A Dark Day (part five)
Title: A Dark Day (part five)
Word Count: 8945
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Owned by Shine and BBC; please don’t sue me, I’m only playing!
Warnings/spoilers: language, violence, death
Summary: The Dark Day has arrived. Will Arthur and Merlin survive to must meet their destiny and save Gallantine and the White Rose?
A Dark Day is the last story in the saga that started years ago with Merlin's Dream (found here http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2011/04/22/ ; warning, approaching 500,000 words!). However, this back story is not essential to this current part of the series.
The prelude can be found here: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2013/11/20/
Part One: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/02/19/
Part Two: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/03/25/
Part three: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/05/28/
Part Four: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/07/25/
A/N: One more episode after this one and then your torture is over!
A Dark Day: Camlann
They stood beside a great oak, its bare branches crawling at the sky, and around them was the skeleton of a small village, the stone scorched black and filmed with frost. Frozen, dead bodies of women and children littered the area. No clouds marred the full moon this far north of Gallantine and its silvery light gave the dead hamlet an eerie glow.
"What is this place?" asked Arthur in a whisper, his breath white from the cold.
It was Rane who answered him. "This hamlet and the fields beyond are called Camlann." At the mention of the name, Bedwyr seemed alarmed and stepped protectively closer to Arthur. "You can just see Twr Caersullien from here," finished the prince.
Arthur followed the young horse lord's gaze and saw in the distance a dark tower, but a black finger at this distance. "Let's go," he said and led them from the ruined cottages, their boots crunching on snow the only sound.
When they had walked twenty minutes into the fields of white, Rane held up a hand to stop them. "Nosaden is close and she says that trouble is on its way." The winged horse gently landed next to the young prince, a mithril-headed lance strapped to her side. He sprang up and buckled himself into the saddle and took up the weapon. "Barghasts," he spat before the horse and rider leapt into the air.
Gawain carefully stripped his clothes off and put them into a cloth bag. In a blur his formed changed into a muscled, seven foot tall lupine and he growled deeply his anger. Cynan stood next to him, his blades drawn as Gilladrin unsheathed a great sword he had borrowed from a templer of Ceredwen. The champion had also loaned armour of bright steel, but had forsaken the helm.
Leon nodded a grin at the blond then stood to the other side of Gawain, a silver dagger in one hand and a revolver in the other.
Arthur was glad Morgana's lover, the lupine and the two elf warriors were with him. He turned to Bedwyr and Anharadeth "The first of many traps I fear," said the lore master as she twirled her staff around her head. When it landed in the snow before her, it bristled briefly with rivlets of lightning.
"I think you're right," answered the blond as he took out Gilaglad. The fabled elven blade pierced the gloom with its light, not unsurprising with the undead Welsh warrior by his side. "Form a circle," he shouted. "Protect each others backs."
They did as he commanded.
Silently, coming ever closer, thousands of grey-skinned large dogs with red eyes ran over the snow fields from all directions and Arthur saw a few winged creatures skim fast above the heads of the canines. They looked like small dragons, but had two legs that ended with wicked talons instead of four.
"Wyverns," informed Anharadeth. A wave of lightning fanned out in front of her and dozens of barghasts died.
As Arthur wielded his sword to defend his patch of ground, he noticed Rane swoop low and pierce one of the wyverns with his lance. It fell to the ground, dead, and the rider flew up high, silhouetted against the full moon, as the last few of the winged creatures went to engage him in battle.
"Be careful, Rane," the blond muttered.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Merlin looked out at the sea of goblins and giants that was Velshna's army. He assumed that at Rivergate would be thousands of Scaneans. Sure enough a runner, a boy of about ten years and sporting a dirty-blond mop of hair, stopped beside him and caught his breath.
"Northmen attack from the river's direction, my lord, but their rear be harried by many arrows. The elves, the elves are here," he finished with a grin.
The art student's relief at hearing the news made his thoughts turn to Nodens. The Celtae Power of Hunting and Healing had gone in that direction. "Come on Bask," he muttered, "show your hand." It was only then that the powers of the Light would be able to join the battle fully.
Morgana kicked a scaling ladder from the battlements and shot back a glance at the two, the mage and the boy. "Tell Celimdol to get here. Northgate will be the enemies' main target."
As the boy ran off, the student once again looked out over the fields and saw four giants carry between them the biggest tree trunk he had ever seen. It was iron shod and glowed in a putrid green light. They slowly made for Gallantine's Northgate. "Oakhaven!" he shouted as he stabbed a bolt of lightning at a young white dragon that had foolishly come too low. It veered off to the north with an agonised roar.
The Druid snorted in derision and the trunk suddenly exploded. Thick and deadly splinters instantly killed the four giants. Oakhaven then went back to warping the wood of the ladders up against the walls, but they kept coming and Merlin knew the old man was tiring.
"Save your strength. We'll just have to battle the ones that make it up here," shouted Merlin above the din of the fighting and dying. Oakhaven nodded at the wisdom of this and renewed the globes of emerald lights that gave the horse lord archers their targets.
The roar of many dragons continued from above. Thankfully, dragonsbane at the gates and around the garden had kept most of the reptiles at bay, but that did not stop the larger creatures from using their breath attacks; he had already seen a knot of Math's templers being cooked alive by a stream of magma, most probably from an ancient red dragon. Frustratingly for the Apprentise, these fatal attacks came from high above, admist the grey clouds that were discharging ever more volumes of snow.
"We've got to clear those clouds somehow, and the fucking dragons."
"I'm on it," answered Morgana and she made to leave, "but I won't be much help afterwards."
Before he could ask why, she had gone in the direction of Gallantine's docks. Then, without thinking, he put a shield of white light above Helen and Galtreth as a stream of black acid attempted to disolve their flesh. They continued their battle against the few goblins who reached the top of the walls without interruption as they had done a dozen times before; always did Merlin seem to know if they were in danger. The student paused for breath and looked along the battlements towards Riversgate and saw that their numbers were slowly being thinned, despite the defenders valient efforts. And still the hordes of the Dark kept coming.
Tears of frustration threatened to spill from his eyes. "Where the fuck are you, Tarrion?" he muttered bitterly. "We need you."
Then it started, a little tune in the back of his mind, something he had not heard since he had been eleven when Mrs. Evans at the local Welsh medium school had drummed into the class the song they were to sing at the school's eisteddfod on Saint David's Day.
"I know this," he whispered and a smile of half forgotten memories came to his lips. "I know this, Rose, and a fucking good choice it is too."
He took in a deep breath and sang his heart out the second verse to Yma o Hyd#:
Chwythed y gwynt o'r Dwyrain,
Rhued y storm o'r môr,
Hollted y mellt yr wybren
A gwaedded y daran encôr,
Llifed dagrau'r gwangalon
A llyfed y taeog y llawr
Er dued yw'r fagddu o'n cwmpas
Ry'n ni'n barod am doriad y wawr!
(Let the wind blow from the East
Let the storm roar from the sea
Let the lightning split the heavens
And the thunder shout "Encore!"
Let the tears of the faint-hearted flow
And the servile lick the floor
Despite the blackness around us
We are ready for the breaking of the dawn!)
With renewed energy he raised his arms in the air and a huge fireball flew from his hands and sped across the field which caused great choas, destruction and confusion amongst the goblins and giants. He sang the chorus:
Ry'n ni yma o hyd,
Er gwaetha pawb a phopeth,
Ry'n ni yma o hyd,
Er gwaetha pawb a phopeth,
Ry'n ni yma o hyd.
(We are still here
In spite of everyone and everything
We are still here
In spite of everyone and everything
We are still here.)
Cynan's younger brother came to his side, his two slim blades unsheathed, and smiled in response to the mage's joy. "Sing Celimdol, sing until your heart bursts."
The elf, in lyrical Sindarin, sang.
Merlin caught the eye of Lady Helen, dagger in hand and with a small cut on her left cheek, and grinned. "Sing it out loud, spellsinger!"
Infected by his laughter, her soprano voice joined the elf's tenor. Templers and horse lords were caught up in the melody and, still fighting, sang out in their own tongues. Far to the east, Merlin heard the voices of over two thousand elf archers join in with the singing and tears of joy fell freely down his cheeks as, in his heart, he thanked the White Rose for its intervention when all seemed lost.
Then Merlin gasped; in his mind's eye he saw a young Gaul reach out tentatively towards an oak staff that was topped by a fist sized emerald and was claimed; saw a young man fight the Romans at Ynys Mon and dedicate a bone carving of a running dog to Nodens; saw a middle aged man now named Taliesen teach the knowledge of the Old Religion and its wild magic to an unsure youth named Myrddin; saw an old man weep at the devastation of the last battle at Camlann, at King Arthur's fall. Merlin saw all of this and now the tears of joy were mingled with those of sadness and regret.
"Oakhaven," he croaked, then cleared his throat of emotion. He saw the Druid in a new light, one of patience, past pains and endurance. "Taliesen, Oakhaven, my friend, do your fucking stuff."
The Staffwielder seemeded renewed, invigorated and he turned to Merlin with a look of shock on his face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "The White Rose has never spoken so loud, so pure. I..." He composed himself and winked at the young man. "It's time for nature to have her say."
The old man used both hands to raise the Staff of Power over his head. No words were said, no incantation that Merlin could hear, but a burst of emerald light came forth from the Druid that seemed to briefly engulf the whole city. The light that touched the enemy caused them to vomit and run about in confusion. Where it touched the defenders, they seemed renewed in vigour and those who had been wounded were intantly healed. Then bushes and trees in the fields around Gallantine started to grow impossibly fast, ensaring some of the enemy but crippling or killing most; Velshna's army was easily cut down by two thirds.
Then Oakhaven seemed his old self, just a tired man with a stick. He leaned on his Staff and gave another wink. "The Rose might have produced the power, you cheeky little sprog, but you were the trigger. The balance is more even now, we have a chance, and it has been all down to you."
Merlin shrugged. "I didn't do anything, really."
Oakhaven sniffed contemptuously at his modesty while he, with an absent wave of his hand, swept away an arrow that had been aimed for Merlin's throat. "The White Rose saw the passion, the honour, the goodness in your heart and used you to amplify your own power and everyone elses. My boy, you may have saved Gallantine this night."
Before Merlin could answer, a great cry of outrage came from the new woodland that now encircled Gallantine. He, using a cantrip that could make his vision act like a telescope, picked out a snow elf dressed in shimmering ice-blue robes stand near the circle of stones. The Icestaff was pointed towards Northgate and Velshna's face was full of fury.
"The final chapter begins," muttered Merlin. A great roar from the south, the sound of a thousand waterfalls, made him and most of the others about him turn around. Merlin saw a huge curtain of water rise up about a hundred feet. It stretched either side out of sight, from one side of Lake Galla to the other. "Go on Morgana," Merlin muttered with a savage twist to his lips, "now it's your turn to do your fucking stuff."
At the same time a powerful torrent of snow and ice with hurricane force trampled bush and tree aside to hit Northgate. The great, enchanted wooden barrier was burst apart and Merlin uttered one, fearful word.
"Shit!"
A Dark Day: Twr Caersullien
The number of barghasts seemed to be greatly reduced and Arthur felt bone tired as he continued to use all his skill in wielding Gilgaled against the unnatural hounds. He saw Rane atop Nosaden sweep down time and again into their ranks with powerful wings and mithril lance to break many a body; saw Leon support Bedwyr in keeping the creatures at bay; saw Gawain be practically everywhere at once as he used his powerful arms to rip into the dogs; saw Cynan and Gilladrin calmly keep the canines at bay with their blades; saw Anharadeth seem to play with the lightning that danced around her as she stood her ground; saw the sun finally show his face. Three hours had passed.
The body of the ancient vampire-warrior started to smoke and they could all hear him grunt through the pain as he fought on.
"Rest in the ground Bedwyr, you've done enough," shouted Arthur.
The vampire snarled out loud in his agony and caught a barghast in mid air as it went for the blond's throat. He ripped it in two with his blood-empowered strength. It seemed to be the last of the stragglers and the rest of the group rested from their labours.
"Nay! I will not fail you again at Camlann, my liege."
Arthur swallowed against his dry throat and spoke more softly. "You've done enough, old friend." He pulled up the sleeve of his russet jacket and offered his forearm. "Drink, renew your strength, and rest in the ground, I command it. We'll see you in Gallantine later."
Bedwyr hesitated but then went down on one knee. Reverently he sank his fangs into the offered flesh. After less than a minute, Arthur saw the vampire's form turn to mist and sink into the snow.
"We dare not rest here," said Cynan as he wiped his blades clean. Rane and Nosaden landed gently beside him; both were tired but ready for more. "Let us reach this Tower of Caersullien as quick as we can before the enemy gathers its strength," continued the elven hunter.
Arthur so wanted to rest, but knew the wisdom of the words. He was surprised when Anharadeth started to go to each of the group and place her hand on their heads, even that of the winged horse. When it came to the blond's turn, he suddenly felt refreshed as if he had slept comfortably for at least three days.
"Not a cantrip to be used too often," smiled the lore master, "but I do concur with my fellow Brewer."
Arthur grinned his thanks. "Let's get started then."
They trudged on into the gentle bowl-shaped valley and soon came across the out buildings of the rectangular tower (Rane had talked to them about some of the building's history, saying that it had been erected by the dwarves as a 'thank you' after some long forgotten battle against a war-horde of goblins). Bodies picked clean by carrion, mostly warriors still in their chain armour but also with a few women and children, were covered by a film of frost and snow. The great oak doors of the tower had been blasted apart, scorched by a great heat. It was here that Rane stalled.
"I...Here be the great hall of my father, first king of Gwlad-yr-Hydref." Arthur saw him gulp down emotion. "Nosaden, away."
The majestic horse neighed in defiance, but then relented and, with a few beat of her wings, flew up into the sky to encircle the granite monolith in a serene gliding motion.
"My mother_" the young prince, of similar age to Arthur himself, briefly closed his eyes and his frame shuddered in emotion. "She...she bore the Sunstone until the return of the king come Autumn. Oh my Lady Rhiannon," he cried out, "that will never happen again. Gone are the days of yesteryear, when my people were at last united against winter and foe alike."
Arthur could see his friend fight against the tears that threatened to spill from his clear, blue eyes. "Not all is lost, Rane," he said gently as he embraced the prince. "Things won't be as before, but you and your people will begin again. This I promise on my life."
Rane stood back, startled. And cupped Arthur's face in his palms. "On my own life I would sacrifice all I hold dear, yea, even my love for Arianwen and my kinship to my people not to suffer the sight of you fallen, my friend. Come, let not my weakened spirit delay us from the prize that will counter the White Witch."
Cynan clamped a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. "Well said, fellow prince. May our steps not falter at the very last."
The group turned to the ruined doors and made to enter the blackness beyond, but a cry of warning from Anharadeth stopped their steps. "Hold! We have endured one ambush already, let us not blunder into any more." She extended an arm towards the opening and a small ball of lightning flew from her hand to hover about thirty feet ahead to light the way.
Cautiously, they entered Twr Caersullien.
Dark Day: Nature Has Her Say or Dragons? Fuck You!
Morgana stood calmly at the end of a small, stone jetty with her back to Lake Galla and its ice-rimmed waters. Two, single storey warehouses made of timber and stone were about a hundred paces away from her on either side, flanking the wide avenue (the forlorn apple trees bare of leaves) that led up to the holy garden's southern gate. She took in a deep breath and steadied her nerve.
"It is time," whispered the words of the Lady of Galla in her head and Morgan's vision became fierce in its golden light.
The seer had many scenes flicker through her head, too fast for her to register what they were, but they finally slowed and three tableaux settled in her mind, one after the other. An old man with green eyes and robes of leaves stood upon a grey granite outcrop which overlooked a sea of swaying trees that stretched to the horizon, the green untouched by Winter; a middle-aged man who carried a silver birch sapling as a staff, atop the waters of a great river and he danced slowly in graceful circles; an old woman perched upon a narrow bridge of land that seperated sea and lake, high winds made her long hair stream across her face, her arms held high.
"Forestgreat Dragonlands stands ready. The creatures have been summoned," spoke Hengoed Fawr, the Father of Forests.
The river spirit, Deshannon, stopped his gentle dance and knelt atop the water. "All streams, rivers, pools both hidden and in sight channel through me and power will be sent to the vessel. Some of the lessor spirits know that they will not survive this trial, but sacrifice themselves willingly enough."
The Lady Galla lowered her arms. "This is our one chance to perhaps tip the balance slightly to the side of Light and if some of us fall then so be it. Even us three will feel much strain, though I have faith in the mortal vessel that we aim our power at." Morgana did not like the sound of that, but remained silent. "I will guide her, for I am the nearest. I sense the great flight of dragons has decided to challenge the power of the dragonweed. Now is the time."
Morgana felt every fibre of her being burn hot with power and the pain escaped her lips in a howl of agony. The sound of this, however, was drowned as she sensed rather than saw a curtain of water rise up from the lake behind her and it was at least a hundred feet high. The seer knew what to do. She turned and pointed at the tons of water before her and slowly raised her arm towards the clouds and the hidden dragons above. The water left Lake Galla and shot heavenwards.
She then saw a jet stream of powerful high winds crash mercilessly into the space above Gallantine that swept both clouds and most of the dragons away to the north (the latter covered in a thick layer of ice and tumbling helplessly). After the winds a flock of birds of many varieties darkened the sky to attack the few dragons that had somehow escaped the watery and icy first wave.
One large blue dragon landed about a hundred feet away from Morgana. The creature ignored the seer and forked lightning escaped its mouth to down a hundred of the birds that attacked it, to no avail. The small creatures pecked out its eyes, battered its body and continued to fly down its throat. It soon lay still, suffocated.
As quickly as they had appeared the great flock flew away and the moon shone her light upon the White City. Her vision now clear, Morgana felt very, very tired and sank to her knees.
"It is now up to your friends and allies of the Light, young sister Morgana, but for you is the time for a great rest," came the voice of Galla, faint as if from far away and not in the seer's head.
Morgana reluctantly closed her eyes.
A Dark Day: The House of Healing
Lance smiled as the last of the beautiful song left his mind. He had sang out until his voice was hoarse, a song of defiance and courage. He turned and looked with wonder around the vastness that was the hall of Diancecht's temple. The hundreds of wounded men who had been treated by Gwen, Myfanwy, Arianwen, Gaius and the goodwives of Gallantine were suddenly made whole; even missing limbs grew back.
The elf lore master sighed. "Merlin has led us in a great song of courage, but not The Song. That will hopefully come later," she said in answer to his unspoken question. "The emerald light methinks has come from Lord Oakhaven and have healed the hurts of Gallantine."
Before Lance could speak, they could all hear a near deafening sound of what sounded like thousands of waterfalls come from nearby and then the ground shook. Gwen had briefly close her eyes and, when she opened the, her face was white from fear.
"Great danger is upon us. I think Northgate has been breached."
At those words, and as Lance held his lover in his arms for comfort, men sprang from their beds and took up arms. They streamed from the great temple and Lance let them, though he itched to go with the warriors to defend the city. Even the green-skinned barkeep of The Sanctuary Inn was healed and followed them. However, Lance had been charged to protect the healers and he never broke a vow. He caught the look of Mabon and saw that the mortal god also wished to follow, but he too was under a similar oath made to Merlin.
Myfanwy touched Mabon's arm to get his attention. "You must go to the docks while you are still able," she commanded softly. Before he could protest she raised one hand to stop his words. "Nay, let me speak. The Lady Morgana is near death's door. Collect her, my lord, and bring her here. The streets will soon be swamped by the enemy, so you must hurry."
The handsome young man ran from the building, his dagger in hand. Myfanwy took up her staff and closed her eyes.
"Nature herself has come to our aid and the flight of dragons is a flight no more." She gasped and took a step backwards. Lance and Gwen quickly went to her side to steady her. The green eyes opened and were wide in concern. "The White Witch has entered Gallantine. Merlin, Celimdol...!"
Lance gritted his teeth in frustration. "Why am I here? Merlin needs me." He glanced at his lover, who smiled and seemed to urge him to go to their mutual friends.
"Hold your tongue and your steps, Lance of the Silver Lake!" Myfanwy said sharply, but her voice had not risen. Still, Lance felt ashamed at the rebuke. "You will have your hands full here, my lord. Go to this cathedral's entrance to join Lord Grey. We will gather these good women of Gallantine to yonder ante room and be their last protection, if needed."
Lance nodded his head and, with a longing kiss on Gwen's lips in farewell, went to join the vampire. Dorian stood facing north and the knight followed his gaze to see thousands of goblins (with a few giants among them), stream down the broad avenue. There were a few knots of templers and horse lords that stood their ground against the tide, but most of the evil creatures sped passed them. They started to ransack every temple and were slowly approaching the one Lance and Dorian protected.
The vampire had no weapon in his hands and stood calmly. Lance wondered what use he would be. "The sun will rise soon, in a few minutes. I'll do what I can before that, but I will have to go to that merchant's house over there and hope it has a cellar. Of course, if those bastards coming towards us," he nodded his handsome head towards the much nearer goblins, "are not stopped and find me..." he shrugged and finished with a grin.
Lance smiled grimly in answer and ignited his light sword. The blue light pushed back the shadows and he made a sweep of it towards the enemy in salute. This fight was to the death.
Suddenly, Dorian opened wide his arms and bared his fangs. He snarled. At least a hundred of the first ranks of goblins shat and wet themselves in fear, crawling on the ground northwards and away from the vampire. These were soon trampled by their fellows who came up from behind.
Even though Lance stood next to the undead and so could not see his face, he still wanted to puke in fear. Mabon's Chosen gulped down the bile and started to engage the enemy, his sword slicing through weapon, leather armour and flesh with sickening ease. The rush of the enemy would not stop and Lance would not stop fighting.
He had to buy time for his patron to find Morgana and get her safely into the temple of Diancecht. He had to protect his lover and mother of his twin sons. He had to.
A Dark Day: Arthur Pendragon, Nodens' Chosen, Warrior of the Light, Third Officer of the Buckland Brewers, Wielder of Gilgalad, Has Fallen!
The first floor of Twr Caersullien was vast and wreathed in darkness and shadow, except for those that were kept at bay by Anharadeth's little ball of lightning. The imposing columns that they could see were fashioned to look like oaks with birds of stone that graced the upper branches. The ball of light stopped and hovered a great distance down the hall to illuminate two thrones on a dais. One was empty, but the other had a figure frozen in death. A women, tall and stern, crowned and with fine jewellery and garments.
Rane sobbed loudly unashamedly and Gilladrin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as Cynan got up from inspecting the snow that had intruded a few feet into the mausoleum.
"Thirty-three men have entered this place and recently. They did not leave through this doorway," said the hunter in a whisper. He readied his elven blades.
Anharadeth, the last to enter the tower, heard a slow beat of wings from outside and she turned to see a black robed man of about forty years of age stand with his arms at his side. He had golden hair and his skin was as if powdered in the metal.
The Second Officer of the Buckland Brewers squared her shoulders. "Name thyself, I command thee!"
As the others in her group came to her side, the stranger smiled. "Your witch-voice will have no effect on me, young one, but I will abide by your wish all the same." He took a step forward and Arthur levelled Gilagalad so that its tip was but an inch from the stranger's chest.
"Gilladrin?" the blond commanded.
"He..." began the elf champion and then gasped. "My blade-brother, his heart is so pure...I...he is of the Light, I swear it!"
Anharadeth saw Arthur's cheeks colour slightly and the legendary sword was put away. "Forgive me my lord," the young warrior said with a nod of his head. "I didn't expect an ally to be found so deep in Velshna's territory."
The stranger smiled and bowed his head in return. " An ally? Yes, but a poor one at that. This avatar before you has slept many an eon, but in my drowsiness I will do what I can. Protector I am, healer with some little skill, gather of knowledge and dreamer of dreams. In answer to your command, sweet lady, I am named by mortals as Suna of the Golden Scales." Suna held up a hand, palm facing the group, and a small burst of golden light bathed them. "There, the filth of the claws of those you are about to face will not ravage the mind or putrefy the flesh, though they can still rip. However, beware the Staffwielder that waits for you in yonder hall and the general of the White Witch. It could be that more than one of you will meet their doom this morn. For now, no more from me, or the Dark will detect my presence and your battle will be more than you could possibly bare."
With that said the avatar of Suna of the Golden Scales, Ancient Power of all Gold Dragons, turned and walked into the growing light of day.
Arthur let out a breath. "So, creatures with claws and a Staffwielder. At least surprise is not on their side."
"I can now sense her, fellow officer," said Anharadeth, "as she senses me. The Staff is of Poison. I will deal with this assassin! You others deal with the abominations."
They turned and went cautiously further into the great hall, sticking close to each other but giving themselves room to fight. Gawain peeled off his clothes as he walked and then shape-changed into his lupine form.
From the shadows a woman with light-brown hair tied back in a pony tail and dressed in tight fitting, dark clothes lunged at Arthur with a slim bladed short sword. The blow was parried by Anharadeth's staff and the lore master pushed back the assailant with a wave of her free hand. "Stay back, for she is wreathed in vile poison. I will deal with this cur," she shouted and leapt forward to do battle.
At the same time many howls filled the hall that struck fear into the hearts of Arthur and Rane. The prince of the horse lords gulped down his panic. "Werewargs. We are assailed by werewargs!" He readied his sword as he looked about him at the shadows.
Leon grinned and produced two of his many silver daggers. "I was born for this fight," he laughed savagely.
It was then that a wolf-like creature furtively came from behind the thrones and stood to reach his full height. A head taller than Gawain, the light from the ball of lightning revealed that the creature was just as muscled and more so. He wrenched off the head of the dead queen and threw it at the feet of Rane. The young prince, tears rolling down his face, roared out his anger and made to run forward, but Gilladrin stopped him.
"There is another that must answer this challenge," whispered the elf in Rane's ear, calming him.
The leader of the werewargs then pointed a talon at the werewolf. "Know that I am Golgarren and that you are but a weak lamb I will take pleasure in ripping apart!"
Gawain howled his anger and challenge and the two, in a blur, sped towards each other.
More werewargs burst from the shadows at the same time and as Cynan parried and rolled to avoid the attacks aimed for him, two arms of one of the creatures grabbed him from behind and pulled him back into the darkness.
"Go for the Sunstone," shouted Gilladrin as he ran towards the spot he had last seen his brother-in-law. "I will deal with this."
Arthur immediately realised that they were at a disadvantage. Only enchanted or silver weapons could permanently harm these creatures, which meant that Rane and the elf champion could parry any blows at best. "Rane, do what you can for Gilladrin and Cynan," he shouted as he sliced open the belly of an opponent, slightly shorter than the others, and it reverted back into the form of a young, pock-marked youth. "Leon, watch my back."
The blond did not know if they did as was commanded of them, but matched the speed of the blows that wanted to rip him limb from limb. One lucky blow left great tears in his white shirt and russet overcoat, but his mithril vest kept him from harm. As Gilgalad parried, cut and stabbed about him, he slowly moved forward towards the dais inch by inch and he heard Leon exert himself in using fully his deadly, silver weapons.
The battle lessoned somewhat and Arthur saw two opponents left before him as they guarded the throne of the dead queen. A silver shuriken embedded itself in the throat of one of them and Leon said from behind the blond, "The battle's nearly over. Kill the bastard and let's get out of here."
The remaining werewarg lunge forward with a snarl and a burst of speed, but Arthur was just as quick as he instinctively parried once and then pierced the creature's heart. He let the body, now a thick set warrior with black hair, slide off his blade and to one side. Exhausted, he reached the top of dais and looked at the headless queen. In her lap was a pendant, a pear drop jewel of yellow set in gold.
He glanced back at the remnants of the battle and saw Gawain and Golgarren wrestle on the ground. The lupine had his legs clamped around the body of the large werewarg with his arms fixed firmly around the head. Gawain's biceps bulged and, with a savage snarl of effort, ripped off Golgarren's head. The two reverted back into human form and Celimdol's lover staggered to his feet.
Arthur saw Gilladrin had one of Cynan's swords and the two elves, Rane between them, used all their skill in defeating the last of their foes whilst protecting the young prince. Anharadeth then came from a shadowed corner, tired but alive.
The blond breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the queen's throne as he stooped to pick up the pendant. As he vaguely registered a warning shout from the lore master, he looked in wonder at the Sunstone, at the way it produced it's own fiery light deep within its facets. Suddenly, frost started to cover his arm and he dropped the jewel , but it was too late; the frost became ice and quickly covered his body and he gasped in shock.
The last thing his eyes registered was Gilgalad, still in his hand, crack then shatter into many pieces.
* * *
Anharadeth ran forward, the others behind her. She reached Leon and placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort as the lupine hunter sobbed, distraught. "All is not yet lost," she said with a reassurance that she did not feel. The new Staffwielder examined the Sunstone and deduced that the traps that had been placed upon it were now spent. She picked it up and turned to the frozen Arthur. "His heart falters," she shouted. "Quickly, into the light of day!"
Cynan and Leon carried the blond from Twr Caersullien and they encountered Suna patiently waiting. The ancient had a sad look upon his face and simply stood on the frost-hard ground as he faced them.
"My lord, help us," pleaded the lore master, but the Power slowly shook his head.
"I dare not, but you have the means, my lady."
Puzzled and frustrated, Anharadeth looked at the Sunstone in her hand and sensed the great power it held. Cautiously she tapped it once against the fist sized sapphire of Stormstaff. A great burst of yellow light, as if the sun had come down to them, blinded her for a few moments. When her vision cleared, she saw a thawed and drenched Arthur in Leon's lap.
The lupine hunter brushed damp hair from the blond's brow tenderly and looked up with tears in his eyes. "He's so cold."
"Yet he lives," whispered Gilladrin, "but just barely."
"Then we take him to the Garden of the Rose and hope for the best," answered the lore master.
Suna of the Golden Scales sighed. "At least I can help with that, in part." He slowly turned and, as he did so, floated into the air high above them. His form rippled and slowly changed into a majestic, huge dragon. His golden scales glistened in the sun's light and the lore master thought she had not seen anything more beautiful in all her long years.
"My lord?" she whispered.
In their minds came the words of the avatar. "Place Arthur and yourselves on my back. I will not allow you to fall, but will take you to the oak that you used to get to the fields of Camlann. I can do that much, but may approach Gallantine no further."
"But my lord," said Cynan, "the Druid told us that it was a one way door."
Anharadeth could have sworn the dragon smiled and they heard a little chuckle. "Trust in my power, First Born. Now hurry, the spirit of Nodens' Chosen weakens with every moment that passes!"
They scrambled to do what they were asked and, with one great swoop of his wings, Suna soared into the frigid air.
A Dark Day: The Garden of the Rose
They heard the sounds of battle in the streets that surrounded the garden and Ambrose saw the web mage called Gilli chew nervously on his lower lip. "Don't worry dude," said Petros, just as nervous, "I'll protect you."
The vampire smiled as he saw the fourteen year old stand with his long sword before him and in front of Gilli. Owain, with shield and his own sword at the ready, stood next to the youth. The Rose was behind them all, the thing they protected. The sounds of fighting came closer; the enemy was in the garden itself.
Ambrose stepped forward, but still within the large circle-ward of blood he had created earlier. In marvel he felt the warmth of the morning sun as he quickly surveyed the crimson sigils about them. Satisfied, he turned his attention to a group of about forty goblins that ran towards them down the wide gravel path that led to the garden's north silver gates.
"Hold," muttered the blood mage to his companions as he raised both arms to chest level. With a shout of blood-curdling glee, the goblins spied their prey and ran towards them. "Hold," again said Ambrose as he heard a whimper escape Gilli's lips.
The undead mage closed both hands and made them into fists. As he did so he muttered a word of power and the two front goblins clutched at their chests, their hearts crushed. That stopped the little bastards' momentum.
"Owain, do your bit, but remember to reach the safety of the ward if you think you are about to be overwhelmed."
Even before Ambrose had finished the sentence the Knight of the Rose leapt forward and shield-smashed the first goblin to the ground and sliced with his long sword into another. As the sound of the creatures' death rattles and the stench of their foul blood started to fill the air, the blood mage turned to face the two youths.
"Gilli, now would be a good time to create a strong contact with your Conclave and the avatar, Gorfannon." The web mage's eyes shone gold and he stabbed furiously at his iPad. "Petros, no matter what occurs, you do not move from that spot." The vampire knew that no where in the city was safe anymore except, perhaps, near the holy artefact of the Rose.
A determined set of the boy's mouth made Ambrose despair, as were the courageous words that were spoken. "My Dad might be dead at Twr Caersullien and my Da fights for his life on the walls of Gallantine and you expect me to hide behind you?"
Ambrose, without turning his head, reached behind him and pointed a fist at a goblin who had been trying to outflank Owain. The foul creature's brain liquefied. "No, I expect you to do what your parents want you to do; protect the Rose," he snarled. "Your blade is the last line of defence."
The golden headed youth gulped. "I will not fail you Uncle Ambrose, or them."
A wave of love for the boy swept over the vampire at being called 'uncle' and he knew he smiled kindly. "Good man." He then turned back just in time to see Owain cut down a goblin before he jumped back into the circle-ward. The goblins chased after the knight but were stopped abruptly by the barrier that kept out non-humans. Ambrose felt the strain on his power as the bloodthirsty beasts pushed forward against the invisible wall and then saw more of the creatures with a giant in tow enter the garden. "I cannot hold them at bay for long and I hunger for the blood I have already spent," he whispered to the knight.
The young man lifted the visor of his helm and nodded. "It has been a good fight, blood mage, and I am honoured to have fought by your side."
The vampire did not doubt the sincerity of the words from the open hearted man. Emotions filled him, companionship, friendship and, dare he think it, love? Ambrose was staggered by the feelings that stirred in his dead heart. He wished that this was not the end, that he could have months and years to savour what Merlin and Arthur experienced every day from those who loved them. "I...I thank you," was all he could say and then came another gentle nod of Owain's head, as if he said "No thanks are needed, my comrade-in-arms" which produced a tear of blood from the vampire's eye.
Ambrose composed himself then as the giant came close, a wicked double-bladed axe in its hands. "The barrier will fall and soon," he muttered and he sensed his charges make ready their weapons. It was then that Gilli cried out in pain and slumped to the floor, the tablet still in his hands and his eyes shone brightly.
If you can, Gorfannon, Ambrose thought furiously, now would be the time for a little help.
* * *
Gilli felt as if every inch of his body was being stabbed by red hot needles. Part of him knew that he had fallen to the frosty gravel path, but part of him felt as if he sped along a tunnel made of pure light. The latter part ended up on the floor of the cathedral of light that was Conclave, before a great anvil festooned with golden sigils. A giant muscular man, stripped to the waist and wielding a massive hammer, looked down at him with eyebrows raised.
"You took your time," bellowed the avatar.
Gilli scrambled to his feet. "Dude_"
"And time is short. If the Dark destroys the Rose then all is lost." Gorfannon struck the anvil. The blow made no sound. "Arthur has fallen and Gilgalad is no more. I sense it."
"NO!" Gilli shouted and his cartoon body wept bitterly.
"Dear child," the Power said softly, "all is not lost. I give you power but for a short time. Seek out the sword of stone and the last of my gift to you will reveal itself. Remember, it is for Arthur only, if he survives." The man looked back at the anvil, its glow bathing his face with power. "The fires of seeing have shown me many things, but not even I know what will become of him. Have courage. Have faith in the Light."
As Conclave started to fade, Gilli wiped the tears from his eyes. "Yes, sir. And thank you."
The last image was that of Gorfannon, smiling.
* * *
Petros went to his knees next to the stricken web mage, stricken himself by the fall of his friend. "Dude," the boy whispered, as his voice trembled. He did not want to be alone even though the vampire and the knight was still with him. He viewed the fellow teen as part of his household, part of his home. "Dude?" he said again and gently shook Gilli's shoulder.
Gilli open one eye and grinned. "Hey." He carefully got up, with Petros' help.
"Hey."
"Little dude, you're gonna love this." The web mage held onto his tablet with his left hand and stared at it. His eyes shone in a golden colour and, satisfied with what he saw, raised his right arm and punched the air above him. From the ward's red sigils came a pulse of pure energy that rippled outward and flattened the goblins. None stood back up. Even the shrubs and trees were hit by an invisible force, but they came to no permanent damage. However, the frost giant was only pushed back a few steps and then charged with black eyes narrowed in renewed anger.
Gilli had already gone onto his next target. He pointed at the stone statue of Nodens with his right finger and concentrated with all his effort. The iPad started to smoke, but before it was destroyed the stone sword that the statue had at its hip was bathed in a yellow light. Small flames seemed to ripple along the blade for but a moment and then it was gone.
The light from his eyes gone, Gilli dropped back to his knees and had a huge tired grin on his face. "Dude, was that awesome or what?"
Petros matched the grin. "Totally, man."
It was then the giant struck the blood-ward and they all heard the shattering of glass.
Owain met the charge.
A Dark Day: The Death of a Knight
Ambrose tried to stop the young knight. Even though the blood ward was down, he still had one or two tricks up his sleeve, but Owain had rushed forward to answer the charge. Instead, the vampire grabbed the arm of Petros as the boy made to join Owain. "No, you are to stay near the Rose," he hissed and stepped forward to put the two teens and the holy artefact behind him.
He saw Owain duck and swerve from the giant's swings and the blood mage knew that the knight was trying to lead the creature away from the Rose. With deep cuts to its thigh caused by Owain's steel sword, the frost giant bellowed out his anger and swung the axe and hit the knight with the flat of the blade. The shopkeeper's son cried out in pain as he awkwardly slammed against a leafless elm. The helm had come loose and clattered across the gravel. Even with his armour on, they could hear bones break.
"Damn!" muttered Ambrose, then shouted to get the giant's attention. "Leave the knight, dog's-breath. The Rose is here, so why not come and get it?"
The monster turned from the fallen knight and cautiously made towards the blood mage and the boys.
"This had better work," Ambrose muttered again and placed his hands before him, palms facing each other and at chest height. A small sphere of blood, no bigger than a cricket ball, formed between the hands and Ambrose felt the strain as the last of his blood was used up in the spell. His fangs extended, he cried out in effort and pushed his arms out towards the giant. The condensed, ball of blood sped impossibly fast and into the creature's chest. It did not go right through the body, but the sphere buried itself deep enough to crush the heart of the giant. It crashed to the ground.
"Uncle Ambrose, you did it!"
"Stay back," Merlin's look-alike snarled. "I won't be able to control myself soon...the hunger..." He was stopped as he saw a large, black dragon swoop low towards the garden's gravel path. As it did so it shrank in form and became a young, ebony-skinned naked man with a sword of shadow in his hand. He had a mop of silver hair. "Bugger! said Ambrose and ran to one side, towards an elm tree.
The ancient being laughed and its voice was deep and cruel. "Base coward, I might keep you as a pet. For now though," he slowly stepped closer to the youths and the rose, "I have bones to crush and a flower to pluck."
Petros sword wavered before him and his voice trembled. "You'll not touch the Rose. I'm the son of Arthur and Merlin and YOU WILL NOT TOUCH THE ROSE!"
As Bask raised his sword to meet the teen's charge and strike him down, he suddenly stopped. To Ambrose it seemed as if the avatar's sword had struck an invisible force. Petros bounced back and landed on his rump, but he had a big smile on his face. Confused, the vampire looked back down the garden's path as the dragon turned and they both saw a tired, red faced tradition mage.
"And you do not touch my fucking son, shithead."
Bask snarled and spewed a continuous stream of acid from his mouth, but the art student shot up his hands and produced a barrier of white light flecked with silver.
Ambrose scrambled over to the still form of Owain and looked into the dying eyes of the young warrior. "I am sorry, but I need blood. A lot of it."
"Do it!" croaked Owain and blood mixed with saliva dribbled out of a corner of his mouth. He had no more strength to utter any more words as Ambrose, his body heaving with dry sobs, extended his fangs and gave into his bloodlust.
He drank deep from the neck of the Knight of the Rose.
A Dark Day: Berserker
Merlin cried out in alarm and pointed at a huge giant who wielded a smooth, iron rod as thick as a man's thigh. The creature was making great strides towards the broken Northgate and the enemy that was around it seemed invigorated and full of hate.
"The Staff of Berserkers," shouted out Oakhaven and he jumped from the battlements, but did not fall. Instead his body grew long and tall and to Merlin it was as if the old Staffwielder turned into something that resembled an Ent from Tolkien's Middle Earth. Now Oakhaven's voice was booming, but still filled with silence. "Celimdol and Galtreth go to meet this challenge, but it is my office. Farewell, little sprog. It has been a good fight. See to your son. See to the Rose."
The gargantuan ent turned and bellowed a challenge before he ponderously started to stride towards the Staffwielder frost giant.
Merlin refused to let the tears of frustration fall. "Good bye, old friend." A faint dimming of the sun caught his attention and he fancied he caught a glimpse of an ancient shadow dragon swoop low over Gallantine's garden. A cold feeling filled his heart. "Petros!" He scrambled passed Helen, who led a troop of templers against the scores of goblins on the battlements.
"Petros, I'm coming," he shouted as he left the battle behind him.
Word Count: 8945
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Owned by Shine and BBC; please don’t sue me, I’m only playing!
Warnings/spoilers: language, violence, death
Summary: The Dark Day has arrived. Will Arthur and Merlin survive to must meet their destiny and save Gallantine and the White Rose?
A Dark Day is the last story in the saga that started years ago with Merlin's Dream (found here http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2011/04/22/ ; warning, approaching 500,000 words!). However, this back story is not essential to this current part of the series.
The prelude can be found here: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2013/11/20/
Part One: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/02/19/
Part Two: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/03/25/
Part three: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/05/28/
Part Four: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/07/25/
A/N: One more episode after this one and then your torture is over!
A Dark Day: Camlann
They stood beside a great oak, its bare branches crawling at the sky, and around them was the skeleton of a small village, the stone scorched black and filmed with frost. Frozen, dead bodies of women and children littered the area. No clouds marred the full moon this far north of Gallantine and its silvery light gave the dead hamlet an eerie glow.
"What is this place?" asked Arthur in a whisper, his breath white from the cold.
It was Rane who answered him. "This hamlet and the fields beyond are called Camlann." At the mention of the name, Bedwyr seemed alarmed and stepped protectively closer to Arthur. "You can just see Twr Caersullien from here," finished the prince.
Arthur followed the young horse lord's gaze and saw in the distance a dark tower, but a black finger at this distance. "Let's go," he said and led them from the ruined cottages, their boots crunching on snow the only sound.
When they had walked twenty minutes into the fields of white, Rane held up a hand to stop them. "Nosaden is close and she says that trouble is on its way." The winged horse gently landed next to the young prince, a mithril-headed lance strapped to her side. He sprang up and buckled himself into the saddle and took up the weapon. "Barghasts," he spat before the horse and rider leapt into the air.
Gawain carefully stripped his clothes off and put them into a cloth bag. In a blur his formed changed into a muscled, seven foot tall lupine and he growled deeply his anger. Cynan stood next to him, his blades drawn as Gilladrin unsheathed a great sword he had borrowed from a templer of Ceredwen. The champion had also loaned armour of bright steel, but had forsaken the helm.
Leon nodded a grin at the blond then stood to the other side of Gawain, a silver dagger in one hand and a revolver in the other.
Arthur was glad Morgana's lover, the lupine and the two elf warriors were with him. He turned to Bedwyr and Anharadeth "The first of many traps I fear," said the lore master as she twirled her staff around her head. When it landed in the snow before her, it bristled briefly with rivlets of lightning.
"I think you're right," answered the blond as he took out Gilaglad. The fabled elven blade pierced the gloom with its light, not unsurprising with the undead Welsh warrior by his side. "Form a circle," he shouted. "Protect each others backs."
They did as he commanded.
Silently, coming ever closer, thousands of grey-skinned large dogs with red eyes ran over the snow fields from all directions and Arthur saw a few winged creatures skim fast above the heads of the canines. They looked like small dragons, but had two legs that ended with wicked talons instead of four.
"Wyverns," informed Anharadeth. A wave of lightning fanned out in front of her and dozens of barghasts died.
As Arthur wielded his sword to defend his patch of ground, he noticed Rane swoop low and pierce one of the wyverns with his lance. It fell to the ground, dead, and the rider flew up high, silhouetted against the full moon, as the last few of the winged creatures went to engage him in battle.
"Be careful, Rane," the blond muttered.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Merlin looked out at the sea of goblins and giants that was Velshna's army. He assumed that at Rivergate would be thousands of Scaneans. Sure enough a runner, a boy of about ten years and sporting a dirty-blond mop of hair, stopped beside him and caught his breath.
"Northmen attack from the river's direction, my lord, but their rear be harried by many arrows. The elves, the elves are here," he finished with a grin.
The art student's relief at hearing the news made his thoughts turn to Nodens. The Celtae Power of Hunting and Healing had gone in that direction. "Come on Bask," he muttered, "show your hand." It was only then that the powers of the Light would be able to join the battle fully.
Morgana kicked a scaling ladder from the battlements and shot back a glance at the two, the mage and the boy. "Tell Celimdol to get here. Northgate will be the enemies' main target."
As the boy ran off, the student once again looked out over the fields and saw four giants carry between them the biggest tree trunk he had ever seen. It was iron shod and glowed in a putrid green light. They slowly made for Gallantine's Northgate. "Oakhaven!" he shouted as he stabbed a bolt of lightning at a young white dragon that had foolishly come too low. It veered off to the north with an agonised roar.
The Druid snorted in derision and the trunk suddenly exploded. Thick and deadly splinters instantly killed the four giants. Oakhaven then went back to warping the wood of the ladders up against the walls, but they kept coming and Merlin knew the old man was tiring.
"Save your strength. We'll just have to battle the ones that make it up here," shouted Merlin above the din of the fighting and dying. Oakhaven nodded at the wisdom of this and renewed the globes of emerald lights that gave the horse lord archers their targets.
The roar of many dragons continued from above. Thankfully, dragonsbane at the gates and around the garden had kept most of the reptiles at bay, but that did not stop the larger creatures from using their breath attacks; he had already seen a knot of Math's templers being cooked alive by a stream of magma, most probably from an ancient red dragon. Frustratingly for the Apprentise, these fatal attacks came from high above, admist the grey clouds that were discharging ever more volumes of snow.
"We've got to clear those clouds somehow, and the fucking dragons."
"I'm on it," answered Morgana and she made to leave, "but I won't be much help afterwards."
Before he could ask why, she had gone in the direction of Gallantine's docks. Then, without thinking, he put a shield of white light above Helen and Galtreth as a stream of black acid attempted to disolve their flesh. They continued their battle against the few goblins who reached the top of the walls without interruption as they had done a dozen times before; always did Merlin seem to know if they were in danger. The student paused for breath and looked along the battlements towards Riversgate and saw that their numbers were slowly being thinned, despite the defenders valient efforts. And still the hordes of the Dark kept coming.
Tears of frustration threatened to spill from his eyes. "Where the fuck are you, Tarrion?" he muttered bitterly. "We need you."
Then it started, a little tune in the back of his mind, something he had not heard since he had been eleven when Mrs. Evans at the local Welsh medium school had drummed into the class the song they were to sing at the school's eisteddfod on Saint David's Day.
"I know this," he whispered and a smile of half forgotten memories came to his lips. "I know this, Rose, and a fucking good choice it is too."
He took in a deep breath and sang his heart out the second verse to Yma o Hyd#:
Chwythed y gwynt o'r Dwyrain,
Rhued y storm o'r môr,
Hollted y mellt yr wybren
A gwaedded y daran encôr,
Llifed dagrau'r gwangalon
A llyfed y taeog y llawr
Er dued yw'r fagddu o'n cwmpas
Ry'n ni'n barod am doriad y wawr!
(Let the wind blow from the East
Let the storm roar from the sea
Let the lightning split the heavens
And the thunder shout "Encore!"
Let the tears of the faint-hearted flow
And the servile lick the floor
Despite the blackness around us
We are ready for the breaking of the dawn!)
With renewed energy he raised his arms in the air and a huge fireball flew from his hands and sped across the field which caused great choas, destruction and confusion amongst the goblins and giants. He sang the chorus:
Ry'n ni yma o hyd,
Er gwaetha pawb a phopeth,
Ry'n ni yma o hyd,
Er gwaetha pawb a phopeth,
Ry'n ni yma o hyd.
(We are still here
In spite of everyone and everything
We are still here
In spite of everyone and everything
We are still here.)
Cynan's younger brother came to his side, his two slim blades unsheathed, and smiled in response to the mage's joy. "Sing Celimdol, sing until your heart bursts."
The elf, in lyrical Sindarin, sang.
Merlin caught the eye of Lady Helen, dagger in hand and with a small cut on her left cheek, and grinned. "Sing it out loud, spellsinger!"
Infected by his laughter, her soprano voice joined the elf's tenor. Templers and horse lords were caught up in the melody and, still fighting, sang out in their own tongues. Far to the east, Merlin heard the voices of over two thousand elf archers join in with the singing and tears of joy fell freely down his cheeks as, in his heart, he thanked the White Rose for its intervention when all seemed lost.
Then Merlin gasped; in his mind's eye he saw a young Gaul reach out tentatively towards an oak staff that was topped by a fist sized emerald and was claimed; saw a young man fight the Romans at Ynys Mon and dedicate a bone carving of a running dog to Nodens; saw a middle aged man now named Taliesen teach the knowledge of the Old Religion and its wild magic to an unsure youth named Myrddin; saw an old man weep at the devastation of the last battle at Camlann, at King Arthur's fall. Merlin saw all of this and now the tears of joy were mingled with those of sadness and regret.
"Oakhaven," he croaked, then cleared his throat of emotion. He saw the Druid in a new light, one of patience, past pains and endurance. "Taliesen, Oakhaven, my friend, do your fucking stuff."
The Staffwielder seemeded renewed, invigorated and he turned to Merlin with a look of shock on his face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "The White Rose has never spoken so loud, so pure. I..." He composed himself and winked at the young man. "It's time for nature to have her say."
The old man used both hands to raise the Staff of Power over his head. No words were said, no incantation that Merlin could hear, but a burst of emerald light came forth from the Druid that seemed to briefly engulf the whole city. The light that touched the enemy caused them to vomit and run about in confusion. Where it touched the defenders, they seemed renewed in vigour and those who had been wounded were intantly healed. Then bushes and trees in the fields around Gallantine started to grow impossibly fast, ensaring some of the enemy but crippling or killing most; Velshna's army was easily cut down by two thirds.
Then Oakhaven seemed his old self, just a tired man with a stick. He leaned on his Staff and gave another wink. "The Rose might have produced the power, you cheeky little sprog, but you were the trigger. The balance is more even now, we have a chance, and it has been all down to you."
Merlin shrugged. "I didn't do anything, really."
Oakhaven sniffed contemptuously at his modesty while he, with an absent wave of his hand, swept away an arrow that had been aimed for Merlin's throat. "The White Rose saw the passion, the honour, the goodness in your heart and used you to amplify your own power and everyone elses. My boy, you may have saved Gallantine this night."
Before Merlin could answer, a great cry of outrage came from the new woodland that now encircled Gallantine. He, using a cantrip that could make his vision act like a telescope, picked out a snow elf dressed in shimmering ice-blue robes stand near the circle of stones. The Icestaff was pointed towards Northgate and Velshna's face was full of fury.
"The final chapter begins," muttered Merlin. A great roar from the south, the sound of a thousand waterfalls, made him and most of the others about him turn around. Merlin saw a huge curtain of water rise up about a hundred feet. It stretched either side out of sight, from one side of Lake Galla to the other. "Go on Morgana," Merlin muttered with a savage twist to his lips, "now it's your turn to do your fucking stuff."
At the same time a powerful torrent of snow and ice with hurricane force trampled bush and tree aside to hit Northgate. The great, enchanted wooden barrier was burst apart and Merlin uttered one, fearful word.
"Shit!"
A Dark Day: Twr Caersullien
The number of barghasts seemed to be greatly reduced and Arthur felt bone tired as he continued to use all his skill in wielding Gilgaled against the unnatural hounds. He saw Rane atop Nosaden sweep down time and again into their ranks with powerful wings and mithril lance to break many a body; saw Leon support Bedwyr in keeping the creatures at bay; saw Gawain be practically everywhere at once as he used his powerful arms to rip into the dogs; saw Cynan and Gilladrin calmly keep the canines at bay with their blades; saw Anharadeth seem to play with the lightning that danced around her as she stood her ground; saw the sun finally show his face. Three hours had passed.
The body of the ancient vampire-warrior started to smoke and they could all hear him grunt through the pain as he fought on.
"Rest in the ground Bedwyr, you've done enough," shouted Arthur.
The vampire snarled out loud in his agony and caught a barghast in mid air as it went for the blond's throat. He ripped it in two with his blood-empowered strength. It seemed to be the last of the stragglers and the rest of the group rested from their labours.
"Nay! I will not fail you again at Camlann, my liege."
Arthur swallowed against his dry throat and spoke more softly. "You've done enough, old friend." He pulled up the sleeve of his russet jacket and offered his forearm. "Drink, renew your strength, and rest in the ground, I command it. We'll see you in Gallantine later."
Bedwyr hesitated but then went down on one knee. Reverently he sank his fangs into the offered flesh. After less than a minute, Arthur saw the vampire's form turn to mist and sink into the snow.
"We dare not rest here," said Cynan as he wiped his blades clean. Rane and Nosaden landed gently beside him; both were tired but ready for more. "Let us reach this Tower of Caersullien as quick as we can before the enemy gathers its strength," continued the elven hunter.
Arthur so wanted to rest, but knew the wisdom of the words. He was surprised when Anharadeth started to go to each of the group and place her hand on their heads, even that of the winged horse. When it came to the blond's turn, he suddenly felt refreshed as if he had slept comfortably for at least three days.
"Not a cantrip to be used too often," smiled the lore master, "but I do concur with my fellow Brewer."
Arthur grinned his thanks. "Let's get started then."
They trudged on into the gentle bowl-shaped valley and soon came across the out buildings of the rectangular tower (Rane had talked to them about some of the building's history, saying that it had been erected by the dwarves as a 'thank you' after some long forgotten battle against a war-horde of goblins). Bodies picked clean by carrion, mostly warriors still in their chain armour but also with a few women and children, were covered by a film of frost and snow. The great oak doors of the tower had been blasted apart, scorched by a great heat. It was here that Rane stalled.
"I...Here be the great hall of my father, first king of Gwlad-yr-Hydref." Arthur saw him gulp down emotion. "Nosaden, away."
The majestic horse neighed in defiance, but then relented and, with a few beat of her wings, flew up into the sky to encircle the granite monolith in a serene gliding motion.
"My mother_" the young prince, of similar age to Arthur himself, briefly closed his eyes and his frame shuddered in emotion. "She...she bore the Sunstone until the return of the king come Autumn. Oh my Lady Rhiannon," he cried out, "that will never happen again. Gone are the days of yesteryear, when my people were at last united against winter and foe alike."
Arthur could see his friend fight against the tears that threatened to spill from his clear, blue eyes. "Not all is lost, Rane," he said gently as he embraced the prince. "Things won't be as before, but you and your people will begin again. This I promise on my life."
Rane stood back, startled. And cupped Arthur's face in his palms. "On my own life I would sacrifice all I hold dear, yea, even my love for Arianwen and my kinship to my people not to suffer the sight of you fallen, my friend. Come, let not my weakened spirit delay us from the prize that will counter the White Witch."
Cynan clamped a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. "Well said, fellow prince. May our steps not falter at the very last."
The group turned to the ruined doors and made to enter the blackness beyond, but a cry of warning from Anharadeth stopped their steps. "Hold! We have endured one ambush already, let us not blunder into any more." She extended an arm towards the opening and a small ball of lightning flew from her hand to hover about thirty feet ahead to light the way.
Cautiously, they entered Twr Caersullien.
Dark Day: Nature Has Her Say or Dragons? Fuck You!
Morgana stood calmly at the end of a small, stone jetty with her back to Lake Galla and its ice-rimmed waters. Two, single storey warehouses made of timber and stone were about a hundred paces away from her on either side, flanking the wide avenue (the forlorn apple trees bare of leaves) that led up to the holy garden's southern gate. She took in a deep breath and steadied her nerve.
"It is time," whispered the words of the Lady of Galla in her head and Morgan's vision became fierce in its golden light.
The seer had many scenes flicker through her head, too fast for her to register what they were, but they finally slowed and three tableaux settled in her mind, one after the other. An old man with green eyes and robes of leaves stood upon a grey granite outcrop which overlooked a sea of swaying trees that stretched to the horizon, the green untouched by Winter; a middle-aged man who carried a silver birch sapling as a staff, atop the waters of a great river and he danced slowly in graceful circles; an old woman perched upon a narrow bridge of land that seperated sea and lake, high winds made her long hair stream across her face, her arms held high.
"Forestgreat Dragonlands stands ready. The creatures have been summoned," spoke Hengoed Fawr, the Father of Forests.
The river spirit, Deshannon, stopped his gentle dance and knelt atop the water. "All streams, rivers, pools both hidden and in sight channel through me and power will be sent to the vessel. Some of the lessor spirits know that they will not survive this trial, but sacrifice themselves willingly enough."
The Lady Galla lowered her arms. "This is our one chance to perhaps tip the balance slightly to the side of Light and if some of us fall then so be it. Even us three will feel much strain, though I have faith in the mortal vessel that we aim our power at." Morgana did not like the sound of that, but remained silent. "I will guide her, for I am the nearest. I sense the great flight of dragons has decided to challenge the power of the dragonweed. Now is the time."
Morgana felt every fibre of her being burn hot with power and the pain escaped her lips in a howl of agony. The sound of this, however, was drowned as she sensed rather than saw a curtain of water rise up from the lake behind her and it was at least a hundred feet high. The seer knew what to do. She turned and pointed at the tons of water before her and slowly raised her arm towards the clouds and the hidden dragons above. The water left Lake Galla and shot heavenwards.
She then saw a jet stream of powerful high winds crash mercilessly into the space above Gallantine that swept both clouds and most of the dragons away to the north (the latter covered in a thick layer of ice and tumbling helplessly). After the winds a flock of birds of many varieties darkened the sky to attack the few dragons that had somehow escaped the watery and icy first wave.
One large blue dragon landed about a hundred feet away from Morgana. The creature ignored the seer and forked lightning escaped its mouth to down a hundred of the birds that attacked it, to no avail. The small creatures pecked out its eyes, battered its body and continued to fly down its throat. It soon lay still, suffocated.
As quickly as they had appeared the great flock flew away and the moon shone her light upon the White City. Her vision now clear, Morgana felt very, very tired and sank to her knees.
"It is now up to your friends and allies of the Light, young sister Morgana, but for you is the time for a great rest," came the voice of Galla, faint as if from far away and not in the seer's head.
Morgana reluctantly closed her eyes.
A Dark Day: The House of Healing
Lance smiled as the last of the beautiful song left his mind. He had sang out until his voice was hoarse, a song of defiance and courage. He turned and looked with wonder around the vastness that was the hall of Diancecht's temple. The hundreds of wounded men who had been treated by Gwen, Myfanwy, Arianwen, Gaius and the goodwives of Gallantine were suddenly made whole; even missing limbs grew back.
The elf lore master sighed. "Merlin has led us in a great song of courage, but not The Song. That will hopefully come later," she said in answer to his unspoken question. "The emerald light methinks has come from Lord Oakhaven and have healed the hurts of Gallantine."
Before Lance could speak, they could all hear a near deafening sound of what sounded like thousands of waterfalls come from nearby and then the ground shook. Gwen had briefly close her eyes and, when she opened the, her face was white from fear.
"Great danger is upon us. I think Northgate has been breached."
At those words, and as Lance held his lover in his arms for comfort, men sprang from their beds and took up arms. They streamed from the great temple and Lance let them, though he itched to go with the warriors to defend the city. Even the green-skinned barkeep of The Sanctuary Inn was healed and followed them. However, Lance had been charged to protect the healers and he never broke a vow. He caught the look of Mabon and saw that the mortal god also wished to follow, but he too was under a similar oath made to Merlin.
Myfanwy touched Mabon's arm to get his attention. "You must go to the docks while you are still able," she commanded softly. Before he could protest she raised one hand to stop his words. "Nay, let me speak. The Lady Morgana is near death's door. Collect her, my lord, and bring her here. The streets will soon be swamped by the enemy, so you must hurry."
The handsome young man ran from the building, his dagger in hand. Myfanwy took up her staff and closed her eyes.
"Nature herself has come to our aid and the flight of dragons is a flight no more." She gasped and took a step backwards. Lance and Gwen quickly went to her side to steady her. The green eyes opened and were wide in concern. "The White Witch has entered Gallantine. Merlin, Celimdol...!"
Lance gritted his teeth in frustration. "Why am I here? Merlin needs me." He glanced at his lover, who smiled and seemed to urge him to go to their mutual friends.
"Hold your tongue and your steps, Lance of the Silver Lake!" Myfanwy said sharply, but her voice had not risen. Still, Lance felt ashamed at the rebuke. "You will have your hands full here, my lord. Go to this cathedral's entrance to join Lord Grey. We will gather these good women of Gallantine to yonder ante room and be their last protection, if needed."
Lance nodded his head and, with a longing kiss on Gwen's lips in farewell, went to join the vampire. Dorian stood facing north and the knight followed his gaze to see thousands of goblins (with a few giants among them), stream down the broad avenue. There were a few knots of templers and horse lords that stood their ground against the tide, but most of the evil creatures sped passed them. They started to ransack every temple and were slowly approaching the one Lance and Dorian protected.
The vampire had no weapon in his hands and stood calmly. Lance wondered what use he would be. "The sun will rise soon, in a few minutes. I'll do what I can before that, but I will have to go to that merchant's house over there and hope it has a cellar. Of course, if those bastards coming towards us," he nodded his handsome head towards the much nearer goblins, "are not stopped and find me..." he shrugged and finished with a grin.
Lance smiled grimly in answer and ignited his light sword. The blue light pushed back the shadows and he made a sweep of it towards the enemy in salute. This fight was to the death.
Suddenly, Dorian opened wide his arms and bared his fangs. He snarled. At least a hundred of the first ranks of goblins shat and wet themselves in fear, crawling on the ground northwards and away from the vampire. These were soon trampled by their fellows who came up from behind.
Even though Lance stood next to the undead and so could not see his face, he still wanted to puke in fear. Mabon's Chosen gulped down the bile and started to engage the enemy, his sword slicing through weapon, leather armour and flesh with sickening ease. The rush of the enemy would not stop and Lance would not stop fighting.
He had to buy time for his patron to find Morgana and get her safely into the temple of Diancecht. He had to protect his lover and mother of his twin sons. He had to.
A Dark Day: Arthur Pendragon, Nodens' Chosen, Warrior of the Light, Third Officer of the Buckland Brewers, Wielder of Gilgalad, Has Fallen!
The first floor of Twr Caersullien was vast and wreathed in darkness and shadow, except for those that were kept at bay by Anharadeth's little ball of lightning. The imposing columns that they could see were fashioned to look like oaks with birds of stone that graced the upper branches. The ball of light stopped and hovered a great distance down the hall to illuminate two thrones on a dais. One was empty, but the other had a figure frozen in death. A women, tall and stern, crowned and with fine jewellery and garments.
Rane sobbed loudly unashamedly and Gilladrin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as Cynan got up from inspecting the snow that had intruded a few feet into the mausoleum.
"Thirty-three men have entered this place and recently. They did not leave through this doorway," said the hunter in a whisper. He readied his elven blades.
Anharadeth, the last to enter the tower, heard a slow beat of wings from outside and she turned to see a black robed man of about forty years of age stand with his arms at his side. He had golden hair and his skin was as if powdered in the metal.
The Second Officer of the Buckland Brewers squared her shoulders. "Name thyself, I command thee!"
As the others in her group came to her side, the stranger smiled. "Your witch-voice will have no effect on me, young one, but I will abide by your wish all the same." He took a step forward and Arthur levelled Gilagalad so that its tip was but an inch from the stranger's chest.
"Gilladrin?" the blond commanded.
"He..." began the elf champion and then gasped. "My blade-brother, his heart is so pure...I...he is of the Light, I swear it!"
Anharadeth saw Arthur's cheeks colour slightly and the legendary sword was put away. "Forgive me my lord," the young warrior said with a nod of his head. "I didn't expect an ally to be found so deep in Velshna's territory."
The stranger smiled and bowed his head in return. " An ally? Yes, but a poor one at that. This avatar before you has slept many an eon, but in my drowsiness I will do what I can. Protector I am, healer with some little skill, gather of knowledge and dreamer of dreams. In answer to your command, sweet lady, I am named by mortals as Suna of the Golden Scales." Suna held up a hand, palm facing the group, and a small burst of golden light bathed them. "There, the filth of the claws of those you are about to face will not ravage the mind or putrefy the flesh, though they can still rip. However, beware the Staffwielder that waits for you in yonder hall and the general of the White Witch. It could be that more than one of you will meet their doom this morn. For now, no more from me, or the Dark will detect my presence and your battle will be more than you could possibly bare."
With that said the avatar of Suna of the Golden Scales, Ancient Power of all Gold Dragons, turned and walked into the growing light of day.
Arthur let out a breath. "So, creatures with claws and a Staffwielder. At least surprise is not on their side."
"I can now sense her, fellow officer," said Anharadeth, "as she senses me. The Staff is of Poison. I will deal with this assassin! You others deal with the abominations."
They turned and went cautiously further into the great hall, sticking close to each other but giving themselves room to fight. Gawain peeled off his clothes as he walked and then shape-changed into his lupine form.
From the shadows a woman with light-brown hair tied back in a pony tail and dressed in tight fitting, dark clothes lunged at Arthur with a slim bladed short sword. The blow was parried by Anharadeth's staff and the lore master pushed back the assailant with a wave of her free hand. "Stay back, for she is wreathed in vile poison. I will deal with this cur," she shouted and leapt forward to do battle.
At the same time many howls filled the hall that struck fear into the hearts of Arthur and Rane. The prince of the horse lords gulped down his panic. "Werewargs. We are assailed by werewargs!" He readied his sword as he looked about him at the shadows.
Leon grinned and produced two of his many silver daggers. "I was born for this fight," he laughed savagely.
It was then that a wolf-like creature furtively came from behind the thrones and stood to reach his full height. A head taller than Gawain, the light from the ball of lightning revealed that the creature was just as muscled and more so. He wrenched off the head of the dead queen and threw it at the feet of Rane. The young prince, tears rolling down his face, roared out his anger and made to run forward, but Gilladrin stopped him.
"There is another that must answer this challenge," whispered the elf in Rane's ear, calming him.
The leader of the werewargs then pointed a talon at the werewolf. "Know that I am Golgarren and that you are but a weak lamb I will take pleasure in ripping apart!"
Gawain howled his anger and challenge and the two, in a blur, sped towards each other.
More werewargs burst from the shadows at the same time and as Cynan parried and rolled to avoid the attacks aimed for him, two arms of one of the creatures grabbed him from behind and pulled him back into the darkness.
"Go for the Sunstone," shouted Gilladrin as he ran towards the spot he had last seen his brother-in-law. "I will deal with this."
Arthur immediately realised that they were at a disadvantage. Only enchanted or silver weapons could permanently harm these creatures, which meant that Rane and the elf champion could parry any blows at best. "Rane, do what you can for Gilladrin and Cynan," he shouted as he sliced open the belly of an opponent, slightly shorter than the others, and it reverted back into the form of a young, pock-marked youth. "Leon, watch my back."
The blond did not know if they did as was commanded of them, but matched the speed of the blows that wanted to rip him limb from limb. One lucky blow left great tears in his white shirt and russet overcoat, but his mithril vest kept him from harm. As Gilgalad parried, cut and stabbed about him, he slowly moved forward towards the dais inch by inch and he heard Leon exert himself in using fully his deadly, silver weapons.
The battle lessoned somewhat and Arthur saw two opponents left before him as they guarded the throne of the dead queen. A silver shuriken embedded itself in the throat of one of them and Leon said from behind the blond, "The battle's nearly over. Kill the bastard and let's get out of here."
The remaining werewarg lunge forward with a snarl and a burst of speed, but Arthur was just as quick as he instinctively parried once and then pierced the creature's heart. He let the body, now a thick set warrior with black hair, slide off his blade and to one side. Exhausted, he reached the top of dais and looked at the headless queen. In her lap was a pendant, a pear drop jewel of yellow set in gold.
He glanced back at the remnants of the battle and saw Gawain and Golgarren wrestle on the ground. The lupine had his legs clamped around the body of the large werewarg with his arms fixed firmly around the head. Gawain's biceps bulged and, with a savage snarl of effort, ripped off Golgarren's head. The two reverted back into human form and Celimdol's lover staggered to his feet.
Arthur saw Gilladrin had one of Cynan's swords and the two elves, Rane between them, used all their skill in defeating the last of their foes whilst protecting the young prince. Anharadeth then came from a shadowed corner, tired but alive.
The blond breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the queen's throne as he stooped to pick up the pendant. As he vaguely registered a warning shout from the lore master, he looked in wonder at the Sunstone, at the way it produced it's own fiery light deep within its facets. Suddenly, frost started to cover his arm and he dropped the jewel , but it was too late; the frost became ice and quickly covered his body and he gasped in shock.
The last thing his eyes registered was Gilgalad, still in his hand, crack then shatter into many pieces.
* * *
Anharadeth ran forward, the others behind her. She reached Leon and placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort as the lupine hunter sobbed, distraught. "All is not yet lost," she said with a reassurance that she did not feel. The new Staffwielder examined the Sunstone and deduced that the traps that had been placed upon it were now spent. She picked it up and turned to the frozen Arthur. "His heart falters," she shouted. "Quickly, into the light of day!"
Cynan and Leon carried the blond from Twr Caersullien and they encountered Suna patiently waiting. The ancient had a sad look upon his face and simply stood on the frost-hard ground as he faced them.
"My lord, help us," pleaded the lore master, but the Power slowly shook his head.
"I dare not, but you have the means, my lady."
Puzzled and frustrated, Anharadeth looked at the Sunstone in her hand and sensed the great power it held. Cautiously she tapped it once against the fist sized sapphire of Stormstaff. A great burst of yellow light, as if the sun had come down to them, blinded her for a few moments. When her vision cleared, she saw a thawed and drenched Arthur in Leon's lap.
The lupine hunter brushed damp hair from the blond's brow tenderly and looked up with tears in his eyes. "He's so cold."
"Yet he lives," whispered Gilladrin, "but just barely."
"Then we take him to the Garden of the Rose and hope for the best," answered the lore master.
Suna of the Golden Scales sighed. "At least I can help with that, in part." He slowly turned and, as he did so, floated into the air high above them. His form rippled and slowly changed into a majestic, huge dragon. His golden scales glistened in the sun's light and the lore master thought she had not seen anything more beautiful in all her long years.
"My lord?" she whispered.
In their minds came the words of the avatar. "Place Arthur and yourselves on my back. I will not allow you to fall, but will take you to the oak that you used to get to the fields of Camlann. I can do that much, but may approach Gallantine no further."
"But my lord," said Cynan, "the Druid told us that it was a one way door."
Anharadeth could have sworn the dragon smiled and they heard a little chuckle. "Trust in my power, First Born. Now hurry, the spirit of Nodens' Chosen weakens with every moment that passes!"
They scrambled to do what they were asked and, with one great swoop of his wings, Suna soared into the frigid air.
A Dark Day: The Garden of the Rose
They heard the sounds of battle in the streets that surrounded the garden and Ambrose saw the web mage called Gilli chew nervously on his lower lip. "Don't worry dude," said Petros, just as nervous, "I'll protect you."
The vampire smiled as he saw the fourteen year old stand with his long sword before him and in front of Gilli. Owain, with shield and his own sword at the ready, stood next to the youth. The Rose was behind them all, the thing they protected. The sounds of fighting came closer; the enemy was in the garden itself.
Ambrose stepped forward, but still within the large circle-ward of blood he had created earlier. In marvel he felt the warmth of the morning sun as he quickly surveyed the crimson sigils about them. Satisfied, he turned his attention to a group of about forty goblins that ran towards them down the wide gravel path that led to the garden's north silver gates.
"Hold," muttered the blood mage to his companions as he raised both arms to chest level. With a shout of blood-curdling glee, the goblins spied their prey and ran towards them. "Hold," again said Ambrose as he heard a whimper escape Gilli's lips.
The undead mage closed both hands and made them into fists. As he did so he muttered a word of power and the two front goblins clutched at their chests, their hearts crushed. That stopped the little bastards' momentum.
"Owain, do your bit, but remember to reach the safety of the ward if you think you are about to be overwhelmed."
Even before Ambrose had finished the sentence the Knight of the Rose leapt forward and shield-smashed the first goblin to the ground and sliced with his long sword into another. As the sound of the creatures' death rattles and the stench of their foul blood started to fill the air, the blood mage turned to face the two youths.
"Gilli, now would be a good time to create a strong contact with your Conclave and the avatar, Gorfannon." The web mage's eyes shone gold and he stabbed furiously at his iPad. "Petros, no matter what occurs, you do not move from that spot." The vampire knew that no where in the city was safe anymore except, perhaps, near the holy artefact of the Rose.
A determined set of the boy's mouth made Ambrose despair, as were the courageous words that were spoken. "My Dad might be dead at Twr Caersullien and my Da fights for his life on the walls of Gallantine and you expect me to hide behind you?"
Ambrose, without turning his head, reached behind him and pointed a fist at a goblin who had been trying to outflank Owain. The foul creature's brain liquefied. "No, I expect you to do what your parents want you to do; protect the Rose," he snarled. "Your blade is the last line of defence."
The golden headed youth gulped. "I will not fail you Uncle Ambrose, or them."
A wave of love for the boy swept over the vampire at being called 'uncle' and he knew he smiled kindly. "Good man." He then turned back just in time to see Owain cut down a goblin before he jumped back into the circle-ward. The goblins chased after the knight but were stopped abruptly by the barrier that kept out non-humans. Ambrose felt the strain on his power as the bloodthirsty beasts pushed forward against the invisible wall and then saw more of the creatures with a giant in tow enter the garden. "I cannot hold them at bay for long and I hunger for the blood I have already spent," he whispered to the knight.
The young man lifted the visor of his helm and nodded. "It has been a good fight, blood mage, and I am honoured to have fought by your side."
The vampire did not doubt the sincerity of the words from the open hearted man. Emotions filled him, companionship, friendship and, dare he think it, love? Ambrose was staggered by the feelings that stirred in his dead heart. He wished that this was not the end, that he could have months and years to savour what Merlin and Arthur experienced every day from those who loved them. "I...I thank you," was all he could say and then came another gentle nod of Owain's head, as if he said "No thanks are needed, my comrade-in-arms" which produced a tear of blood from the vampire's eye.
Ambrose composed himself then as the giant came close, a wicked double-bladed axe in its hands. "The barrier will fall and soon," he muttered and he sensed his charges make ready their weapons. It was then that Gilli cried out in pain and slumped to the floor, the tablet still in his hands and his eyes shone brightly.
If you can, Gorfannon, Ambrose thought furiously, now would be the time for a little help.
* * *
Gilli felt as if every inch of his body was being stabbed by red hot needles. Part of him knew that he had fallen to the frosty gravel path, but part of him felt as if he sped along a tunnel made of pure light. The latter part ended up on the floor of the cathedral of light that was Conclave, before a great anvil festooned with golden sigils. A giant muscular man, stripped to the waist and wielding a massive hammer, looked down at him with eyebrows raised.
"You took your time," bellowed the avatar.
Gilli scrambled to his feet. "Dude_"
"And time is short. If the Dark destroys the Rose then all is lost." Gorfannon struck the anvil. The blow made no sound. "Arthur has fallen and Gilgalad is no more. I sense it."
"NO!" Gilli shouted and his cartoon body wept bitterly.
"Dear child," the Power said softly, "all is not lost. I give you power but for a short time. Seek out the sword of stone and the last of my gift to you will reveal itself. Remember, it is for Arthur only, if he survives." The man looked back at the anvil, its glow bathing his face with power. "The fires of seeing have shown me many things, but not even I know what will become of him. Have courage. Have faith in the Light."
As Conclave started to fade, Gilli wiped the tears from his eyes. "Yes, sir. And thank you."
The last image was that of Gorfannon, smiling.
* * *
Petros went to his knees next to the stricken web mage, stricken himself by the fall of his friend. "Dude," the boy whispered, as his voice trembled. He did not want to be alone even though the vampire and the knight was still with him. He viewed the fellow teen as part of his household, part of his home. "Dude?" he said again and gently shook Gilli's shoulder.
Gilli open one eye and grinned. "Hey." He carefully got up, with Petros' help.
"Hey."
"Little dude, you're gonna love this." The web mage held onto his tablet with his left hand and stared at it. His eyes shone in a golden colour and, satisfied with what he saw, raised his right arm and punched the air above him. From the ward's red sigils came a pulse of pure energy that rippled outward and flattened the goblins. None stood back up. Even the shrubs and trees were hit by an invisible force, but they came to no permanent damage. However, the frost giant was only pushed back a few steps and then charged with black eyes narrowed in renewed anger.
Gilli had already gone onto his next target. He pointed at the stone statue of Nodens with his right finger and concentrated with all his effort. The iPad started to smoke, but before it was destroyed the stone sword that the statue had at its hip was bathed in a yellow light. Small flames seemed to ripple along the blade for but a moment and then it was gone.
The light from his eyes gone, Gilli dropped back to his knees and had a huge tired grin on his face. "Dude, was that awesome or what?"
Petros matched the grin. "Totally, man."
It was then the giant struck the blood-ward and they all heard the shattering of glass.
Owain met the charge.
A Dark Day: The Death of a Knight
Ambrose tried to stop the young knight. Even though the blood ward was down, he still had one or two tricks up his sleeve, but Owain had rushed forward to answer the charge. Instead, the vampire grabbed the arm of Petros as the boy made to join Owain. "No, you are to stay near the Rose," he hissed and stepped forward to put the two teens and the holy artefact behind him.
He saw Owain duck and swerve from the giant's swings and the blood mage knew that the knight was trying to lead the creature away from the Rose. With deep cuts to its thigh caused by Owain's steel sword, the frost giant bellowed out his anger and swung the axe and hit the knight with the flat of the blade. The shopkeeper's son cried out in pain as he awkwardly slammed against a leafless elm. The helm had come loose and clattered across the gravel. Even with his armour on, they could hear bones break.
"Damn!" muttered Ambrose, then shouted to get the giant's attention. "Leave the knight, dog's-breath. The Rose is here, so why not come and get it?"
The monster turned from the fallen knight and cautiously made towards the blood mage and the boys.
"This had better work," Ambrose muttered again and placed his hands before him, palms facing each other and at chest height. A small sphere of blood, no bigger than a cricket ball, formed between the hands and Ambrose felt the strain as the last of his blood was used up in the spell. His fangs extended, he cried out in effort and pushed his arms out towards the giant. The condensed, ball of blood sped impossibly fast and into the creature's chest. It did not go right through the body, but the sphere buried itself deep enough to crush the heart of the giant. It crashed to the ground.
"Uncle Ambrose, you did it!"
"Stay back," Merlin's look-alike snarled. "I won't be able to control myself soon...the hunger..." He was stopped as he saw a large, black dragon swoop low towards the garden's gravel path. As it did so it shrank in form and became a young, ebony-skinned naked man with a sword of shadow in his hand. He had a mop of silver hair. "Bugger! said Ambrose and ran to one side, towards an elm tree.
The ancient being laughed and its voice was deep and cruel. "Base coward, I might keep you as a pet. For now though," he slowly stepped closer to the youths and the rose, "I have bones to crush and a flower to pluck."
Petros sword wavered before him and his voice trembled. "You'll not touch the Rose. I'm the son of Arthur and Merlin and YOU WILL NOT TOUCH THE ROSE!"
As Bask raised his sword to meet the teen's charge and strike him down, he suddenly stopped. To Ambrose it seemed as if the avatar's sword had struck an invisible force. Petros bounced back and landed on his rump, but he had a big smile on his face. Confused, the vampire looked back down the garden's path as the dragon turned and they both saw a tired, red faced tradition mage.
"And you do not touch my fucking son, shithead."
Bask snarled and spewed a continuous stream of acid from his mouth, but the art student shot up his hands and produced a barrier of white light flecked with silver.
Ambrose scrambled over to the still form of Owain and looked into the dying eyes of the young warrior. "I am sorry, but I need blood. A lot of it."
"Do it!" croaked Owain and blood mixed with saliva dribbled out of a corner of his mouth. He had no more strength to utter any more words as Ambrose, his body heaving with dry sobs, extended his fangs and gave into his bloodlust.
He drank deep from the neck of the Knight of the Rose.
A Dark Day: Berserker
Merlin cried out in alarm and pointed at a huge giant who wielded a smooth, iron rod as thick as a man's thigh. The creature was making great strides towards the broken Northgate and the enemy that was around it seemed invigorated and full of hate.
"The Staff of Berserkers," shouted out Oakhaven and he jumped from the battlements, but did not fall. Instead his body grew long and tall and to Merlin it was as if the old Staffwielder turned into something that resembled an Ent from Tolkien's Middle Earth. Now Oakhaven's voice was booming, but still filled with silence. "Celimdol and Galtreth go to meet this challenge, but it is my office. Farewell, little sprog. It has been a good fight. See to your son. See to the Rose."
The gargantuan ent turned and bellowed a challenge before he ponderously started to stride towards the Staffwielder frost giant.
Merlin refused to let the tears of frustration fall. "Good bye, old friend." A faint dimming of the sun caught his attention and he fancied he caught a glimpse of an ancient shadow dragon swoop low over Gallantine's garden. A cold feeling filled his heart. "Petros!" He scrambled passed Helen, who led a troop of templers against the scores of goblins on the battlements.
"Petros, I'm coming," he shouted as he left the battle behind him.