“Galahad.” Trystan whispered.
Chapter Thirty-One
Battle of Legion
End of the Third Looking Glass Campaign
“Kill every one of the little bastards!” Uther screamed at the knights. “Fire the Rath, again!” Men began reloading the magical cannon, as Legion burned. Readying it to kill the last of the children and elderly gryphons trying to flee. “Don’t let any of them escape! Don’t let them get to the mountains!”
And that’s when Galahad took the best and worst action of his life.
That’s when Galahad murdered his own king.
He reached up to pull Uther from his horse, dragging him to the ground. There was only one way to stop more of his hideous orders from being carried out. Only one way to save the remaining gryphons from slaughter. Galahad’s sword was in his hand without him even reaching for it. Slamming through the stomach of his unarmed commander. The man he had vowed to follow and obey and protect. The man he had loved like a father. Slaying Uther right there in that horrible place to spare the lives of their enemies.
Hot blood sprayed across Galahad’s face as he screamed out his anguish. The king bellowed, too, in pain and surprise and fury. The horse reared, startled by the cries and the fight. It all happened, at once. But, very slowly.
For an endless moment, Galahad’s eyes locked with Uther’s.
…And then he let the man fall.
Uther hit the grass, still alive but already dead.
Galahad gave a sob, broken by what he’d done and what he hadn’t. For what he’d become, through his actions and inactions. Something within him was shattered.
“Traitor.” Uther whispered, blood leaking from his lips. “Traitor to your own kind, Galahad. To your race. To your king. You’ll be damned for this forever.”
Galahad staggered backwards, turning away from his old life. Away from everything. Everything he’d ever believed in was gone. He was gone. He fell to his knees, rage and violence and grief filling him. Consuming him. Nothing anchored him, now. Darkness like he’d never known grew within his mind.
He would kill everyone.
Kill all the knights who had participated in this massacre. Kill the scientist who’d built the Rath and the men who started the fires and the spy who’d told him how to find the village. He would kill them all, so they would no longer pollute the world with…
Something touched his face.
Galahad’s head snapped up and he realized he was kneeling by Lyrssa’s cage. She had reached between the bars to run her thumb down his forehead to the bridge of his nose. He had no idea why, but it snapped him out of his spiraling breakdown.
“Don’t let him win, knight.” She said softly. “Don’t follow him down that path.”
Tears traced down his face, through the drying blood on his cheeks.
“Fight for something better.” Her eyes were so dark and so deep that they looked like ebony pools. “There is a far greater path for someone who does what you just did. Fight for it. Fight against the darkness.”
Galahad swallowed. “I can’t. It’s too late. I have to…”
“Darkness is not the answer.” Lyrssa cut him off and her voice held all the wisdom in the world. “Only light protects the innocent. Only light can save us. Choose the light.”
Galahad released a shuddering breath.
Somehow his fracturing mind found a foothold with her words. Only light. He desperately clawed for purchase and seized onto the core belief of his being. The simple code that defined him. It held him fast, when he would have tumbled into the abyss.
A knight protects those weaker than himself.
He had faltered this day, but the truth of the Knights’ Code was still real and solid beneath his feet. It was the light that guided him. No matter the cost to himself. No matter what anyone else thought. No matter the consequences. A knight always protects the innocent.
No matter what.
Galahad swallowed again, staggering to his feet. “Go.” He opened the enspelled gate of her cage. “Leave now.”
Later, he would have trouble remembering exactly how he’d unlocked the door. He must’ve gotten the key from Uther, but he’d blocked that part from his head. He simply did not want to recall returning to the king’s side and pulling the keyring from his dying body. His mind thankfully shielded Galahad from details of that moment. But the wet blood coating his hands afterwards told enough of the story.
Lyrssa blinked as he set her free. “You release me?”
“Yes.” Galahad still didn’t trust her, but, in that moment, it didn’t matter. “You need to go far from here.” He swiped a hand under his nose. “Hurry.”
Lyrssa climbed down, her eyes still on his, not quite trusting him, either. “You are either the greatest knight ever born or a complete lunatic. Either way, I do not work with your kind. I must search for a path that no wingless can follow.”
“We’re not working together.” He might be a lunatic, but, in his brainwashed mind, the idea of working with a gryphon was still ludicrous. It would take years for him to think clearly. “I’m freeing you and then I’ll save however many of your people are left in the town. That’s it.”
“You will save my people? I should trust a knight with their lives?”
Galahad met her eyes. “I will save the gryphons or I will die trying. You have my word on it.”
For whatever reason, she believed his vow. “I will leave my people in your hands, then. But, I am taking your king.”
“What?” Galahad automatically shook his head, most of his attention on planning a way to stop his men. No genius ideas were coming to mind. “No, you can’t…”
Lyrssa cut him off. “The wingless will see it was your sword that cut him down, otherwise, and know what happened here. He is dead, anyway, even if he still breathes for another few moments. I can do him no more harm.”
“I did this to him. I will take the blame.”
“There is no blame, only credit.” She insisted. “And it is mine. You have a mission beyond this place, knight. Focus on that and do not tell what happened here. No one will believe you, anyway. Regardless of your words, Uther’s demise will rest on me in everyone’s mind. And both of us will be the better for it.”
Later, Galahad would never lie about what happened to the king. …But he’d never dissuade people from believing that Lyrssa had killed him, either. For her part, Lyrssa seemed to relish taking all the credit. Some said she ritualistically displayed Uther’s mangled corpse as a trophy before disposing of it, but Galahad would never want to know about that. A part of him would always love the man he hated. He had no desire to seek out information on the body’s ignominious end. His last memory of Uther would always be here.
He gave a reluctant nod. The Rath was being readied, again. There was no time for debate. “Take him.”
Lyrssa’s head tilted at an odd angle, like she was seeing something both far away and deep inside of him. “You’re not a lunatic, knight. It would be easier for you, if you were.” She whispered. “I see your path, like I see my own. I see the ya’lah. I see Atlantis.”
He could barely think. “What?”
“Find Atlantis and you will find a future for us all. A treasure beyond price. A way back to the light. That is your mission, now.”
Galahad wasn’t sure what she was talking about and he couldn’t wait around to figure it out. “Go.” He said again and headed for King Uther’s horse, because he had no idea where his own was. When had he even dismounted? Everything was a blur. “Do not come back to this land. It is not safe here.”
“Oh, I will return.” Lyrssa grabbed Uther, who gurgled in the last gasps of life. If he knew what was happening he gave no sign of it. Death was already upon him. “And I will meet you, again, knight. In a better world.”
With that, she took off into the sky.
Galahad let her escape. Allowed Camelot’s greatest foe to leave with its dying king. To vanish into the clouds. He wasn’t su
re where she went after that, but he knew she was alive and that her side had been the right one. That was all that mattered.
It was then that his reddened gaze fell on a soldier, standing a few feet away. Bedivere, again. The boy was staring right at him, an extinguished torch in his hands, his eyes full of disbelief and hatred.
…And Galahad knew that Bedivere had seen everything. Seen Galahad kill the king and free Lyrssa. Seen him betray Camelot to stay true to himself. Did it matter that the boy knew?
No.
“This is my path.” He told Bedivere simply, unconsciously echoing Lyrssa’s words. “You can turn me in for treason later. I don’t care. But, now is the moment to decide what your path will be. Is it killing children? Are you a monster, after all? …Or are you a knight?”
Bedivere’s mouth thinned, conflict evident on his young face.
“You know this is wrong.” Galahad pressed, swinging a desperate hand around the carnage. “Help me stop this slaughter and protect the innocent. Follow the code!”
Bedivere dropped the torch and raised his gun, pointing it at Galahad. The muzzle was shaking.
“Do it, then.” Galahad opened his arms, ready to die. “But don’t miss, because I’m not stopping, even if I have to go right through you.”
Bedivere hesitated for a second and then made his choice. Without saying a word, he dropped the gun too and took off running. He ran from the fighting and from Galahad and from his own demons. On the official rolls, he would be listed as presumed KIA. The youngest knight to die that day. The Martyr of Legion.
Galahad let him go. Mounting Uther’s horse, he wheeled towards the Rath.
“Stop!” He bellowed. “Stop shooting!”
But they weren’t going to stop. He knew it, even as he shouted. They would keep up the deadly assault until everyone was dead or they were forced to cease. So he improvised.
Galahad rode the horse into the path of the cannon, halting directly before the barrel of the weapon. Uncaring what the unnatural magic would do to him if they fired. The knights would have to shoot him before the fleeing gryphon. Before any more innocents died.
He sat there, Uther’s blood still staining his hands, and blocked the Rath. “Let them go!”
The King’s Men paused in their terrible work, unsure of what to do. Not wanting to blast their commander into dust.
“The next soldier who raises a gun, I will kill myself!” Galahad meant it with everything in him. “I will kill every fucking one of you before I let you murder another child.”
His furious words seemed to lessen the bloodlust. To bring back sanity to some of the men. Weapons slowly lowered, no one looking each other in the eye.
“The king said to destroy all the heathens!” Sir Perceval shouted back. His bigotry towards the gryphons ran the deepest. His sense of righteousness the most twisted. “The king’s orders…”
“Uther is dead.” Galahad interrupted, ignoring the shocked gasps and cries at the news. “His orders died with him. I am in command and I’m telling you to let the gryphon go.”
Perceval hesitated.
Galahad stared him down. “If you want to disobey me, get out… your fucking… sword.” It was a direct challenge, every word a snarl of repressed violence.
Perceval’s lips tightened, but he wasn’t stupid enough to want to fight Galahad. He backed away without reaching for his weapon.
And then the Battle of Legion was over.
In all, it took fifteen minutes --perhaps less-- to rip apart the world.
Afterwards, Galahad did what he could to protect the few survivors who were left. To give them safe passage to the mountains. But, it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. Nothing would ever atone for this day.
At the end of the chaos, when everything beautiful was dead and his honor was gone, Galahad watched the swirling black smoke for a long time. Watched it blot out the sunlight and darken the bright summer sky. Wishing he could run away like Bedivere had. Just run and run and never stop. How could Galahad ever go home to Gwen and Avi with so much blood on his hands?
In that moment, at his lowest point, he nearly succumbed to the sorrow. He was damned for what happened at Legion. He knew that. He should die right there with the others. What possible purpose did he have in the world, now? He should take his own life and be done with it.
Except, just then, a rocking-horsefly flittered by Galahad’s face. Its translucent wings shimmered like magic and, for no real reason, he thought of Lyrssa Highstorm giving him that bizarre mission. Speaking of a way back to the light. Promising a better world.
Telling him to find Atlantis.
Chapter Thirty-Two
So the results of last week’s poll are in.
Remember we asked: What do you think the graal looks like?
Fifty-six percent of you said “gun or sword.” Totally agree. Glad to see some of you are using your heads
Thirty percent of you said a “cup or bowl.” Idiots. All of ya. That’s obviously what the gryphons want you to think.
Eleven percent said “book or scroll.” God save me from intellectuals. You people are as vile as the winged devils.
And three percent of you answered “not sure.” Way to commit, folks.
Anyway, interesting stuff. For next week’s poll we’re asking another head-scratcher about the graal:
Do you think it will ever be found?
“Stopping the Savages” Podcast
Sir Dragonet of Camelot- Former Troubadour of King Uther and Host of the Program
Atlantis- Listeneise
Trystan burst out laughing.
It was the wrong reaction. He knew that even as the laughter overcame him. Killing Uther had surely been difficult for Galahad. The knight had loved Camelot’s king like a father, so it would’ve been distressing for him to gut the asshole on Legion’s battlefield. When Trystan eventually spoke to Galahad about the delightful slaughter of that sadistic madman, he would have to attempt to show empathy for the conflict the knight must have endured.
But Galahad wasn’t there, at the moment. And since hearing about Uther’s delightful slaughter was really, really delightful, Trystan gave into his emotions and laughed. He had never laughed before. At least not that he could recall.
It felt… freeing.
Bedivere blinked, shocked by Trystan’s reaction. Whether it was because gryphons weren’t supposed to have emotions or because he thought Uther’s demise needed to be regarded with more reverence was anyone’s guess.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” He demanded. “Galahad murdered King Uther. That bitch Lyrssa helped him cover up his crimes. She told Galahad he was super-goddamn-special and then flew away with Uther’s corpse. His boots fell off his body, as she dragged him through the air!”
Trystan laughed harder.
Of course it had all happened that way. Uther really should have seen it coming, lost boots and all. When Galahad got involved, nothing ever went to plan. If he didn’t hate the dead king so deeply, Trystan would almost feel… sorry for old Uther’s final moments. The sheer frustration the man must have felt! All his crazed scheming for power… All the heartless deaths… All the countless hours he’d wasted strategizing a flawless victory… Finally, Uther’s vicious tactics had paid off and he’d been poised to win.
And then Galahad went and fucked it all up for him.
Trystan’s shoulders shook with the force of his mirth, his bound hands wiping at his cheeks. It was hilarious. It would never not be hilarious. He now understood the appeal of “jokes,” because humor truly did lighten the soul.
“It’s not funny!” Bedivere screamed. “I was traumatized!” He pointed a finger at his own chest. “Just for a second, I almost bought into his lies. I almost helped him stand against my own kind. Galahad said, ‘Be a knight!’ and I almost believed…” He stopped and shook his head. “But, it was a trick. Uther’s plan to wipe out your monstrous race was right. Everything Galahad’s ever said is a lie.”
“I live a life of truth, dickhead.” Galahad snapped, walking down the stone steps and into Listeneise’s cellar. “So believe me when I tell you, I’m about to kick your ass.”
Trystan’s heart soared. He twisted his wrists, breaking the ropes binding him, eager to get on with his rescue. Having a knight in shining armor show up to save you was really quite exhilarating. He should let Galahad do it more often.
Bedivere paled, backing away from Galahad like he’d seen a ghost. “How the hell are you here?!” He jerked the Rath-gun up, frantically aiming it at the knight. “You’re not going to ruin this for me, too!”
Trystan grabbed hold of the cylindrical barrel, wrenching the weapon out of the other man’s hand before Bedivere had a chance to harm his mate. The moron would no doubt have failed anyway, but why take a chance? Trystan had seen what that weapon could do and it had no place in this world.
“I told you my ha’yan lived.” He murmured and tossed the gun off the edge of the cliff. It crashed against the rock-hard surface of the Looking Glass Pool shattering into pieces. “Perhaps you should run.” He arched a brow at the seething man. “You excel at that, yes?”
That was good advice. Bedivere didn’t take it.
“Kill him!” Bedivere screamed at his minions, ducking behind Trystan’s large body for safety. “Stop him, before he slaughters us all!”
The other men rushed forward, following Bedivere’s orders. They headed for Galahad, five against one. Trystan made a “tsk” sound. Terrible odds. The men were doomed.
Galahad ignored their approach, his attention on Trystan. “Are you okay?”
“I am fine, now that you are here to save me.” He scanned the knight up and down, admiring the water beading on Galahad’s muscular flesh and dripping from his shimmery hair. “You have come to ensure my liberation while wet?” He arched a suggestive brow. “I approve of this.”
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