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Seventy-four

"Woo-who!" cried James, once Rokk had given the word.

The two-score strong band of heavy cavalry moved as a single unit, truly with the discipline, power and might of any Roman legion - yet one that moved far faster than any Imperial infantry ever did. Rokk's infantry, in turn, enjoyed easy pickings over what was left.

What little horse-backed Khundish warriors there were proved no match for Garth's forces, and battle after battle, they wore down and tore down Zaryan's scattered bands of warriors, who were more used to small, intimate combats.

For three nights, they had arced around Londinium, trouncing band after band, with only one fight warranting prolonged effort - at Merrow Downs.

Yet nearing the Thames again, they expected a regrouping, but found none.

The small bastion awaiting them was no army, only a band guarding a hilltop, trying their best to delay them. They were failing.

On Rokk's word, his men ascended the hill, with no single archer taking down even one of his riders.

Despite the expectation of the grand finale, the rout was a let-down.

Rokk seemed unsurprised, however, and in turn surprised his own men: splitting them in half. Jonah was ordered to hold the line, while Rokk and Garth led the remaining half- back toward Londinium?!

We've got them on the ropes, yet now we turn tail? Jonah grimaced. Yet he knew Rokk's stratagems usually had their strengths.

Rokk's team set off, once Laoraighll returned from her scouting mission, leaving Jonah's biggest problem - his brother.

Agravaine was tending the horses, grooming, mixing the grains as Iaime had specified, and checking the steadiness of the horse-shoes.

"Brother," Jonah greeted.

Agravaine, with much redness of eye, nodded, failing to meet his brother's gaze.

"Brother, will you not speak to me?"

"What words would you hear from a cut-throat?" Agravaine half-screamed.

"A cut-throat you are not. And I've known many," Jonah tried to provoke a smile.

"Well, you know one more."

Jonah strolled around the makeshift corral.

"Iaime thought his magic belt would protect him from harm."

"From his foes! Not his friends!" Agravaine said. "Not his friends..."

Half-choking on the memory, he could not help to go back to day at Merrow Downs. Several knights had to dismount, to wade into a band of Khunds who'd holed up in a dense thicket of woods.

He'd taken out many of them single-handedly, perhaps trying to prove something to his big brother - or his legend.

The last Khund was a real fighter, though, who half-dislodged Agravaine's helmet, obstructing his vision and making him an easy target.

He'd lashed out blindly, not knowing his opponent was slain already.

"Iaime was our friend and ally. He saved my life, and I repaid him by... Aye, I repaid him," he trailed off.

The young knight sobbed, leaving his brother only to provide comfort. This wound will not be short in the healing, Jonah thought, thinking how long he has blamed himself for Tinya.

Dyrk suffers from SAD - just like me then Mekt the plotter - I love it! Agravaine's anguish - great stuff!

If I could pass one criticism Sean it's the blue writing you use when Imra is telepathising - it fades on a blue background and I found it breaks the rhythm of the peice for me.

More, more and more!

Bxx

Kent, (or Sean, if that is correct, I'm guessing here) I just found this story today, (OK Belinda told me about this story today) and I only intended to read the first few posts to see if I liked it or not. Well here I am a few hours later than I'd planned on staying up disappointed by just one thing. There's not more for me to read!

You've done a marvelous job combining the Arthurian Legends with our favorite Legion.

So To Paraphrase a certain Harbinger...

MORE, MORE, MORE!!!!!

Thanks, gang!

Every once in a while, it helps to be reminded peope are reading!

Abin: yes, your'e right: Sean is my name. Call me which ever you prefer.

Bel: Point taken. Let me know how you like the yellow instead.

Seventy-five

"I still say you're nuts."

"Shut up and push!"

Querl saw the opportunity at hand as too good to pass up.

Genni had delivered word that Zaryan's warriors had somehow bypassed King Mekt's line, and were making a bee-line for Londinium.

"The Khundish forces have some horses and wagons, but no boats. Therefore, they are limited to the Thames' south shores, while we north of the river shall remain untouched, free to fire our payloads at the enemy," Querl explained. "Even if some swim across to come at us, we can be long gone before they arrive."

"And if they do, we can set fire to your ballista, that they may not use it against our forces," Loomius added.

"If it comes to that. And it's no mere ballista," Querl corrected. "I call it my Computus."

He took quiet satisfaction in the unit's mobility. He and Loomius were ably guiding it up Gertus’ Hill's gentle slope with no difficulty at all.

"Why call it 'Computus?'"

"Well, beside the ballista element you are familiar with, you see the additional apparatus?"

"Not really," Loomius said. "I didn't get a chance to examine your newest additions."

"Well, you remember how our results improved with the angle adjustment?"

"Un-huhmph," he answered. They both needed an extra push to get over an annoyingly thick root.

"Well, incorporating the dual abacus system allows us to calculate the elevation and distance variables, ensuring greater accuracy, when combined with the aiming device-"

Loomius cut off the scholar. "-I still don't see how a metal bracelet is going to improve our aim."

"That is merely the holder for a device too precious to leave with the machine," Querl started, but was distracted by the view coming into sight, now that the hill's crest and tree-line had been passed.

The two had finally arrived on the top of Gertus' Hill, where they saw the torchlight of all Londinium, Wynn's defending forces - and the approaching Khunds.

"Wow," said Loomius.

Querl nodded in agreement.

"You were saying something about the aiming device?" asked a Khundish accent.

A circle of Khunds stepped out from the woods, leaving the scientist and craftsman with nowhere to go.

Seventy-six

"That took forever."

"We can count ourselves lucky to have made it at all," Aven reminded her.

They stepped out of the cave into the ritual chamber. It was empty, without even candles lit.

"Odd," Aven commented. "What can you sense?"

Imra paused, and tried to focus, but the lingering shrieks of Those Who Must Never Be Seen remained lodged in her consciousness.

"Well?"

"I'm... trying."

"Don't try. Do."

If it's so easy, why don't you? Imra thought, annoyed that her mentor was not giving her time to adjust.

Aven glared. I have. You rushed to enter a city potentially under siege, yes? You should have been able to scout ahead before we even exited the Path. The high queen should not rush headlong into an enemy's camp.

You're right, Imra agreed, forcing herself to focus.

Soldiers loyal to Wynn and Rokk were camped nearby... awaiting an attack!

"We must cross into the city at once!" Imra cried. "The Khunds-"

"-Have yet to face Wynn's men. Calm yourself," Aven instructed.

Imra blushed at her overreaction. She had hoped to make a better impression upon her mentor.

The two made their way out of the Temple of Isis, heading for the bridge to the city.

"Spies! Halt!" cried a soldier. Suddenly they were surrounded.

"Let us pass! I am Queen Guinevere!"

Looking at her plain priestess robe, the soldier wasn't impressed. "Let me see your royal crest."

"You don't need to see her royal crest," Aven said persuasively.

"We don't need to see her royal crest," agreed one of the soldiers.

"We aren't the spies you're looking for," Aven continued.

"These aren't the spies we're looking for," said the soldier.

"We can enter the city," said Imra's mentor.

"You can enter the city," agreed the soldier.

"You should get going," Aven gently concluded.

"You should get going," ordered the soldier.

Imra, struck with a sense of deja vu, never failed to be surprised by her mentor - despite what she knew he could do, the end results were always even more amazing.

The city guard did recognize her, and escorted her to the palace, where she could again don proper attire.

"We must not loose too much time, Aven, as I mean to save both men.

"Aven?"

She turned to see a transparent Aven, fading away.

"There is a cost to breaking the rules, my dear Imra, and I chose to pay it for the both of us."

"NO!"

"Respect my last moments with you. Think again each time you make a short-cut, and before you invade another's will. Be deceived not, especially by yourself. And give not your heart so that you forget all else..." Aven faded away.

Now go save your men, and save your tears for a-later, he told her unseen, again fading one last time.

The queen made her way through her chambers, ignoring her ladies' inquiries, and stifling the tears that wanted to come.

She quietly changed into her heavy riding clothes and a dark cloak, and rushed down the back stairs to seek out whatever knight may be around.

I meant to save all the men I love, she thought. Yet I'm already one-third failed.

Notes 69-75:
69: As Cadwy's Fort was big enough to hold a village, it was no doubt big enough to be a place to train a house cavalry.
70: Garth's tall-tales gave me an excuse to plug in stories that wouldn't really otherwise fit. And certainly the bards and minstrels would exaggerate a few tales themselves.
71: For the sake of cross-over, we'll pretend Lar is a synonym for Cu - Gaelic for "dog" or "hound." Cu Chulain = Cullen's Hound, a name the legendary Irish hero earned after accidentally killing the guard-dog of a man named Cullen, and serving in its stead until a new pup was full-grown.
72: Dyrk at least has some relation with the sun.. so far...
The Colleen pin-up: Obviously, this isn't MY Camelot Legion exactly, but Saihlough's dead-on, and three others are damn close.
73: And I thought this one would be easy to write! Then I had to figure out where the royal couple's kingdom would be, whom they were directly working for, and why... I didn't intend for Clovis to pop up so soon, but somehow, it all worked.
Also - I wasn't the first, obviously, to note the similarities in name between Venice and Venus, and Laevar's name was well-suited to Italification.
74: I actually hesitated about killing off Iaime so soon - but he was supposed to be the one who died that we never got to know, so I guess it's appropriate enough. Strangely, as soon as I knew he would be introduced, I knew Agravaine would be his accidental killer.
75: I knew Querl would invent the Computus, but I didn't know it would be so soon. He never tells me anything, but at least he hasn't blown up Londinium yet.

Amazing Stuff Sean!

All I can do is beg for more!

And More! AND MORE!

Howzat fer goin' all Harbie on ya?

Seventy-seven

"You're looking rather sorry for yourself."

"Hello, Laurentia," Dyrk managed a smile, catching her by surprise. "Yes, I know of you, and I can tell the difference. You don't look at me like Luornu does."

"And how does she look at you?"

"A bit sheepishly, in truth. She avoids my gaze... It's my own fault, I guess. We were..."

"I know what you two were," Laurentia said, still feeling shivers ripple across her body thinking about it. "But that's not why you sit around moping in an empty hall?"

She began walking the circumference of the table, wiping a line in the dust.

"I sit awaiting my orders. Neither Wynn nor Zendak trust me enough to put me to use, and unless Genni finds a way to and from Rokk's camp, here I sit... and drink."

"You've drunken enough so you smell like a Khund."

"Are you so knowing as how a Khund smells? Do you go around sniffing, as if they were flowers? Or is it like Tenzil and poisons - mayhap Lyle can use you to sniff out Khundish spies!"

Laurentia laughed, now most of the way around the table. Every move in the empty hall echoed, in stark contrast to the robust feasts that so stood out in her memory.

"Sit with me. Share my wine," he offered.

"I think not," she still laughed. "Luornu says you shine like the sun. But look at you! Are you a heathen then? A sun king who dies at Hallow's-Eve? You seem but a shadow of yourself."

"She says I shine like the sun?" Dyrk was genuinely surprised by this. "I thought she must think me the scoundrel."

Laurentia teasingly brushed his face with a finger. "Shy little Luornu is too good a Christian to not think you the scoundrel... but too much a woman not to like you for it."

Dyrk leaned toward her. "And what about you?"

"I think you're too much the little boy to take seriously," she smiled. "Is not one sister enough for you?"

There were sounds of footsteps rushing down the back stairs. Laurentia took a step away, affording proper distance from the knight.

"My Queen!" they greeted Imra as she arrived.

"Sir Dyrk! Thank the gods you are here. Come! We must ride for Gertus' Hill this very moment!"

"Gertus' Hill? Is Brainius V in danger?" Dyrk asked.

Imra tried to fathom what he meant.

"Querl's Computus device - his master weapon. He's been working on it on the hill's far side. Maybe he-"

"-Went up there earlier, with Loomius," Laurentia said. "I heard them talk as they went."

"Is he there still?" asked Imra.

"I know not."

Imra closer her eyes and focused.... "He is. But he and Loomius are taken captive by Khunds -- including Zaryan himself!"

"Damn," Dyrk said bitterly. "Are any rushing to his aid?"

"I think... the cavalry is yet too distant, about to join against the Khunds' main force. There is no---

"Wait! There is another! The knight Rokk called 'Sir Prize' is approaching." Imra gave Laurentia a shocked look. "How-?... But you're not Luornu, either!"

"Sir Prize. Great. The knight who could best no-one at tournament," moaned Dyrk. "Come, Imra. With your aid, I shall rally a company of city guardsmen to ride with me."

"With us!" Imra's look convinced him not to argue.

"Sir Prize, indeed!" he muttered as the two departed down the hall.

Miss Terious, more truly, Laurentia thought, for the first time feeling as nervous as Luornu perpetually does. I feel a chill... Somehow I knew no good would come of this Computus.

Lu, be careful.

Seventy-eight

"You can't be serious! King Rokk said-"

"-King Rokk said he was to ride alone, and so he shall. But I ride, too - also alone. It's just happenstance we take the same path," Garth said.

"It's all in your hands, James - you're my lieutenant. Make me proud!"

Garth saluted him with his sword before leading his mount into the Thames, slowly disappearing into the darkness.

"Sir James?"

Balin was awaiting orders.

"We... stick to the plan. Ready the riders. We attack on my signal," James said. Used to being the junior to the likes of Garth, Thom, Jonah and even Agravaine, it was a shock to find himself the senior knight present - and the recent death of his virtual namesake didn't do much for his morale, either.

But he refused to let it show.

He inspected the cavalry, and the supporting infantry unit in turn.

A glint of metal above told him Balan was signaling that the archers were ready uphill, as well.

This is it. Never mind that Rokk and Garth have both left us. Their fates - and ours, are in the hands of a man I know not but have to trust.

James clutched the last communication between Rokk and King Mekt, as if it could strengthen his faith.

It didn't.

Ahead, he could see the Khunds rallying to engage Wynn's meager forces. Yet the cavalry had to endure one last delay...

She's rubbing off on ya!
thanks again!

Seventy-nine

Rokk knew he would be followed. He just never expected Garth to make as much noise.

He stood in silence, waiting for his follower... waiting... waiting-

And he leaped, knocking the knight to the ground. A self-muffled cry of surprise, the size of his opponent, and his nose told him this was not Garth.

He drew his sword. "Who are you, lass? Why follow me, and why play the warrior?"

"I AM a warrior!" she answered. Her voice alarmed Rokk.

"Luornu?"

"Nay. I am her sister, Lu, who you named 'Sir Prize."

"Well, that explains your silence. So why-"

"Queen Guinevere told me Zaryan plans a trap for you atop this hill. He and his men have Brainius V, and someone named 'Loomius' as prisoners, and Brainius V's war-machine," said Lu.

"King Mekt warned me, in part. Zaryan's wizards have bespelled him, that his slayer shall also die, and I can ask no knight to stop him else myself," Rokk replied.

"You mean to die? Why? We need you as our king!"

"Aye, I intend to die not. The Lady of the Lake's magicks, plus perhaps some of my own, may see me through this. I have better chance than any - nor can I hide from such a foe, asking another to take my place!" Rokk said. "Now go, find your way back to Londinium."

"Nay. I swore an oath to Guinevere to see you kept safe. I'll not fight you, but let us take on this foe together. Think of their numbers!"

Rokk smiled. This Lu was more spirited than Luornu, it was true. And better to have here aid than for her good intentions to inadvertently ruin his efforts.

"You shall follow my commands, to the letter," Rokk said. She nodded.

"While I distract, you shall disable the war-machine and free the prisoners. Zaryan is mine, though. I'll hear no word otherwise!"

He waited for her reluctant nod.

"Let us go then, Sir Lu!"

Eighty

"What do you see?"

"I see Laoraighll fighting like a she-devil. But the Khunds have her poison. She falls again.

"I see Zaryan tormenting Querl, seeking the answers to the war-machine.

"I see Rokk and the mystery knight, stealthing up Gertus' Hill from the south. I see Garth following his trail, while Dirk, Guinevere and a block of city guard approaching from the west."

"What else do you see?"

"I see the main Khundish force plowing straight for Wynn's forces and Londinium's gates. I see volleys of arrows from the city - and from three other directions, before the battle is truly joined."

"Go on."

"I see Zendak's forces pouring out of the city, joining ours. I see an infantry plowing down the hill, driving the Khund toward the river. I see Sir James leading Rokk's cavalry, surprising from behind. I see a complete rout of the Khunds."

"Anything else?"

"...No."

"What of Rokk? Garth? Zaryan himself?"

"I see nothing. But I see Zaryan's death - and that of one other."

"Who?"

"I know not."

Outside the pavilion, a horn blew.

"My king? It's time."

Marcus nodded. His part in the last act of Zaryan's raid was never in doubt, it seems. But what of Rokk?

"Rest, my dear. You've done well," he said, but Nura was already asleep.

As Wynn's seemingly feeble forces were about to be met, arrows from four directions indeed rained down as she said.

And on cue, Zendak's men flooded out from the city walls on Wynn's left, while Marcus' men joined from the right, making the front lines tenfold what their previous strength had seemed.

The tide was turned, even before Mekt's infantry poured down the hill.

We have you some work, Sir James, Marcus thought. But what of Rokk?

Eighty-one

I should never have brought her with us. What was I thinking - to endanger the high queen? Dyrk admonished himself.

He and the city guard were fighting Zaryan's guards head-on, a fairly even matching, numerically, if one considered mounted guards worth two unmounted Khunds.

But Dyrk fought while also protecting the queen, hindering his true fighting worth even further than his low morale of late already was.

Imra, who was near exhaustion, kept muttering about the danger to Rokk and Garth ahead.

Worry about the danger to yourself, woman! he angrily thought.

He thinks rightly, thought Imra, involuntarily hearing him and snapped back into full lucidity. I shall complete this task if it kills me.

Despite the advantage of horses, the guards fought poorly, and lost about two of their own for every three Khunds downed.

Down to a mere four guards, they regrouped near Dyrk. On his orders, they formed a circle.

"Dismount, my lady! Take shelter in the center that my arm is free to fight!"

She nodded, trying to build focus for what must come next. But she was already over-taxed this day...

"Don't move your horses! Protect... the lady!" Dyrk commanded the guard, not wanting to let on that Queen Guinevere herself could be a target to any Khund who understood Latin.

As the Khunds charged the circle, Imra focused herself, and let loose her building fury.

DIEYOUFILTHYKHUNDS!PERISHINWHATEVERSLIMEPITSPAWNEDYOU!

"Aeeeeeiiighh!," Dyrk grabbed his splitting head, as did the surviving guardsmen.

The Khunds all were falling over from the assault. Even before they hit the ground, they were profusely bleeding from their noses, and their eyes bulging from their sockets.

Ready to slice throats if necessary, Dyrk found they were dead already, unsurprisingly.

Despite her vow, Imra passed out from the effort.

"Take care of her. Stay hidden in yon forest undergrowth," Dyrk instructed, not willing to risk the queen to any possible returning patrols.

Remounting and riding up the hill, he wondered for the first time, With such power, did she compel me to bring her in the first? And keep me from seeing such whilst she remained awake?

But I must not think such of the queen. Nay, the fault for decision was mine alone.

Hearing another battle in progress, he stepped up the pace, galloping in quickly, in time to see a severely wounded Garth being knocked around by Zaryan himself.

Rokk was already sprawled on the ground.

Garth's facial expressions and the sound of hoof-beats led Zaryan to swing wildly, slicing Dyrk’s horse's head, and causing his mount to rear up! With his saddling damaged by the Khunds earlier, Dyrk plummeted to the ground, losing consciousness. Perhaps I die a year-king after all.

The last thing he saw was Zaryan closing in on the Computus, which Sir Prize was aiming right at the Khund...

Eighty-two

"It's war, my queen. People get maimed. People die."

Rokk shot James a cold stare. A capable warrior he certainly was, but he had much to learn of the heart - particularly a woman's.

He held his bride close to him, unable to stem her weeping, even though it put further strain on his own wounds.

James took the hint and wandered away. Despite the carnage he'd helped carve across the river, somehow it seemed worse over here.

L'ile tended to Querl, who was in such pain from Zaryan's tortures, it apparently hurt him to breathe. Not a good sign. Pray we lose not yet another, he thought.

Loomius sat in a daze in front of the still-smoldering ballista, and his only sign of life was his breath, as it crystallized in the misty morning chill.

"How do you feel?" James asked, sitting beside him.

"Guilty, of course. All through his torture, Querl swore I had no knowledge of how to work the Computus, but he was only partially right.

"Yet I sat there, cringing at my own wounds, but said naught! While he-he--" the craftsman began sobbing.

As a boy, James was taught that warriors must be strong, and men do not cry. Yet in the small string of battles he'd seen, he'd seen the biggest and the toughest wail over lesser wound's than Loomius.'

James spoke slowly, so as not to again speak thoughtlessly.

"My friend, what would have been the point of two of you enduring that? Nay, you were wise. It was not yours to say if what he endured would have been lessened. Place blame not on yourself, but on the fiend Zaryan."

Loomius stood, hugging himself, growing redder. As his rage grew, he ran up to the Khund's corpse, kicking it, screaming.

Most people watched with sad, understanding eyes, but Querl turned his gaze away.

James next approached the Druids, to see if he could help.

Beren was instructing his men. "...No, move him not until he wakes."

The angle of Dyrk's neck worried James; it seemed a very unnatural angle.

Seeing there was naught to do, he turned back, only to see L'ile approaching. Loomius was now weeping at Querl's side.

"Does he know about Laoraighll?" James asked.

"Not yet, but he's asked for her. In truth, I know not what to tell him," L'ile answered. "They, at least, knew the instant it happened, for better or worse," he gestured to Luornu and Laurentia, weeping over Lu's charred body.

It still dumbfounded James that they had been three Luornus - or at least three identical sisters.

"Iaime, Laoraighll, Dyrk, Lu, Garth - and even Querl. Such a heavy toll. At least two dead, yet how will the survivors ever fare?" James said, now on the verge of tears himself. "Will any of us truly be the same?"

"We must be," interjected Rokk, who was visibly not immune to the sorrows himself. "We owe it to them, to ourselves - and to all Britain. For if we give up, all this," he gestured around, "will have been in vain."

"He speaks - truly," Querl managed, barely audible of the crackles of the campfires. L'ile motioned for him to keep silent and rest.

The moment was ruined by Dyrk's scream of agony, as the hot syrups the Druids fed him took hold.

"Sir Dyrk! Move not your neck just yet," Beren beseeched.

The Druids gathered round, testing the knight's responses to pokes to various parts of his body, while Lyle cradled his head in place. They cheered with every protest form Dyrk.

"Are you all my tormentors, then?" he snapped angrily.

"My good knight," Beren said. "Each time you feel our prods let us know your injuries may be healable."

Dyrk grimaced, but resigned himself to let them proceed.

Rokk and Imra allowed themselves a brief smile, that the tide of losses could be reversing.

Eighty-three

"Easy there, lad. You're still not well."

Brandius' cautioning did little to stem Querl's determination. With painful step after painful step, he made his way to the room where Laoraighll was being cared for.

Beren was tending to the Irish woman, dabbing at her forehead, while his fellows were preparing a new elixir for her.

L'ile, unsurprised by Querl's arrival, welcomed him. "You're too stubborn to die, and persistent to let yourself get proper rest and care," he joked. "But I insist you sit. T'is a long walk you just took for one in your state."

Querl's body was not about to argue, and with Brandius and L'ile's assistance, he sat.

"How-How is she," he said at last, gasping.

"No change. I understand it not," L'ile shook his head. "We used the same herbs and remedies, yet she remains ever closer to death's edge. I-I know not what to do differently."

Querl nodded. "Tenzil has been scouring the battlefield for traces of weapon-poisons, to no avail."

Brandius shook his head with sadness. He'd just seen Dyrk that morning - the Druids were caring for him still on Gertus' Hill, afraid to move him. A pavilion was set up, with fires and fire-tenders to warm it - and ashes placed alongside him to warm the ground.

Although annoyed and in discomfort, the lad would make it, he sensed. Laoraighll gave him no such confidence.

L'ile, too, was deeply troubled. Must I lose three friends this holy day? Samhain is about honoring the dead, t'is true, but let two be sacrifice enough, he thought, helping the rested Querl to look upon the Laoraighll's face, and caress it.

"Water," Querl said, matter-of-factly, almost as if a command.

One of the Druids poured water from one of the pitchers, and handed it to Querl, who resumed his seat.

"No, not for me. Water is the one thing different. The herbs are the same, as are the healers. Yet on route from the coast, we used the waters we came across - not Londinium's waters."

The druids looked upon each other. There was wisdom in his words, yet...

"Shall we go back, retrace our springtime route, and collect from each place we drew water from? To find the right stream?" L'ile asked. He was willing, but the undertaking seemed-

"-Not yet," said Querl, interrupting his thought. "There is not just the source of water, but its receptacle to consider first - and it is much closer to us, I hope."

Brandius' eyes widened.

"The 'Caldron of the Gods!" L'ile exclaimed. Laoraighll's gift to Rokk may have been the very thing that saved her life! "I must find Reep at once!"

L'ile raced out of the room and down the hall, nearly knocking the passer-by Iasmin over.

"Son, if this does work and has healing properties, c-could it benefit Luornu? Or Garth or Dyrk?"

"Or Iaime?" asked Iasmin, having deduced enough of the conversation.

"When I came to this Isle I believed not in any magicks. Yet if this bowl was indeed crafted by Eiru's... gods, it may be of help. But what I know of Irish lore, death does not seem to be so casually reversed, even among the gods themselves... But I do believe we may prevent the death toll from growing past two."

"T'was too much to hope," Iasmin said. "But may it help the others!" She was so wrapped up in tending to her brother's corpse, she hadn't heard for certain which of the others had died.

"My lady, I have not had the chance to say how sorry-" Brandius began.

"-Iaime died fulfilling his dreams. He was a master horseman, yes, but dreamed of being the warrior he was not. He gave himself up to be part of King Rokk's legacy - in more ways than one. I intend to see his dreams continue."

They sat in silence, awaiting L'ile's return.

But Querl still thought, reflecting on what he'd learned of Rokk's own curse. If curses can be held at bay, and it was Zaryan's which killed our knight on Gertus' Hill, what aid would dispelling the curse give to letting the Cauldron do its work?

But the thought was academic until L'ile returned.

Eighty-four

"I understand this not. If it took no special ritual to save Laoraighll last time, then why-"

Beren shot James a look that said "Silence, or leave!" in a very commanding, fatherly way.

Because it is Samhain, the cycle of the year when the worlds of the living and the dying come the closest together, Imra explained to him, and several others with questions on their faces.

Not only is the danger greater, but the Druids must be certain that they do not undo a de facto sacrifice on the very day the year-king is supposed to die.

And, despite an accidental cure last spring, it is the proper way to honor another god's holy relic, she thought, but kept this silent among the Christian knights she feared would not understand.

The Druids conducted the ritual, reluctantly allowing some of Laoraighll's compatriots to be present. They consulted the auguries, and blessed all in attendance, as well as their ritual tools, the Cauldron itself, and the water as they poured it into the cauldron - and again as they poured it into her sleeping mouth.

Everyone waited with near-held breath, hoping for an instant success. Her involuntary cough led for hopes that words would follow.

They didn't.

The Druids continued praying and chanting, while their guests either continued their vigils or quietly fidgeted.

Rokk should not allow such devil-worship. If revived, who is to say Laoraighll will not turn on us, thought Luornu.

Imra restrained her anger. Although the thought was not meant for her, it was too strong to ignore.

L'ile was not of far different mind. Do the presence of the uninitiated - let alone Christians - taint the ceremony?

Maybe we should all pray for the best of outcomes, and trust that your god or gods place Laoraighll's goodness above any doubts our own hearts may hold, Imra advised all the guests.

The chanting continued, growing louder and stronger in cycles. Brandius, a lifelong Christian, was surprised at its melody, harmony and depth.

Querl just stared at the recipient of the ritual: how still and serene she looked lying there.

For a second time, the Cauldron was filled with blessed water, and following more incantation, was again administered to Laoraighll.

More coughing followed, but again no words.

The ritual continued, with Querl and other losing hope.

After a similar length, the Druids began pouring a third allotment of water - but were interrupted.

"Coisricthe!" exclaimed Laoraighll, catching all by surprise.

"Coisricthe?" asked Rokk, in a whisper.

Holy water, translated his wife.

Mysa and L'ile immediately began attending to the woman, who was perplexed to find herself amid such a gathering.

Querl stated over, too, but the Druids intercepted him, and the ritual continued, with Querl being the next recipient.

Eighty-five

"...everyone else is up at Gertus' Hill."

"Do you think the Chalice will cure Dyrk?" Saihlough asked.

"If it cured all our living survivors, then I--

"What did you call it?" Reep asked.

"A Chalice. You know, for wine?" the pixie giggled.

He hadn't thought of it before, but the round belly of the Cauldron did resemble some of the various goblet he'd seen - albeit one without a stem.

"Hmmm. I'll mention that to L'ile," he said, absently.

"Anyway, I'm more concerned with a few things. One, King Mekt's guests -and Zaryan- knew our formations. Two, they were able to recruit Mekt's lady-love. Three, they knew about Querl's Computus. Not any detail, but that it existed - and where it was," Reep frowned.

"Four, they knew Querl and Loomius were moving it to the hill-top. Five, they anticipated Dyrk's team, and ambushed them. And six," he paused for emphasis, "Zaryan's curse implies he knew Rokk -or a key knight- would be his undoing.

"Where does that leave us?" he asked Saihlough.

"Alone at a great big circle-table!" she proclaimed, proud of her answer.

Reep smiled. "Aye, perhaps. But it also leaves us with a spy in our midst."

"What about Tenzil?" Saihlough asked.

"Tenzil?" Reep was surprised. He'd investigated the beefeater himself before accepting his services.

"Laoraighll was poisoned, right? He's such a poison expert, but never found out what ailed her, yes?" Saihlough said, sounding serious, while flying erratic circles around the empty hall.

"Go on."

"Well, he also is always around, well-positioned to hear everyone's conversations. He'd be privy to almost anything."

Reep thought about this. Many of us are, too, I suppose. Mayhap the spy is one of us.

"He's also been to the court of Clovis, I've heard him say, and his father served old King Ban in Lesser Britain. He'd know Mekt and his lost love, no doubt."

"Indeed?" Reep hadn't connected Tenzil to Ban's court before this. "Saihlough, I'll need your help, as well as L'ile and Tinya to solve this, whether it's Tenzil or-"

"-Or what, brother?" Rokk returned-- with Dyrk at his side, and Luornu, in turn, under his arm.

Tenzil, remaining unseen and having overheard the previous talk from the kitchen hallway, took the moment to flee.

"You old faker!" Reep jibbed. "Had enough resting out in the country?"

"Aye! I'll not sleep comfortably on rough earth ever again, I fear," the knight laughed. As the group behind them filtered in, Reep could see of what he'd heard, but never seen - all three sisters standing together.

"Lu, is it? All your burns healed?" Reep asked.

"Aye," she answered. "T'is funny. I'd see you in the gardens or where-not - back at the villa- pretending to be Luornu-"

"-And we'd find poor Luornu not recalling conversations we'd have with her sisters!" Rokk chimed in. "We never knew!"

Aye, we didn't, Reep thought, forcing a smile. But it's what we don't know now that ails me.

"And Garth? Did the Cup work on him and Iaime, too?" Saihlough asked.

"Nay," Rokk said, saddened. "It would seem to need a still-living person to benefit."

Saihlough shook her head. She couldn't quite grasp humans' need to define life by their fragile shells. They fear not the kingdom of dreams, yet the Summer Country seems so foreign to them. Why is that?

"Yet I feel better than I ever have!" Lu beamed.

"Maybe we all should share a sip," Reep joked, but Rokk's eyes told him the idea was being considered.

"T'is blasphemy to treat the San Graal as a toy," Luornu said, testily.

"The what?" asked Reep.

"The Holy Grail. Surely these miracles are God's, despite the efforts of the Druids. Why if Father Marla had led the effort-"

"-With a relic more akin to Druidism than Rome? I think not," L'ile sneered.

"Nay! T'is the Grail! No other power but God's could be at work here!" Luornu insisted. "We should rejoice in his name! We have-

"-Enough!" Rokk shouted. "I'll not have my friends at odds over theology on this miraculous day! Now I proclaim a feast of celebration shall be held - and also to honor dear Iaime and Garth."

"Garth may not be totally lost," Querl reminded him.

"Aye, but until we make consultations, I'll not have false hope spread - no matter how much we wish it true," the king responded.

"I pray you're right, Brainius," said Iasmin. "I pray my brother's sacrifice was the sole one we shall mark this year. Although I knew him only since the month of Julius, I feel now that I have lost two brothers."

"Now, everyone, ready yourselves for the feast!" Rokk ordered.

As they disbursed, Reep filled him in on the traitor theory, but also to inquire about the cryptic remark about consultations.

"Why, the Lady of the Lake, of course. Certainly she'd like to aide her son's revival?"

"Son?"

"You knew not that he is also known as Garth du Lac, Garth of the Lake?" Rokk raised an eyebrow. "Reep, you're usually the one three steps ahead of us.

"Now you seek answers from Tenzil, while I... I make my other consultation," he said. "With Mordru."

Eighty-six

"Hello, my husband."

Mysa had waited until the guards were out of earshot before speaking.

"Hello, my good wife," Mordru answered. "I am truly sorry to hear of your paramour's demise. But now, he cannot destroy Britain."

His words stung. Mysa had been developing true feelings for Garth, and she felt half-dead herself. But I will not show that to Mordru, she steeled herself, hugging him so as not to show her face.

"To what do I owe the honour of your visit?"

"My brother, I think, will be visiting you soon."

"Oh? Change of heart, has he? or perhaps, 'Can my old beloved wizard of a benefactor resurrect my best friend?' Yes, I shall wager that is it," he chuckled.

"I believe it so. But I beg thee- tell him not we are wed?"

"Aye," Mordru laughed. "That much I can do."

An awkward pause arose.

"Mordru?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I-I must apologize. I have not been a good advocate for you, n-nor a visitor."

"No, you haven't."

"I should-"

"-Nay," he said. "It was far easier to sneak to my rooms whilst I was free. To visit me here? Why, people would talk!

"And you certainly could not argue on my behalf to your brother-king, else he suspect," Mordru concluded.

"You do understand!" Mysa was filled with relief.

"Understand?" he asked, rage building like a fast-moving thunderstorm. "Understand! I understand what a self-serving shrew you can be!

"Understand you? Aye, I do! But you do not understand me!" he bellowed. "Do you!?"

The question - the anger - and the look on his face all reminded Mysa of her dream. For the first time since she had it, she remembered the vision of a giant Mordru seemingly poised to decimate Avalon itself.

Yet with sickening realization, she and the mage had been plotting that very course all summer.

She recoiled in revulsion and terror, virtually collapsing.

"What ails you, woman?" he calmly asked, as if he'd been that way the whole time.

"...I'm truly sorry," she whimpered, before calling for the guard to be let out.

Mordru bided his time, considering his words to young Rokk, how he would apologize for his words at the wedding, while mentally chastising Mysa for provoking his rage.

And not long after, the guards returned, leading Rokk, no doubt. As they approached the cell door, he smiled.

This is one I've been savouring.

With a flash, to door sprung open before the guards even touched the lock, while a cloud of smoke had his captors coughing.

Mordru stood in the doorway, just in time for the smoke to fade.

"I just wanted to show you I could have left this cell at any time," he smiled, eyeing Rokk. "I have remained here solely out of respect for you.

"Come. Let us talk."

Eighty-seven

"This way!"

Jonah would have rather readied the troops to push into Kentish lands, but that could wait until after Rokk's feast.

But this errand was already growing tiresome. The villa looked abandoned, its owners no doubt fled with word of the approaching Khunds.

While his guide and love didn't need to stop for little obstacles like doors and walls, he did, and her annoyance at his delays in turn annoyed him.

But sure enough, just as she promised, the wine cellar was contained a hideous little Fae, a little man in a tattered coat, a long snout, beady rat-like little eyes, pointy ears and dangly limbs, with a jaundiced brown complexion to him.

"That’s him!" Tinya exclaimed.

"Uggh! What manner of creature are you?" asked Jonah.

"Ai'dh bhe moirre wourraghed abougdt uirselphe, Sier Ghamhaighne," it replied. "Oune siould bhe mhindphuille ouphe eintehrien dhe llaighrre ouphe a Pharre Dhairraigh."

A Fir Darrig, eh? This could be a problem, Jonah had heard of these creatures.

"The Iron, my love! Use the iron! And take not your eyes from him!" Tinya advised.

The darrig raised his eyebrow. "Eiyghern?"

Tinya forgets the Fae can see and hear her.

Jonah raised the great iron blade he'd procured, and pointed it at the faerie.

"Lleighdt uis knought bhe ouphe haiyste," the darrig cautioned, wiping sweat from its brow.

"I want answers to three questions. With these answers, and a vow that you'll leave the court of King Rokk and his knights alone, and you may live," Jonah threatened. "And rid yourself of the thick accent!"

"Right enough," the darrig nodded in agreement.

"Tell me how I can find the spy you've sent to court."

"When winter's come
He should hear dead,
But great halls' gossips
He hears instead"

"That's no answer!" Tinya blurted.

"Yes," Jonah smiled. "It is."

"With you, I'd be done. What next?" asked the darrig.

"Why did you aide Britain's enemies?"

"The Khund will come
But all's not lost,
The circle closes
Else the cross."

Tinya nodded. They both understood that one.

The darrig waited.

"All right. Who heads this 'Dark Circle?'"

"Look not to Druids,
Kings or knave,
She who weaves webs
Is called Maeve."

"Maeve? The Irish sorceress of yore?" Tinya couldn't believe it.

If the Hound's ghost still lingers, maybe Maeve's does, too, Jonah thought. "All that remains is your pledge."

"I do so swear never to harm further King Rokk, his court or knights, so I do."

"Forget something?" asked Tinya.

"Whatever could you mean?" The darrig said. "Why, I've named-"

"Everyone but yourself, Llandrough!" She savoured the moment.

The darrig scowled. "How did you- Oh, no matter. Very well. I... Llandrough, swear..."

Eighty-eight

"You must hate me."

Iasmin wanted to tell him she didn't, but couldn't.

"Why..." No, she still couldn't. "Why do you wear that robe?"

"T'is part of the penance Farther Marla has assigned. I shall wear only a plain, un-dyed robe, drink only water and broths, and eat only bread," Agravaine explained.

"And that absolves your sin?" Iasmin could believe that not - maybe anger was better saved for the lenient priest.

"Nay. That's just the beginning, along with standing vigil overnights over both Iaime and Garth, until burial. Both Marla and King Rokk have further penance for me in store, I have no doubt."

"And much deserved it is." She understood the nature of the mistake, but couldn't forgive it.

"Aye." He met her eyes for the first time. "What... What would you have me do, my lady?"

"I..." The honesty, pain and remorse in his gaze caught her off-guard. She hadn't expected that - a remorseless northerner who knew no better, yes - even a careless ruffian - but not that.

"I don't know. I hadn't thought much on it." She turned away.

"If you think of anything. Please. I'll do anything."

Would you take your life, if I asked for it? she thought. Remembering those eyes, now searing into her mind, she realized he probably would.

His torment is as deep as mine. I must speak carefully around him... Iaime would not wish him ill, would he?

They walked in silence to the great hall. She had never before seen the entire company of knights seated around the table, but could easily picture Iaime among them.

Walking around the edge, she greeted the many knights she and her brother had been training for these past months, knights who she now must continue to train - alone.

Most chairs had names calligraphed onto their backs. She stopped short, seeing one marked "Iaime."

"The seat shall remain vacant until Iaime is reborn and joins us once more, through the eternal cycle of life, death and re-birth," Mysa explained. "Rokk has granted this at my request."

"Any who sit there do so at great peril," Rokk said. "I have ordered the death of any who do."

"And Garth's seat?" Iasmin asked, seeing it, too was empty.

"Garth may rejoin us yet," she said, trying not to smile so much it seemed like a gloat. "Mordru has conjured magicks so that if Garth's spirit wishes, he may remain rooted here until Yule, and his body will not waste away."

"Thus we have time to break Zaryan's curse," Rokk interjected.

"Please God that it should be so," Iasmin said.

Seeing Querl come in, she asked, "Was it not the Greek lad who devised the plan to save Garth?"

"It was," the king replied.

"And he found that the Cauldron would save the lives of Dyrk, Laurel and Lu," she said. "I would present a gift to him, once the feast is under way."

"Aye," Rokk agreed. "There will be plenty of commendations to be made this eve."

Notes 76-87:
76: I couldn't resist. Once the "try/do" line came up, I remembered Aven's original Jedi trick, and decided to apply it here, too.
77: Gertus' Hill comes from an actual London Tube stop: Gants Hill, which on a too-small brochure map I misread as Gerts Hill. I have no idea what the real hill - if there is one- is like, or how old the name was, so I just made it up as I pleased. The name "Notting Hill" is less than 200 years old, so I easily opted out of using it. Besides, Gants was more or less right where I wanted it - northeast of Londinium.
And I was finally dying to use the Miss Terious line!
78: I'm liking James more than I ever liked Gim, although WaK are off to a good start.
79: At last! drawing together everyone on the hill! I honestly wasn't certain if Rokk knew it was Lu all along until I got here. Yes, that was Lu after the faerie queen adventure, and in the Perilous Forest story. Go back, and you'll see a lack of male pronouns for the mystery knight.
80: I saw Nura seeing much of the goings-on from the outset (but not the outcome of the hill, of course); what i didn't know was how much would be told in the preceding chapters.
81: I wasn't happy with this one. Fast readers may have noticed the various editing jobs I did after the fact, before commencing #82. Normally, chapters flow out as-is.
It also occurred to me after #77 that Imra 'influenced' Dyrk.
82: In contrast, I much liked this one - especially delaying telling who got killed - Lu or Garth. I really couldn't find out how ancients treated neck injuries (presumably they mostly resulted in death, one way or the other), so I let the Druids play it safe, albeit probably too modernish. So sue me.
83: Originally, I had Querl deduce the poison first. But that can wait - especially until the spy story is resolved.
84: It couldn't be too simple, could it? Or else you could casually duel a villain one-handed, sipping from the cauldron and never taking any serious injury.
85: da Grail. yep. Pre-Christian, Pre-Arthurian Celtic legends are full of magical healing chalices and cauldrons (that usually provide sustenance, too), while earliest Grail legends don't describe its form as a chalice. Thus, I see it as a co-option of Celtic lore, especially as modern Grail theorists describe the Grail as a bloodline of Christ, not a relic.
86: Poor Mysa! It all comes back to roost, one way or another...
87: That's not Gaelic, just an attempt to show a thick accent. Try to sound out the words aloud if you can't make them out; you'll probably get the idea.
A Fir Darrig (sometimes a Far Darrig) is a type of Irish faerie, but he fit here. Brownie points for seeing his LSH connection! (Hint: remember, Tenzil fled!)

Sean, this gets better with each chapter you add! I'm especially struck with the deft blending of Arthurian Legend with LSH Story Lines.

BRAVO!

I tried to resist going all Harbi on you this time But...

MORE, MORE, MORE!

Sorry, couldn't help myself!

Eighty-nine

"Tenzil! Where have you been?"

"In safe-keeping," Jonah answered for him. "Before you start accusations, Reep, come this way."

The three entered the great hall. Rokk called out in greeting, and started to ask about Tenzil, who'd been missing since afternoon.

"My king, my fellows, I beg thy silence. All will be explained," he said.

With the unseen Tinya, the three began peering around the room, with Reep peering as well, trying to determine what they were watching.

"There!" Tenzil whispered to Jonah.

The knight saw it, and charged up to the wall, yanking on a thin wisp of vine protruding from a corner.

"Yaaaaaaaggghhhh!" screamed the vine, shifting back into a faerie form.

"That's the spy?" Tenzil asked. "Fantastic!"

"What! The spy, but how-" Reep awkwardly said, still trying to piece together what was transpiring.

"Balan! Balin! Your assistance, please!" called Jonah.

The two knights approached, while he continued speaking. "This, my friends, is our spy - a Lesidhe. A sprite that disguises itself as foliage, plant-form. Good knights? This fellow needs to be held in nice, secure solid iron."

Balan held the faerie as it shrieked loudly, and at such pitch that all the gatherants in the hall had to cover their ears.

"Speak, faerie! Who is your contact? Whom do you spill our secrets to?" Jonah demanded.

It continued shrieking. "Cry as long as you would. You torment ends not until you speak," the knight said.

"..." The creature knew it was beat. "A woman, a deposed queen from another land. I met her not, but when she comes near to Londinium, we spoke over distance, without words."

Mekt gave Rokk a sharp look, and Rokk and Imra looked at each other.

Just how prevalent is your type of gift? Rokk asked.

Not very. Other than Aven, and myself I have only heard of two others. Mayhap she is Eva, the Arian queen of Alemannia.

Aye. Alemannia fell four years ago to Clovis, and this matches Mekt's tale, Rokk nodded.

"What shall we do with it?" Jonah asked.

"Saihlough?" Rokk deferred to the resident expert.

"A Lesidhe? Hmmm.... Is it cut off his wings? ...Heart? ...Eye?... No! It's his tail!" the pixie declared.

"NOOOOOOO!" the Lesidhe began shrieking again.

Ignoring it, Saihlough continued. "Without it's tail, it has to serve the tail's captor. But keep it where it can't be found," Saihlough warned. "It will try anything to find it and flee."

With the brothers holding the faerie firm, Jonah took his hunting knife and cut the tail. The shrieking turned to whimpering, as Jonah commanded its wail to end.

"I think that's what you do. Else, you've made it your mortal enemy," Saihlough said matter-of-factly. Seeing Jonah's expression, she giggled. "Surely you see that I jested!"

Jonah and Reep found an iron box to keep the faerie ensnare for the night, ordering it not to escape, and provided false information for it to feed its contact.

"Do you think it will obey?" Jonah asked, on the way back to the hall.

"It has to. But we must watch our commands. It will try to twist our words to its favour," Reep answered.

Returning to the hall, the knights were ribbing Tenzil for his flight.

Feel lucky that Tinya saw through this plot, Jonah thought. Say... Where has she gone?

Harbi has that effect, doen't she?

Thanks again, my friend!