Caer Valora’s banners snapped in the wind boldly. It was an ancient, sprawling beast of a castle on a hill, overlooking a crowded, dirty castle town, teeming with folk. Its walls rose high, surrounding crooked, pointed towers and bridges. Its stones were worn smooth with age, some portions crumbling. At the main gates, statues of an old king and queen, long dead, stared down mutely at the town. It smelled of dust, of horses and bodies, hay, flowers, water, soil, and rot.
As Alsvid strode into the tightly-packed chapel, she saw Branwen’s smallest son tugging at his father’s sleeve, asking plaintively where his Mummy had gone. It was more than she could bear, and she turned aside, letting out a shuddering sob, tears pouring down her cheeks in hot, bitter streams. She burned with rage. It pulled at her limbs, made her throat tight. Her hands tightened into fists. She felt the need to make someone hurt, to see them screaming in anguish.
Leo came behind her, drawing her close to him. “Are you all right?”
“No,” Alsvid muttered, running her hand over her eyes. “I can’t believe they killed that innocent woman! I saw them laughing as they killed her, Leo! The bastards thought they were having a grand joke as they shattered her bones with their maces! It’s not right!”
Kimmy joined them, the towering, horned girl’s face drawn with grief, her eyes brimming with tears. “I still can’t believe it,” she whispered, clutching at Alsvid’s body. “I can still hear their battle cry in my ears...and those poor, broken knights...how horrible…”
Leo’s mouth twitched, his brows grim. “I saw her fall. It reminded me of when my own mother was killed in cold blood. It was like watching it all over again. I...felt like I was being torn apart, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. It was so sudden.”
He angrily dashed his arm over his eyes, wiping away hot tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Kimmy said quietly, stroking his shoulder.
The Priestess of the castle, Meer Lynnford, clambered atop the altar, facing her audience, and began to speak. Hauntingly beautiful, lissome, long-legged, slender-fingered, silver-haired, with pale, almost translucent skin like lilies, wide of hip, with full, round breasts, her white robe clinging to her sumptuous curves, she would have been pleasant to observe were it not for the zealous, almost maniacal fire burning in her blue eyes, the hollowness of her cheeks, the slightly sunken quality of her eyes.
She seemed very old and yet young at the same time.
Her weak, reedy, yet piercing voice accentuated this quality, and stilled the congregation the moment she began.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to honor these noble creatures who, in service to Her Royal Highness the Queen of Albion, Arthoria the Pendragon, First of her Name, gave their lives in the greatest sacrifice one can possibly offer Queen and Country. Their names shall ever be remembered in the Book of Days. They are no longer crude forms of flesh and blood, but they have transcended into the realm of eternity. They will never grow old, never hunger or thirst or bleed anymore. Their suffering is now drawn to a close; in their extremity of saintly martyrdom, enduring that which is unendurable, they have become legendary heroes that shall be celebrated in song and story forevermore. Now they are with their ancestors, in the Golden Country, looking down upon us poor mortals in the hopes that we, too, can honor their sacrifices and ensure that they did not give battle in vain. Gentles all, I bid that we pray now and give thanks to their immortal souls so that they know we recognize the magnitude of their efforts and please them.”
She bowed her head, raising her Sun Cross staff skyward.
The anthem of the Kingdom, “Albion’s Mountains Green” began to play with tremendous volume and force from the chapel’s organs, flutes, horns, and drums, a majestic overture with sweeping crescendos, crashing drumrolls, and sweet string airs.
Almost all of them, except for the very young, the very old, and the sick, began to sing.
The music swelled gracefully.
Kimmy felt something grasp her hand and found that Alsvid had taken a firm hold of her fingers, Leo’s hand in her other.
Tears streamed down the black woman’s cheeks, yet there was an unearthly, ineffable look upon her face of pure joy as she gazed skywards, her clear, bell-like voice raised in song.
“Take up thy sword, O child of Albion,
Draw ye the shield of Ages past,
I shall not cease the endless fight,
Nor shall my burning arrows stray from their flight…”
Uncertainly at first she began to sing as well. Leo’s strong, deep tones joined with hers, and she renewed her efforts.
Mingled with the organ, the massed voices of the people.
“And was the Holy Queen of Albion
Watching us from her castle on hills of green?
And was Londinium builded here
Among the enemy’s evil hosts?”
The Priestess directed her musicians with her slender fingers, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Ah, music. A heavenly balm; the voices of the guardian spirits made within the grasp of our poor, mortal flesh,” she said wonderingly, gazing skyward.
Queen Arthoria knelt before them all, immeasurable pain and guilt stamped on her beautiful face, her teeth bared, eyes squeezed shut, tears pouring down her cheeks, clutching her sword to her breast with both gauntleted hands, facing the disconsolate row of flag-draped coffins as the sextons began lowering them into their final resting place.
“It’s like a nightmare I can’t rise from,” Sir Ector said, hollowly.
Alsvid glanced up to find the big knight at her elbow. “Oh, I didn’t see you there, sorry.”
Sir Ector dismissed this with a wave of one hand, shaking his head. “We’ve all had rather a terrible sortie today. I myself was lost in thought or I would have greeted you. Do you know how many times I’ve seen this same service being performed? I feel like it happens every day.”
As the ceremony drew to a close, Queen Arthoria joined them. “I’m tired, Sir. So tired,” she groaned, casting her eyes skywards. “How much more of this must we endure?”
“I beg of you, Your Majesty, say not those words. It bodes ill. You sound like one of the dying.”
“I feel like part of me is dead already,” the Queen said, in a small voice.
Another Royal Knight approached them; a tall, heavily armored, stern-faced, thin woman with golden hair cut short and grey eyes.
“Sir Bedivere,” the Queen said, acknowledging her.
Sir Bedivere bowed. “Your Majesty, we are convening at the Round Table to hold one last council before you make ready to sail. Shall we away to hear their final remarks?”
◆◆◆
They found the Round Table’s knights already squabbling bitterly.
“I’ll die before I see any bloody foreigners traipsing around my bloody land!” shouted Gwydion, a slender, beautiful blonde youth with blue eyes and rosy white skin, even more rosy from shouting at the top of one’s lungs at length. He pounded one fist on the table. “Who’s with me?”
More of the knights shouted assent. Yet more screamed abuse at him.
“You’re a boor and a child, Gwydion,” announced Kaya, a red-haired, buxom girl with freckled white skin and sparkling green eyes. “The Basileia has always been friendly towards us, and they are not known for breaking their promises, unlike the Reich, which only took four months before they tore up our treaty and began ravaging our home with their ships and their tanks, and slaughtering our people. At least let the Queen make her case before the Basilissa before you make yourself even more of a bloody fool.”
She threw herself back in her chair, and planted her armored feet on the table, smirking. “I know why you don’t want any Basileia folk around here, Gwydion.”
“And why the blazes is that, Kaya? You’re such a bloody smart aleck, you tell me what’s got me really worried about them, then!” he shot back at her.
Kaya merely smiled and said nothing.
“Order! Order! I will have o
rder!” bellowed Sir Ector. He smote the table with a huge fist. “Gwydion, you’ll speak more civilly to your fellow knights, or I’ll give you such a thrashing you won’t be sitting down again for a fortnight, you little scamp. I’ve never heard such rubbish in my whole life, and I’ve lived nearly three times your whole lifespan. And the rest of you! Listening to the nursemaid tales of a mewling babe not a few years from suckling at the teat! I near thought I was in a child’s playroom, listening to that tripe. Now hear your queen.”
Queen Arthoria stood. “Gentles all, I have made up my mind to sail for the Capitol of the Basileia to discuss terms of a Military Alliance. Fate willing, I shall return with a coalition at my back to help me reclaim that which is rightfully ours and drive out the Reich once and for all. I won’t allow anyone to cause our allies upset. We need their aid now more than ever, and I trust that they will abide by our terms and recognize our sovereignity. In fact, I daresay that their influence may very well enrich our kingdom and gladden the hearts of our people. Their generosity is oft spoken of by those who have personally experienced their hospitality firsthand. You need not fear. In fact, I wonder that my famous and heroic knights would behave in such a cowardly and small way, like children hiding behind their mother’s skirts, afraid to greet a new governess, instead of anticipating a chance to show some newcomers our valor and virtue so that they will tell their kin of our glory and chivalrous attitudes.”
“Hear, hear!” Kaya shouted, others taking up the cry. Gwydion uttered a dark oath and slumped back in his chair, scowling.
“Sir Bedivere will act as Hand of the Queen while I am gone. She speaks with my voice and acts with my royal prerogative, so you must adhere to her council,” the Queen continued, looking around her.
As she spoke, Alsvid and her comrades slipped away. “While you’re having it out, we are going to the starbase. Look for your Queen’s flagship and be ready. We won’t be long,” Leo told Sir Ector in low tones, clapping a hand to the man’s back.
“You really don’t jest when you make your intentions known, good man,” Sir Ector murmured in admiration, looking at Leo in awe.
“We get it done,” Leo said, smirking. “See you later, old man.”
◆◆◆
Alsvid and her comrades made their way through Caer Valora, marveling at the stout castle walls and the soaring, tough-looking grey towers that rose above them, with powerful gates and robust parapets. From there they could see the whole castle town stretching out before them.
Leo placed his hands on the smooth worn stone as he gazed down from the parapets of the wall.
“Damn, these walls are thick. You really feel safe and warm in here. It’s like this castle’s a mother to us all,” he said, with a wondering expression upon his face. “You wouldn’t think anything could get through here.”
“And yet, one of the Reich’s Siegfried cannons could smash through them in the blink of an eye,” Alsvid said, darkly.
“You’re such a cheery girl,” Kimmy muttered.
“Indeed,” Alsvid said, without irony. She clambered up onto the edge of the parapets, catlike and graceful.
“Oh, be careful,” Kimmy fretted, as Alsvid began to walk along the parapets, clutching at Leo’s shoulder.
“I will,” Alsvid said, treading carefully upon the hard stone.
She took a few more steps, and then leapt back down, grinning at Leo and Kimmy.
They let out breaths they didn’t know they were holding and joined her at the annex of the walls.
“The starbase is east of here, so let’s go that way,” Kimmy said, pointing at the Queensroad.
“You just want to see the market,” Leo teased her.
“Why not?” Kimmy said, plaintively.
“We’ve got a job to do, Kimmy.”
“Oh, let her have a look around, Leo,” Alsvid said, soothingly, placing her arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. “We can put it in our report to the Admiral. She’ll feel good about having a wossname, an, erm, evaluation of the populace.”
It turned out to be less amusing than Kimmy thought. The coughing and crying of sick children, the thin moans of dying women, and the groans of men straining under their work filled the marketplace. Dirty orphans scampered around them, tumbling in the mud and shouting abuse at each other, as old peasant women struggled around them with filthy baskets. Men with torn, shabby, filthy roughspun clothes and worn leather gear scowled and gave them dark looks. Mothers drew their babes close in their wake, as little knots of young miscreants openly stared and mocked them, or whispered behind their backs.
The buildings were unkempt wood and straw things that leaned against each other, belching dirty black smoke. Under their feet were uneven cobblestones that twisted and bent and threatened to toss them headlong at any moment. Big, creaky, awkward wayns drawn by horses rumbled past them. Filth and garbage heaped in dark corners, attended to by rats, crows, and flies.
Slatternly women and dewy-eyed pleasure boys leaned out from the windows of some of the cottages, blowing them kisses mockingly
All of the people stared at Alsvid in most part.
Amongst the dizzying sea of gaunt, chalky faces, she stood out like an unseelie faery princess in her black catsuit, staring out from under her black hood with her green eyes glittering maliciously, her rich, dark black skin like spun, perfumed midnight silk. She was smiling at nothing in particular and didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything around her.
Leo escaped some of the stares. A brief glance at the unyielding masses of defined muscle thrusting out under his taut, smooth brown skin deterred all but the most insistent.
Kimmy noticed little, being unremarkable save for her horns. She could not resist a giggle as one of the working girls called out to Leo in winsome tones.
“I think she likes you.”
“I think she’s probably gone a month without bathing,” he replied, evenly.
“Don’t be mean,” Kimmy said, reprovingly. “It’s not her fault if they’re at war.”
“I’m not losing sleep over it, I’m just saying we might not be a good fit, you know?”
Someone shouted a choice remark about Kimmy’s figure as they passed, to the sound of roaring laughter. Kimmy reddened, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?!” she whimpered, grimacing in distress.
“Poor lad’s been tending cattle so long he’s got milk and udders on the brain, I’d say,” Alsvid said, patting her on the back in a sympathetic fashion. “Pay him no heed, mateys.”
There was very little food to be seen.
Carts of moldy potatoes, wormy apples, stinking fish, moldering beef, and little heaps of flour were here and there. One woman was roasting rats on a skewer for her babes. At another stall, a grimy, bearded gaunt-looking man plunked bowls of dubious looking red stew before skeletal children.
“What’s in that stuff?” Kimmy asked him.
The man stared at her. “Oh, ‘tis just a mess of pottage, Yer Ladyship, beggin’ yer pardon. Lentils an’ beef.”
“Interesting,” Kimmy said, recoiling a little.
“I think I saw an eyeball in that stuff,” Leo muttered, with a humorless smile.
One of the dirty little orphans looked up from her bowl with a faceful of stew. “Why’s your face all black, milady?” she said, looking at Alsvid. All of them were watching her with wide eyes and nervous looks on their little faces.
Codex Basileia Page 3
