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THE SKY OPENED ABOVE the people clustered in the alleyways surrounding the main road in Londinium, rain falling on the roofs with gentle fingers. It seeped through the cracks in the roads underneath the hooves of the horses riding past the prone citizens, snorting the rain from their noses. The Barons riding the horses were wrapped in soaked black cloaks, their masks as expressionless as ever.
Thunder rolled overhead as the band of horses behind Edward pulled along the small carts, their wheels squeaking inaudibly against the roar of water on stone. Twelve wooden carts pulled along twelve wooden caskets in rows of two, the spray of lightning flashing off the water coating them.
Amongst the crowded townsfolk, an array of Barons lined up in front of the onlookers, holding up spears by their side, shields held up on their left arm.
Coloured cloth draped over each side of the carts alongside the orange and white flag of Camelot, red and blue leading the way at the front.
Above the people, a flock of crows harassed their ears, their cries echoing from the rooftops. Tears mixed with the rain on people's faces, their eyes trained on the caskets as they travelled past them.
A sudden deafening sound comes from the lined-up Barons, their spears rising from the ground to be slammed back with a loud thud. Edward looked at the people surrounding him, the rain running into his eyes, stinging his stitches. A small smirk stretched across his face at their despair; let them cry. Let them see their strongest link wiped out before them.
Movement in the crowd caught his eye, and he turned his head to look; people shifted out of the way of one particular woman shoving her way through, the Barons in the line turning their heads to her. Her eyes were wide, face locked in disbelief at the rows of carts with their colours and flags.
She seemed to scan them, looking for something in desperation.
She must've found what she was looking for as she locked eyes with the carriage at the front of the line, the red-flagged casket. Her wail pierced the air, echoing across the buildings with her anguish.
Edward watched with interest as she fought the Barons trying to hold her back, her supposed grief fuelling her to go against them.
“Stay back!” one of the Barons commanded her, trying to grab her arms.
"No! Let me through!" she screamed at them, pulling out of their grip.
“Get back in line!” the Baron ordered her, standing in her way.
To Edward's surprise, the woman snapped, shoving her way past the Baron with a great deal of force, sending the black cloak sprawling across onto the road. Her form sprinted towards the carriage, her dark brown hair strewn in the wind behind her.
The commotion gained the attention of the leading party as the crowd murmured and cried out at the woman, the Barons coming to a stop, the carts pausing their pursuit long enough for the woman to reach the cart with the red flag, grief written across her body. Barons moved to warn her off, and Edward rode up to her, blocking the Barons off.
"Let her be," he commanded. "I want to see where this goes."
“Yes, sir,” the Barons stepped back.
The woman didn't notice his actions, clamouring onto the cart deftly, kneeling beside the casket with shaky hands. Edward turned to watch her mourn over the dead Knight, looking her over. Sharp gray eyes were red with tears and outrage; her mouth opened as she sobbed uncontrollably. "My boy! My Sam is gone!" she wailed.
An onlooker frowned at the situation, looking up towards the castle’s balcony. “This is all his fault!” he protested. “He killed our Knights!”
"Damned Ergott! Murderer!" another yelled.
“False King!” a man yelled.
The crowd around them began to protest with the man, shoving against the Barons lined up in front of them. The Barons tried to hold them back, the lines caving in on the road, spooking the horses.
Edward frowned and pulled his reins tight, moving away from the crowd. "Move it on! Keep going!" he barked at the leading party. The carriages led on through the chaos, forcing people to move.
“He’s no King! He’s a fraud leader!” a man yelled, followed by the yelling of others.
"Death to the King!" a woman snarled, shoving a Baron.
“Death to the King!” others yelled, the crowd taking up the chant, pushing against the Barons line.
The Barons fought them back, spears swinging against the citizens and pushing them down the alleyways, more than one of them falling to the ground as the thunder boomed overhead.
A frightened woman’s scream came from the crowd, witnessing a Baron stabbing a man with the spear straight through his abdomen. The cries of protest turned to cries of fear; the citizens that weren't still fighting ran for their homes.
The woman on the cart watched it unfold in horror, her eyes wide in dread, hair stuck to her face with the rain. A flash of white crashed down onto the cart, a bird landing on the floor of the carriage beside the woman. She jumped in fright, looking at the white crow in grief. She leaned her arm down to let the crow jump onto it, holding it up to the casket. Its feathers fluffed out, it's unusually bright green - not red, Edward puzzled - eyes taking in the box with what seems to be shock. Its beak opened with a mournful cry, jumping onto the lid to lay down, its wings seemingly feeling the wood.
The woman, Edward supposed to be Samqueel's mother, copied the bird, laying against it with a mournful cry. There was something very odd going on between these two, and Edward had a feeling it had a bigger meaning than what he saw.
From the castle balcony, King Ergott scoured the streets, watching the parade of carriages wheeling the caskets in. His crown was drenched with rainwater, along with the rest of his attire. A small smirk shifted onto his face, delight coursing through him at the people's outrage. Let them fight. Make them think they can.
Beside him, a woman's laugh trilled, her own yellow eyes lit in amusement at the crowd. "Oh, the joy in the air," she smiled. "The grief hits me in waves even from up here."
“I want everything to do with them erased from the castle,” Ergott said, watching the flagged caskets with a frown. “Including the Roundtable.”
"Why, of course, my dear," she purred, looking at him sideways. "Their memory must be quelled."
“And have Rohin sent to speak with me, dear,” Ergott said gently. “There’s important things we need to discuss,” he said, looking at her sideways.
"The woeful cries of a mother have certainly done their part in triggering the turnaround of the people's perspectives," Vivien smirked.
“They don’t matter; their opinions are invalid to us,” Ergott scoffed. “They will soon see a greater change to Camelot, and they will learn to respect and love their King.”
"And that they will," she purred. "But not in the way you think." She turned around and walked towards the balcony door, her newly acquired black cloak billowing behind her.
“I hope you’re ready, Arthur,” Ergott murmured to himself. “I hope you’re ready to see the fall of your home." He turned away from the fighting crowd on the street below, following behind Vivien.
The weight at his side slapped against his leg annoyingly; the scabbard was too small to harbour the infamous blade. The weight was enough to drive Ergott insane and lean him over, the guard digging into his hip like a persistent child. Winding down the staircase, he gripped the handle, trying to relieve the weight of the bastard sword to no avail, irritating him further. Today would see the end of the burden at his side, anyway.
The Round-Hall was empty, the table scattered with unwashed crockery and discarded weapons. Jackseye stood behind one of the chairs, standing to attention as he walked into the room.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Ergott asked, moving his hand along the table's surface. “How one simple decision can cause tragedy within the Kingdom. The bigger picture has been painted for them to see why this decision was made. They won’t truly understand our intentions.”
"Their simple lives and ways of thinking is beyond understanding our reasoning, sire," Jackseye said. "They see evil in the face of your plans."
“And yet the Devil has to show them the true path to his reasoning,” Ergott said, looking up at him. “But then again, they will never understand.”
"The Roundtable was a large influence in the Kingdom," Jackseye stated. "Wiping them out caused a reaction that was perhaps bigger than we anticipated. We've broken their hopes but ignited their fury."
Ergott looked at the Roundtable, taking his hand off the surface, dust smeared on the tips of his fingers. “They looked up to the Roundtable and saw them as guardians and protectors of their lives. And now that they’re gone, they have no true protection, no one to look up to. They will crumble beneath their grief.”
Jackseye chuckled darkly to himself. "So much for Torona's big speech," he shook his head. "A waste of breath."
“The fool saw himself as an icon to the people,” Ergott looked up at Jackseye. “A symbol of hope, as some would say.”
"He was right in that aspect," Jackseye nodded. "All the better for us, now that the people have seen their hope die in front of them."
“But they still have one last piece of hope,” Ergott frowned.
Jackseye scowled, turning to look out the window. "The boy," he growled.
“Arthur needs to be found,” Ergott said firmly. “The Born King prophecy must be extinguished before it even begins to see the light of day.”
"The search party will be led out tomorrow morning to look specifically for him," Jackseye informed. "Only the best of the best will be in the team, including myself and Edward."
“The others with him don’t matter to me, dead or alive; I don’t care. But I want Arthur alive, and I will deal with him once he’s brought back to Camelot. Understand?” Ergott explained, looking Jackseye dead in the eye.
He met Ergott's gaze steadily, nodding slowly. "It will be done, sire," he said.
Ergott nodded at him. “Very good,” he said coldly.
Jackseye glanced at the weapon at Ergott's side, a cool calculation on his face. "If I may ask, sire," he said. "Why is Remedy at your side? I would've thought it would be discarded."
“It won’t be here for long,” Ergott dismissed, looking at him. “It will be tossed into the Lake like Excalibur once was.”
"I see," Jackseye grumbled and straightened up. "I will go and tend to the carts on the way and finish this whole funeral ordeal before someone decides to torch a building. I'll be back by the afternoon."
“I’d be careful going down there with those rats,” Ergott scowled. “They’re known to be a fierce society, especially toward us.”
"I'm sure Edward has it under control," he said. "The boy is smarter than the common rabble. He knows what he's doing." Jackseye turned and strode out of the Round Hall, two Barons on the other side of the door peeling off to follow him.
“Let us hope so, Rohin,” Ergott muttered to himself. “Let us hope so.”
The carts reached the bottom of the stairs to the castle, the horses pulling to a stop, making the woman lift her head from the casket. Edward watched her as she tilted her head up to look at the castle, fear and hatred on her face. The bird on the box shook out its feathers, cawing at the castle softly.
Edward pulled his horse up beside the cart, watching them with interest. They mourned for a killer Knight, the one who slaughtered his mates no less and gave him the slash across his face. He should hate them. Weirdly, he didn't.
“Sir,” a Baron said to his right.
Edward looked down at the Baron. "Yes?"
“The caskets, where do we place them?”
Edward shifted his jaw in thought, biting his cheek. It made his face itch. "Take them to the cabins on the Eastern end," he said finally. "Put them wherever my father commands. I'm sure he knows where."
“Yes, sir,” the Baron nodded, turning to the others. “Eastern end of the Cabins! Move the bodies!”
The woman's face filled with possessiveness as the Barons closed around her son's casket, the white crow hissing. Edward turned to them, pulling his horse in close.
“Out of the way, Madam,” a Baron ordered. “Mourning time is over,” he said, gripping her arm.
She cried out, pulling against his grip in protest, holding onto the side of the carriage. Edward's eyes flashed, and he rode closer, bearing down at the Baron. "Let her be," he ordered.
“I said move it!” the Baron commanded, tugging her roughly. She yelped as her grip loosened, the Baron pulling her to her knees at the foot of the cart.
Edward dismounted his horse and grabbed a fistful of the Barons’ cloak, tugging him back as rough as he had to the woman. The Baron turned to look at him, their eyes protesting beneath the mask.
“She disobeyed orders, sir!” the Baron protested.
"And you disobeyed mine," Edward barked. "Now let the woman go, she will leave willingly, or you will leave without a rank."
The Baron looked down at the woman, her clothing now covered in mud. A flash of white feathers smacked into the Barons’ mask, feral cawing loud in his ears. Edward jumped back away from the bird, the Baron swatting his arms at the crow as it sunk its claws into his cloak. Gods, the bird has a mind of its own.
“Get off me, feral bird!” the Baron barked, waving his arms in the air. His hand smacked the bird, sending it with a puff of feathers down to the ground, its small frame rolling across the cobblestones. It stood up with a hiss and jumped over to the woman, its feathers fluffed out and wings shifting.
“Take that feral thing with you, peasant,” the Baron scowled, storming away from the casket.
Edward watched him go with gritted teeth. He'd find out the name of the lieutenant soon enough. He sniffed at him and turned back to the woman, extending a hand. "I apologise for the-"
"Stay away from us," she snarled, picking up the bird carefully and shrinking away from him. "You Barons are nothing but trouble!"
Edward raised a brow, lowering his hand. "I'm going to give you five minutes to find a place for you and your people to run to," he said quietly. "It starts now. Run."
The woman got to her feet, her quicksilver eyes filled with grief and hate as she looked at the casket her son laid inside one last time before she darted off towards the crowd.
“There he is!” a man pointed up to the balcony. Edward followed the man's direction, turning his eyes upwards.
King Ergott looked down at the people below, scouring once again over the corrupted Kingdom. Gloating over his people's reactions. As if he cared genuinely for them.
The King pivoted to glance behind himself, a womanly figure approaching the balcony railing. Edward squinted up at the woman. She was unfamiliar.
The people around Edward that saw the strange woman had daunted, confused looks on their faces. "That's not Queen Guinevere," he heard one say.
No. No, it isn't.
"In here, quickly!" a man said, holding open a stone door for Erin to walk through. A few others followed through with her, eager to get inside.
“Inside, now!” the man ordered them. Erin cradled the white bird in her arms closely, keeping her from being hurt further. Who knows what that brute did to her?
A young lass led her with a gentle hand on her back through the stone house, though it seemed a lot larger than a house. The hallways were dark and filled with rubble, shattered glass from the alcoves on the wall scattered on the floor beneath her boots.
Shouting from the outside bounced through the walls and the open door, a mixture between commanded orders and protests. The man ushered in the last few citizens inside before slamming the door shut, bolting the locks into place, and turning around to them, counting heads; Eleven, Erin could count at least.
“Is anyone hurt?” the man asked, walking into the crowded hallway.
"None over here," a voice said.
"We're okay," a woman chimed in.
Erin looked down at the crow in her hands, inspecting the frail body of the alert little beast. "Are you okay?" she asked.
The crow turned its head up to look at her, reassurance in its green eyes as it croaked. Erin smiled weakly and stroked the bird's feathers.
The man peeked through the blinds, shaking his head at what was happening outside. Erin looked up and peered over his shoulder; smoke started billowing through the alleyway from a source she couldn't see, people running with children away from the armed black cloaks. Horses ran amuck down the way, scattering people out of the way in their wild rampage.
"It's pandemonium out there," the young lass said, standing beside the man.
“I knew this would happen the day they first arrived here,” the man scowled.
To think this was all because of the Knights' death saddened Erin, her grief for her son still fresh in her heart.
Sam died protecting the people from things like this. He'd hate to see this, the downfall of his life's work. She turned away from the window. All because of these black cloaked men.
“He’s not coming back for us,” the man growled. “Like the coward he is.”
Erin blinked in shock. "Who do you mean?" she asked. Didn't he see the coffins?
“The Born King,” the man turned to her, his brown eyes filled with bitterness. “He left us here to fend for ourselves. Now look at Camelot; it’s falling into pieces.”
"What makes you think he isn't coming back with something better, Owen?" the young lass questioned.
“He isn’t coming back, Lucy,” Owen growled. “He never will.”
"I can tell you right now, he and the other men will return," she protested. "I saw with my own eyes who was with him. Tristan even swore to come back."
“What other men?” Owen interrupted her.
"Haven't you heard? The old Knights are returning," she said. Erin gasped, looking at Lucy, the bird in her arms flicking its head to her. Benjamin's Knights?
“They’re all dead, Lucy,” Owen sighed, putting his hands on his hips, and shook his head. Rugged dark hair fell over his face, and he flicked his head back to move it from his eyes. He looked like he needed a haircut.
"Bollocks!" Lucy spat. "I was there when one of them saved us from the fight."
“Which one?” Owen asked, frowning at her.
"Sir Galahad," she said.
“Impossible,” Owen denied. “Galahad died in the Darklands along with the rest of them,” he said.
"If you don't believe that, then explain to me who you believe the Knight Trainer is," Lucy frowned. "’Cause I can tell you, it's completely different to who you believe."
“It’s Xavier Marlon,” Owen frowned.
"Wrong," she said.
“Then who is it?”
"Tell me the story of how the bodies of the Knights were found," Lucy said, folding her arms.
“They weren’t found; they were covered in ash,” Owen explained. “After they went to fight the flying death snake, they lost and were covered in its ash and cinders,” he went on.
"And how many lumps were under the ash and cinders?" Lucy questioned.
“Twelve,” he answered.
"Wrong again," she said. "There were eight lumps under the soot. Now, how many Knights were there in the Roundtable?"
“This discussion is over, Lucy,” Owen scowled, walking away from her.
"I'm getting there; hang on," Lucy protested, grabbing his arm to make him stop.
Owen released himself from her grip. “Save it, Lucy,” he growled.
"There were twenty," she continued. "And the other twelve weren't found, including the man who took the name Xavier Marlon instead of-"
“Name the last eight then,” Owen said.
Lucy frowned and let him go, putting her hands on her hips. "Gallehault, Hoel, Lanval, Morholt, Safir, Pelleas, Dinaden and Erec," she said.
“So, you know your old Knights?” Owen asked, folding his arms with a raised brow.
"And I know for certain at least two that survived," she scowled. "And his name isn't Xavier Marlon."
“You really think they’re going to come back with the supposed Born King and take back Camelot?” Owen asked.
"I know they will," she corrected. "Tristan hasn't lied to me yet, and I don't think he's planning to."
“Your boyfriend?” Owen smirked. She slapped his arm, glowering at him.
Erin tried to process the information thrown at her; the old Knights are alive. Arthur was coming back with them, but when? And will it be too late by then? Unease settled in her chest.
“Look, little sister,” Owen said. “You may think you know these things will happen, but I know for a fact that they aren’t.”
Lucy's face turned red with annoyance, stomping her foot at him. "You never believe me even when I turn out right," she growled.
“You know why?” Owen asked.
"’Cause you're a chip idiot," she barked.
“’Cause I’m older, and I’m smarter than you,” he smirked, poking her nose roughly.
She slapped his hand away with a growl and stormed off down the hallway, glass crunching underfoot. "You're such an unbearable twat, Owen!" she stormed.
Owen chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Still likes to chuck tantrums.”
Erin watched the scene unfold, frowning slightly. For everything the girl said, the boy had a witty comment to pile on. She wasn't certain if she was glad or not to not have another child, so she didn't deal with this level of bickering. Grief pinged through her at the thought. Now I have no child to listen to complain.
Erin moved to the least glassy part of the hallway, brushing it aside with her foot to sit down and place the bird onto the floor. It hopped around the strewn debris, inspecting the people surrounding it. Its wing hung limp on one side; her arm was broken. Erin frowned in worry at her. "That will hurt later," she mumbled to herself.
Suddenly, there was a scuffle right outside the door. A loud, knocking thud echoed through the hallway. Erin turned her head to look at the window, an ominous black mask staring straight at her.
“Open the door!” the Baron ordered.
The crow grumbled lowly, hopping to Erin's feet. She picked her back up carefully and stood up once more, the people in the hallway gasping and moving back from the door. Owen narrowed his eyes at the door, gesturing to the people to move.
Erin looked down the hallway after Lucy; the young girl's eyes were wide as saucepans. "Quickly," she half-whispered to the citizens. "Follow me."
“Everyone, to the sleeping chambers, now,” Owen whispered to them, rushing them to Lucy. Erin followed the girl, her shadowy frame flitting in and out of the light of the shattered windows of the rooms they passed.
The stone door echoed ruthlessly with the thud of the Barons’ fists. Lucy propped open a door with a shard of wood, moving to the side to let people in. "Find somewhere to duck," she said.
“Go inside, now!” Owen ordered them all, standing on the opposite side of the door. They all filed through into the room, scattering across and over to the beds, some ducking behind the frames. The window on the far wall was still intact, block out blinds covering it thickly.
“Lucy, go in with them. I’m going to distract them,” Owen said.
The girl looked at Owen with a frown. "I knew you were stupid, but I didn't think you were this stupid," she scolded.
“Lucy, we don’t have time to argue-"
A loud thud echoed through the hallway, and the sound of marching men erupted from the hallway they were in.
Lucy's eyes widened, and she grabbed Owen's arm. "Just get in here," she whispered.
Owen frowned and followed his sister, kicking the wood out and shutting the door behind them. Erin watched from behind a cupboard, the bird hopping from her arms onto a bed frame. These Barons are relentless.
Owen crouched down in between the people scattered around, looking at them all with his finger hovering over his lip. They fell silent, only the muffled sound of the birds' talons scraping the blankets audible.
The Barons searched the training hall eagerly, their voices muffled behind the closed door. Lucy looked at Owen in uncertainty; her brown eyes were worried. Owen looked at her, raising his finger back up to his lip at her. Lucy's hands raised to him, her fingers flowing through the air rhythmically around her face. Erin blinked in realisation, sign language.
Owen copied her, doing different rhythmic movements near his face. Erin thought back to her memories of her younger years when her parents taught her the artistic language, translating the hand movements.
{Stay silent, Lucy.}
[You're not planning on going out there, are you?]
{We don’t have a choice.}
[Yes, you do!] Lucy signed furiously.
Owen raised his head up slowly, trying to see any Barons nearby. He counted five Barons in the training hall, unaware of their location.
{Five black cloaks, maybe.}
Lucy peered her head around the door, looking out.
{They look armed.}
Lucy gave him a flat look. [Oh, really? I never would've guessed.]
{Now isn’t the time for that.} Owen frowned at her.
[You're telling me that?]
{If we wait here quietly, they won’t find this room}
Lucy rolled her eyes and shifted her feet beneath her slowly, sitting down on the planks. [They know we came here; the door was locked.]
{They don’t know about this room.}
Everything went silent. Lucy frowned and looked at Owen. [Weird.]
Owen raised himself once again to peek through the window; everything was almost pitch black.
{I don't see-}
A sudden black mask appeared in front of the window, the Barons’ eyes boring down onto Owen's face. Owen jumped back onto the ground, his heart racing out of his chest.
“Everyone hide!” he yelled, rushing over to the door to barricade it.
Lucy's eyes widened, and she tried to grab her brother, his arm too quick to grab. The Baron burst through the door, the wooden door slamming into Owen with a good deal of force, shoving him back and making him roll across the ground with a grunt.
The people hid under their spots of choice, covering their mouths to stay silent. Erin ducked back behind the cupboard, her eyes wide. How did they know?
"Owen!" Lucy gasped, moving out from her spot to him.
"In here!" the Baron yelled down the hallway, drawing his weapon and advancing towards the pair.
Owen groaned, lying on the floor stunned. Lucy's eyes were wide as dinner plates, her face pale as the Baron moved closer. Erin peered out to watch; they were all doomed!
A sudden flare of white light erupted from the bed frame, and a nimble figure sprung toward the Baron, a female voice roaring in pain and challenge. The Baron turned his attention to her, twirling his sword in his hand, gripping his shield tighter. The woman tackled him to the ground, yelling in pain at her broken arm. Hair whiter than snow practically glowed in the dark, those brilliant green eyes luminescent against her pale skin. She pinned him down beneath her knees, her good arm morphing into a lion's paw.
The Barons’ eyes widened, raising up his shield in front of his face. She swiped her arm down onto his shield, the wicked claws slashing straight through the leather-like paper. The Baron grunted, dropping the torn shield to the side, looking up at her in fear.
She grabbed his mask with the paw and ripped it off, chucking it to the side and pressing her claws against his exposed throat, a feral snarl on her face. Her muscles were bunched beneath her loose black clothes, power writhing through her lean form.
"Your kind took something away from me," she snarled, her accent foreign and angry.
“What would that be? Your cub?” the Baron snarled back.
She dug the claws in further, blood pricking the man's skin. "Your bastard King took away my mate's life," she bared her teeth, fangs elongated.
The Baron struggled to breathe, his tan face turning blue by the second.
"I will hunt down every single last one of your brethren and your families until the rage your men have put in me no longer burns," she vowed and spied the long claws across his throat. Blood sprayed across the room, splattering against the wall colourfully.
The Barons’ eyes widened, his gashed throat bleeding heavily and bubbling with air. “The...Born...King, will never... rise,” the Baron said, lying motionless on the wooden floor below.
"That's what you think," she spat and stood up, shaking the blood from her furry hand. The claws shifted back into long feminine fingers, blood dripping off them onto the floor.
Lucy stared up at the woman, her eyes locked on the delicately arched ears beneath the snow-white hair. The woman turned to the people staring in shock and fright, her eyes losing the glow. "I am a friend to the people; I mean you no harm," she said, her teeth shrinking back to normal size. "My name is Laruen Ramondo. Yes, I am a druid and an elf. I will protect you as long as it takes for you all to get to safety. Find the tunnels beneath the city and head south; you will be safe there."
Erin looked to Laruen's right arm, the bone hanging limp in her forearm. She must be in agony, surely.
Owen stirred on the ground, his head throbbing wildly. Lucy looked back at him, her hand hovering over a lump forming on his head. "Got a headache now?" she asked.
“Don’t make it worse,” he growled, sitting up from the ground.
Laruen's eyes snapped to the doorway, hearing something Erin couldn't. "Go now," she said. "Whichever way is faster out of here."
Lucy stood up, lending her brother a hand. "Come on," she said. "There's a back way out."
“Who is she?” Owen asked, looking at Laruen.
"The bird," Laruen muttered and stalked towards the door.
“Since when did druids live in Camelot?” he asked, standing up from the ground.
"I don't," her voice trailed back into the room.
Erin stood up and walked over to the siblings, the people behind her following closely. "It's a long story," she assured them.
“Everyone move!” Owen ordered the people. “Stay together and watch your surroundings.”
"If you keep yelling, you'll alert more of them," Lucy scowled.
“I’m not yelling,” Owen scowled at her.
"Nah, you're just speaking at a higher volume." Lucy walked to the door, gesturing for the others to follow. Erin followed her, the shuffle of feet following closely behind. Where are these tunnels she talked about?
An animalistic roar echoed from down the hallway, men's screams of pain following after. They moved faster, spurred on by the noises as they twisted through the hallways; Lucy opened the door to quickly peer out.
"Okay, no one's there," she said. "Let's just stay here until the elf lady comes back."
Owen sat in the hallway, feeling his head spinning around him. He leaned his back against the wall, turning pale in the face. Erin furrowed her brow in worry, going to the boy. "How are we doing?" she asked him softly.
“Not too good,” he said, lifting his head up to lean against the wall.
"You hit your melon pretty hard," she said, looking at the bump forming under his hair. "We'll have to find you some ice later."
“I’ll be fine,” Owen growled, trying to get himself up. Erin held her hand out to him, and he looked at her. “What?” he asked.
"Well, are you going to stand back up?"
“We have to keep moving,” Owen said. “So yes.”
Lucy tutted at him, turning around to face him. "I think that head knock has made you lose the last brain cell you had," she sighed. "The woman is trying to help you, you gnat."
Owen looked at Erin, situated on his right knee. Feeling awkward, Erin lowered her hand and stepped back from him.
“Who even are you, anyway?” Owen asked the woman.
"Erin," she said. "Erin Torona."
Owen looked at her differently than before, more sympathetic than his previous frown. “I’m sorry about what happened to Sam; he was a good leader.”
The people murmured around her, offering condolences and surprised whispers. Her heart ached, the picture of her boy still fresh in her mind, and that rare smile he had...
A shadow stalked from out of the hallway, Laruen walking back covered in crimson, her white hair stained with it. "Okay," she said. "Tunnels, let's go."
Owen looked at her, standing up slowly. “How do you know where to go?”
"Friends in high places," she smirked, opening the door beside Lucy.
Owen looked back at the people, nodding at them. “Stay together.”
"You could start an inspiration novel," Lucy muttered, following Laruen. "'Stay together, be a team, keep it up.'"
“Whatever,” Owen grumbled.
Owen stood to the side, allowing the people to go out first. Erin walked out after them, the sun fading under the river's horizon. We were hidden for that long?
Horse's hooves beat the mud on the track, the sound muffled in the trees. The river rolled on at King Ergott's side, the stars glimmering off the surface brightly. The sword at his side threatened to leave the scabbard, but he held it in. It won't be gone just yet.
The riverside opened into a wide valley; foliage scattered around the border of the water. The moon high above lit up the lake, the water still as glass. Ergott remained emotionless, trotting across the rough surface, the riverbank a foot away from the trail. The horse snorted beneath him, hesitant to near the lake. Ergott protested the horse's discomfort and pushed down to the riverbank. The horse buckled, backing up against its master's orders.
“Wait here,” Ergott frowned, dismounting the horse near a tree. He grabbed the horse's reins and looped it over a low-hanging branch, turning back down to the river below. From the horse’s saddle, Ergott grabbed a cloak, wrapping it around himself as he made his way to the water's edge.
The mud and clay stuck to his boots the closer he got to the water, slowing him down to a careful stepping game. He held Remedy at his side, almost in comfort. It was a pity to discard a fine blade, but it had to be done. He had to get rid of that Commander's mark.
A melodic voice sounded from somewhere further on the lake; the birds surrounding the trees fell silent at the singing. Ergott looked around for the voice, but no one was in sight, only a thick fog, overgrown foliage, and the lake that sat in the middle. He frowned, walking further down, aware that he wasn't alone.
The water lapped at the bank gently, a calming contrast to the voice piercing the air. Birds flew up into the sky, their wing beats flitting through the air. Ergott scoured over the water, the fog laying on it like a blanket.
Something pierced the flat surface, a ripple spreading out to his right. Ergott snapped his eyes to it. What was that?
The water eventually settled back down, but Ergott remained on edge, his grip on the sword's handle tightening. He stopped at the water's edge, scouring over the surface, his eyes narrowed.
The thing broke through again - a tentacle, it seemed. A very, very long tentacle, with spines like a fish sticking up along the top. The moon shone off its skin, slowly dying as it dipped back beneath the surface. Ergott narrowed his eyes, unsheathing the sword slowly, his eyes glued to the water.
Everything was calm around him; not a sound was coming from the trees. Even his horse was quiet. It seemed as if the whole world was listening to the voice that still sang through the fog. And so, Ergott listened too.
The water in front of him exploded; waves flew through the air with an inhumane screech, spraying Ergott with water and something a bit thicker that stuck to his face.
Ergott turned his head away from the water, the sword gripped firmly in his hand. He turned back with a scowl; his teeth gritted. He wiped his hand over his face in disgust, slime coating his fingers.
Feminine laughter echoed across the water, the singing stopping to echo its sister's amusement. The thing poked its gruesome head out of the water, sharp fangs and white eyes glowing in the moonlight. Ergott scowled at the female, realising that the female seemed deformed, with no legs but a tail. The tail was the tentacle he saw, the same spines stretching up along her spine to the back of her neck.
“Leave me be. This business doesn’t concern you,” Ergott snarled at her.
"You are at the edge of my home," she drawled, her voice surprisingly woman-like. "Anything that touches my territory is my business."
“I’m discarding a memory,” he said. “It will take no time.”
"But this place is not for you to discard your rubbish," another head poked out of the water next to its sister, a grim snarl on its face. "The waters here are sacred."
“I am your King,” Ergott told them. “I decide what gets thrown into this lake.”
They tilted their heads at him with their teeth bared, one of them snarling animalistically. "The King, you are not," she spat. "An imposter to the throne."
“Then who is the King to you beasts?” Ergott asked.
"The one true King of legend," she said, swimming closer to his feet. "The one who shall pull Sword from Stone and claim back his Kingdom."
"You are not Him," the other snapped.
“He is dead,” Ergott snarled. “I will pull the Sword from the Stone,” he said.
"Not with those chicken arms, you're not," a head further in the water called, her voice younger than the others. She rose up in the water, her arms crossed and teeth bared in a wicked grin. "Especially when you don't have the right blood, to begin with. You plan on using a crowbar to get it out? Explosives? Please, tell us of your plans, False King."
“Once I throw this sword in, I hope it decapitates one of you ferals,” he growled at them, stepping an inch closer to the water's edge. His boot tip touched the water, and the one closest to him lunged, swiping for his leg with outstretched claws.
Ergott swung the sword down at her, the sword cutting her arms off below the elbows. She let out an ungodly screech, reeling back towards the water uncontrollably. Black blood spilled over the mud into the water, the severed limbs fading into dust. Her sisters snapped to him, their fangs bared and tails coiled.
“Get back! All of you!” he warned, pointing the sword at them.
They hissed like demonic cats at him, watching the sword as their sister disappeared under the water. The Syren taunting Ergott straightened, turning her head towards the centre of the lake as if listening.
“Back!” he warned again.
"She watches, Sisters," she said softly. The Syrens froze and turned towards the lake, their lithe bodies swishing through the water. Ergott watched them curiously, a small smirk forming on his face.
The youngest Syren turned to Ergott, swimming closer to replace her injured sister's spot. "You have something worthy of the Lake," she said, her milky gaze raking him.
Ergott glanced at the sword in his hands, looking back at her. “This belongs in the waters.”
"You harbour the blade of many battles, the cure to end all problems and plagues wherever it is taken. Why discard the Remedy?" She tilted her head.
"It has become ineffective against its injustice; it is time the sword joins the fallen,” Ergott said.
She held out her clawed webbed fingers, looking at him with her head lowered. "I will take it into the depths for Her Majesty to have," she said.
Ergott looked at her warily, reaching down, and handed the sword to her. She wrapped her fingers around the blade, pulling it back to the water with her. Her eyes were distant, her face twitching sharply. A hard mask fell onto her expression, accusing eyes fixing him with a glare.
"You are a disgrace," she hissed. "A failure to your land, a murderer."
“The King must make hard choices to cherish his future, and those beneath the royals are an expectation for sacrifices,” Ergott said, looking down at her coldly.
She bared her teeth in a hiss and ducked under the water, her slippery form lashing through the water. The other Syrens followed her, the last one flicking her tail sharply out of the water to splash the King again.
Ergott darted back away from the water’s edge, the splash landing where he was just moments ago. He turned around to where he came from, making his way back up to his horse.
I’m no murderer. All of these actions are to make a better Kingdom; they’re all blind to see it.
He grabbed his horse's reins and mounted the saddle, his face set in a glower as he kicked the beast's side, riding back towards Camelot. They'll all see one day. I'll make them see.
