He nodded. “I couldn’t tumble off my horse and onto my knees fast enough. I begged her pardon and offered myself to aid her in whatever way she needed. She told me . . . she needed a daughter. Mind ye, I wasn’t a young stag in my prime anymore.”
My mouth parched like the poisoned land as he continued his tale. “I loved Catríona with all my heart. She was my wife before the law, but also my soul’s lover. But when a goddess makes requests, ye serve. I laid with Danu in that very bed of wildflowers. When we were done, she thanked me, and was on her way. I told Catríona everything that evening, falling on my knees in apology. She pardoned me, so long as I forgive her should she lay with a handsome god who presented himself to her in request.” A smile ghosted his lips. “I don’t think she really believed me. Not until nine months later, when Danu appeared at our doorstep with a bundle in hand.” He met my eyes. “That bundle was ye, a daughter she had named Fionnabhair.”
“The White Fae,” I whispered to myself as the heat of tears fell down my numb face. “Ye never told me . . .”
He shook his head. “She swore us to secrecy. The goddess shared how her enemies were moving against her, and that the child would be key in defeating them. A Gwenevere, as the Cymru call her.” My heart nearly stopped beating. “But also, that the foretold White Enchantress needed to remain hidden. So, she placed a géis over you in protection against all forms of enchantment, and to disguise yer true demi-goddess form, as well as yer magical powers.”
“A géis?” I asked, my mind struggling to process. “Who were her enemies?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, my duckling. No one ever came for ye. Not yer mother or those who opposed her. But if Morgana tried to pit ye against her enemy King Arthur by forcing ye to steal Excalibur, I suspect the secret might be out and that he is also the foretold High King who needs such a queen.”
THE MOOD THAT hung over the knights at breakfast was a strange one. Arthur was absent, seeing to Merlin’s work with the Cauldron of Plenty. Lancelot and Percival were far too quiet for comfort. Well, Percival was far too quiet. Silence from crabapple was not out of character.
But the two kept exchanging pregnant glances that told Galahad that something had passed between both men last night. Had the tension between them boiled over into something more? But no . . . it wasn’t quite the type of the secret smile he would expect if the two had spent a night together.
“Out with it,” Galahad finally said, setting his tankard down with a thunk. “You two are as bad at keeping secrets as the maids when doing the washing together. What are you hiding?”
Fionna and her father appeared in the doorway, her father much changed from his condition last night. He was bathed, shaved, and clothed in a fresh tunic and pants. He still looked gaunt and shadow-eyed, but there was more spirit in him than before.
Fionna was the one who answered Galahad’s question, even as she ushered her father to a spot at Galahad’s side. “Our rescue last night didn’t go entirely according to plan.”
“What do you mean?” Galahad furrowed his brow.
“Our presence wasn’t . . . unnoticed,” she replied. “We killed two Uí Tuírtri warriors. I think one was a man of some importance.”
“So, come daybreak—” Percival said.
“They’ll know we poked the bear,” Galahad finished.
Lancelot grimaced.
“The man Fionna spoke of, Níall. He was one of O’Lynn’s oldest friends and most trusted leaders,” Brin said.
“Ah, you didn’t just poke a bear. You stirred the hornet’s nest.” Galahad let out a muffled curse. Even with the cauldron, the keep’s fortifications and preparations weren’t complete. They couldn’t afford an all-out assault.
“In our defense, they were going to attack anyway,” Percival said. “It’s not like we turned an ally into an enemy.”
“His Majesty will need to be told,” Galahad said, sliding a look Brin’s way. Honorific titles were needed now that they were in the presence of a foreign king.
“I’ll tell him,” Lancelot said at the same time as Fionna said, “Let me handle that.”
The two exchanged an irritated glance.
“No one needs to tell me anything,” Arthur appeared in the doorway, his face pinched. Galahad and his fellow knights rose to their feet and bowed their heads in respect. Arthur lifted a hand in appreciation then gestured to their chairs. “A messenger just arrived,” he said as they returned to their seats. “O’Lynn is on the move. And burning everything he passes.”
Curses of dismay rounded the table. “The villages should be mostly empty, Your Majesty,” Galahad said.
Arthur nodded grimly. “It’s a small consolation. But those homes, crops, livestock? Caerleon will need them if we are to have anything to harvest, and homes for our people to return to. We must stop what we can.”
“So, we ride,” Lancelot said, a determined smile crossing his face, perhaps grateful for a foe of flesh and blood rather than mist and magic. “I won’t mind facing those Uí Tuítri bastards again. And showing Morgana that the might of Caerleon is not to be trifled with.”
Arthur frowned, narrowing his eyes slightly while running a hand through his hair. Galahad knew that look of stern consideration: Arthur the strategist.
“Would O’Lynn move all of his forces out?” Arthur turned to Fionna. “Would he himself be among them? Morgana?”
She shook her head. “If they’re just razing and burning, O’Lynn will likely be sitting back, fat and happy. Real battle, however? He would ride out among his warriors. But this . . . we will likely find him in his camp. Morgana too, if she is with him.”
“We will split up, then,” Arthur said. “Sir Percival, I’ll send you with a force to meet the raiders. Harry them, draw them out, pick off the stragglers. Do not fully engage. Just distract them so they don’t return. Lady Fionna, Sir Galahad, and I will take another force into their camp. We’ll bring Merlin too. I’m sick to death of being on the defensive. It’s time to take the offense to O’Lynn and Morgana. See how they like being blindsided by magical attacks for a change.”
“Will Merlin fight?” Fionna asked. “I didn’t know he used his magic in battle.”
“Merlin was quite a fighter in his youth,” Arthur said. “He will fight.”
“And what of me, my King?” Lancelot asked.
“The most sacred task falls to you,” Arthur said. “I need you to see to the defenses of Caerleon. You must hold this keep, whatever comes.”
“Hold the keep?” Lancelot was incredulous. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Your Majesty, but it’s not the king’s role to be on the front lines. Let me win this battle for you. I gladly offer my services as your champion. You need not risk yourself.”
“Dál nAraidi clann chieftains ride to battle at the front of their hordes,” Brin said. “If King Arthur Pendragon does not go, even for a raid, it will be seen as a sign of weakness. Practically an admission of defeat.”
“Says the king who was captured in battle by his enemies,” Lancelot shot back.
Fionna’s eyes narrowed at Lancelot’s slight, though Galahad had to admit, it was a fair point by their second-in-command. Brin arched a humored eyebrow and smirked at their dark knight’s fire, before glancing at his daughter, who just rolled her eyes back at her father.
Galahad lifted a hand to his mouth to hide a humored smile of his own. Fionna and Lancelot were too much alike at times, there were really only two acceptable reactions. Irritation or humor.
“I will not do anything rash,” Arthur reassured. “Sir Galahad and Lady Fionna will be by my side. But I must see. I must take this man’s measure. If we can cripple him and Morgana today, it could buy us the time Caerleon needs to figure out how to break this final curse.”
“And to awaken my magic,” Fionna added.
“What magic?” Galahad asked.
Fionna exchanged a glance with her father. “I had a chance to speak with my father last night. It turns out . . .
Danu is my mother.”
Silence fell over the room.
“I bloody knew ye were a goddess!” Percival finally said, slapping his knee with a laugh. “Any man could see that ye are no ordinary woman.” The way Percival purred the words, and how Fionna’s ears turned pink as a smile crept onto her face . . .
Galahad’s eyes widened. The Grail Quest was over . . . had Percival claimed more than Fionna’s heart?
“Indeed,” Lancelot murmured. “If you are the daughter of Danu, then you are a Gwenevere. The first in a millennia. I told you, Fionna. The third curse didn’t lie. Morgana said I would love a white enchantress. And here you are.”
Fionna’s cheeks reddened to a pretty hue and Galahad swung his head to take in the smug grin twisting Lancelot’s mouth. The way his eyes rested on her, as if she were his. As if he knew every hidden place and secret whisper of Fionna’s beautiful body. “Odin’s beard, woman!” Galahad cried out, looking from Lancelot to Percival to Fionna. “We were gone for less than a day!”
Arthur frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Fionna full-on flushed now, as scarlet as a ripe cherry. “Stay on topic, Sir,” she said pointedly to Galahad, then chanced a furtive glance her father’s direction. “The important detail to discuss is how I do indeed possess magic, but my access has been locked up by Danu within a géis. To protect me from her enemies.”
“A géis,” Lancelot practically spat. “My foster mother thought as much.”
“Danu’s enemies?” It was Galahad’s turn to exchange a look with Arthur. “The faerie we encountered in Danu’s court was not . . . friendly. I think it’s possible that Danu’s enemies have already come home to roost.”
“What enemies does an earth-goddess have?” Percival asked.
“The Fomorians,” Arthur said slowly. “The curse over the land reminded us of their dark magic. Danu saw fit to hide her child from someone . . . and the Fomorians are the ancient enemy of the Túatha dé Danann.” Arthur turned to Lancelot. “Can a Fomorian shift into the form of another faerie?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Arthur drawled out, as if deep in thought. “I wonder if a Fomorian took on the shape of the faerie Danu had planned to appoint as regent in her absence? I cannot imagine she would just appoint anyone, let alone a Fomorian.”
“Possible, I suppose,” Lancelot answered. “Faeries can shift into animals or make themselves appear more human. Fomorians are beastly and quite ugly. Only halflings, a child of Danu and a child of Domnu, possess humanoid fae beauty.”
Galahad ran a finger along the rim of his tankard. “Elathia, Danu’s regent, was beautiful.”
Lancelot curled his lip in disgust. “Bloody faeries.”
“But if the Fomorians have returned from the sea’s abyss,” Arthur considered, “perhaps we have bigger concerns than O’Lynn and Morgana. We will consider all these things with Merlin when we return. Lady Fionna, I will see that the druid gives all his attention to breaking this géis over you.” Their king swept his gaze across the table. “We will not solve this mystery over breakfast. Not when we have a battle to win.”
Brin lifted his tankard into the air. “Aye, victory will be ours, Pendragon.”
BREAKFAST WAS FORGOTTEN as they scrambled to rally their soldiers and prepared to ride out.
Lancelot scowled darkly but obeyed his king’s command.
Several hours later, Galahad found himself mounted on his charger, riding through the countryside between Fionna, Arthur, and Merlin.
“What can you tell us about their war strategy?” Arthur asked Fionna.
“If we ride upon them quickly, they’ll fight like banshees to defend their turf,” Fionna answered. “In a more traditional engagement, they would try to strike fear into our hearts with war cries and horns. For those who have never heard a Dál nAraidi force crying out, it can be terrifying indeed. Then the foot soldiers and lightly-armored horsemen would charge us, to break our ranks. But, if we’re able to hold rank, they will likely flee. Then the foreign Gaels will attack.”
“The foreign Gaels?” Galahad asked. “You mean intermarried Gaelic Norsemen?”
“Aye, I do. They fight with the Danish axes ye’re familiar with, together with our own Irish bows and darts. The foreign Gaels will hit us with the force of Odin’s hammer,” Fionna said, giving Galahad a weak smile.
“So,” Arthur began, nodding thoughtfully, “we must ensure they don’t have a chance to reach their mounts or weapons.”
“There’s no honor among Dál nAraidi, Your Majesty,” Fionna stressed. “Such an attack won’t surprise them much. O’Lynn’s warriors will rally a defense quickly.”
As Fionna spoke, they crested a forested hill and the Uí Tuírtri camp came into view below them. Galahad tightened his grip on his horse’s reins. Thousands of warriors swarmed Caerleon’s green rolling hills and the valley the peaks cradled. In the far distance, black smoke plumed into the sky where a village burned.
Arthur reined Llamrei to a stop, and the others reined their mounts in on either side. They had a force of a hundred men behind them.
“Merlin, can you create a cover for us?” Arthur asked.
Merlin nodded, and then closed his eyes, whispering into the air. A fog began to coat the ground, wisping down the hill before them.
“We push into the town.” Arthur’s words were hard. “Find O’Lynn and Morgana. And end them.”
“And rescue my sister,” Fionna added softly.
“So, it comes to this,” Merlin said, his cambion eyes flashing.
“It has always been coming to this,” Arthur said. “Ever since my half-sister set her sights on my kingdom.” And with that, he kicked his heels into Llamrei’s side and trotted down the hill and into the rising mist.
Galahad flashed a shared glance with Fionna before kicking his own charger forward, the clop of his horse’s hooves muffled by the soft grass.
Uncertainty dogged Galahad’s mind. But he shoved his misgivings aside, finding his clarity. His calm. And his blood sang a fierce battle cry to the elements as Fionna rode at his side, her white-blonde braids fluttering behind her.
For glory. For Arthur. For Caerleon.
THE MIST SHROUDED their approach. Tents eventually emerged like silent sentinels inside the curtain of thick fog. A warrior materialized before Arthur and Llamrei, and Arthur ran him through the neck with Excalibur before he could make a sound.
Galahad, Fionna, and Merlin had fanned out from him during their descent into the war camp. Though he couldn’t see them in the whiteness, the hushed grunts, rustle of armor, and quiet clang of slaughter reassured Arthur that they were still close by.
He had instructed the soldiers who followed to burn what they passed. It grieved Arthur to do so, but allowing O’Lynn access to food and shelter felt like aiding his enemy. Arthur would rebuild the villages for his people and provide care within his keep’s walls until they could return to their new homes.
Men’s voices swam through the fog before him. He could make out the words in an Irish lilt that reminded him of Fionna’s. “It isn’t natural,” one man said.
“Aye. Bloody faerie magic,” another replied.
It was another moment before he saw them, before he saw that they were too many to take by surprise. But he would kill as many as he could before they raised the alarm.
One tall, thin man cried out as Arthur surged forward, spearing him through the chest.
Around the fire, the others scrambled for their weapons as Arthur and Llamrei leaped over the fire pit, Llamrei’s sharp hooves trampling one of the men. Arthur dispatched the other two quickly, but it was too late. The cry had been heard.
Arthur felt a strange elation rise within him as he urged his horse forward, his blood crying out for battle. He was tired of O’Lynn taking from him, of Morgana taking from him. He was ready to take from someone else.
Shouts sounded to his left, where he knew Fionna was making her way through the mis
t as well.
Arthur focused before him, hacking and stabbing, a brutal harvest of Uí Tuírtri warriors caught unawares. It would have made Arthur’s stomach curl, if not for the cruelties these men had already visited upon his people. Anglo-Saxon holy men shared of a god who insisted that a man was to turn the other cheek when insulted. Arthur snorted as he swung Excalibur, severing a man’s head from his shoulders. Perhaps turning the other cheek worked in the Holy Roman Empire. But not in Gaelic lands. Here, a king stood his ground. And here in Briton, the Pendragon breathed fire and vanquished the enemies who invaded his realm.
Arthur had reached one of the little houses on the outskirts of the village, having made his way through the forest of hide tents. The sound of cracking flames and the smell of burning wood and fur followed close on their heels. They wouldn’t be able to return this way. But, in her mission to retrieve her father, Fionna had identified another retreat route to the east toward Caerleon.
Arthur smiled grimly when a great wind buffeted against him, and the fog began to lift. “Morgana.” He spit his half-sister’s name like a curse. There would be no more easy killing from here on out.
His companions came into view as the mist began to lessen. Fionna and Zephyr, their pale forms flecked with sprays of blood; Galahad with his battle axe hewing a man nearly in two. And Merlin, shooting gouts of flame, burning the men before him where they stood. An endless sea of soldiers from Caerleon also now faced the tide of Irish clann warriors before them.
Arthur and his trusted circle halted on the outskirts of the village, though the main street was wide and open. And he could see into the village square, where a force of men were rallying. Banners were being lofted and flapped in the unnatural wind, bearing the sigil of clan Uí Tuírtri.
“To me!” Arthur called, and the others drew close around him.
“We punch through,” Arthur said, “and see if we can find O’Lynn.”
“I think we have found him,” Fionna said, nodding toward the village square. A tall man swathed in furs was walking out of the village inn with a willowy woman in black at his side.
Gwenevere's Knights- The Complete Knights of Caerleon Trilogy Page 51
