captain of the guard approached and grabbed her arm as if to drag her in by force.
Guinevere launched a wave of energy that pushed him and his men away.
They staggered backward, their armor clattering as it struck the stone wall.
She hurried up the steps to get into the keep before the doors closed.
Her mother glared at her.
“You said no invisibility,” she said, “and that was not a spell.”
Her father looked as if he was about to say something, but then he turned and walked off.
Her mother shook her head. “Little Guinevere,” she said, “there is still much that you do not know.”
And then she turned and left her, too.
The torches along the hall crackled.
Guinevere scowled after her parents. She hadn’t been “Little Guinevere” in a long time.
However, she agreed there was much she didn’t know.
That was exactly why she needed to practice.
10
Gilidor
At Gilidor in Land's End
The storm was lightening, but the last rains were still falling. It pattered off the slate roofs and stone blocks of the fortress city but was light enough that the stalls had returned, and people were going about their normal lives.
Word of the Demetians’ arrival at Gilidor was already known by all the people of the city, and a messenger had already been sent to the capital. Megolin and his family had been given the royal chambers at the top of the keep, but Merlin had refused to rest until Arthur had returned.
And now they were all seated before High General Meerbark’s table. The solar was comfortably warmed by a dozen candles that burned along the walls and the great hearth that crackled behind the table, which was cluttered with maps and papers and books.
Merlin, Igraine, Megolin, and Clyde were seated across from Meerbark as he looked at the map that showed the coastline of the Isle and the cities and towns from the Narrow Sea to halfway through the neutral land, occupied by Rodwin and Astavon and the other major tribes of Britannia.
Merlin knew that Meerbark was looking at Demetia and the distance between it and Gilidor.
“First, I sincerely apologize for the losses you have all endured. But I’m afraid there is no time for reminiscence right now. Can you tell me what happened?”
“It started before the last black moon,” Megolin said. “The Romans landed at Inver Ridge. Their leaders were the exiled Pendragon clan, if I speak truly. Uther Pendragon was the rightful heir to the imperial throne of Rome, and his son was Arthur. Uther was my sister’s husband and Arthur her son. After they landed, Arthur went to Demetia, looking for my son, Merlin. We met him and afterward he headed back north to Inver Ridge.
“By that point, a stranger had joined them. I am told that that man claimed to be Uther’s first son, and that the elder Pendragon named him his heir. His relationship with Arthur splintered at that point.
“Soon after that, the Highlanders sent a party to meet the Romans. The Princess Olivie and General Magi Ro Hul, who is now either dead or a prisoner of the Huns, arrived at Inver Ridge. Arthur proved his peaceful behavior towards them, when King Fergus had already been slighted that he had treated with us. But the relation was good, and Arthur requested permission to marry his daughter.
“King Fergus consented, and they were scheduled to wed, but then some kind of deal was struck with Arthur’s now estranged father who had named this outsider, who now calls himself Gallagher Pendragon, heir. It’s clear now, though, that he works for the enemy. He impressed Fergus by defeating a Hun attack at Dornoch, and since he is the heir to the Roman Empire, Fergus decided to betroth him to Olivie and to arrest Arthur. Arthur escaped, and Olivie refused to marry the barbarian. For that, she was imprisoned. Arthur and Merlin went to rescue her, but she was killed. And then the war started. Fergus ordered Gallagher and Magi Ro Hul to attack Demetia, burn our cities, find Arthur, and end his life. But Magi Ro Hul stayed true to Arthur and to us, and helped us defend Demetia from the Huns’ prisoners he had captured at Dornoch.
“After this, Arthur tried to gain the alliance of the other lordships, but they all refused, and he and Uther,
who had returned to his senses, fell trying to defend Demetia one last time. We had to retreat when an army of almost a hundred thousand, many of whom had sailed from the Continent just recently, set Demetia to burning.”
He paused.
“It took three days for us to get here. There are eight thousand of us, and three hundred soldiers. We were ambushed by the Huns when we were still thirty miles or so from here, but we managed to defeat them with minimal losses. Along the way, we lost a hundred because of their wounds.”
He looked at Meerbark.
“We were a wounded party. Most of us weren’t soldiers. And it took us three days to get here. The Huns could be at your doorstep at any moment if you aren’t prepared. And I fear the only reason they’re not here yet is because they’re preparing for a grand attack. They will not test your defenses. They will not ambush or commit sudden attacks. They will charge with force of a hundred thousand soldiers, and they will not be easily defeated.”
Meerbark eyed him, his whitening brows frowning. “Gilidor is garrisoned by ten thousand men. The battlements are armed with countless more scorpions, and there is an army of trebuchets ready to be deployed. And then there is the line of lesser forts. Can that hold them?”
Megolin looked at him. “I regret to say that you ought not to trust all this will. They are a vile people, General, capable of all means of war. They build weapons well for how stupid they are. And stupid is difficult to defeat, unless you can form a strategy. But Land’s End only has, even if you recruit all who can be recruited, only a hundred thousand soldiers. The Huns have more who have known battle all their life. And more are arriving from the Continent every day.”
Meerbark thought for a while as the Megolins eyed him.
The recounting of all that had happened had cloaked the room with a solemn air, and Igraine found it difficult to believe that all this had happened across just two months. The escape from Rome seemed a lifetime ago, when her husband and son were still alive, when her family was still together. It had been when Bulanid Mehmet did not exist, and when Britannia had been a sanctuary.
“I will send word to Lord De Grance,” Meerbark said. “Troops from our other garrisons can be posted here. The people will be ready to evacuate within a moment’s notice. As for your travel to the capital, carriages will be supplied you and your guards. You will arrive a day and a half after you leave, unless you take the rest of your people with you.”
“Very good,” Megolin said.
“Who is Arthur?” Meerbark asked Merlin. “The men say he was glowing blue. I may be a warrior, and I may be a Land’s Ender, but I know of the magic of Demetia. That was a spell of containment.”
Merlin looked at him. “Arthur is the chosen one,” he said, solemnly. “He is supposed to unite the Isle and end our civil wars for all time. His death is not supposed to be, and I can revive him.”
Meerbark eyed him.
“My condolences, Lady Igraine, and I apologize, but the world has moved on from that. There’s never going to be a chosen, and the Isle is never going to unite again. We tried once, and our king ruined everything. Lords would sooner spill their own blood than suffer the craziness of another national king. Still, I am sure Arthur was a good man. If you can revive him, he can help us.”
“More than you know,” Merlin said. He rose. “Forgive me,” he said, then turned to leave.
“My son is not the chosen one because of a prophecy,” Igraine said when Merlin was gone. “He is the chosen one because of who he is. Have some faith, general, and I promise you it will help everyone.”
She and Megolin rose. “Farewell, General.” She turned and left, leaving Megolin and the Land’s Ender.
“We are statesman and military commanders, you and I,” Megolin said. “But Merlin and Igraine, and even Lord De Grance’s daughter, they are of a different world. And they see things we cannot. I was convinced of who Arthur is a long time ago. And I know that he is no false hope.”
Meerbark looked at him frankly. “I hope you are right, Your Grace. Because if he is the chosen one, he is the only thing that can save the Isle.”
11
A Father
Arthur had been placed atop a stone slab, his hands clasping his sword, his armor cleaned and polished.
Lord Meerbark had seen him to pay his respects, as he had been King Megolin’s nephew, and now the room was quiet.
Candles burned by the window and torches crackled by the door. Outside the window, a light drizzle was falling, the last of this autumn storm. The sky was lead, and the city seemed colorless, but the people were more alive than the weather was. The marketplace was alive with chatter, and the streets were crowded with carriages and people.
Merlin looked at Arthur.
He closed his eyes and appeared a moment later amidst the stars of Starhearth. “Uther!” Merlin yelled.
He appeared at once.
“What is it?” he asked.
“We have arrived at Gilidor, the fortress city at the border with Land’s End. Land’s End is the only place that the fighting hasn’t reached yet. How is Arthur?”
“Arthur refuses to speak to me,” he said. “He’s running. Olivie and I have contacted the elder Fergus and Megolin. They have said they’re also trying to look for him, but Arthur keeps running. He wants no part of this. Is Igraine all right?”
Merlin nodded. “What were they like? Fergus and Mergus? I’ve never met them.”
“They are wise,” he said. “And they know a great deal more than we do. They say Arthur is the chosen one as well.”
Merlin felt relief, relief that he was right, because now he knew that everything would be fine.
“Don’t worry,” Uther told him. “Arthur will return. He is stronger than he knows. He will get out of his pain, and he will be the just and wise king that all the world needs. He will heal not just Britannia, but Rome as well. I know it. But things will get dark before the light shines. You will have to fight.”
“We know,” Merlin said. “But how? The north is still allied with the Huns. Magi Ro Hul and his army have either been slain or imprisoned. The other kingdoms are not powerful enough to fight the enemy themselves, and multiple kingdoms have already fallen.”
“You must not think about numbers. Just keep fighting, and do not lose hope. Hope will allow even the last candle to stay alight. And when the time is right, Arthur will save us all.”
Merlin found himself panicking but breathed and calmed himself before he broke down. Because if he did now, he knew he would not be able to rebuild himself.
“Goodbye, Uther,” he said.
And then he returned to Gilidor.
He left the chamber and hurried to the steps. His legs felt as weak as dough, and he could feel his head growing light.
He rushed to the third level where one of the keep’s postern gates were.
“Drop it,” he said to the two guards who flanked the oaken drawbridge.
One of them turned and turned the wheel to lower the drawbridge.
The gust of icy wind that struck Merlin’s face seemed to help as the drawbridge landed.
Merlin walked out at once.
The light rain was hitting his face and pattering off the stone battlements. His hair and cloak snapped and billowed, and Merlin held the stone for support as he fought to regain his mind and arrest his fear.
His head was still light, and he found it difficult to breathe, but he just closed his eyes and cleared his head.
When he opened them, he diverted his focus to the city. Beyond the section of the wall of the keep a few yards away, the city’s rings were alive with people, and Merlin remembered just how much of a city Gilidor was. Even from here, where he could only see a few blocks out, the city was ten times what Demetia was.
But Merlin had never cared about that, nor had his people. Land’s End grew rich from trad
e and maritime business. Demetia got a portion of that profit, but Demetians had never seen the importance of building grand cities. Grand cities were not the way of warlocks and the wise. So that profit was saved. Demetia was a peaceful nation, but the world had not yet moved away from war. And Demetia could not be defenseless, so a great deal of their coin went towards making sure their armies were ready for a fight, but as all the kings of Demetia had sworn for thousands of years, they would never start a war.
The thoughts about his people and his nation seemed to calm him.
The rain didn’t feel like arrows anymore, and Merlin found that he no longer needed the support of the merlon.
But the dreadful feeling still hung over him.
He kept hearing Uther’s words.
“…things will get dark before the light shines…”
Merlin walked back across the drawbridge.
He heard the links rattling and the drawbridge creaking as it closed once more.
12
Ancient History
Merlin still hadn’t been able to drink. He could feel he was weakening. With every hour, he felt himself growing parched, but the water was too foul.
Dawn had arrived, and with it, the last of the storm’s drizzles were falling.
A lead sky, dark and gloomy, hung above the fortress like a cloak that shielded the ground from the sun. A layer of fog blanketed the city’s streets, and the air was damp and heavy as the light rain fell.
Merlin found himself having to have to fight to breathe as his horse walked across the yard.
Beside him, Megolin sat atop his destrier, and to his left was Igraine. They were surrounded by Royal Guards who moved out of the gate as they approached the portcullis.
Merlin tried to look through the fog that threatened to remain for hours more.
Meerbark was there and had summoned all his guards and elite soldiers to accompany their king’s departure. But the fog bank was so heavy that Merlin couldn’t see more than a few of the soldiers.
