Sons of Camelot: The Complete Trilogy (27 page)

With her poor knowledge of Earth, Minerva had left the navigating to Naida but she now had reservations, and guessed correctly that part of their haphazard course and endless meandering was due to Naida’s constant quest for news, any fragment of hearsay that would tell her how her beloved – the one she believed to be
Nestaron
, the Dragon himself  –  fared against the combined forces of Mordred, Arcadia and the Unseelie Court combined.

Minerva feared for her, sure as she was that no mortal man could hope to stand victorious against such a force, less still a boy as young as Rhys. A mere blink of an eye in the life of a fae; that was all he had lived. The world of the fae would continue, she knew, and the realm of men would also go on, one way or another, in darkness or not, in peace or not. She felt most likely not, given the garrulous nature of mankind.
To you, I entrust the great quest of our time.
The words of Queen Mab came back to her. How long could she bite her tongue and allow Naida to lead? Minerva looked down as they soared between two clouds that bloomed pregnant and gray; the water in them whispered songs of the ocean, of longing to soak into the earth. She saw ragtag bands of men, armed with roughly-hewn swords and pitchforks, the occasional bowman. Her brothers and sisters were clearly hard at work spreading the news of the war to come. Would it be enough? Minerva found it hard to believe that it would be. She looked back up to Naida, skipping ahead on a breath of air she had asked the wind to blow for them.

“I’ve seen it, you know; the location of the orchard,” Minerva finally admitted as they soared ahead.

“What? Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I saw it in a vision at the Everlasting Pool on the day we left Eon together. I was shown landmarks, things to look for, but I have no idea where in this wretched land to find them, so it’s hardly useful at all.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know Earth half as well as you do, Naida, and you have a much stronger instinct for things than I do. I didn’t want to dilute that with what I had seen.”

“I understand. Don’t be worried, my friend. We will find it.”

Naida thought of nothing more after that; she only listened to the bellows of the north zephyrs. Could she just fly north and see Rhys herself, right now? She would like that more than anything, more than to see Rinnah reveal her orchard. More than life and death and water and earth and fire; she wished that she could, that she did not have this burden. Why had Mab chosen her for this? She was not the most powerful fae; far from it. Wouldn’t the Fire-Drake or the Wisp be a better hunter of a faerie who was legendary for both her terrible prowess and diligent solitude? She flipped onto her back, riding the currents, and dropped like a stone to the ground. She did not know why she decided here was a good place; just that it felt portentous. Below, she saw a copse of trees, which may have been an orchard, in the grounds of a small church where she knew humans liked to gather. She landed as lightly as a grasshopper on wheat, touching down on a single toe. Minerva joined her.

“What is it, Naida? Do you feel something?” she asked.

“I can’t say,” said Naida. Looking around they saw the low stones that marked the resting places of the human dead, separated by a wall of rock delineating the graveyard from the orchard, for so the collection of trees indeed were.

“Rinnah! Guardian of the Orchard! Come out to me. My name is Naida of Mab’s own
Brannon vuin
,” Naida sang, in her high sweet voice. There was no answer. The church seemed deserted; no priest or man stirred.

“Do you hear that?” said Minerva. Naida took her meaning right away.

“There’s no sound. No birdsong, even the leaves are silent. You are wise to the speech of insects; are there any of their songs to hear?” Naida turned on the spot, suddenly filled with trepidation.

“Nothing. I do not think this is Rinnah’s Orchard, cousin. I fear we are in grave danger here.” Minerva took Naida’s hand gently. “Let us leave immediately and be gone from this place!”

Naida made to answer, but her voice stopped in her throat. Stepping out from behind a gravestone that could not possibly have hidden its whole form was a terror that stilled the blood in her veins. It was a cambion, she knew. She felt Minerva stiffen with fear; there were few things that could harm faefolk, no mortal blade for sure. A cambion was no mortal and bore no blades, but it was one creature that could annihilate a faery with one well-placed spell.

“Fear not, fae-childer, I will do you no harm, yes-sss?” The cambion slunk toward them, and Minerva and Naida stepped back. The low wall between them would not hold the creature up for longer than a second if he chose to strike.

“We trust your words not, snake!” cried Minerva, braver than she felt. “We know your master; we know what you are here for. You bring death, trouble and woe! Step away, and leave us be.”

The cambion feigned a wound at the words.

“I have no quarrel with Eon, nor with the great Queen Mab. I merely by chance happened to be walking in the cool sss-shade of these graves when you happened upon my repose. I care not for the wars of men, but I am wondering; what brings two fae, wingless babes as such, to Earth during these times of strife? Tell friend Anebos; perhaps he can help.” He mewled his words sweetly, this creature, in an attempt at a coquettish manner that brought revulsion to Minerva’s stomach. The wight stepped another foot closer, and put his hand on the wall in an utterly menacing and yet relaxed manner.

“Anebos, wight, cambion and most loathed, feeder on death and skulked of form, leave us be, or by our power we shall crush you,” Minerva hissed her words through her teeth. She was sure that the villain meant to deal them death.

Naida steadied her hand and whispered to her friend. “What if he can help us? He passes through shadows, fire and blood. He may have seen…
her.
Or even him!”

Minerva took her meaning, but was too slow to quiet Naida’s excited hope, or warn her that a cambion had the ears of a dozen foxes. Anebos smiled, all fangs and venom. “Help you, yes, I can help you find your lost loves, yes? For that is who you seek. A lady you search for, yes-sss, and a boy to whom this purple-eyed pretty is sworn? I see many things, faerie girls. I see the truth in things and the lies in others, the right and the wrong and the good and the bad. I know whom you seek, and I have seen them both, oh yes-sss.”

“You lie!” screeched Minerva, and with her free hand, she took the forgotten song of a sleeping toad and shaped it into an arrow of wind. She did not unleash it, but held the air-dart over her head, ready to strike. Naida broke away from contact with her.

“Minerva, hold! Do not loose it!” she cried. “Monster, speak the truth to us and let us go in peace. What do you know of the Orchard?”

Minerva’s heart sank.
Naida, you fool!

“This is not the place we seek, Naida. I don’t see any wide river with the remarkable bridge; in fact, there isn’t a river for miles. We should also be closer to the sea and there certainly isn’t any fog or shining city either.”

“You saw all those things?” Naida asked.

Minerva nodded, not wanting to reveal anything more in the presence of the foul being. The cambion cackled and hackled with glee. Minerva knew well enough that you could never put trust in those beings that life itself had rejected, but Naida was too young, too naïve and too in love to take heed of the danger. The cambion sat on the wall, but neither of the two faeries saw him move. He was mere feet from them now, still relaxed as an adder is relaxed when the field mouse steps on his tail.

“Orchard, yes, my pretties, the orchard of Rinnah I have seen. Your human love I have seen, I have seen many things. Would you see him first, or her? I wonder which you would choose. What if you could sss-see one, but not the other?” He flipped his hand from palm facing down to facing up to illustrate. “I could show you one, and you would be joined in the twitch of a tail.”

Minerva felt Naida’s heart leap, and saw her take a step forward toward the uncanny deathless fiend. She seemed entranced, her violet eyes locked to his red ones, and then she realized the trap that they had fallen into. There was no time to warn Naida that the creature had subtly hexed her, that he had hooked her mind with his devious spell. She gathered her wind arrow and flung it with all her fury and protection. Anebos’ eyes glinted and in the palm of his hand there was a wall of fire that swallowed the arrow and used its air to fuel it higher, but his spell on Naida was broken. Minerva wasted no time, and leapt forward, clutching Naida’s hand and with all her strength, propelling her into the sky, returning her to the care of the winds.

“Remember what you are looking for, Naida,” she called after her.

Naida looked down as she rose into the air, her senses returning to her. The cambion’s words had felt so soothing. How desperate she had been to find Rinnah and to see her beloved Rhys again. Then, she screamed in terror and agony as she saw the black shape of Anebos fall. Minerva had left herself entirely open to attack in order to save Naida from certain death, and now she was to take her place. The wicked fangs of Anebos fell, and the sparkling blood of a faerie fell on Earth for the first time in centuries.

Chapter Six

Cumbria, England

The army of Camelot marched through the day and through the night. Rest was scarce, and the mood was grim. The sky, while not making a return to the torrential rain that had plagued the journey north, remained foreboding and full of ominous blackened clouds. As they traveled, Rhys saw even more peasants and villagers retreating south, fleeing the advance of Mordred’s armies with the scant possessions they could salvage and carry on their pack animals and on their own backs. It was a grim sight, and the occasional friar they passed blessed the soldiers, as if they were already amongst the dead. A few men with strength in their arms and pride in their hearts left the ranks of the refugees and took up arms with Rhys’ retinue, swelling their numbers slightly as they went.

At midday on the second day, the advance scouts reported that the villages surrounding Kendal had been put to the torch. Nothing stirred, as if the north had been scoured of every little thing. Not even carrion birds had been seen. The column moved on and made their camp the second night a morning’s ride away from Kendal, the better to gather their forces and form into regiments.

Soon, the dawn broke bright and clear. Rhys dressed in the padded jerkin he usually wore under his armor, drew back the flaps of his tent and stopped in his tracks, words forming on his lips but none uttered. Standing in the circle made by the tents of the Sons of the Round Table, just by the fire upon which Richard of Dumnonia’s squire had cooked a brace of pheasant the evening before, was an elderly man clad in a deep gray cowl. His beard was long, and the purest white; and he stood with the assistance of a long oak staff, gnarled and curled at the topmost end. He regarded Rhys with an utterly emotionless gaze which betrayed nothing about his thoughts, but made Rhys feel as if he were some small mouse who had foolishly caught the attention of a great owl. From the corner of his eye, he saw Richard similarly emerge from his tent, stretching and yawning, stripped to the waist.

“What ho!” he said, waking up rapidly at the uncommon visitor’s appearance. “Say, fellow, this is no place for an old man. This army rides to battle this day. Do you not know what has transpired?”

The old man did not take his eyes from Rhys, but spoke in a clear baritone voice that showed none of the decrepitude of his ancient years.

“Battle, faugh. War? Hmm. Bad business. What do you boys know of war? To ride into battle without knowledge is to swim with an anvil around the neck. Kendal is gone, boy. Do you not know this already?” His eyes bored into Rhys’ skull, but with a great effort, Rhys managed to stand up straight and close his gaping mouth.

“Well then, Kendal must be avenged!” cried Richard, and the noise of his exclamation brought Gawain and John out of their own shelters. They did not speak, but regarded the interaction with interest.

“Aye, Kendal must be avenged,” Rhys agreed, “but our visitor is correct. We do not know what forces await us.”

Richard was about to speak, anger writ on his face. Rhys held up his hand to stop his words. “Peace, cousin. Whether we know what lies ahead of us or not, our honor demands that we ride this very moment to avenge fair Kendal, and know the fate of our brothers Sir Derrick and Sir Henry. What business do you have with us, old man, that you interrupt the sons of the Knights of Arthur’s Round Table from their just revenge?”

The old man leaned on his staff, pointing his beaked face like a hawk at Rhys. His steel gray eyes locked with Rhys’ green, and when he spoke, it was as the thunder itself, though his mouth barely moved.

“I am older than you can possibly know, Sir Rhys of Gascogne, nephew of Caradoc, son of Gwallawc, grandson of Anlawdd.” His booming voice appeared to only be present in Rhys’ own mind, as Richard, Gawain and John seemed barely to move, barely to even breathe. Rhys was forced to his knees by the sonic assault. “In the time before times I was old, and I have come before you now to bring you words of fell terror. You must not ride to Kendal. Your quest is not with your brother knights, noble though they may be. Though you are but a babe in arms, it is sure that you are
Nestaron,
The Warrior of The Tree, Elf-bane, Bow Master, Lover of the Fae Grove. Do you understand? Seek the Orchard of Rinnah, and end this doomed journey. I, Merlin of the Seventh Star, command thee.” The booming voice faded, and the world breathed again. Rhys felt a terror and pain in his chest, and then Richard was helping him to his feet.