The Gallant (Star Legend Book 3)

by J. J. Green

  “No, it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t understand a word. It’s nice to speak Welsh with all of you, though.” She was growing uncomfortable with the conversation. She didn’t like to think about Arthur. At the mention of his name, in her mind’s eye she saw him sweeping through the crowd of Crusaders, a juggernaut of death and destruction, or she saw him leaning on his reddened sword at the foot of Dwyr Orr’s platform, covered head to toe in blood and gore.

  This was the reality of Arthur’s time, she realized. Not the romantic tales of knights jousting at tournaments and rescuing fair maidens from tall towers. It had been a terrible time, a time of war, battles, and thousands of men dying in agony. And when the battles were over, peasants would search the bodies for things to steal. Then rats and crows would move in to feast on them.

  She shivered and checked the position of the sun.

  “Shouldn’t we be leaving soon?” she suggested.

  “Yes, you’re right,” said Meilyr. “Pack up, everyone.”

  “Maybe you could tell us some of Arthur’s stories while we walk,” Marc suggested to Taylan.

  Meilyr answered for her. “No, we walk in silence, as quietly as we can. We’re nearing the bridge, and that means plenty of Crusaders will be in the area, heading for Ynys Mon. If they hear the local language being spoken, they’ll come straight for us.”

  Marc pulled a face, but he didn’t protest.

  Taylan knew how he felt. Some stories would have alleviated some of the boredom of the long night’s walk. But Meilyr was right. The closer they got to Bryn Celli Ddu, the more careful they would need to be.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kala opened the door to Perran’s cabin. As she’d expected, she found her son asleep. After stepping softly to his bed, she gently shook him by the shoulder. When his eyes opened, she held a finger to her lips.

  “Wh-what’s going on?” he asked sleepily.

  “We’re going on a secret trip.”

  His large, dark eyes widened. “Where to? And why’s it a secret?”

  “It’s more fun this way,” she replied. “We’re going home. I want you to pack only your most essential things, then we’ll go to the shuttle bay. Hurry up.”

  She’d already packed what she needed for the journey to Earth. She guessed Morgan wouldn’t discover that she and Perran had left the ship for several hours—she’d seen her take another member of the crew into her cabin only a few minutes ago—so now was her best chance for a long head start.

  As she waited for Perran to gather the clothes and trinkets that were important to him, she wrinkled her nose at the memory of Morgan inviting the man in. How disgusting. There had been plenty of times she’d been tempted to do the same. Leading the Crusade was a lonely occupation. But she had a position to uphold, standards to maintain. If she indulged herself, word would soon get out the Dwyr didn’t view what happened at the ceremonies to be a sacred act, that she was as base and ordinary as the next person. A single instance of indiscretion could mean the loss of her demigod-like status forever.

  She had never explained Morgan’s presence to her followers, but they had to perceive her as a close ally. As such, she should echo the Dwyr’s behavior. Morgan was jeopardizing everything Kala had worked so hard for, just to satisfy her carnal needs.

  “I’m ready,” said Perran, carrying a bag as he walked toward her.

  “Good boy.”

  “Are we going back to the last castle we were at?”

  “Yes, the one where you made a friend. You’ll be able to see her again. If she isn’t awake when we arrive, I’ll have her woken up and brought out to play with you.”

  Kala wasn’t sure what time of day or night it would be when they reached West BI.

  “Is Morgan coming too?” Perran asked as they left his cabin.

  “Um, no. She’s staying here. This trip’s only for us.”

  “So she doesn’t know the secret?”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  Perran had been growing closer to Morgan over the weeks they’d spent aboard the Belladonna. Kala was certain their deepening relationship was entirely Morgan’s doing. It was possible she only saw Perran as a substitute for her own son, who Arthur had murdered, but Kala suspected the woman had a bigger ambition in mind.

  Her days as Dwyr were numbered if she didn’t act. If she could just get to her books, she might learn how to defeat the interloper.

  Perran looked troubled as they quickly walked the quiet passageways.

  “Don’t worry,” said Kala. “Morgan won’t mind that we’re leaving. When she finds out we’re gone, she’ll think it’s so funny, she’ll laugh and laugh.”

  Perran didn’t seem convinced. “Will we see her again?”

  “Of course, darling. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  Kala imagined Morgan back in a cave, thousands of meters below ground, trapped forever. Unable to die, she would probably go mad eventually.

  The shuttle bay was open and empty. She’d only informed one of the pilots she wanted to return to Earth. She didn’t know how far Morgan’s tentacles extended through the crew. Recruiting people to spy on her and report her doings would be exactly the kind of thing the woman would do. She’d had to take a chance the pilot wasn’t one of the spies.

  She told Perran to climb the steps.

  Once they were both inside, her racing heart began to slow. The pilot only had to complete the pre-flight checks, then they would be on their way.

  Another big chance she was taking was that Morgan wouldn’t arrive at the castle before her. It wouldn’t take a genius to guess where she was going, and Morgan had the capability to travel through space without the need for a vessel to convey her.

  That had been one of the capabilities Kala had thirsted deeply to learn. To know how to dissolve into a mist, to alter one’s molecular structure while retaining the ability to move at will, and to survive the rigors of space! That would be something worth knowing. She would have loved to see the look on Ua Talman’s face when she appeared at the Bres, alone with no shuttle. It would have wiped that condescending, self-satisfied smirk off his face.

  But it was not to be.

  She sighed.

  “Ready to depart, ma’am?” came the pilot’s voice over the intercom.

  “Yes!” she called out. “I’m ready. Stop wasting time.”

  Irritably, she fastened her seat belt and told Perran to do the same.

  The hatch closed, sealing them in. Just another few seconds, and they would be underway.

  Kala waited impatiently for the engines to fire.

  Silence.

  What was the pilot doing? Didn’t the man understand her haste? It was so hard to find reliable, intelligent staff.

  “Would you please hurry up!” she shouted.

  Nothing.

  No, not nothing. She could hear movement in the pilot’s cabin. It was the sound of something heavy being dragged over the floor.

  Two figures appeared at the cabin door: the pilot, his head hanging at a crazy angle and his tongue protruding, and Morgan, her hand fastened around his neck. She had one arm outstretched, holding the man upright so his arms and legs hung loose, his knees bent as he was taller than her. Had been taller than her.

  Kala couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak.

  Perran calmly unfastened his seat belt, got up, and walked to Morgan’s side.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but I don’t want to leave without Morgan. She’s fun, more fun than my friend on Earth.”

  “Thank you for telling me what your mother was doing,” Morgan said to him. “You were right, it was a very silly joke. I don’t think it’s funny that you two would sneak away without me. In fact, I find it very rude.”

  She addressed her final comment to Kala, her tone turning harsh.

  She turned to Perran. “Do you think it was rude?”

  Perran nodded gravely, holding eye contact with Kala.

  “What happens when people are rude?�
� Morgan asked.

  “They have to be punished.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. What a clever boy you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Crossing to Ynys Mon was going to be impossible without being seen. The tides in the Afon Menai were strong and fast, and even if they could have swum across at night, the water would damage the equipment they were carrying. They would have to go over the bridge. But so many Crusaders were arriving for the festival, there was never time it was empty.

  Taylan and the brothers had watched the road for hours. Hordes of people were turning up. Meilyr had originally estimated a few thousand would celebrate midsummer at Bryn Celli Ddu. They’d been forced to revise that figure to tens of thousands.

  The numbers increased their chances of being caught exponentially. On the other hand, if they were successful, the effects would be even more calamitous.

  They waited until dark. That way, their clothes would not easily be seen. Though they resembled Crusaders physically, the cult members dressed differently. The Resistance fighters wore the industrially manufactured attire of the time before the invasion, while Crusaders seemed to prefer homespun, hand dyed textiles and handmade clothes.

  How they planned on keeping up that habit while also eating all the sheep, Taylan had never figured out.

  After debating whether to cross in a group or individually, they decided on the former. They were stronger as a unit, and it meant taking only one chance of being accosted. Marc was the best at faking a Crusader accent, so he would be the one to answer if anyone spoke to them.

  When the road was fairly empty, they stepped out onto it from the hedgerow where they’d been hiding. Their packs would not look strange. Many Crusaders had hiked there and were also carrying packs. Keeping tight with their heads down to discourage attention, they set off.

  The sky was clear and the moon was nearly full. Potholes dotted the road surface, and weeds sprouted in the cracks. As they walked, cars occasionally drove up behind them and they had to move aside. The vehicles would continue, swerving to avoid the holes. A group arrived on horseback, steadily clip clopping along. The Resistance fighters moved out of the way and watched the animals and their riders pass by.

  They reached the bridge. It was only a couple of hundred meters long. They would soon be across it.

  Taylan walked between the four men. Meilyr led the way, Medwyn and Magog walked to each side, and Marc brought up the rear. They couldn’t risk her being recognized, even by the light of the moon.

  The bridge stretched out in front of them. Ten or so people were already on it. The horseback riders were leaving the farther end. From behind came the sound of more travelers, chattering and laughing excitedly.

  “Let’s get this over with,” murmured Meilyr.

  To calm her nerves, Taylan focused on the Crusaders ahead. They straggled out in couples and one larger bunch, but they seemed to be together. Some were children, walking more slowly than their parents. She guessed they had to be tired after their long day’s trek.

  A sense of misgiving hit her.

  When they reached Bryn Celli Ddu, they would plant incendiaries in the stands, displays, and storage facilities for the festival. When the people gathered to witness the sunrise, they would detonate the devices. The result would be chaos, panic, and plenty of injuries and deaths as the masses fought to escape the fires.

  She knew how that felt. The scene of the pandemonium as Arthur had harvested lives as he passed through the crowd at the launch ceremony was indelibly etched on her mind. She’d nearly been killed in the crush herself, bodies piling on top of her. It had only been through luck she’d survived.

  Her gaze was fixed on the Crusader kids walking ahead of her. They would be at the celebration too. Tired and not really understanding what was going on, probably not being able to see a thing, they would be there with their families when the fires broke out.

  They wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Before she knew it, they were over the bridge.

  “Phew,” came Marc’s soft exclamation from behind her.

  Ditches edged the road on the Ynys Mon side, but at their farther banks were tall hedges. Meilyr checked behind and in front of him several times before slipping into a ditch and then climbing behind the cover of a hedge.

  “We did it!” said Marc when they’d all followed him.

  “Not yet,” said Madog. “We still have a long night ahead of us.”

  “Let’s rest a while and check everything over,” said Meilyr.

  As they squatted down and began to pull the incendiaries out of their packs, Medwyn said, “We mustn’t forget to steal some supplies for the return journey before we set these things off.”

  “Good point,” Madog agreed. “I don’t fancy eating burnt biscuits all the way back!”

  “I...” Taylan paused “...I’m having second thoughts. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

  The men stopped what they were doing.

  “Well, in that case,” said Medwyn, “let’s pack up and go home. The great Taylan Ellis has spoken, fellas.”

  “What’s wrong?” Meilyr asked.

  “Yeah, what’s your problem?” Medwyn demanded.

  Meilyr told him to shut up.

  “There are kids here,” Taylan replied.

  “Crusader kids,” said Medwyn.

  “What did you expect?” asked Madog. “It’s a festival. People bring their children to festivals.”

  Meilyr was regarding her gravely.

  “I don’t know,” Taylan said. “I don’t know what I expected. I suppose I didn’t really think it through.”

  Medwyn said, “That sounds like your pr—”

  “I said shut up,” Meilyr spat. “Taylan, do you think Dwyr Orr cared about what happened to our kids when she invaded? I’m surprised you, of all people, would balk at endangering Crusader children. For all you know, your own could be—”

  “Don’t say it,” Taylan interrupted. “I know what you mean. Maybe there’s no point in me searching for them because they’ve gone somewhere they can never be found. But I think it’s because of my children—”

  “You’re not the only parent here,” said Madog. “I had three kids. A boy and two girls. All shot dead before my eyes.”

  “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Madog thrust the incendiary he was holding into his pack before walking away into the field.

  Taylan silently cursed.

  Then a realization hit her. Was that why she hadn’t been able to find her children?

  “What if my kids were taken in by a Crusader couple? What if they’re hiding them from the Dwyr and that’s why she hasn’t found them yet?”

  “Then they wouldn’t bring them here, would they?” said Medwyn, his jaw clenched.

  “I don’t know. They’re just kids. Who would take any notice of them? And they will have grown and changed since... Maybe it would look strange if the couple didn’t attend the festival, so they took a chance and brought them along.”

  “Now you’re scraping the barrel,” said Medwyn.

  Throughout the discussion, Marc had remained silent with his head bowed.

  He looked up. “Taylan’s right. We shouldn’t hurt children. It’s wrong.”

  “Oh, for...” Medwyn turned to Meilyr. “Don’t tell me you’re listening to this rubbish. We came here to do a job. Are we doing it or not?”

  Meilyr didn’t answer.

  “Forget I asked. I came here to do a job, and I’m doing it. And so’s Madog. The rest of you can go to hell.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “You told us it wouldn’t be like this,” Charles thundered. “You told us they would listen.”

  Hans was resting his forehead on his palms. It was a disaster, but none of it was his fault. He’d done his best in the circumstances. What could he have done differently? He retraced each step since Mariya had taken him to the cave in the mountains and the Jamaicans had locked hi
m in a cage.

  Each choice he’d made had either been out of necessity or for the long-term good of everyone. No other option had been open to him except to remain with the Resistance. He could never have survived alone. The EAC would have picked him up and tortured him in no time. He’d been forced to pay lip service to the fighters’ dreams of independence for Jamaica. They would never have accepted him otherwise. And if he’d crossed to the Alliance’s side when they arrived, he would have been lynched.

  It was a mess.

  “Hans,” said Devon gravely, “what should we do? We can’t go on much longer like this.”

  He looked out across the landscape to far-off Kingston as he considered his answer.

  Charles and Devon had come to speak to him at his villa. He’d returned there after the fighting had finished and made the place his home again. The place had been entirely ransacked. All his luxurious furniture and fittings had been stolen or vandalized, the anger and resentment of Jamaica’s underclass taken out on them with a vengeance.

  After burning the worst-damaged items, he’d been left with some things to sit, sleep, and eat on, and that was all he really needed. He’d looked forward to slowly refurbishing the house over time, as the situation on the island improved. He’d even dreamed of spending evenings on the veranda, a gin and tonic in hand, gazing out on the country he’d helped to rebuild. It would have been a happy, prosperous nation, part of the great republic of the Britannic Alliance.

  He would have wished Mariya was there with him to see it, and that would have been the only blemish on the perfect scene.

  “Hans,” said Devon.

  “I haven’t decided yet. I need more time to think about it.”

  “We don’t have time,” Charles insisted. “People are dying. We need the Alliance’s doctors and pharmaceuticals. Three-quarters of the island still has no power. The farmers are too scared to go out in their fields until they’re checked for ordnance. If they don’t sow crops soon, in a few months we’ll have a massive famine. We need clean water. We need help! Why won’t the BA help us?”