by GR Griffin
“Do you think they’re Naiimen?”
“They are very old,” A foreign voice called out from the crowd flocking behind. The voice was laced with the strain of old-age and reminiscent mirth. Morgana and Gwen averted their attention to an old woman standing beside Hunith. “Before Naiimen times. It was once said that these tunnels saved many Druids in a time of great trial and war.”
“And so they will do again.” Gwen confirmed, allowing her resolve to break a little when she smiled down at Calhoun.
♦☼♦
Chaos was not quite the word for it. Uther had machines in the sky, machines on the land, mechanical methods of transportation that acted as defence for those inside. The first string of arrows, the signal, had barely made a scratch on the large aircraft. The rest of the plain was engulfed in war too, though it was difficult to see how extensive the damage was from up here. Lancelot had winced as one of the planes turned to them and unleashed endless streams of bullets upon them. The trees acted as shields. But many fell, not able to withstand the force. Elätha maintained his composure, expertly holding the bow in place whilst fastening a new arrow to it.
Many men were hit and as they fell slipped down into the Breguoin plain to their death. Many were beyond saving, too far to reach or either already dead. One archer hit on his shoulder beside Lancelot was rolling towards the edge. Reaching out, Lance tugged him back to his side.
“It’s okay.” He said, pushing his own teleporting device into the man’s hands. “Gaius and Alys will help you.” With that, the young wounded man disappeared, teleported to a safer part of the region.
The gunfire continued, and a majority of people tried to retreat in fear, realising they’d attacked something too strong.
“Hold your ground! We fight for Albion, for our freedom!” Elätha commanded, firing arrows effortlessly into the air. It still wasn’t enough to penetrate the metal beasts in the air. Swallowing-hard, Lancelot burrowed into the trees, spewing arrows from his bow gracefully. Then suddenly the earth was shaking as all around him fire and explosions reigned. Smoke began to rise, deteriorating their vision. Lancelot turned to Elätha, or at least where he thought the man was.
“They’re trying to blind the archers,” he called to the Clan leader, pausing to cough aggressively against the smoke. “You need to clear it!”
Swallowing-hard, Elätha gazed over to the crowd of archers still fighting. He had no magic! This wasn’t something a man without magic could clear. Catching one of their eyes, he didn’t hesitate.
“Clear the smoke! We’ll keep shooting!”
The men instantly began muttering spells; one of the Elders raised a palm. Within a second the smoke cleared allowing them to see all that was before them. Oncoming onslaughts were unfortunately included. The ground vibrated once again, pelted with missiles and artillery. Ducking, Lance covered his ears with his hands, glancing around cautiously. They were being demolished, literally. He turned to Elätha. He didn’t have time to yell, only act. He pushed the man down onto the ground. Seconds later, fire and destruction absorbed the spot Elätha had been standing on. Catching his breath, the clan leader gaped at the tower of fire in his place.
“Thank you Lancelot.” He said, instantly reaching back for his bow and arrow.
One arrow fired by an archer nearby, consumed in flames, plunged into one of the helicopters. It was violent enough to devour the whole machine. The helicopter fell down onto the plain, exploding pugnaciously on the ground and sending a few people sprawling outwards from the blast. A few archers cheered at the victory, regaining their spirit and firing more avidly. It could be done! Lancelot sent Elätha a look of caution as they both noticed another vessel approaching their defences.
“We can bring it down.” Elätha assured, hauling an arrow towards it.
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.” Lancelot said with a slight smile, studying the trees carefully. Confused, Elätha continued firing, eyes never leaving the battle. Getting onto his feet, Lance drew forward a vine hanging from a tree and stood beside the Clan leader. “We need to lure it closer.”
“Why?” Elätha asked dismally gesturing over to a spot to their left where evidence of a collision left scars on the ground, blood and horrendous death. The helicopter flew closer to the edge of the land naturally, opening fire on many archers who thought they were succeeding in bringing it down.
“Those Helicopters are piled with guns and weapons.” He explained, reaching for an arrow and aiming at it. “We could do with a little help, keep shooting, I’ve got this.”
Then Lancelot did something Elätha wasn’t sure could be called stupid or brave, in fact the only word he could think was noble. He leapt off the land with the momentum the vine gave him. All of a sudden, he was clinging onto the metal railings at the bottom of the helicopter. He had jumped onto the enemy aircraft! He was dangling in mid-air.
Elätha watched in horror. The men in the helicopter registered the change in weight. One opened the door. It gave Elätha a perfect chance. Without hesitation he aimed with precision. Hoisting himself up into the Helicopter, Lance dived into combat with one of the men on board. Elätha watched helplessly, firing arrows at the window in hope of distracting them. Lancelot was strong, that was for sure. He fought valiantly and swiftly, never adding any unnecessary flourishes to his actions. All that remained was the man driving the Helicopter. It was only then Lancelot realised his crucial mistake.
The driver steered away from the edge of the archers, and over the plain. At first the Helicopter swerved violently. Lance stumbled forwards. Desperately, he clung tightly to the sides of the aircraft, knowing that the door was open. If at the wrong angle – he would fall. Elätha got to his feet, reaching for an arrow. He gritted his teeth as he reached behind to his pouch. He was out of arrows. With one swift movement, he reached for the arrows that one of the deceased had left. But by then he was too late. It was unclear where Lancelot was in the mesh of black dominating the sky.
However, it was clear that Uther’s men had lost interest in the archers decoy manoeuvre and were now focusing on the ground battalion, exactly what the archers were trying to prevent! Rushing forwards, taking his sword from his belt, Elätha shouted towards the remaining archers.
“Summon your Wyverns if you are riders - take to the skies! Or take to the ground, we must help our brothers quickly, they’ve foiled our plan!”
With that Elätha descended down into the forest; the others followed behind him. There was no time to waste. The ground battalion needed more men, and fast.
♦☼♦
When Uther’s men breached Gwaine and the first line of defence, Laísrean and Rægan promptly ran forwards into battle with the second line. The cries of ‘For Albion’ almost overpowered the sound of the machinery ahead. The shouting quickly dwindled as the soldiers ahead opened fire, knocking down men mercilessly. Now the plain was so mingled it was difficult to see who was friend and who was foe amongst the vast action and annihilation. Magic was rife on the plain. Every second bright flashes of vivid light spurted from different spots. Some spells were more for show than others, creating extravagant patterns in the sky. The Elders were conjuring deep and dark spells, crumbling anyone who dared stand in the way of them.
While that was fine, great even, Gwaine couldn’t help but feel like the missing link. For he didn’t have magic, and he had no way of defending himself other than with a sword. It was adequate, but against guns – it was futile. Nonetheless, to his relief, it seemed to be doing the trick. He mentally thanked Arthur for all those times he’d dragged Gwaine to the gym against his will, because his stealth and speed really was important right now. He spun around, sword slashing against skin. He sprinted through the mass army of darkness, knocking down those he could and narrowly avoiding the brunt of those he couldn’t beat.
Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving him down forcefully. He rolled out of harm’s way frantically, leaping back onto his feet before they could m
ake their assault. His opponent seemed hesitate and that was more than enough for Gwaine to work with. Grinning, he lunged for the gun.
“I can tell you’re from Camelot alright,” He remarked, whacking the gun against the man’s shoulder, pushing him to the ground. “You’re too reserved for this kind of thing.” Resorting to knocking the man out, Gwaine gazed down.
It worried him. Some of the men here weren’t trained; they clearly weren’t comfortable with weapons. Yet they were fighting…against their will perhaps. Noticing the shadow looming behind him, Gwaine spun around and met the man’s eyes. He only had a second between plunging his sword into one man to defend himself from another. Spinning around dexterously he quickly hoisted the gun from the corpse’s side. He didn’t hesitate opening fire. These people had killed thousands of Druids already; they had destroyed Ealdor. They would not rest until Albion was ashes.
Sword in his good hand, gun slung over his shoulder, Gwaine continued forwards. As he did the Camelot barrier melted into disorder, the Druids behind trailed after him. He didn’t spare a glance back to the men; afraid of what he might see. Unexpectedly, his feet met no ground. He gazed down in shock. Shit. Merlin had warned them all about the special traps of Breguoin – it’s secret crevasses. He reached out for the edge of the earth, gripping tightly to it. A pair of arms hoisted him back onto the land cogently. He met those familiar brown eyes, laughing a little. It was the Druid from Ghedent, a man he’d gotten on well with the past few weeks.
“Hogań! About time.” He retorted to the man beside him, patting him on the shoulder.
“A thank you would have been nice.” The man said with an eye-roll whilst disarming an enemy too close for his liking with magic.
“Well this isn’t nice, we’re in the middle of a war. We can be nice as much as you want later when this is over.”
Groaning, Hogań felt his lips betray him. He’d learnt pretty quickly that Gwaine’s sense of humour had no bounds, sometimes totally flirtatious in nature. Still he held his own.
“Remind me why I saved you.”
“Sweetheart,” Gwaine teased light-heartedly. “Don’t be like that.”
As Gwaine got back onto his feet, he realised something. They were surrounded. Swallowing-hard, Gwaine clutched the gun in his hands. One glance behind him revealed the extent of their predicament; the crevasse was jumpable, but you would need a bit of a runway first. They definitely didn’t have enough space for that.
“So we’re a bit stuck.” He deduced, eyeing the group of men who had started to saunter towards them.
“Yeah, just a little bit.” The youthful Druid beside him sardonically said.
Glancing over his shoulder, Hogań frowned. His frown grew as the men grew closer, hands moving to their weapons.
“Think we can make it?” he asked, vaguely pointing behind him with feigned optimism.
“No.” Gwaine admitted. Nudging the Druid, he winked. “But it’s worth a shot wouldn’t you say?”
♦☼♦
The tunnel bled out into a large ancient chamber, which had a network of tunnels protruding from it. Due to the obscurity caused by lack of light, it was hard to tell just how big the chamber was. Morgana titled the flame torch towards a peculiar crease in the wall that appeared to continue around the whole circumference. Instantly, a ring of fire surrounded the chamber, illuminating its secrets. The area was vast, allowing enough room for hundreds of people to sit comfortably without having to huddle. Stepping aside, Gwen gently nudged Calhoun forwards who them encouraged the other children to enter the room. Laughter erupted from some of the children who sat down to rest their feet. It felt safe, peaceful. Alongside Morgana and Gwen, many young women and men had offered to help protect the vulnerable. Keita was one of them.
“We’ll be safe here.” She said with a smile, holding a hand to the amber pendant on her neck. “My magic can feel it.”
There seemed to be mutual agreement amongst everybody. Taking a step forwards Gwen turned to the large group of volunteers.
“As you can see, there are seven tunnels that lead to this chamber. We need to ensure the children don’t wander off into the tunnels. At least one person should watch each tunnel entrance at all times, and a scout can monitor the tunnel exit. But don’t wander too far, we don’t know if every tunnel is safe.” She explained. Instantly the volunteers took their positions, the extra people spilled out into the chamber to check on the children and Elderly.
Turning to Morgana, Gwen gestured towards the tunnel they had come from. Understanding and willing to comply, Morgana’s eyes flashed gold. This was something she could do. An arrow inscribed itself into the stone in front of the tunnel, ensuring they would not lose their bearings. Conversation broke out in the chamber, and seconds later, it was almost as if they were back in Iaonem again. All aside from the occasional strident booms that resounded into the tunnels. Gwen frowned, pressing a hand to her temple in concern. Her friends were out there now, fighting for survival.
“All we can do is protect the People here.” Morgana said soothingly, recognising her worry. Pressing a hand to Gwen’s shoulder, she smiled sincerely. “These people need us, they need you.”
Nodding in response, Gwen smiled sadly.
“I just…I hope they’re okay.”
“Me too Gwen, me too.”
♦☼♦
Young, audacious, Raegan had heard Arthur Pendragon speak of the strange mechanical beasts called aircraft the men from the other world travelled in back at Iaonem many days ago. He had also heard that they had a magic of their own, only it wasn’t magic at all and it certainly wasn’t used for good. Their ‘magic’ came in the form of condensed compounds and elements of the earth, the universe, all mounded together into more strange mechanisms. These were far stronger than any sword, any bow of sacred arrow. It was a dark and powerful force that they wielded with recklessness and greed.
He only had to wait an hour or so, standing on the edge of the defence line in Breguoin before he truly could understand the strength and colossal damage these weapons were capable of. Elätha’s archers had given the signal, firing down arrows onto the army below. Without hesitation the Druids ran forwards. Raegan, the young heir of the Balegkor Clan, bolted towards the enemy, axe in hand. He’d never liked swords much. They were dainty, yes. But they never could quite do the work an axe could. An axe could fell a rotten tree in seconds and save it from slow decay, a sword could not! Nonetheless, Ragean had never actually fought in warfare before. Albion had been from war for centuries.
Yet as he swung his axe forcefully, he found his assumptions had been correct. The gun was knocked from his opponent’s hands before it could fire. To his left another enemy approached. They fired. Swiftly, Raegan spun around. His eyes flashed gold, throwing a handful of men beside him to the ground. His axe deflected the bullet as it clanked against it. It ricocheted against the thick, heavy metal. It hit the man who had made the shot, tossing his inanimate body to the ground brutally. Without hesitation, he strode forwards, effortlessly cleaving through anyone who dared enter his pathway. He fought ferociously for Albion, for Keita, for his mother. Now, with his Axe in hand, he felt more of a man than a young boy of merely fifteen.
That feeling lasted less than a second as a tall, brute man lunged towards him opening fire. Caught off-guard by the action, Raegan’s eyes widened. His heart was racing, the bullets surely headed straight for him. He didn’t even have time to use his Axe as a shield. He clamped his eyes shut, awaiting the hit. But none came. Opening his eyes, he gaped at the sight. The attacker was on the ground. Standing above them was a feisty young woman. She grinned over her shoulder at him. Raegan rolled his eyes, oh yes. He’d heard all about Zelina. She stalked towards him, knocking a few opponents out the way absently with her harnessed, skilful magic. Reaching him, she raised her eyebrows.
“I just saved your life Raegan.” She admitted proudly, clearly pleased with herself. Then it all descended into chaos. “Now you have t
wo options on how to thank me. One, kiss me or two…” she paused for a moment, holding a finger to her chin comically. Having decided upon the second option, she shrugged. “Kiss me-”
“-I’m sorry,” he said, blushing. He leapt backwards in alarm. He knocked a man behind him to the ground as he did so, amusing the girl beside him. “My heart belongs to another.”
“I should have known.” She groaned tetchily, pushing past him to fight the men who were approaching them. And unsure exactly why, Raegan followed her, swinging his axe and conjuring spells whilst she exerted by magical and physical force upon their enemies. The three men that had surrounded them now lay in a heap on the floor.
Gazing down, she frowned. “It’s a shame you know,” Raegan ducked out the way of a bullet, too high on adrenaline to question her words. She explained anyway.
“We make quite a pair.”
He didn’t answer, staring at the strange girl before him with vast bewilderment he could not conceal. But there was no time to stand still. Abruptly the pair plunged back into motion. They fought back to back gallantly, making their way towards Gilli of Saerion who had found himself in a little predicament. Finishing off their final opponent, the pair surged forwards and struck down the enemy brutally. Gilli gazed up at the pair. Smiling, Zelina outstretched her hand, hoisting him to his feet.
“I just saved your life,” she ignored Raegan’s protests from behind, somehow still managing to fight oncoming threats whilst flirting. “You have two options on how to thank me. One, kiss me. Two…” Rolling his eyes Raegan flung his axe around in the air, knocking down a string of people in a single thwack. He didn’t have to turn around to know what she was about to say.
“…Kiss him.”
Or so he thought.
♦☼♦
“You’re in trouble now!” the man steering the helicopter sneered, reaching for the gun in his pocket.
The aircraft jolted in the air as he used one hand to navigate, the other shooting over his shoulder aimlessly at his intruder. Barely missing the random shots firing his way, Lancelot kept his focus. Determinedly, he attached guns around his belt, slinging one over his shoulder. A few grenades slipped into his pockets. These weapons would help the land battalion greatly. The helicopter lurched again. The motion sent him sprawling forwards, this time with nowhere to land. He rolled off the edge of the floor, hands clutching desperately onto the metallic rails.