Gwenevere's Knights- The Complete Knights of Caerleon Trilogy

by Jesikah Sundin

  Galahad chewed on his bottom lip, his gaze darting from one man to another. “I will ride with you. Perhaps the presence of a knight carrying the Pendragon’s banner will assure the people that their sovereign is doing everything within his power to save them.”

  IT WAS ANOTHER hour before Galahad and the soldiers saddled their horses, rode through the keep’s gates, and reached the first outlying village. The land, though not as fouled as it had been, still showed signs of Morgana’s curse. The row of fruit trees along the village’s dirt path were speckled with black spots. The cheerful stream bordering the tiny village showed flecks of darkness as well.

  “It’s not safe to drink,” Clive said. He rode beside Galahad. “The water doesn’t kill you, but you’ll ail. The villagers have stuck to ciders and ale, but their stores are growing low.”

  Galahad’s spirits sank deeper. After all they had endured to find the Grail—fighting the Twrch Trwyth and the Afanc, facing off against the evil faeries in Eiden’s Burgh, journeying through the Otherworld’s mist . . . it still had not been enough. What if they couldn’t find the final piece of the puzzle before Caerleon starved? The people probably wouldn’t wait that long before demanding Arthur’s head. And the heads of all his knights.

  As Galahad and a half-dozen soldiers rode into a quaint village square, the lime-washed facades bright in the afternoon sun, he did his best to focus on solutions. Arthur and Merlin would find a way to pull this problem out of the fire. They always did.

  Galahad swung off his charger and strode toward the largest building in the square, what appeared to be the town’s tavern and inn. Taking the steps, he called out in a booming voice, “Gather around, kind people. I have an announcement from your king, Arthur Pendragon!”

  Townsfolk sat their burdens before their feet as others came out of the houses—men with wary expressions who should be tending the fields, and women leading grubby-faced toddlers.

  “A force of men from Ulster make their way here even now,” Galahad called out once more. “Their sights are set on Caerleon, but they will burn, pillage, and raid on their way. We urge every man, woman, and child to come within the keep’s walls, where you will be safe until the threat has passed.” Another thought occurred to him, and he added, “Bring whatever assures your comfort. Food, ale. If you have herbs or medical supplies, bring them as well. We will set up a makeshift hospital in the keep’s Great Hall. Able-bodied women who can help are welcome. Able-bodied men who can fight are welcome as well. Rest assured, your king has the forces and might to defeat these invaders. We only wish to keep you safe until he does.”

  “And what of the plague on our land, Sir Knight?” someone shouted from the back of the crowd. “Our crops wither. We can’t drink the water.”

  “The king is aware of this blight and has traveled through the Otherworld to fix it. Surely you saw how, just yesterday, the condition of the land greatly improved?”

  “Sir, we still can’t eat or drink from the land. We’ll starve!” someone else shouted.

  “It’s a sign of the gods’ disfavor,” someone else yelled. “Arthur isn’t the rightful king over Caerleon!”

  “Aye!” Another voice. “Uther’s bastard shouldn’t be our king any longer. He’ll drive us all to ruin. The land herself rebels against him. Why shouldn’t we?”

  Galahad pulled his sword from its scabbard with an ominous ring. When he spoke, his voice boomed. “King Arthur Pendragon is the noblest, mightiest, most honorable man that I have ever known, and who has ever presided over Caerleon. The Lady of the Lake, blessed of the Túatha dé Danann, gifted him the sword Excalibur, confirming his kingship over Caerleon, the Kingdom of Gwent, and over all of Briton. Yes, King Arthur has heavy burdens on his shoulders. Would you wish to be in his shoes? Would you?” Galahad asked, pointing his sword at the men who had spoken. “To defend your people from an army? And defeat a strange magical wasting sickness? No. None of you would have the fortitude it takes to face these grave challenges and defeat them. No other man would either. There is no king for Caerleon but Arthur. And anyone who says otherwise should not hide behind a crowd but should face me man to man. “

  The crowd hushed into a tense silence for several beats of Galahad’s heart. Then, the ruffle of uncomfortably shifting feet and bodies filled the deafening emptiness at the force of his rebuke.

  “Very well,” Galahad said. “Then I suggest that you gather your things. And prepare for war.”

  ARTHUR ENJOYED THE snug warmth of Merlin’s cave. This place of mystery and magic brought him a strange comfort. And today, he prayed this crystal-lined cave would bring him answers.

  Merlin approached the wide fireplace, stoking the embers with a poker before adding another log. “Ale?” his friend asked.

  “Absolutely.” At Arthur’s reply, the druid disappeared into the chill recesses of his cave where he stored his food and drink. His friend might be able to light a fire with his thought or travel the currents of time and space with a spell, but he wasn’t a show off. Despite having every right to be. That was one of the many virtues Arthur appreciated about Merlin.

  The man returned with two horns of ale clasped between his body and forearm while balancing a tray of bread and cheese in his other hand. “You look hungry,” Merlin said as Arthur carefully retrieved the ale from its precarious perch. Arthur took a long drink and sighed in delight at the malty flavor. “Gods that’s good.”

  Merlin set the food on a table between them and sat down in the other chair before the fire.

  “I am hungry,” Arthur admitted. “There wasn’t much to eat on the quest, no thanks to the curse. Nor here, it seems.”

  “Your stores are well equipped enough for a few more weeks,” Merlin said. “But before we speak of this . . . do you have the faerie relic?” Firelight flickered in Merlin’s eyes, highlighting the gold rings around his irises.

  There was no doubt as to what Merlin spoke. Arthur reached into the satchel he had brought and pulled out the Blessed Grail.

  Merlin took the bowl reverently with two hands, turning the dish over, gently stroking the embossed, polished surface. “Magnificent,” Merlin murmured with awe.

  “It’s defective,” Arthur replied darkly.

  Merlin’s eyes jerked up, as if Arthur had spoken sacrilege.

  “I mean, yes, the Grail is impressive. But this . . . this faerie relic didn’t break the curse,” he practically spat. “And I did everything I was instructed to do. I found the Blessed Grail, battled monsters and shape-changing faeries, and even got stabbed by Lleu’s spear. . . but it was all for nothing.”

  “Lleu’s spear?” Merlin dropped the Grail to his lap and gaped at Arthur. “Why don’t you start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

  So, Arthur told him. He recounted every detail of their quest, going through two more horns of ale and all the bread and cheese Merlin had brought him. And when he was finally finished, Merlin merely let out a long, “Hmmm . . .”

  “What do you think?” Arthur asked. He felt a bit light headed from the fire’s heat and the ale’s strength.

  “Fionna is the key. She has always been the key.”

  “The key to what?” Arthur asked.

  “Everything,” Merlin replied, now pacing before the fire, his long woolen robes billowing with his movements.

  Just everything? Illuminating, Merlin.

  “You were magically tied to the land through Excalibur when the Lady of the Lake granted you a sovereign-blessed kingship, Your Majesty. But how you described the land healing incrementally when each of you drank from the Grail . . .” Merlin turned to Arthur, his face alit with excitement. “I think when you knighted each of your knights, laying Excalibur upon them, you tied them to your kingship. Your sovereignty over the land.”

  “Right,” Arthur muttered, furrowing his brow. “That’s what knighting is, friend.”

  “No. Not just by feudal law or duty. Magically.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Arthur ad
mitted.

  “Imagine . . . when you laid Excalibur on their shoulders, a piece of your sovereignty transferred to each of their care. That’s why the standing stone spoke of the blessed five. And that’s why, though Morgana and her sisters cursed Caerleon and you as the land’s king, it took all five of you to drink from the Grail to heal the land. Each knight holds a piece of your kingship. And by extension, each one of you holds a piece of the curse.”

  Arthur nodded, wishing he had drank one less cup of ale, so his head wasn’t quite so foggy. “I believe I understand. So, the Grail healed the portion of the curse held by me, Galahad, Lancelot, and Percival. But not Fionna? Why couldn’t the Grail heal her portion of the curse?”

  “I have no idea,” Merlin said simply.

  Arthur threw up his hands up in exasperation.

  “I have theories,” Merlin continued. “But . . . Caerleon needs better than theories. There is something strange about Fionna. I sensed the Otherworld from the moment I saw her in the arena. She assuredly holds a dormant power.”

  “Lancelot believes she is a Gwenevere.”

  “How does Fionna respond to his claim?”

  “She says it’s madness,” Arthur replied. Was Lancelot’s belief madness? There was something Otherworldly about Fionna’s beauty, as well as her strength and prowess in battle. But Fionna insisted, often, that she didn’t possess a magical ability.

  “You believe her?”

  “I do.” And though she had lied to him before about Excalibur, he found he did believe her. Over the past few weeks, she had regained his trust. And had captured his heart well and truly.

  “The land has not known a Gwenevere for many generations.” Merlin crossed the cave to his desk, where he retrieved a leather bag that held a set of old divination rune stones. “But we live in trying times,” his friend offered quietly. “Perhaps it is time for such an enchantress to arise. Give me a moment.”

  Merlin strode to the empty space before the fire and knelt, closing his eyes.

  Arthur watched the druid as he centered himself and called to whatever forces would aid him. The fine hairs on Arthur’s arms stood on end, as they sometimes did in the presence of magic. A disconcerting feeling, to know there was something on the air but not able to trust one’s senses. Still, if Merlin’s magic could discover an answer, Arthur would tolerate just about any strangeness.

  Merlin threw the stones and then they both leaned forward to inspect the runes laying face up.

  “Interesting,” Merlin said, placing a single finger on a rune. One that lay atop all other front-facing stones. “This is Ur, or heather.”

  “What about it?”

  “The reading is hazy, but one piece comes through clearly. Heather is used as protection against the evil eye.”

  Arthur frowned. “The evil eye . . .”

  “Yes, indeed. Heather brings only good luck, even symbolizing unselfish love in some Gaelic circles. For heather is immensely infused with faerie magic. Surely you have had heather beer?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then you understand the effects of heather. This herb is connected to the Otherworld.” Merlin leaned back and met Arthur’s eyes.

  “Fionna smells of heather, soft and sweet,” Arthur said, hoping the flush creeping up his neck didn’t reach his face.

  Merlin smiled. “You will find the answers you seek in the Otherworld. In the halls of the Túatha dé Danann.”

  Arthur groaned, his hand straying to his side, where his lifeblood flowed out just days before. “We have only now returned from the Otherworld, and we didn’t find the realm of mist particularly friendly.”

  “The Castle of Maidens was a trap for you within the In-Between, not the Otherworld’s courts. But, this time, you will know to be on guard. I can better prepare you.”

  “What makes you think the Túatha dé Danann will even be friendly toward us? Or give us the answers we seek? They’ve had no qualms about letting Morgana, Elaine, and Morgause wreak all sorts of havoc upon my kingdom. Perhaps they support these wretched curses.”

  Merlin shook his head. “Vivien gifted you Excalibur and your kingship. She speaks for them more than the ladies of Tintagel do. I am confident these curses were not sanctioned by the Túatha dé Danann leadership or the goddess Danu.”

  “I don’t have time for another quest, Merlin,” Arthur insisted. “A fleet of ships is headed our way. This army could reach my keep at any moment. A king cannot abandon his people on the eve of war. Not if he wishes to remain king. The people are already grumbling. Hungry and scared. If I leave now, O’Lynn won’t need to take my kingdom from me. My own people will.”

  Merlin’s lined face pinched in thought. “Perhaps there is a second reason to visit the Otherworld then. The Túatha dé Danann are keepers of another magical relic. The Cauldron of Plenty.”

  “You wish for us to retrieve a . . . cauldron?” Arthur asked.

  “Yes, for this cauldron is one of the four objects of power in Ireland, where the Túatha dé Danann dwell. And, this cauldron is rumored to have healing powers, like the Grail. Even the ability to raise a man from the dead. But importantly—with this magical relic, you can create whatever food and drink you need. Enough to feed all within the walls of Caerleon until the curse is dealt with. Enough to withstand a siege easily.”

  Arthur considered Merlin’s explanation. The Cauldron of Plenty did sound helpful. Though curse its faerie-made iron. The Grail was also supposed to be his kingdom’s salvation, and that magical relic had proven a disappointment. Could he really go off on a wild goose chase after another mythical object? He had real problems to face here.

  Merlin seemed to sense Arthur’s thoughts. “What if I found a way for you to travel to the Otherworld quickly. A portal, such as the one the Grail Maiden created for you?”

  “You have such magic?” Arthur asked, his eyebrows raising. He hadn’t known Merlin to conjure such things before. If his druid could indeed create a portal . . . then perhaps there was time to make a fast trip.

  “I have never done such a thing, but now that I know a portal can be made . . . it is only a matter of study. I am certain I could cobble the spell together.” Excitement lit Merlin’s face, and a ghost of a smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. Merlin was man of magic, but he was a scholar too, much like Arthur. A chance to solve a puzzle like this? Merlin had to be dancing with anticipation, despite his calm composure.

  Arthur stood, ignoring how his head spun briefly. He needed a good night’s sleep. “Then I will leave you to it. If you find me a way into the Otherworld from Caerleon, I will undertake the journey. Seems my questing days are not yet behind me.”

  MY RACING MIND wouldn’t settle that night. Everything felt wrong. Caerleon still cursed. Lancelot gone. My sister married to O’Lynn. My father . . . he must still be alive. There was no way Aideen would have married O’Lynn, if the bastard wasn’t holding my father’s life as the alternative. I felt as if the solution to all these hardships should lie with me. Like a brilliant shining moment of insight would occur and loop the disparate threads of my life together in a perfect, victorious tapestry. But Aideen had always had the skill with weaving. All I was good for was killing.

  Helplessness squeezed at the air in my lungs. The sensation was like battling in an ill-fitting set of armor. I paced my room for half a candle mark before I decided that I held onto a small remnant of control: I was still keeping secrets. And, at this point, I wasn’t sure why. It was time I bared the whole truth to the one person who might know what these burdens meant. I needed to see Merlin.

  I made my way down the familiar earth and rock path and into the warm spring night. The once-soothing sound of the river now only served as a reminder of my failure. Black poison churned through those crystal waters, destroying whatever it touched.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice another shadowed form coming my way until the figure was almost upon me. When I saw the hooded man, my heart took flight like a
startled bird, my hand flying to the knife at my belt.

  “Peace Fionna, it’s only I, Arthur,” he said in the dark.

  I sagged with relief.

  “Most days you’re not so easy to sneak up on,” he remarked with a chuckle.

  “Most days my mind isn’t twisted into Dara knots,” I admitted.

  “I’m distracted as well,” he replied softly. “How could we not be, with all that has happened?”

  I nodded, peering out into the darkened forest across the river. “I can’t stop thinking about Aideen. Tied to that man. His hands on her . . .” I closed my eyes against the horror roiling in my stomach. My beautiful, vibrant sister shouldn’t be forced to subject herself to such violations.

  “What has happened to your family grieves me deeply. I can’t help but wonder if I could have done more.”

  “And me,” I said.

  Arthur sighed. “But then I cannot see what I could have done. Even with the benefit of hindsight, the needs of Caerleon came first.”

  “Ye are the land’s king. But I shouldn’t have joined the quest,” I said. “I should have returned to Ulster and rescued my father and sister.”

  “No—”

  “All I did was drive Lancelot away and fail to break the curse—any curse.”

  “No, My Lady. You couldn’t have freed them single-handedly. And if you hadn’t been on the quest, we wouldn’t have defeated the Twrch Trwyth or the Afanc. We wouldn’t have obtained the key or the stone or the Blessed Grail.”

  “But—” I began to protest and stopped. Arthur stepped close to me and then stroked the side of my face, enveloping me with his summer scent of green grass and apples. Of home.

  The words I had previously spoken had fallen like fallow seeds from my lips. How could I be anywhere but here? Never mind that the price for keeping my head was to join the Grail quest. This is where I had wanted to be. Where I still wanted to be. Arthur was the Caerleon that should be—strong and just and healthy. I cursed the world that punished me for following my heart with Aideen’s slavery.