“Nevertheless, Mordred-who-would-be-king, you need the aid of my master Oberon. You need us,just as much – nay, even more so– than you need the help of the barbarian hordes below your window. Without us, the Sons would be in your bower even now, and would have brought you to task.” The Cambion moved his hands this way and that as he spoke, as if he were casting new spells on Mordred. The son of Arthur dismissed him with a laugh of his own.
“Your aid is important, but not essential. You expedite my claim, but my victory is inevitable. Arthur’s quest for just causes and noble goals is his undoing. See here.” Mordred gestured to the map of England on his table, pointing with his still drawn sword. “In the isles to the north, Sir Gawain and Sir Aelfric are waylaid in a futile attempt to defend the Abbess and her nuns from Ragnar Lodbrok’s men. In the south, Arthur himself and the thrice-cursed Lancelot are across the sea engaged with the Romans, who themselves are fighting the Gauls and the Goths. Neither party can turn their backs on their work in an effort to face me for fear that their gizzards will be split by knives in the dark.”
Anebos regarded the map with little interest. It had been crafted from fine material, embroidered with gold and pictures finely stitched showing dragons, sea monsters and the notable towns. The Cambion needed no maps to find his way; fire and blood and shadows made secret paths for him, took him anywhere he wished.
“So why, my Lord, did we spend the lives of Erandur’s goblin riders so cheaply? If your forces are so well massed, so indomitable, why not let the Sons of The Round Table merely march into your waiting army? Why have I been spying on this child archer?”
Mordred said nothing, but turned his back on the undead creature. His cloak rippled over his shoulders, a wave of black scale and ermine. Mordred felt no compulsion to tell Anebos the intricacies of harassment and tactics. The foul beast was a useful tool, but no more, and his loyalties did not lie with his aims, but with those of Oberon. It would not do well to share too much information with it. Instead, Mordred again turned to the map and smiled.
“Erandur, yes. He will do nicely. Kendal is three days’ ride from where he was last camped, yes? Send him, and as many creatures that are under his command. Attack Kendal. Slay its defenders. Bring me the heads of the Sons who man the battlements. Tell him to preserve the lives of the peasants, villains and serfs, but slay all noblemen of fighting age. Understand?” Mordred finally sheathed his long sword, flourishing the blade slightly. Anebos bowed.
“It shall be done, Lord Mordred. I question, though. Why spare the minions? They are worthless lives, tilling the soil. Why not butcher them all, to show your might?” This question Mordred did not mind disclosing some of his thoughts upon. He shook his head at Anebos.
“Creature, you who are not living would never be able to understand it. The chattels are not my enemies. They care not that one king wars against another, nor even that faerie and devils walk the lands. So long as they are left alone, as much as can be expected, they will be happy. In any case, if I slaughter every villager between here and Camelot, it will be a mean country that I rule. Who will tend the livestock and grow the vegetable and grain we eat? No, I will not sack the land. Your Lord Oberon aids me for his own mysterious reasons, and he knows that I accept his aid to preserve the life of my subjects. For so long as Oberon heeds that these lands are mine, these people are mine, then we have an accord. If any of your faefolk, ghouls, elves, monsters or goblins forget this, then Faerie King or nay, he shall be slain by my own hand with a hammer blow to make all witches tremble on their brooms.”
Mordred stalked from the room, leaving the Cambion behind, slamming the heavy door behind him. His exchanges with the undead creature always put him into a foul mood. Mordred disliked witchcraft, despite the circumstances of his own birth. The morning meal had been cleared away, save for his own cooling plate and goblet. Lodbrok and the clan chieftains were lounging back in the ornate chairs at the table, and sat up a little straighter at Mordred’s approach.
“Yarl Lodbrok,” Mordred said, “I have a task for you. The town of Kendal is to be attacked three nights hence by our allies. Send your fastest riders to support them. Report back to me with full haste, I wish to know all that transpires.”
The burly Viking stood and clenched a fist on his muscle bound, iron-strong chest. “I shall go myself, King Mordred. Which allies do you speak of? I thought we were all here, camped with these savage clans.”
The Pict translated the Viking’s joke to his fellows, and the chieftains boomed their laughter around the hall. They fell silent when Mordred replied, “Devils, demons and the fires of hell. Those are our allies this day, Yarl Lodbrok. See that you are careful not to get burned.”
***
Earth
Just then, a wild wind rustled the tree tops loudly. Naida put her finger to her lips in a signal for Rhys to be quiet. He looked at her questioningly but said nothing. The wind quieted and then a clear giggle could be heard on the breeze. The sound rang true like the ringing of a silver bell.
“Minerva!” Naida said firmly.“Is that you?”
“It is I,” a voice replied, but no one could be seen.
“Show yourself to us, you nasty eavesdropper!” Naida was genuinely upset at her friend. “Faery should really seek to show a better display of manners than that.” She hurriedly let go of Rhys’ hands and stood up.
The wind picked up the pace again and suddenly, a gust blew a large amount of leaves into the clearing. As the leaves were carried by the wind, they started to form a whirlwind which tunneled upward until it reached a man’s height. Rhys was awestruck; he sat watching the spectacle with his jaw dropped.
“Close your mouth, Rhys,” Naida commanded. “It is just Minerva. She is not just listening in on conversations today; apparently she is also showing off.”
The leaves soon gathered into a neat column and then took the form of a beautiful green woman.
“Rhys, this is the image of my dear friend, Minerva. I spoke of her earlier.”
Rhys got to his feet and made a bow to the leafy lady. She curtsied back politely.
“How do you do, my lady?” he asked.
“How do you do, kind sir?” Minerva replied tentatively. She was unsure if he would be able to hear her in her verdant state.
“Why have you come here, Minerva?” Naida asked. “It must be urgent; otherwise you are being purposefully uncouth.”
“Well, Naida dearest, although I do love a bit of mischief in the morning, it is rather urgent.” She paused purely for effect. “Titania is searching for you. There’s some sort of gathering happening in the throne room. Dozens of faefolk from all over have come to speak with Mab. Even the minor rulers have gathered to hear their concerns.”
“It could get rather serious if she thinks I am hiding from court. I am glad you came yourself instead of trying to reach me some other way. Do you think we need to make our way back now?”
“I’d rather we did,” she said quickly, inclining her head in Rhys’ direction. “I really need to know what all the fuss is about. I saw the envoys arriving, Naida. It doesn’t seem to me that all these different factions of fae are just making a casual visit to court. It’s better we get back before any other of her messengers appears here in the glen. I fear for exposing the human boy to more than he may be able to cope with.”
“He knows a lot more about these things than you give him credit for, Minerva. After all, he does live at the court of Morgana.”
“Really?” Minerva blurted out, her eyes widening in marvel. “You live in Avalon? What is it like? Is Morgana as lovely as she is in the pictures? And as powerful as they say?”
Rhys smiled at the barrage of questions.
“Don’t answer her, Rhys. She is too inquisitive for her own good. I shall see to Minerva’s questions when we return home.” Turning back to her friend she said, “The conversation is ended. Go on back to Eon; I will be on my way shortly.”
“I’ll see you soon then.”
>
“Yes, Minerva. I will see you soon. Goodbye.”
Instantaneously, the leaves lost animation and fell to the ground. Then a breeze took them up and swept them out of the clearing.
“Miraculous.”
“It is, is it not? Poor Rhys, you have been bombarded by so many ethereal happenings in these past few days. A lesser man would have gone completely mad by now.”
“Naida, dear, it would take a better effort than that to send me into madness.”
The easy banter helped to relax them both after Minerva’s surprising visit, but it was clear that the conversation had troubled Naida.
“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, noting a slightly worried look on her face.
“I will be in a moment. My mind is disturbed by Minerva’s words. Truth be told, Rhys, I am rather petrified of Titania. She is a devious old wraith.”
She breathed deeply and shook her head.
“If she is suspicious about my recent behavior or absences from Eon, she could cause much trouble for me. Distract me, love. Ask me questions.”
Rhys was taken aback by her use of the descriptive for him, but he was far too flattered to make a point of it.
Love, he thought, but instead said, “Well then, tell me, Naida of the Lake, what of your family? Do you have an ancestry as well or do faeries exist out of sheer magic like the stars?”
“Ah, a lovely query; this could take me hours.”
“I truly hope it does. I enjoy your stories immensely.”
“Well, firstly, faeries are not born of magic; we have parents and lineage just as humans do. We speak an ancient language that never had a name but as a result of the war, it was decided that, just as the word ‘faery’ was used to describe all magical creatures in nature, so would the word ‘elvish’ be used to describe all the dialects of our language both written and spoken. I am from a family known as the Brannon vuin, a sort of noble-serving class. My predecessors have been serving at the royal court since time began; of course that meant some of my family sided with Oberon after the war and went to Arcadia with him. They were the entire lineage of my Inyanosse, my mothers’ family.”
“Everyone?” Rhys interrupted. “All these elvish words are starting to get me confused.”
Naida sighed deeply before she answered him.
“Most faery families were divided by the war, Rhys. According to our customs, those who turned their backs on Eon and the service of humanity were forgotten by those that remained. We do not speak their names, nor do we refer to them using any terms of respect in any language of the universe. My mother, Itheilwen, is the second born of the only three inya of her family to remain. The other two are her sisters, Merilwen and Aranel. When inya get married, they are removed from their old family and joined to their new one. So, my mother’s entire family left Eon and followed Oberon, except the inya who were already married and whose new families had chosen to stay. The lineage of my Hanwanosse, my father’s family, stayed with Mab electively. That was long before my time, but my mother still speaks of what happened to her family as if it were yesterday.
“The Brannon vuin are the valets, pages and ladies in waiting of the Ernil vuin, our ruling class. After the war, our assigned duties were extended to include the Queens’ guard and the heads of house, which are the Queen’s chamberlain, Queen’s secretary, head housekeeper, head cook and head steward. My mother, Itheilwen, was Titania’s chief lady before she married my father. When she married my father, her younger sister, Aranel, took up the position. Her elder sister, my aunt Merilwen, has been in Queen Mab’s service for as long as I can remember. She thought she would be replaced when she was married, but Mab insisted that she stay with her until Merilwen had conceived her first child, which my aunt has never managed to do, so she is still chief lady to the Queen. My uncle thinks it is a proper conspiracy between the two women in order to remain in each other’s company, while he remains without an heir. You should see the sideways glances Merilwen and Mab get from him every evening at supper. The way Uncle Herion rolls his eyes at them; one day they will roll right out of his head and down the table.”
She paused to laugh heartily at that, feeling very happy with herself for the last comment. He watched as she covered her mouth with her hand shyly in an effort to hide how vigorously she was laughing. He smiled as he saw tears form at the corners of her eyes and spill over as her fit of laughter continued. Rhys cleared his throat as her laughing slowly hiccupped to a stop.
“Excuse me, I do not know what came over me just now.”
“I believe it is called making a jest, Naida. It was quite a good one too.”
“Well, Rhys,” Naida said, looking up at the sun, “I think our time is at its end. I don’t know when we will see each other like this again. There are not many magical places remaining that I know of between here and Kendal, but should you really need me, remember that you only have to find a body of water and look into it with the moon shining over your shoulder. Call for me and I will come.”
Just as suddenly as her face had appeared in the clear water of the pool, it melted away from sight.
Chapter Two
Eon
Light swam like water through the court of the Seelie, motes of gold diving and swirling, resting hither and thither on the wings and ears of faefolk and alighting on the throne upon which Queen Mab sat. Mab listened to the reports of her subjects. The Ashrays brought tales from the north of England, tales of Scottish glens that crept and stank and polluted the lochs in which they made their dwellings. Boggans, the peat dwellers, crept in twos and threes, still coated in mud. Unused to high court, the dirty and unhandsome creatures told tales of black riders on red eyed wolves, goblins most likely. A cavalcade of house brownies arrived in the afternoon, bearing tales of burned houses of the good Picts and Celts who refused Mordred’s call.
It was the tales of the morose will o’ the wisp of Ayrshire that finally made up the mind of the court unanimously. The wisp’s flame was so low, it was barely brighter than the dancing light around her, and she had not ceased her weeping since her arrival.
“My queen, noble Seelie Fae, I swear to you that Lord Oberon moves against us all. He aids the man who would be king, and grants access to all manner of evil into the realm of men.”
The high courtiers of the faefolk who sat to the right and left of Queen Mab said nothing, until one Salamander, burning bright, said, “My dear Will-Wisp, remember that beauty is life, and that love conquers all. There is no need to cry over the affairs of mortal wars. They come, they go, surely you have seen them fight again, and again. Nothing really changes. Even if Oberon is aiding this Mordred, son of Arthur, what is it to us?”
The court murmured gently, mostly in agreement. The affairs of men were quite dull, unless it was a romantic affair or a beautiful deed or a broken heart in autumn. The Will o’ the Wisp flared a little brighter, her anger fueling the faelight within her. “Fire-Drake, you would know little of change, sitting up there on your princeling chair.” She turned about in the court, catching the eyes of the dozens of petitioners behind her. “These goodly fae are but the first of what will be the tide of souls seeking refuge and succor if you do nothing. Queen Mab, will you not hear the pleas of your people? The world of men will burn, and Oberon uses Mordred as the spark. Long ago, the Unseelie Court was forbidden from interfering with mortal affairs; what is this, if not a breach of that covenant? My queen, I beseech thee, you must act!”
The salamander lord, resplendent in his red robes and wings of living flame, jumped to his feet and soared into the air, ready to strike down the Wisp for her temerity.
Queen Mab spoke, her voice carried into the very minds of all present.
“Peace, Tinaraden. Unleash no fire in this place. I hear your concerns, all of you. I would hear the words of Oberon Wind-Waker, Oberon Cloud-Splitter. Uncover the Seeing Glass,” she said, standing and moving around the dais where the Seelie Court sat. On the eastern wall of the great chamber hung a mir
ror, taller than any fae and covered with a curtain spun of countless spider webs. Two attendant faeries flew up to the top of the chamber and unhooked the curtain from where it hung, revealing the polished obsidian surface of the Seeing Glass. Mab took her place in front of the mystical mirror and the court shifted and fluttered behind her to get a good position to see what would happen. With a wave of her regal hand, Mab changed the glass to water, then fire, then a cloud brimming with winter rain. The clouds parted, and there was Lord Oberon of the Unseelie Court, cloaked in royal purple over an armor suit of ebony and gold. There were gasps from behind Queen Mab to see the one time King of the Fae so bedecked for war.
“So, is it true, Oberon?” Mab said. “You make plans to bring war upon us all.”
Oberon smiled knowingly. “War is merely the manifestation of change, my love. The affairs of men should not concern you; your lands are safe. There will be no assault on you, or your court.”
“You have been forbidden from using your influence on Earth,” Mab said grimly. “You stand in violation of your oaths of compliance, and bring death and destitution to men and earth-dwelling faeries. You swore to never again meddle in the wars of men.”
Oberon laughed. “Hypocrisy, my Queen Mab? I thought you of anyone was above such things, but then I remember that you always were capricious when it came to which laws you obeyed, and which you merely enforced.”
“What do you mean? No fae under my command has done what you have done. These spirits tend houses, marshal the flows of streams, lamplight the lochs and glens. What crimes have they committed? To be driven from their homes afore the tides of goblins and their ilk, this is bad comedy, Lord Oberon. You know that to interfere with Earth is to put the balance of all realms at risk, and jeopardize everything that we – that I – have created.”
Sons of Camelot: The Complete Trilogy Page 18