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Four Hundred Eighty-two


Jancel followed the knight who called himself Sir Driu as best she could, utilizing all the woodland skills she had picked up from kin and servant alike. Had Driu’s head been any less occupied with his own demons, he would have no doubt gleaned onto her ploy.

She considered trying to use her newfound magicks to track after him all the better, but feared if she tried her lack of skill could also alert him to her own presence. For not the first time she envied her older sister, but only now realized what skill it took to keep such magicks from overwhelming those so gifted with them.

Driu had followed the Cumbrian coast northward. He spent some time surveying a lone tower that stood atop a coastal hill, and then resumed his coastal route. But presently he moved slower, more cautiously, ensuring not to break branches nor to leave tracks, and he listened more intently for other movements in the woods. Still a full three minutes behind him, Jancel absent-mindedly wondered how she had been gazing upon his actions so intently – until she realized her nascent mind-magicks had intuitively latched upon him without intending to!

Upon realizing this she withdrew, opting to try to follow him from a path of higher elevation. Finding a well-worn path, she settled for this. As a lone maiden, she would make very little noise on this clear pathway, and surely not even the castle villain would dare suspect a young princess from a neighbouring land of anything other than being lost?

She did find herself wise enough to hide when she heard other sounds on the path. Presently two knights did wander by, so lost in conversation with each other that the log she hid behind was more than adequate cover. Rounding a bend, she saw there was a small inlet with a dock and two ships. Knights were arriving by sea, but seemed. But to where did they venture? There was naught around here but Sir Lluagor’s old villa!

She continued along, trying to spy down on Driu as she went. For a while she saw him, and felt confident in her abilities. And that her course of action was the correct one. Something else else odd was transpiring here in northernmost Cumbria, and it involved not only Sir Driu but her brother and foster-parents, and she had to know what it was.

After a short while, Driu was gone, no longer on a parallel course below her. Had he seen her? Why else had he diverted? She thought about trying to use mind-magicks again, but opted against it. This close to the villa, and with all the knights around, there was no telling what could go wrong.

Just as she came to her decision, she heard two knights ahead of her. There was no time to hide!

“A maiden!” One exclaimed. He was young, barely old enough to hold a sword, from the looks of him.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the other. Perhaps of two dozen years, he spoke harshly, and held in his eyes a most unsavoury look.

“I am Princess Jancel. I... I was out picking berries, but seem to have lost my way,” she fudged. “Am I near Sir Lluagor’s villa? I should offer him my greetings whilst I am here.”

The elder of the two grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “I’ve not seen a woman as comely as you in many a moon, and never one so foolishe as to be out in the deep woods alone,” he as practically drooling.

“Nigal! Let her go! She’ll be more trouble than she’s worth!” replied the younger.

“Sha!” Nigal exclaimed. “She’s a gift of the gods, and I aim to honour that gift,” he sneered.

Jancel resisted his attempts to thrust her to the ground, yet he still had her arm fast.

“Nigal! Don’t!”

Jancel peered into Nigal’s mind, and if she had any doubt as to his intentions they were shaken loose by what she saw. Did he sense her inside his mind? Part of him sneered all the more, as if to enjoy forcing himself upon her in mind as well as body.

But Jancel sensed something more, there was more than herself and the two villains here. A third man-

Nigal screamed!

It was as sudden as a wild boar attack! As Jancel’s mind was still connected to his, she shared in his surprise – and his pain.

A dark red shade was overtaking the lower part of the man’s tunic, and at its centre was a blade, lodged deep into his abdomen.

Nigal looked around for an adversary. There was none.

“How did thee this to me!?” he demanded, staggering backward. The younger man caught him ere he fell.

“I... did nothing!” Jancel exclaimed. He believed her not. What had transpired?

“My lady? You’d best flee while you may, ere other knights converge here. Follow my voice; I can lead you to friends! This way, up the hill past yon fallen oak!”

There was no one around; who so spoke? She dispelled her hesitation and complied; what choice had she? She was foolish, this Nigal was right, foolish to assume none in the lands would do their princess harm. But these were not her people, nor were they armies bound for Gaul. What was amiss here, and whose voice did she follow? It was not Driu; of that much she was certain.

Four Hundred Eighty-three


Jecka took a moment to drink in the sight around her: water everywhere. Not the lake-waters of Avalon that surrounded the Priestess Isle nor the cold, brackish sea waters that washed up on the shores of the Forbidden Isle, but a dizzying warm-blue more like some of the Middle Sea waters she had seen two years agone. Save for the portal behind them, a trio of megaliths like the great stones of the Salisbury plains, and a small bit of earth around it where they now stood, all around them was water. Gone were the isles of Avalon behind them, and no other lands were in sight anywhere.

“How do we reach this... Karnak from here?” High Queen Imra asked Nura.

“There is a path, a walk-way that lies mere inches beneath the water’s surface. Tis not easy for mere eyes to follow, so you must all follow me exactly,” she said. “The passage between Avalon and Karnak is not one of that takes most of the day, like the Path of Isis, but neither is it as immediate as the well-tunnel passage of the Josephites is said to be. But like the Path of Isis, but it carries its own dangers. Tis not far, but we must walk slowly and carefully.”

Imra took a moment to place Asteri’s charm near the archway they had passed through, and chose a narrow space between slivers of rock where it would not be easily spotted. With the charm so placed, neither the villain who had just seized Avalon, whoever it was, nor the bainsidhes that had recently attacked them would be able to follow. The portal was closed, save for those Imra – or Asteri – wished to allow through.

“Will we ever see Avalon again? Do our friends, our allies even live, or have the bainsidhes slain all?” The queen openly wept now. Now it was safe to do so; all duties had been met. Or had they?

“I know not,” Nura replied. “I... know not how many dreams of the coming times were real, and how many were phantasms created by the unknown invader, the mystery villain. All I have dreamt of late, all I have seen of our futures, I must now question. We have all been fooled, but none so more than I... Verily, for the first time in gods know how long, the future is as unclear to me as it is to anyone. I feel as one lost in a fog, uncertain of ones own footing on ground one cannot see.”

Imra nodded, and let her friend wipe her tears away. She forgot, in the euphoria of escape, that there was one more obstacle, one more hard choice to make. Last time, Aven had made the choice for the both of them, and Imra could recall no sign of when that choice was made. How would it transpire now? Would there be some clear way to know and pay the price, for some to give up life so that others could leave unscathed, or would all of them share in the price, whatever it might be?

The Teachers had always kept such secrets close to their hearts. All knew there were consequences to leave Avalon by a different gate than one had come, but what were they? Surely Aven had overpaid, that the cost was not one life for every person who could cross freely? Nearly three years ago, Imra had watched in horror as her friend and mentor had perished, all because of her insistence of taking the fastest path rather than the proper one. This time, there was not only Imra herself to think of, but her infant son Amhar, her closest friend Luornu, Princess Jecka, the affable monk Jan, the melancholy scholar Querl, Sirs Stig, Peter and Uland, the Druid-turned-Teacher bard Taliesin, the faerie Saihlough, three Priestesses of Avalon and two soldiers to consider. Who would pay the price this time? How would she know? Only Queen Nura was safe, as she and she alone was departing Avalon by the same route by which she had arrived.

Nura stepped forward onto the submerged pathway, and as she walked slowly the more observant of the others noticed the waves greatly smoothed themselves near her feet. Upon occasion the waters smoothed not; that was where the path changed direction, and the Cornish queen changed direction in response. Progress was slow; this was a new route for all of them, and Nura had only come in the opposite direction once.

“There is but one true path upon the water, one path that one may walk upon. If one strays from the path, one is lost to the sea, a sea that connects neither to Avalon nor the outer world,” Nura warned.

Saihlough helpfully flew to the points where Nura’s path turned, and at those places she stood as a marker for the corner or bend, so that none had to rely on the strengths of their own observation and memorization.

Imra smiled to see the faerie so helpful when necessary. It made her impish pranks when all was safe all the more endearing. But the choice was still ahead of her. If Imra herself gave herself up as Aven did, how would she do it? Could she just step off the path, or would that render her demise pointless, and the rest would still suffer yet? She trusted her son with Luornu, and as the queen of all assembled here and the one whose decisions had led to this path, she knew that she had to be willing and able to shoulder the costs herself.

“Orange,” Uland muttered to himself. “Tis orange, all around us.”

Taliesin nodded and Imra understood, but to all others his words seemed nonsense; clearly the blue of the waters and sky were the colours the eyes saw? Here between worlds there were not even the dawn-sky hues, at least not as pronounced as they were in the morning skies of Avalon just a short interval ago.

Luornu carried Amhar, and hummed him a gentle tune so he could return to sleep. The thought of harm to either of them, her son and her dear friend and closest lady-in-waiting scared the queen the most, far more than harm to herself.

Seeing his pain, the two surviving soldiers carried Querl. After a while, the older one spoke to his fellow. “Keep him steady, Mags. Mind the task at hand, nothing else.”

“Aye, my brother. And our footing,” the younger replied.

“How did you two come to find yourselves in Avalon?” Querl asked. In all of his visits, rarely had there been other warriors than those of Rokk’s court.

“Our lord, the Knight of the Red Tunic, had heard that there was to be a revival of the old gatherings of nobles in Avalon, as there were in times past, and had volunteered to help plan this. As one of the most loyal to Avalon, he – and thus we – were honour-bound to give our lives for Queen Imra, as we were instructed.”

Jecka overheard the last; how could these strangers be so loyal to Avalon, to their very deaths, when she herself, who had been sheltered there for so much of her lifetime, had so often scorned it?

Mags? Dyrk Magz, perhaps?

And is this Jancel based on Imra's sister Jancel?

I promise myself I'll reread everything one day! It's nice to see how you include versions of so many characters from across the various incarnations of the Legion!

Yes and yes!
I have even added at least one Threeboot character along the way.
Thanks!

Four Hundred Eighty-four


“But Nura has not been in Avalon whilst the magickal dreams came. How was her Sight taken, too?” asked Luornu. “Or has it befallen all seers? Everywhere?”

“If Clovis has seers, mayhap they are blinded, too,” Querl offered.

If the conjecture bothered Nura, she did not let on.

“We may not know for some time,” Imra snapped. Twas not her friends she was angry at, it was still not knowing what fate was to descend upon them all.

By Nura’s most recent estimation, they were at least one-quarter of the way to Karnak already. It was taking a lot longer coordinating such a large group, she added. Had it been three or four of them they might have completed the trip already.

The party collapsed into an uneasy silence for a while. Uland was the one to break the quiet.

“Elwinda? Priestess Elwinda? You are looking very orange all of a sudden.”

The soldier brothers looked at each other wondering about the man’s wits; his mutterings about colour made little sense to most of the party. But his words triggered great alarm in Imra’s heart. Could it mean–

Elwinda screamed, and seemed to be pulled, lifted off the path by a burst of vapours.

“No! Not her!” the high queen shrieked. The older of the two soldiers dropped Querl and reached out to grab her hand.

Mags managed to steady the Greek without letting him incur too much pain. “Omar! What are ye doing!?”

“I heard Queen Imra speak to Queen Nura earlier, talking about her fears! If any are to be given up, let it be us, Mags! Let it be me!”

“What did he mean, ‘if any of us are to be given up?’ asked Anryd. “What is happening to Elwinda?!?”

Verily she was beginning to vanish. Omar felt a magickal push to let go, but did not. “Let it be me!” he repeated. And he vanished too.

“Two of us taken. How many more?” Imra asked Nura, who could answer not.

“She turned orange, ere she was pulled,” Uland said plainly, still trying to absorb the event. “Like I saw the young Druid’s ailment, I saw her turn orange.”

“What doth he mean?” Anryd demanded again. “Why does he keep saying that?”

“There is a price to leaving Avalon by the wrong gate,” Saihlough said softly. “Tis now half-paid.”

Imra’s heart sank. True, it was better than half of the party being lost – the cost of her passage with Aven the day she lost him. But who would be the other two? She wondered for the first time if she had the strength to do as Omar had done, as Aven had done. And why Elwinda?

She looked around; there was no land ahead nor sight of the stone arch behind them. A light mist upon the endless sea and a soft but brisk breeze were their only companions along this lonely path.

Four Hundred Eighty-five


The streets of Exeter were relatively quiet, far quieter than they had been in months. For the first time in weeks, there was no backlog of troops awaiting transport to Armorica. Only the muddied fields in and surrounding the townstead, the debris and wear and tear of the streetscape, and the combination of relief and industrious preparation of the population betrayed that this was but an interlude between occupations by friendly forces as they deployed for a foreign war.

At the portside, captains were overseeing maintenance that had been deferred whilst troop transportation took precedence. Town residents cleared and repaired damage that bored and/or ale-besotten soldiers had caused. The silence was one of a town catching its breath. Nothing more, nothing less.

Into this milieu early one morning arrived the relatively modest entourage of the Lady of the Lake who, still unaware of developments that transpired immediately after her very departure from Avalon, came here in pursuit of a future that which that realm might no longer have. Aivillagh and his court welcomed her and her ladies warmly.

“My deare Azura!” the Duke gushed.

“Duke Aivillagh! Verily it has been too long!”

“The duties of Lady of the Lake no doubt take you places you must be, at the expense of places you would like to be,” he said.

“Truly tis so,” she smiled. Not all nobles were so understanding as to why the Lady was not a regular fixture at the various courts across Britain. “But let us quickly move beyond greetings, no matter how pleasant they might be. Yell me, how fares Mysa?”

Aivillagh’s fragile smile faded. “I fear I might have wasted your time in summoning you.”

“Doth she fair that poorly?”

“Come and see.” He motioned for the servants bringing refreshments to hold off for now, and for the butler to bring only essentials as he followed the Duke and Lady.

Upon entry to Mysa’s room, however, they found an unconscious Sir Accolon, finally passed out after neigh on a week awake, and an empty bed. The shutters were cast wide open, and the fine Saracen curtains fluttered in the wind as if taunting the Duke.

Aivillagh rushed to the window and looked down, fearing the worst. But Mysa was not on the street below nor anywhere in sight, nor was there an easy climbing or jumping destination from the castle tower.

“Where has she gone?” he asked, meekly at first. Then, finding his voice, he repeated his question as a bellow.

Azura attempted to waken Sir Accolon, but failed. While Aivillagh summoned his staff for questioning and to begin the search, Azura checked over Mysa’s bed. It was soiled and stained badly, and smelled as one would expect of an old, dying crone. There were also many bits of detached scabs, shed scaly skin, and strands of hair. The many strands of gray hair where everywhere, but only on the side of the bed closest to the window were a few short strands of red. And a feather, an eagle’s feather.

“Aivillagh?” she asked. “I was told Mysa no longer had hair of crimson, but was now all grays and whites.”

“Aye, tis so,” Aivillagh was still angry that something may have befallen Mysa on his watch – whether in a fit she wandered off, or whether some villain had gotten to her.

“Then someone else has been in this room of late,” she glanced at the raven-haired sleeping huntsman; this red hair was not his. She recalled the unknown Grail-thief, whose hairs were found at the mystery camp. Had she come for Mysa too?

I am going to keep an eye out for that Threeboot character! Nice work, Kent!

And is Azura based on Zoe's mom?

nope. Queen Azura of planet Femnaz.
http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Adventure_Comics_Vol_1_326

Ah, thanks for the clarification.

Four Hundred Eighty-six


Queen Imra’s party continued their trek along their watery paths. The going was even slower as everyone’s boots were thoroughly waterlogged by this point. Most everyone was weary, cranky, tired and hungry, in addition to being worried about all that had been transpiring in Avalon behind them.

What was supposed to be a journey of no more than a couple hours was turning into an all-day affair. Had the trip been made after Samhain, night may well have fallen by now, Imra realized. But did night fall here? Nura’s own journey here would have been at night; Sight or no, it must have been possible to do.

Uland was lost in thoughts about the colour orange, which he perceived all around him to varying degrees. He was also discerning shape almost as well as he was seeing orange; the path they walked was a slightly deeper shade than the unsafe waters on either side. He saw a crossroads ahead, just ahead of Nura; she could go left or right. “My lady? Queen Nura? Pray tell, where goes the other path?”

Nura looked puzzled, and continued onward to her left. If Imra heard the question, she paid it no mind. But Uland, when he reached the crossroad, stopped beside Saihlough and let those behind him pass.

“One more!” Saihlough whispered. Seeing Uland’s confusion, she continued, “The price of all of us leaving Avalon by the wrong path is three. Or four, mayhap. Two have gone already, and at least one more must yet go. If the price is more than three, I can handle the rest of it. And here is the path of the choice. I hid it from the queens.”

“If one more does not go...”

“Madness. Loss of gifts, skills, strengths, the things that make people special. Afflictions not unlike what they say happened to Mysa. Who knows what else?” She giggled.

“One more,” Uland said.

“Yes, if it must be three of us, then I must be the next,” said Mags, recalling his brother’s last words. He and Sir Stig, with Querl, were bringing up the rear.

“Queen Nura is almost to the exit into the outer world,” Uland said. “If all of us leave here, ill things will befall us all.”

“And if one of us stays, all will be a-right? Goode Sir Stig, please see the green fellowe to safety, if thee would.”

“Mags! No! What are you doing?”

“We swore to our lord to see all ye folk be safe. Now go onward!”

But before Mags could take the path, Imra let out a shriek. Baby Amhar was starting to vanish just as Omar and Elwinda had!

“No!” Mag shouted. “Not the childe! Not the prince!”

Uland reacted before Mags could, and stepped onto the side path. He too vanished.

By now, the others ahead had seen and looked back perplexed; only Nura guessed what transpired. “Uland, you clever lad.” She turned, hoping to see Amhar safe and sound. She did not.

“Amhar should be safe! Where is he?” Imra sobbed. “WHERE IS HE?!?”

“No...” Jan whispered, looking around for answers. Uland was gone. Elwinda and Omar were already gone. Something else else was wrong; why had the infant been taken? Why not a fourth adult? Saihlough bit hard upon her lip; she had miscalculated, and now Imra’s childe was gone.

Mags blamed himself for not acting sooner. So did Jan. So did Saihlough. But none blamed themselves more than the high queen, who promptly collapsed onto the walkway. Many of them had seen her weep before, but none had seen her reduced to immobility, in a near fetal position, caterwauling like the infant she had just lost.

Four Hundred Eighty-seven


Errol surveyed his camp yet again. He was no longer on an exposed hilltop but in a fairly well secluded half-cave. There was a large rock overhang above him, and the hillside provided cover on the west and north, the east and south were mostly exposed. Being a Druid, he was able to cover the entries with local brush well enough to disguise his lair. He could not risk a fire, of course, but he was not far from a vantage point to spy upon the small castle where the others had gone.

Alone for the first time since Perilous Forest, he weighed the very wisdom of his entire course of action.

“I came to find L’ile, yet the lad knows more than I and will not tell me. And if Sir James was correct when we last saw him, I may have blundered so badly that I shall never see him again! Gods, have I erred?”

He sighed. There were no answers to be had. Or were there?

But how could he have forgotten?!? The Dark Circle had given him a blade, the bejeweled magick dagger from which they told him L’ile cannot hide! He dug through his pack and found it, carefully unwrapped it, and spoke to it.

“L’ile? L’ile, tis me, your friend Errol. I need to know, to know if I have acted wisely.

“Will you not speak with me? Show me a sign. Please.”

He paused and listened.

Nothing.

“Please,” he repeated. “Just tell me one thing. One sign...”

Suddenly there was rustling in the bushes something was making its way into his lair!

Was it a bear? A boar? A villain? Or maybe L’ile?

“L’ile? L’ile? Is that you?”

Whatever it was, it was about to make its last push through.

“You must be Errol,” Jancel said, finally clearing the shrubs. “He told me where to find you. There is a task we must perform to win the coming battle, but tis too dangerous to go near our foes just yet. But you must help me do something first.”

“What must I do?” Errol asked. “And who are you?”

“I am Queen Imra’s sister. My own mind-magicks are only now coming to me, and I have no mastery. You must guide me, teach me over these next few days, or all of Britain may be lost to King Tarik the Mute.”