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One Hundred Seventy-Seven

MacKell looked around him.

Nothing.

“A wild goose-chase,” he told himself. Mekt had relayed word that Garth and Ayla needed their immediate assistance, repelling a Khund landing party on the Kentish coasts near Canterbury.

Mekt insisted on accompanying him, but MacKell assured him he’d be faster on his own, letting the king catch up at his own pace.

But up and down the shores, all was quiet.

Moreover, Kiritan’s men had seen no trace of Mekt’s siblings. Jonah’s young brother Gareth, being fostered by Kiritan, had plenty of questions, but MacKell had no time for them. Or so it had seemed.

“Mekt, you have succeeded in distracting me away from Camelot. But to what end?”

He remounted his steed, and began the return trip north.

One Hundred Seventy-Eight

Rokk was not pleased.

Yes, the festivities proceeded despite his injury, but Brunor, his newest knight, was acting rather immodestly, bad-mouthing many of his trusted knights – especially the absent Sir Garth. And now the youth was openly making accusations, that Reep and James had masterminded Medrod’s abduction!

His longtime peers were spread few and far between. A third of them seemed to be scheming, another third demoralized, and the rest- missing.

He sighed cautiously, so as not to let the wound Jonah gave him add more pain. A deep breath could yet be painful.

This morning was quiet. Oddly quiet. And his nurse had not brought him his porridge.

“My liege? Do you have a moment?”

It was Brunor.

“Come in, lad. You’ll forgive me for not rising to greet you.”

“Aye. I’d like you to meet some friends of mine,” the youngster said.

Mekt, Rokk knew. And he could guess who the Italian and Germanic woman who followed were. “King Lavarrus and Queen Eva, I presume?”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Lavarrus smiled. “I’m surprised the young friar Jan hasn’t healed your wounds, if you’ll forgive my speculations.”

“Jan’s gift is not a cure-all, I fear, He seems to sense… things lacking in one’s health, and adds them, in all due subtlety,“ Rokk replied.

“Ah. That explains why he’s retching along with everyone else,” Mekt sneered.

Seeing Rokk’s quizzical look, Eva continued. “My husband is just as skilled in… manipulating substance. Following your man Tenzil’s testing of last night’s suppers, some additional ingredients have left your court – and all your guards – in a state indeed!

“But we are prepared to offer our services to this kingdom, of course, pending a few… negotiations.”

One Hundred Seventy-Nine

Imra tossed and turned, struggling to maintain control over her bowels – and her body. Each convulsion grew worse and worse.

She could hear from the courtyard podium that Brunor had proclaimed himself king, and was challenging the “cowardly Sir Garth” to a duel of honour for the death of his elder brother.

“Do lie still, my dear. Accept that your reign is over,” Eva gloated.

NEVER!

The strain nearly made Imra pass out in pain.

“You really should exert yourself so, my young dear.” Eva stroked her hair, mockingly.

How did Aven say? Separate yourself from your physical body? Imra strained to recall her lessons. Easier said than done…

Tuning out Eva’s gloating and patronizing, tuning out the warm summer breeze, tuning out her quaking stomach and shivering innards… she found it. A place of quiet. Calm. Serenity…

It would be easy to stay here. But no.

Lu, being tortured by Mekt, knew where Garth and Ayla were. The secret was passed…

She drifted back out into the real world. Tenzil, unaffected by the poisons, was hiding, waiting for direction. She gave him an assignment…

Saihlough was spying on Brunor, who in turn was getting ready for his “duel.” The pixie had infuriated the villain by turning his prized sword invisible. Listen, little Saihlough, to what must be done…

Genni was running, on her way back from Lindum, armed with knowledge. Knowledge that would be key to turning the tide…

Tricked, MacKell was riding at full speed, returning to Camelot, but only now just outside of Londinium. He’s too far out, unless we can delay…

Garth, drugged and poisoned, was no match for swordplay, yet Lavarrus prodded and poked him, torment under the premise of “getting him ready.” Hold on, Garth! Hold on…

There is one last ally to contact, before my battle truly begins, Imra thought, feeling a degree of exhaustion already. On Avalon, she was taught how to replenish her energies, but that took a physical connection she dared not touch.

Oh, really, my dear? Why thinks thou that I shall afford you the opportunity? Eva’s interruption came as an icy wave or reality.

Weary but unwilling to give, Imra responded in kind, a silent psionic battle that caused everyone within a large radius a massive headache…

One Hundred Eighty

Only days ago, Camelot seemed the epitome of civilization. Look at it now!

Tenzil despaired at the sudden influx of mercenaries and deserters who had taken up Brunor’s call to arms. With these rogues he plans to hold all of Britain as a kingdom?!

The beefeater strolled through the crowds, sizing up Brunor’s grip on the people. Those who had come to celebrate with the king now seemed like a bloodthirsty mob – and they cared not who let blood, as long as someone did.

Their attention was now focused, of course, on the arena hastily set up, where the usurper would battle Sir Garth. He had to be ready…


“… Mother, what’s happening?” Now awake, the delirious Jonah demanded answers. His ailing mother, now collapsed in her chair, had none to give.

Did he have the strength to lift himself from the bed? No, he did not…


…Fending off his own illness, Loomius had waited for his moment. Mekt had gone on to the castle with his captive siblings, leaving the carpenter only one prisoner to free. While his accomplice distracted the guards, he cut a hole in the side of the pavilion, and as he expected, Lu was bound and gagged inside.

If they’ve fed her not as part of her torture, then mayhap she can fight our way back out again…


…Ayla looked over at her brother. Even worse than sharing the same stomach ailment, in addition to being tormented in body and spirit, it appeared that their captors had Garth drugged as well.

The carriage bumped and twisted en route to their destination, wherever that would be. She’d heard something of a duel, but how would that be possible? Garth couldn’t even hold a sword in his current state…


…Berach steadied himself, posing with sword, trying to look formidable and able. Errol’s elixirs made him feel better, almost well enough to fight. But would it come to that? Brunor was still a fellow knight, wasn’t he?

He, Dag and Franz were in the best shape. They’d set out and stop this nonsense…


“…The hour is neigh! Sir Garth, are you brave enough to face me?” Brunor taunted, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. “Even the weak King Rokk has recognized my rightful rule!”

An equal number of cheers and boos resounded. He motioned for their silence.

“King Rokk would be here to tell you himself, but I hear he’s sick.” He mocked. “Yes, I hear there’s a stomach pox about. Isn’t there always when young boys don’t want to tend to chores?” he sneered.

Berach and Dag made their way through the crowd, approaching.

“Sir Garth! Again, I challenge you!” Brunor continued, unawares.

From the nearby carriage, Mekt and Lavarrus escorted the feeble defender out. A sword had been strapped to his hand.

Seeing the state of Garth, the crowd booed.

“Give us a fair duel,” shouted one man, followed by cheers of many.

“There shall be no duel today,” shouted Berach, stepping through the crowd. The crowd booed the news, but Brunor waived the Northman toward him, sword ready.

Lu and Loomius reached the back of the crowd. “We’re too late!” she said. But Loomius saw his accomplice rendezvousing with Tenzil on the far side of the arena.

Berach steadied his blade, and began positioning himself. Focusing on both his footwork and blotting out the crowd was trick enough, he realized, let alone focusing on his blade.

Brunor charged, knocking him aside with the flat of his sword.

The crowd booed.

The usurper was playing with him, Berach realized, allowing him time to get up.

Berach again faced off against Brunor.

The carriage guards dealt with, Tenzil quickly untied Ayla. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’ll explain later, but we need you to take on Mekt, taranaut-to-taranaut,” replied the beefeater.

Berach charged Brunor, trying a brute-force attack. Brunor deflected him, and the knight went sailing toward the crowd. Berach’s stomach was rebelling in contempt, and he had to release some of its contents before continuing – to half the crowd’s amusement and the other half’s disgust. The acidy taste in his mouth served to reinvigorate his resolve.

Distracted by the battle, Lavarrus and Mekt noticed not the hunched figure who slowly approached Garth, or the slight glow he emanated.

With one more flat-blade attack, Brunor had Berach down face-first, and he didn’t seem to muster the ability to rise. Dag, ready to rush to his aide, was halted by a squad of big burly mercenaries.

Brunor stood above him, turning his sword point-down at the Northman. “Do it! Kill him!” were some of the cries from the crowd.

“That’s the only way you win your fights? Stabbing from behind, Brunor the Black?”

The usurper turned to face an out-of-breath Genni. “Your deeds are well known in Lindum. Your late brother, too – just another back-stabber.”

“LIES!” Brunor charged her, but by the time he swung, she’d side-stepped him, and was at the far side of the arena. Brunor in turn caused a near panic in the crowd, as they almost took the blow meant for the messenger.

“Stand still, you freak!”

“BRUNOR!” The crowd went silent as Garth stepped forward, to the surprise of both his escorts. “Your fight is with ME!”

Brunor trembled. Garth seemed fully able and aware. But how? Then he spied the young priest, who was said to be something of a healer.

He could not lose face now. Win, lose or draw, he was getting what he wanted, vengeance against the illustrious Sir Garth.

Lavarrus and Mekt, hearing a call of distress from Eva, departed hastily, assuming Garth’s appearance of ability was a ruse he could not long maintain. Jan and Ayla followed in close pursuit.

Garth and Brunor circled each other, sizing each other up, while the crowd went wild – this was the fight they wanted to see!

“Was this the right one, Imra?”

“Yes Saihlough. That was perfect,” the queen answered. She detested poisons, but since the gauntlet had been thrown – and she doubted Eva’s training could separate the body from the mind as she was able – that left her task to stall the one-time queen until little faerie faerie-darts did their work.

Brunor, taking advantage of Garth’s still-recovering sense of equilibrium, scored first blood – a cut across the cheek. That shall be your sole victory, Garth vowed.

“I think I remember your brother,” he told the usurper. “He died a coward’s death.”

By the castle steps, Mekt realized they had pursuers. “Go onward,” he said, and began summoning a lightning strike.

But Ayla had the jump on him, summoning up her own power as she ran. Her blast encompassed Mekt’s entire sphere of personal space, although he in turn managed a slight backlash against her.

“Go after Lavarrus,” she called to Jan, readying herself for the next round with Mekt.

Brunor charged in a mad rush that would have worked against the ill Berach.

But not a recovered Sir Garth,

Mimicking Brunor’s toying with the Northman, Garth simultaneously knocked Brunor flat on his face, while sending his blade flying – and delivering a gash along the villain’s thigh.

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m the blood-letter; you’re the gangrene.”

Brunor stumbled to his feet.

Inside the castle, Lavarrus sensed everything was going wrong. He’d fetch Eva and flee. Everything was set-

“Lavarrus.” The quiet tentative voice in front of him was that of Jonah. But how well was he? It was a risk not worth taking. I’ll come back for you, Eva. I promise.

Turning to flee, he saw Jan coming up behind him.

“Mekt, your hair!”

Mekt, summoning another bolt, paid her no heed.

“It’s turned white!”

Half hearing a second round of lightning strikes in the distance, Brunor was bruised and battered. This couldn’t be a fair fight. Garth must have cheated somehow!

He swung around again, trying to focus on his opponent. There wasn’t an ounce of mercy in Garth’s face, the last thing he remembered seeing. There was a sudden sensation in his chest, and the sound of water. He felt a lot lighter… and the nothing.

Lavarrus, more used to combat than the peaceful Jan, and more able than the walking-wounded Jonah, evaded his foes, and retreated into the hilly terrain where the rest of the fortress would be built.

Mekt, whose second bolt was more of light than fire, used its brilliance to flee himself. He, too, made is way toward the outer foundations.

Eva, having played dead while Saihlough and Guinevere went out to tend to Jonah, was also able to escape, making her way down a stone-mason’s ladder and out to the construction yards.

“We must flee at once!” Lavarrus said

“Brunor is dead already,” Eva added.

Mekt’s ships lay waiting, he told them, and the trio made their way to the far docks, one step ahead of the archers – and later the mounted warriors – who trailed them. The horses were catching up, but there was still time-

The trio halted, seeing the smoke rising from Mekt’s boat. Pondering their next move, they realized there wasn’t one, as MacKell stood before them.

The EAST
Interlude Eleven: Jerusalem

Jeka cleaned the wound, and wrapped it with a fresh bandage. She gently rubbed the child’s face reassuringly. “All will be a-right,” she told her, realizing the girl understood not a word.

It felt good, she realized, tending to the sick and infirm – especially the children. This city, so holy to the Christians and Jewes, had no shortage of people in need, and it well afforded her opportunity to fulfill her goals of penance.

She missed Agravaine. She thought of him often, and looked forward to again looking upon his face. But he is where he needs to be, as am I. If that remains my sole complaint, then I have naught to fear.

How quickly the months have flown by! Will I want to leave at the end of our year here? Will Ag?

Interlude Twelve: Alexandria

“I trust we understand each other?”

“Indeed,” Relnic could not help from smiling. “Alexandria was, in its time, the greatest center of learning in the world. Eiru currently boasts the center of scholarship – at least in the west,” he added, diplomatically. “It certainly makes sense to continue these traditions.”

“Even with your new sorceress-queen?”

“I have every assurance that she will be long-disposed by the time your people are ready to come to our isle,” he assured the governor.

“I sstill advisse that you consider Pariss for your sscholarss,” interjected Relnic’s rival. “If all this knowledge iss truly not to fall into darkness.”

“Eiru is at the farthest corner of the world. Who would bother with us?” Relnic retorted. He was not at ease with Clovis’ representative, or the new style of coloured discs symbolizing one’s rank in Frankish society.

“Yess, but Pariss has long links to Egypt, especcially to the cult of Ississ.”

“And Eiru, too, has links to Egypt. To the times of Moses.”

“Gentlemen! Enough,” laughed the governor. “Relnic, I give you until next year to settle your would-be empress matter. If not, I’m afraid we must chose Paris, else all these works – those that survived the Constantines – be spared from the patriarch.”

Interlude Thirteen: A small Aegean island, near Colu

Brainius IV looked out over the sea.

“He’s coming back, you know,” said her slave.

“Querl?”

“No,” she said, apologetically. “Not that I know of, that is… No, I meant … Asteri Mnima. He’s coming back.”

“You speak of ancient legends,” Brainius IV laughed. “Did you go to old Delphi for this knowledge?”

“No… Sharn Nux told me to send word. The elders of Colu are quite concerned.”

“Then they jump at shadows! The world is not a place where old myths come back to haunt us. I’ll hear no more of this.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

Interlude Fourteen: Samarkand

“You do well, my student.”

“Thank you, sensei.”

The lad stood balanced on a large rock – on a single toe.

“Sensei?”

“Yes?”

“How long-“

“-Must you stand there?”

“No. I wondered how long do we stay here?”

“Impatient, are you?”

“Not at all. I just would like to send word to… a friend… in Palestine, who may be expecting me to return west next spring.”

“We go where the spirit guides us, young one. Perhaps to the west. Perhaps not. We shall know when it is time. Be not so concerned with time and calendars. That is a Roman way of thinking.”

“Yes, master.”

“Now cleanse your mind. Be open.”

It was easier to be open in the desert, he thought, but didn’t say. The beauty of the city Alexander once took was captivating indeed, yet was not the end of the journey, by any means.

Interlude Fifteen: Constantinople

“What news from Rome?”

Macedonius II, the Patriarch of Constantinople, was not a patient man.

“It appears that the cause of Laurentius is lost,” replied his aide.

The elder cleric sighed, and reclined into his divan.

“Tell me everything.”

“Faced with the charges raised by Senator Festus and his supporters, Pope Symmachus agreed to a general synod of bishops, but refused to accept Bishop Vidar of Altinum, King Theodoric’s appointed intermediary and investigator.

“When the synod met, Symmachus demanded a complete reinstatement before answering the charges. The synod agreed, but Theodoric did not. Symmachus relented, and set out to attend the synod, but apparently… pro-Byzantine factions attacked him, and drove him back to St. Peter's Basilica. This ended his acquiescence, and he refused further participation with the synod. With embarrassment, the synod dissolved, declaring it had no authority to judge the pope, and also that Symmachus is to be regarded as free and above of all crime.

“But Theodoric disputed this outcome, and the pro-Byzantines brought back Antipope Laurentius, declaring him the true pope.”

Macedonius nodded. “So. All is not lost, but neither have we gains toward reunification. And what of this… Vidar?”

“Bishop Vidar came to Rome and, against to the commands of king, allied with the adherents of Laurentius. Theodoric later dismissed him,” replied the aide.

“Yet as I recall, when Vidar first came to Roma, he and our friend Festus were at odds.” The patriarch thought on this.

“I would meet with this… Vidar. Arrange it.”

“Very good, your holiness.”

notes 170-180:

First off, before I forget, now that I've gone back and re-read everything to remind myself of all my daggling threads... I've decided the "Mentum" doesn't work. I'm going to go back and edit - and tie the Grail in. Makes more sense, overall.

172: I'd initally pictured Reep, Thom and Jo... but for some reason, Reep and James worked. In some variations, there's a whole batch of babies killed... but I just couldn't go there.

171/173: Where is Tinya?

174: I've decided since the stories of Geraint and Erec overlap so much, there's no point in trying to keep them separate. And Enide's family's newfound poverty meshed well with what I was going with the Angle/Celt theme.

176: The White Triangle, a reluctant 11th hour addition, is working out to be a favorite just now - especially as it fits into other threads.

180: longer than I planned on, but it generally came out as I wanted. But I didn't get into MacKell's quick arrival - Londinium to Camulodunum in only an hour or two - there's a story there for another time.

BOOK IV: OVER THE SEA TO SKYE

One Hundred and Eighty-one

The two knights galloped at full speed down the valley, slowing only to cross the small stony bridge near the ruins of an old Roman garrison.

Proceeding onward out of the uplands, they continued at full pace into the farmlands. Peasants stopped to look, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“T’is Sir James, home again from gods-know-where,” observed one older man.

His friend nodded. “But where does he race to?”

“The dragon’s been spotted in Ull’s Waters,” replied the first.

“Ah.”

The two knights let up not their pace until reaching a small lakeside village. They slowed, surveying the damage visible from the hillside. Villagers had lined bodies on the outlying fields, and were already digging new graves, and assembling rocks for cairns.

“We’re too late,’ James sighed.

“Aye. We were too late once word even came to us,” Garth replied. “Rather than chase each new sighting, we must chose a spot and stand firm, and wait for the dragon to come to us.”

The two dismounted, and paid their respects to the villagers. Consulting with the watch, they gathered the information they could, and departed.

Riding along the lakeside, James commented, “No one ever sees the dragon travel far from the lakes. Yet how does it get from lake-to-lake without being spotted? Attacking inland villages or leaving a wake of damages? I’ll bet these lakes are riddled with underground rivers connecting them, like a hunk of Helvetic cheese!” He tossed a crust of hard-bread into the lake in defiance.

“Your father’s surmised as much. A pity the concept aids us not. We now head north, to Brocavium, for fresh supplies?”

“Aye,” James replied, almost absent-mindedly .

“Then I’d like to send word to King Wynn, seeking to try my wait-and-catch strategy,” Garth said.

“You can probably tell him yourself. By now, he’ll have moved the court from Carlisle to Brocavium, for the nobles’ traditional hunting season.”

“Joy,” Garth said, sarcastically. In a single week’s visit to Carlisle, every noble with daughter tried their best match-making strategies on the Armorican knight, now that his reputation - and indeed legend - was now secured across the length of Britain.

James laughed. He’d encountered similar antics his whole young life. He surmised many back-woods courts were of similar ilk, but in his heart, he doubted any could surpass Cumbria’s for meddling in young lives.

“We’ve served together more than a year now,” Garth said, after a pause. “You’ve seen the phenomenal strengths Laoraighll, MacKell and Jonah, the taranaut that my sister and I have, Saihlough, the iron flesh of the brothers from Orkney… yet you still hide your own gifts, my friend. I’ve often wondered why.”

“I guess… I still think of myself as a freak,” James searched for words. “Dyrk’s asked me the same – only he and Thom, plus some Anglian brigands, have seen me in giant-form since I’ve come to court. Riding as cavalry, it isn’t very useful a gift… and I guess in the company of you and the others, I’ve wanted to prove myself as a knight, rather than a freak.”

“Yet you still wear the strange armour.”

“Aye.” James acknowledged. “See all these folds? The mails and straps are folded, so they will expand, and still provide me with some protection, in addition to the thickness of skin my size gives me. I wear this armour, yes, and if ever my… gift, as you call it, were needed, I would use it. For now though, I’m content to remain of smaller size.”

“Except with Morgause,” Garth jibbed.

James threw a chunk of hard-bread at his friend.

“You see? You are not such a freak. Most fellows can grow in size, just not all over.”

One Hundred and Eighty-two

“I wish I could have shown you more of Carlisle, Mysa.”

Jancel was proving an adept hostess and guide, Mysa found. She wondered how genuine her newfound friendliness was to one she regarded as such a heathen and harlot – if Mysa weren’t in a position to benefit her.

“Perhaps you may show me more before I again depart south,” she smiled. The former priestess was just as happy to settle into Brocavium. The castle was comfortable enough, an old Roman general’s villa rebuilt to suit Wynn and Martina as both a residence remote enough to escape Carlisle’s siege mindset.

The Roman generals, like the current Cumbrian monarchs, no doubt needed such a release. Carlisle, a key post along Hadrian’s Wall, was the longtime recipient of attacks from northern tribes – and in recent years, from Irish raiders.

“Are you settling in well, Mysa?” asked Martina, poking her head into the ladies’ chambers.

“Oh, very well,” she smiled. “Your daughter was just telling me about the gardens and the lake cottages.” She noticed Jancel’s scowl, but opted to wait until the queen departed to inquire.

“Then by all means join us in the gardens before dinner,” Martina invited before going on her way.

“She’s not my mother,” Jancel blurted, once Martina was gone.

“My apologies. I thought-“

“-Well, please DON’T. My mother was never as cruel as her.”

Mysa knew Martina was James’ mother, and James was older than his sister (half-sister?). Moreover, Wynn treated Jancel like no bastard-child; so how-

There was a knock on the door. “My lady? A word?”

It was Reep, wearing a face Jancel would not recognize.

“Pardon me, Jancel. And please forgive me my error.”

She followed Reep down the hall. He spoke in a low voice.

“I’ve done as you ask. From the west side of the garden, by the Janus statue, there’s a dirt cart-path leading into the woods. A disused, overgrown path branches to the left, and the pavilion has been set up in a small clearing not far along that path. There’s a small stream for water, and all the supplies have been unloaded there.”

“You’ve done well, Reep,” she whispered, offering him a quick hug. “Now we only need Garth to return.”

Returning to her chamber, she offered to brush and braid Jancel’s hair. The young girl accepted, talking about her and Garth and the idealized court life she expected in Benwick…

Foolish girl, Mysa thought, yet unable to note the girl’s growing similarities to Imra as she became more and more of a young woman. Will you truly be able to live with being the consolation ribbon?

One Hundred and Eighty-three

“I’m sure young King Rokk was only to pleased to send you out,” Wynn smiled.

“Well, he does want to see your dragon problem ended,” Garth said, finishing another ale.

“Aye, that, too,” Wynn winked.

Garth looked puzzled.

“I think my father’s saying that your reputation has spread – and not just for the battlefield,” James laughed.

“A reputation for the ladies is a fine thing, my boy,” Wynn smiled, but added more seriously, “but the high queen herself-“

“-I have laid not a finger on!” Garth exclaimed sharply.

“Ohhhh!” his host and peer mocked simultaneously.

“It’s true, by my troth!”

“I doubt not your word. But still, a young, handsome, unattached knight will draw rumours as well as ladies,” Wynn said. “Perhaps you should consider-“

“-I live to be a warrior. I’ll leave no widow behind.”

Father is obviously trying to play matchmaker with Garth and Jancel. But where is my sister? Does she avoid us? James pondered.

Wynn’s servants poured another round of ales.

“Think, son. Your brother’s throne is vacant. You must consider-“

“-Mekt was bespelled, I tell you. Beren and Azura shall restore his heart, you wait and see,” Garth countered.

“That’s why he was not executed, as Eva and Lavarrus were,” James added.

“My sister handles Lesser Britain well enough,” Garth added. “No, the throne’s life is not for me.”

James smiled. He assumed he and many of his peers would remain warriors for years, but eventually take on families and titles as a matter of course. Yet he could see Garth remaining wed to the warrior’s life.

Wynn laughed. “Many a young man echoed similar sentiments at your age, lad. I’ll bet you’ll meet a lady who’ll change your mind. Else you’ll bed some noble’s daughter – and be forced to wed at blade-point!”

“Spoken from experience?” It was Garth’s turn to get a jab in.

Wynn chuckled. “Aye and nay. There was a time I truly believed my beloved Martina dead… but that’s a tale for another time. I have nobles to greet next morn, and you have a dragon to hunt.” He finished his ale with a grunt of satisfaction. “Now let us get our rest, my good sirs.”

One Hundred and Eighty-four

“There is still time to back out,” Mysa told her. She doubted if it were true – the rituals were complete, and all the elements were in motion. Mysa couldn’t shake the belief that even if they chose to back out, that the universe itself would act upon the forces already in play.

Jancel took a deep breath. “No. This is what I want. Verily, it is.”

Mysa detested using magicks on matters of the heart. They often backfire – or worse: sometimes you get what you asked for – whether or not it was what you thought you wanted.

To cast a spell of love upon another, it comes back upon you three times over, Mysa noted. If our spell was as effective as I surmise, would you even know if it was not?

Mysa contained a shiver – how would the spell affect her? In theory, as a third-party aide, it shouldn’t – but then, she wasn’t devoid of feelings for the quarry.

But no. There is no point to worry.

All was in readiness.

Besides the spell, Jancel was made up in dress, style and scent in the appearance of Imra, and the bright moonlight of the eve as the sole source of light would abet the deception. The pavilion was adorned just as the high queen’s would be.

“Give me a half-hour,” Mysa commanded. “Then wait in the moonlight, where he may bask upon you.”

Jancel nodded quietly, betraying only a slight quiver of nervousness.

Tonight I am the pagan harlot, the princess of Cumbria thought, feeling not at all ashamed for tossing aside religious code to get her desire.

Mysa navigated her way back to the castle. Reep chose well. This will be an easy path to follow, by moonlight.

At the garden’s edge, she stopped, overhearing the men adjourning their libations, taking a moment to adjust to the figures silhouetted against .the torchlight.

Wynn was the first to get up, bidding Garth and James goodnight. Mysa drew closer.

“Why is everyone so worried about my love-life?” Garth asked his fellow, with only a slight hint of a slur to his speech.

“Maybe we’re all jealous. You have women coming out of nowhere, it seems,” James laughed. Noticing Mysa’s sudden appearance, he added, “See?”

He slapped his friend on the shoulder and turned. “My cue to leave.”

“Um. Hello,” Garth said.

“Hello.”

“You look beautiful tonight,” he told her.

“I get more beautiful the lonelier you are,” she joked with a smile.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” He moved toward her, leaning forward. “It’s been a while,” he whispered, caressing her.

Mysa could indeed feel the magicks – too well. It will be difficult to resist… She let him kiss her, and she almost gave in then and there.

“Don’t, Garth. I’m not the one you want.”

“Don’t talk about her. I want to forget her. I want to forget a lot.” He kissed her again, and secure in his arms on the teasing edge of deeper bliss, it was many minutes before she could refocus on her task.

“She loves you, too, Garth.”

“Don’t.”

“She does, Garth.” Seeing him move in for another kiss, Mysa quickly turned her head and blurted, “She’s here.” His startled pause gave her a moment to add, “She’s here for you, Garth.”

Desire, drink and magicks overrode whatever reason Garth still held, and he let her lead him to the grassy path. “Three dozen paces along the path, her pavilion is cast.” She resisted the urge to kiss him once more – she knew he’d never seek her lips again. Ever again.

How deeply was Mysa tied into the spell? Not very, she hoped, walking back to the castle.

She hoped in vein.

The July heat was intense – but not as intense as the feelings washing over her. Was it imagination, or was she tied into what the couple behind her was feeling? The intense passion of the kissing, the caressing, the joys of discovery through probing and unpeeling of garments…

Mysa made it back to the garden as the next wave hit – and how it hit! The intense but rewarding pain that signals the transformation from maiden to woman – Jancel’s own voyage cascaded through Mysa as well. Even worse, she could feel his side as well – both the phantom feelings of anatomy she didn’t have, and the unbearable intensity of his joy at communing in flesh with his Guinevere. How he shall hate me!

She found herself alone in the garden, rubbing herself against a statue of Apollo, both acting upon the sensations thrust upon her – and in trying to overcome them. It was not the first time she had to endure bliss in stealth, and she allowed herself only the quietest, hoarsest squeals of delight.

And it was over, a wonderful but excruciating time later. Hours later, based upon the moon.

She let herself collapse into the garden flora, a hiding place while Wynn and his guards marched out past her.

Reep’s timing couldn’t be better, she thought, summoning the strength to get back to her room before passing out.

Caught at an inopportune time, Garth would have no choice but to bow to honour and tradition, Mysa thought, drifting off to sleep. And with Jancel as his bride, he can keep his hands and eyes away from Imra.

One Hundred and Eighty-five

“My dear son! To what do I owe the honour?”

Jonah was taken aback. While he’d been aware of his mother tending to him during illness, it hadn’t struck him that Morgause’s renewed maternalistic streak was a lasting one.

“It’s good to see you, too mother,” he smiled, wanting to mean it. He welcomed her embrace.

“And you? I know it has been hard on you-“

Still holding him, he felt her stiffen. “Oh… yes. I miss the child deeply. I still haven’t given up hope that your youngest brother shall be found.”

I know my mother well enough. She again plays tricks, Jonah thought, noting Morgause’s salon was still well-adorned with towels and the basinet - and all looked in regular use. She has pulled a Mordru! The child abducted by brigands was not baby Medrod!

“But let us talk of more pleasant subjects. What news of the south?”

“Well, Geraint finally tracked down the villain Yder and his dwarven familiar, and turned them over to Guinevere for punishment. King Rokk was ready to match-make Geraint and the lady Ayla – no doubt to keep the knight away from Marcus’ Cornwall – but he’d already found a lady, a beautiful maiden named Enide. Geraint has proven an effective addition to Rokk’s legion.

“Mekt continues to resist attempts to heal him. Apparently, every sorcerer from Rome to Elmet had their hooks in his pour soul! Mayhap he shall recover, but Ayla rules Armorica in his stead, as Garth has refused to.”

“The fool!” Morgause exclaimed.

“Perhaps. Well. Coirpre mac Neill, while still seeking Rokk’s aid against the usurper, the would-be empress Saraid, has lent his man Ossian to help Rokk and his advisors solve the mystery of Angtough, and the white triangle medallions. In fact, Rokk, Ossian and a large party from Camelot shall pass through here en route to Ulster. In a week’s time.”

“Here!? Why was word not sent?”

“I volunteered to bring word, while passing through on my way north,” Jonah said, certain his mother had stopped listening to him.

“Why, we must be ready! A high king has never visited Lothian since the days of Constantine! I must prepare the staff; it must be a worthy feast. And your father must be summoned back from the Orkneys. Yes, there is much to do…”

Jonah sighed. He had not the chance to tell her of his own solemn mission, a threat he and he alone must face.

One Hundred and Eighty-six

“Here.”

Garth lacked all enthusiasm, in contrast to the previous outings. His choice in locales was sound – the dragon had mostly been attacking villages where mining was taking place – or where ore was being transported. Like of legends – dragons hording precious metals! James thought, with little sympathy for his comrade.

The two had chosen a small shack overlooking the village to wait for the beast. There was little to do but wait and play throwing-stones. Neither knight was in the mood to talk.

On the third day, James was the one to break the silence.

“Do you hate her?”

“Your sister Jancel? Nay. She was tricked by Mysa, just as I was. No, t’is not for her. My hate.”

James understood why Mysa had no doubt done her sorcery – his own father had unwittingly spelled out the very reasons the night of the deed. Yet he couldn’t approve. He didn’t condemn Mysa – he had let Reep talk him into doing worse – but there was something ominous about how his sister’s engagement had begun. I should be pleased to have Garth as a brother, he thought, surveying the brooding knight. Aye, I should be pleased.

On the fifth day, James was called upon by the local watch to settle a dispute between two upland farmers. He’d be gone only part of the afternoon, he promised.

Garth advised him not to be long, else he miss the fun. “You know he’s waiting for you to leave,” he laughed. Worried, he was not – the monster never struck in the mid-day, unless it was overcast - and the day was bright and sunny.

James was not gone an hour when he hear the cries – a fishing boat out on the lake was being attacked by the dragon!

Garth commandeered a boat, cursing that he had not James to help row – he’d not place a villager at risk. Mayhap my armour is ill-advised for this fight, it occurred to him, too late to act upon.

Half expecting the creature to be gone by the time he arrived, it turned to come after him! Rather than wait for it to come within sword distance, he began summoning lightning – a bigger burst than he’d ever tried before.

It was within yards when he let loose. Just as its ugly serpentine head had risen above water, ready to lunge at him, Garth struck first – and both he and the dragon were staggered by the blast. It shrieked – in anger, surprise or pain was anyone’s guess – and retreated beneath the waves, leaving Garth alone, floating passed out in his boat, unconsciously leaning off the side, partly into the lake. His heavy armour had tilted the boat enough that it was taking on water…

One Hundred and Eighty-seven

“Where I he? Let me see him.”

James forced his way through the crowd gathered around the hut.

“How fares Sir Garth?” he called in, having reached the doorway. He saw Garth lying, covered, in a bed, and the Druid he’d heard of attending him. Two men of the village watch were also on hand.

“He… needs rest. He will likely have fever, and I must gather the roots and herbs to tend to him,” replied the Druid. “You must be the legendary Sir James. I am Llanfair.”

“He… looks well enough,” James was reassured, recalling Sir Jonah’s scarring from his dragon.

“Looks are deceiving, I fear.” Seeing James’ reaction, he elaborated. “Whether it was his own lightning, or dragon-breath, or some other sort of… poisoning, I had no choice but to remove his arm.”

“His arm…” James soaked up the words. If Jancel hasn’t taken Garth’s freedom as a wandering knight, than surely this beast has.

One Hundred and Eighty-eight

“In truth, Gaels and Picts had gotten along reasonably were ere now,” Ossian continued. “Trade, intermarriage, joint settlements… the Picts have never been the most populous of folk, while we Gaels have been bulging from the seams of dear old Eiru.”

Laoraighll nodded. “My kinsmen were always going to Caledonia to trade. Some even wed Pictish lasses and stayed.”

“So, what happened?” Querl still wasn’t satisfied. He leaned carefully, so as not to let the rocking of the ship give him any surprises. Calm weather or not, he’d been there once, and had no wish to again test his fortunes.

“The people of Angtough village were indeed slain by Ulstermen, although I know not by whom. I can tell you this – they were slaughtered in a… ritualistic manner.”

“Could this be some sick Irish Druidic rite?” Lu asked. She knew L’ile and Beren well enough, but even though less Christian than her sister, she still harboured no love for Druidism. Irish rites may be less benign than British ones – just as Julius Caesar wrote of Gaul’s Druids, she thought.

L’ile scoffed. “Hardly,” he said. “Unless it was the work of that Dark Circle.” He went pale as he spoke the words. “Do you think?”

Querl and Ossian looked about. “You know more of them than we,” Querl reminded him. “It’s as good a working theory as any.”

L’ile frowned. “I’d rather we had Reep to aid us. I’d like his mind set to this as well.”

“He’ll join us as soon as he’s done surveying the northwestern forts. He should rejoin us by the time we reach the port of Credigon,” Rokk said, stoically polishing his sword.

“I pray thee, Ossian, tell us more of this place we journey to,” Thom asked.

“Lothian? A nice enough place, I’m told,” the Irishman joked. Seeing his jest drew no great amusement, he continued in earnest. “The place we go is a place that I actually gave name to, three centuries ago. A place I called ‘Giant’s Causeway.’”

“I’ve heard of it. You named it so?” Thom said, incredulously.

“Aye. My father, the legendary hero Fionn mac Cumhail, discovered it in his travels – a strange terrain of hexagonal pillars built by gods-know-who, whereupon he fought a Formorian giant. By the time I had become a bard, the court of the day demanded both an explanation for the freakish landscape, and were always seeking new tales of my sire.

“So I did what any good bard would do – I told how my father built the causeway himself, as a bridge to Caledonia, where he would fight an evil giant. But he fell asleep with the job half-done, and the giant came from Caledonia came by boat, seeking him. My mother, I said, put a blanket over him, telling the giant he was Fionn’s son – and the giant fled back to Caledonia, fearing how big father must be! The giant tore down the rest of the causeway on his way back, of course.”

The knights laughed. “Truly, you are a worthy bard,” Rokk praised. “Coirpre mac Neill has a reliable asset in you.”

“In many ways,” Laoraighll added. “Your ability to gather more accurate information is also a more than worthy trait.”

“Let us just hope we can solve this White Triangle business without drawing the attention of Saraid,” Thom added. “I’d not flee a battle, but I see no benefit it picking a fight with Eiru when we still have Khunds to deal with.”

“Forget not, young Thom, that Saraid’s grip on Eiru is still less than complete. King Coirpre shall keep the sorceress at bay for you, most assuredly,” Ossian pledged.

“And in return?” Rokk perked up.

“…Just that you consider my liege a friend an ally of yours; surely a preferable one to Saraid. His emissary, Relnic, is now in the Mediterranean seeking allies. T’would be nice to have one close to home as well.”

Rokk nodded. Nura’s recent assertion that Saraid would not rule long wasn’t fully settling to him, as he knew not how much blood it would take to see the deed done.

One Hundred and Eighty-nine

He rode his steed with one arm capably enough; he was used to having an arm free to use with weapons. How shall I fare, then, in warfare?

Anxious to prove himself, he was – and not just to James and his peers. He rode quickly and with furor – or rather fear that he was no longer of any knightly capacity.

Riding over a hillcrest, he saw a site of déjà vu – a decimated lakeside village. He rode up to join James – and MacKell, who had met up with James en route to the north, where he was meant to meet with Rokk and a select team, as they crossed Caledonia to depart for Ulster.

“What news?” asked the injured knight.

“Not good. Again, we came too late,” James said. MacKell tried to hide his wince at seeing Garth missing an arm.

Garth nodded. “The only plan that has borne fruit was my approach, to chose a likely spot and wait for it.”

MacKell was about to challenge the assumption, but James stepped in to vouch. “T’is true. Only by patience was Garth able to encounter the monster. I say it’s worth a try, with all three of us.”

“Then it’s agreed,” Garth said, not waiting for MacKell’s word. “I’ve also enlisted the Druid Llanfair, and we’ve chosen several good sites. We shall meet him at the village of Ambule’s Sidhe in all haste. I would be done with this fiend.”

Garth opted not to mention the one sparkle of hope Llanfair gave him. But that would have to wait until the dragon was dispatched.

One Hundred and Ninety

“It’s… amazing,” Lu stammered.

“Just imagine the builders of it! It must have been Ys, or Hybrasil,” Thom added.

“Did not Ossian say it was his father’s doing?” Lu asked.

“Nay. That was but a bardic tale he said he’d made up,” Laoraighll corrected.

The climbed the rocks, stepping pillar-to-pillar as if they were made as stairs.

“But why stack these pillars one against the other, with no discernable purpose?” Querl asked. Yet he couldn’t believe this was a natural formation – almost every pillar-top in sight had six almost-even sides. One who knew the geometries built this place, he marveled. He’d heard of a similar formation in Sicilia. Where they related?

Rokk took a moment to listen to the sea crash into the lower pillars. How far under the waves do these extend? he wondered.

“Interesting. But how do these relate to the white triangle business?” Reep asked.

“Well. Most visitors are so impressed with the rocks themselves that they never bother with the cave my father also found. Come.”

The knavish bard led the troupe to a sea cave, largely hidden by fallen pillars at the edge of the formation. “This is why we had to wait for low tide.” At his urging, he, Reep and Laoraighll lit torches.

There was still water to wade through, but little more than 100 yards in, the cave widened and elevated to dry terrain.

“Amazing!” Querl was already impressed, surveying the wall carvings.

“What are they?” asked Lu.

Rokk, meanwhile, found a sculpture of the sacred bull – complete with white triangle markings. The statue was old, but the adjacent candle-drippings, herbs – and blood - were not.

“Egyptian pictograms,” Querl answered. “I’ve seen the like in many places across the eastern Mediterranean. Their exact meanings are unknown, but I can hazard a guess.” He paused. “But I know not what those are.”

“An ancient form of Ogham, the Irish Druidic script,” Ossian provided, “I can make out only a little-“

“-War,” L’ile interjected. All eyes turned to him. “This was written after the Egyptian, I’d wager. The ancient Druids – or whoever wrote this – were celebrating victory over their pursuers, and some sort of… ‘Evil one.’”

Querl nodded. “What little I can make of the Egyptian refers to a warrior and a pharaoh’s daughter, and their band fleeing Egypt. The pharaoh…and perhaps priests… of Anubis? pursued them, it seems.”

“They came to Eiru amid a storm, and blamed Eiru’s inhabitants, the de Danaan, for their ill fortune,” Laoraighll said, reciting old legends. “These… Milesians took Eiru from the De Danaans.”

“Well, I’d wager Milesians and de Danaans found common cause against the Egyptians,” L’ile said, pointing toward an illustration showing an Egyptian wielding the Eye of Balor, vanquishing two types of foes – presumable Milesian and De Danaan alike. It reminded him of the more recent markings at Roxxius’ tower.

“Somehow, we need to know what happened here,” Rokk said, drawing attention to his finding. “I say that there is a direct connection between this Irish-Egyptian war and the doings of today.”

But what was it like back then? And how would we find out? L’ile pondered.

One Hundred and Ninety-one

Garth paced, trying to calm himself.

The August moon, not yet full, was still bright in the sky, and the sole source of light for him. He paced through the stone circle, a monument already ancient by the time even the Celts came to this land, and the place whence the dragon essentially came – and from whence it must perish.

His anger was ebbing; that surprised him. Was that Llanfair’s doing? In truth, he could no longer hold a grudge against the man than he could against, say, Dyrk’s ancestors for Rome’s role in the fiasco.

Twice, he, James and MacKell had encountered the beast, and twice it fled, wounded but intact.

“Dragon!” he shouted. “You were summoned here to plague the Romans who stole and occupied this land! The Roman era is done with! Your task is done!”

Garth felt a little foolish shouting out into the night, but if it worked…

It was about an hour later when he began to hear the thrashing and grunting of something large. The dragon ‘s scaly skin scintillated under the moon as it approached.

It growled and roared, but not as a fierce menacing monster, but like an old man in pain, yearning to go on to the Summer Country.

“Dragon! Your time is done! Go back, back whence you came!”

The dragon roared louder, right into his face, and Garth understood – this was not defiance, but frustration.

“A dragon cannot leave this world with the peace of an old man nor the acquiescence of a coward. I understand. Very well, my friend, I shall give you one last fight, one last joust.”

It was not with much satisfaction that a one-armed knight slew a tired old dragon, and Garth found sad the irony that perhaps his most celebrated knightly deed was in fact the least satisfying.

With morning’s light, MacKell and James rejoined him, tending to his new wounds.

“The dragon’s hide should go to Wynn,” Garth said. “T’was his quest that we fulfilled this morn.”

Llanfair smiled in agreement. The two of them had far to go together to tend to the knight’s arm…

Notes I-11-15, 181-190:

I-11/14: I knew all along that Jeka and Ag would be apart for a while in the east, but I didn't imagine he'd get that far east. Ag following the Silk Road east did make sense, though.

i-12: I knew Relnic would be intro'd in this set of interludes. Until I got here, I was still not certain whether the discs would be Frankish or the Eastern Empire - but the latter's distance made the Franks a better candidate. Also, if Rome corresponds to little bluish men in red robes, then Constantinople should correspond to tall, meddling robed guys. Also - by this time, Alexandria had already been looted/trashed by the Christians, but I'm assuming there's some salvageable knowledge - and Ireland (along with Baghdad, later) was the recipient of a lot of knowledge otherwise lost during the Dark Ages.

I-13: I had originally six or seven ideas for "The East" but a couple fell through - at least one was Mordru's fault! But I've pulled some great long-term ideas out of unplanned fill-ins, and this one's already percolating.

I-15: A lot of exposition - apologies. Credit to Wikipedia for summarizing these events; it was the most expedient way to advance Vidar's story in order to fit what comes next.

181-184: For the first time in quite a while, I confess to borrowing a bit from MZB on this. But with my own twists - Reep's secret role, Mysa's unintended empathy.

181: James' growth was indeed hinted at way back when - both in his strange armour and in the forest scene, where he goes back to face the camp raiders while the others try to follow Jonah. also in the following chapter, Belinant mentions a giant in the woods, which the knights know of. I'd meant to get back to this sooner, but it hadn't fit - but will be needed soon.

Yes, I take a liberty with "Helvetic cheese" - Helvetica goes on to become Switzerland. Brocavium was an old Roman town, I believe in or near today's Penrith. A Roman road connected Carlisle (then actually Luguvallium, but Carlisle's easier), and eventually south to (Eboracum) York.

185/188/190: I realize I didn't spell it out: Rokk and company sailed up the east coast of Britain, the North Sea side, a safer and more direct route north, vs. sailing all the way around Cornwall and north near whatever fleets Saraid and Glorith may have. Not that Rokk’s a coward - but the mission was a stealthy one. They sailed to Lothian (Edinburgh), crossed the isthmus to the firth of Clyde (today's Glasgow), following an old Roman defensive wall. From there, they sail southwest to Ulster.

188: The bard Ossian is indeed credited with the oldest known tale of Giant's Causeway, and his father's (pronounced and sometimes spelled Finn McCool) role.

189: Ambule’s Sidhe is today's Ambleside, just north of Windermere. I know Romans settled there, but I couldn't find a period name.

190: I love when several tangential threads start interweaving of their own accord. I also love when I start researching background on a slim thread idea, and find plenty of supporting material, which in turn helps me brainstorm the next step.

Hey Sean, I've got quite a bit of catching up to do with this - can't wait! I'll finish reading it tomorrow and let you know what I think so far.

Glad to see I've come back to more, more, more!

Bxx

Oh well, I had to do it, just couldn't wait any longer and let me tell you it was worth reading! You're intertwined complex plots keep on throwing up surprises and it's GREAT!!!

I'll re-read it in the next week no doubt, and if you happen to post a couple of more chapters between now and then all the better

Sean, this is tremendous, more, more, more!

Hope all is well

Bxx

Been hoping that some more had been written. But I'm patient:)