Return to Kilcad

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Awakening

 

The grasses waved from sweet summer winds, green as emeralds from the far off mountains. The sky was clear; only a few rolling clouds drifted lazily through the air. A huge forest, the law and heart of the land, pushed its fingers from south to west and over the mountains. A trembling of the air above the mountains whispered a promise of a storm later that night, a night of full moons and druids.

 

Darkness fell quickly as the storm clouds poured from the mountains like dark smoke. Rain began to fall to the ground, flattening the grasses and making the trees dance wildly. Lightning flickered and thunder growled back threateningly.

 

Two huge rocks, taller than men but of the same stature, revealed themselves to be statues as lightning licked across their chiseled faces. Rain streamed down their fronts and cheeks in the dark and thunder shattered the air as lightning kissed a tree of the forest, splitting it from crown to base.

 

When the lightning's glow touched the statues a second time, glittering eyes out of regal, hawkish features watched its course solemnly. Flesh, whole and warm, replaced stone, keen glances where before only sharp, cold stares had been. Their long hair whipped in the wind, turned to obsidian locks in the night. Their fine armor, flexible and shining, sang as the rain struck it.

 

Without a word, the two men strode through the sea of rain-sodden grass and stepped into the woods.

 

 

 

 

* * * *

 

 

By morning the storm had abated. A farmer had dazedly sold his two magnificent plough horses to ethereal looking strangers from the woods. The large bag of gems they had placed in his hands was worth a kingdom at least. It had been "no use to them". They had then ridden away down the muddy road, for all the world looking like kings. The mist swallowed them up, and when it cleared, they were nowhere to be seen.

 

* * * *

 

A dark-haired knight lay sprawled in a shifting green field, an arm thrown across his eyes. His brilliant armor seemed woven from liquid metal and formed for his body alone. Armor such as that was no longer seen in those days. A large mare with harness calluses grazed nearby, swatting a few flies half-heartedly.

 

The thudding of another destrier's hooves on the padded loam made the knight raise his head. Dark hair spilled down his back, pulled into a rough horsetail. He watched the approach of the other steed with eyes the color of amethyst, revealing his otherworldly heritage.

 

The large black mare approaching was ridden by a knight of similar proportions, his hair silvery and flying wild behind him. It was shorter than the black-haired knight's, falling in jagged locks about his face. When he wished he could run his fingers through it and make each lock stand on end, an intimidating appearance he had used with relish many times before. His gaze of piercing gold could halt a thief in his tracks and force a horde of warriors into retreat. With a flick of his wrist he tossed a chunk of bread into the dark-haired knight's lap.

 

"All I could find," he complained. "Bloody war has stripped the land clean, no matter what theses golden fields attest to. At least the horses will eat well." He dismounted and sat down next to his companion. "What a mess they've made of everything," he growled, tearing off a hunk of bread with his teeth, staring out at the fields. His eyes were distant, as if already he were imagining the emerald grasses far away stained scarlet with blood running from the slain knights.

 

The dark-haired knight fingered his loaf, eyes distant. "The forests are quiet," he muttered. "The druids have left the trees to guard the fools of men, and the Fey Folk are waiting." He looked at his companion. "You know we will have trouble convincing them, Yvain."

 

Yvain glared at the trees. "We will have trouble finding our true steeds," he said, glancing at the plough horse looking expectantly at him. "We will have trouble finding our blades! Do you think they're just going to hand them to us, Gawain?"

 

Gawain shrugged. "We will tell them the truth. They cannot deny that they are loosing this war. The land will be stained with blood before the Saxons draw back to their boats, if they draw back at all."

 

Yvain sighed and tossed the rest of his bread to the plough horse. The mare whickered thankfully, lipping up the remains of the loaf. "To the Wall?" he asked.

 

Gawain's eyes glittered. "To the Wall," he agreed.

 

* * * *

 

The Wall stretched for miles in every direction, a tall, eight-foot thick structure of stone and granite. Every fifty-miles an outpost was built directly into the wall. The greatest of these, christened Giant's Thimble, lay just beside the beginning of the forest. Enemies of Kilcad feared the forest because of the druids, clutching their powerful staffs and prepared to set a man aflame with a word, and because of the Fey Folk who dwelled within, a shy, mysterious, yet viciously dangerous race. Both of these, along with the land's natural terrain, provided Giant's Thimble with an impervious protection.

 

Yvain and Gawain sat atop their sturdy mares and looked down upon the huge fort. "It looks the same," Yvain mused.

 

Gawain sniffed the air. "The trees are older," he said. "100 years in our absence have passed; we will be but a legend."

 

Yvain grinned. "People in a war spook easily. They will be clinging to hope, any hope at all. After we've had our say, the people will flock to our banner. It is the ancients we need worry about."

 

Gawain said nothing. In silence, he urged his horse forward, and the two knights galloped towards the huge gates.

 

A guard lazing on the wall heard the thunder of hooves and peered at the approaching riders. Indistinct blurs turned to warriors on heavy-set horses, their hair flying behind them. Their armor glittered in the sun, but they appeared unarmed. As he stared, one turned and met his eyes. Immediately the guard went rigid, the golden gaze holding him against his will.

 

In moments the riders had stopped at the gate. "Open the doors," the golden-eyed one called, his glare urging the guard to obey.

 

"Here, now, what's all this?" a cool voice questioned. A tall man in warriors' armor appeared at the guard's side, resting his elbows on the wall.

 

Yvain turned his eyes to the warrior. The man twitched, his eyes narrowing, but he did not freeze. A smile curved his lips. "You have the legendary Lion's Glare."

 

Yvain grinned wolfishly. "I have more than that, warrior," he said. "Open the gate for two weary travelers."

 

The man eyed their fine armor and regal faces. "Mere travelers?" he retorted. "Surely not. There are no wanderers with such armor, and certainly none with the Lion's Glare. Who are you really?"

 

Gawain finally looked up, his violet gaze disapproving. "Our business is not for wall-guards to hear," he said coldly. "When I was here last, guards knew when to hold their tongues and open the gate!"

 

The warrior grinned. "Well spoken," he conceded. Turning to the guard at his side, he nodded to him. "Open the gate."

 

The young man scurried away, and in moments the heavy oak doors began to groan open outwards. The two knights entered, immediately the focus of wary, untrusting gazes and whispers.

 

The armored warrior from the wall stood before them. "I am Gavid, the Commander of Giant's Thimble. Perhaps you would like to come with me and speak your tale to a 'wall soldier' after all?"

 

Yvain grinned, dismounting with ease. A boy came forward to take the reigns of the huge horses. Gawain watched the boy keenly as he led the destriers away. "He will make a great leader one day," he mused to himself.

 

Gavid eyed him. "Thro? He's just a stable boy. What eyes do you have?" he questioned.

 

A regal voice cut Gawain off from answering. "What sort of scholar are you, Gavid? The Gaze of Discernment is just as powerful as the Lion's Glare." A tall man in long robes with a carved staff approached, his long blue-black hair laced with braids and bird feathers. He swept the two knights with a knowing stare. "These two have Fey blood in their veins."

 

Gawain and Yvain bowed. "My lord druid," Gawain said. "We are the Minerin Knights."

 

A heavy silence spread through the courtyard; every head turned. The Druid watched them solemnly. "You are claiming a very serious thing..."

 

"That is a lie!" a voice hissed. A second druid with white locks approached, a sneer on his weathered face. "The Minerin Knights were cursed over 100 years ago! Their statues stand on the hill where they fought last as proof of their foolishness!"

 

Yvain snorted. "Go check the hill, then," he snarled. "The stone statues are gone! And if I remember correctly, it was our 'foolishness' that ensured victory when it was far from sight, and ensured the fact that you are alive today, however much I might dislike the fact."

 

The druid drew himself up. "You are mocking a very powerful druid," he warned in a low hiss. "What you say cannot be true, and I will prove you for the fools and liars that you are. It is true that you have the Lion's Glare and the Gaze of Discernment, as the two knights of old did. You have armor of another land, but where are your steeds, Harfor and Turrien? Where are your mighty swords, Danalin and Zephyrind?"

 

Both knights held silent, wounded by the names of their dearest possessions flaunted before their faces. Gawain breathed deeply, his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you know, lord druid," he said in a deathly calm voice. "As you surely know, the knights were found with their enemy dead, but cursed in turn. Their steeds and weapons lay nearby, the horses alive, the swords intact. What was done with them was in charge of the druids until our return. Have you forgotten that part, master druid? When we return, not if. If I must bring down the Fey Folk into this matter..."

 

The druid waved a hand. "The Fey Folk will not come to your aid," he snarled. "For you are not the true knights. I will stand before the King and declare it!"

 

Yvain cracked his knuckles. "And you are a fool to say so," he snarled. "How about we knock some sense into you?"

 

The dark-haired druid chuckled. "You certainly have the tempermant of one of the Minerin knights," he muttered.

 

Gavid stepped between the two knights and the druid, his face pale with rage. "This is getting us nowhere," he said. "All of you come into my quarters, now!"

Edited November 14, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Quest for Truth

 

Gavid led them to his private rooms, his face suddenly lined and grave, his aura much more that of a ruler. Yvain and Gawain followed silently, their faces grave. The druid walked ahead of them proudly, casting them venomous glances. Yvain grimaced, running his hands through his hair, standing it on end and scowling. Gawain's lips twitched in amusement. The druid would receive a nasty shock when next he glared at the infuriated knight.

 

Gavid closed the door to his stately rooms behind them with a deep sigh. "Sit, sir druid. You two," he said, pointing at the two knights, "stand before me there."

 

Gawain's eyes glittered. "Rude of you, despite your leadership, to show favoritism and pretend to berate us."

 

Gavid glanced at him, a hint of anger but amusement in his eyes. "Sit then, if you wish."

 

Gawain's lips twitched. "I'd prefer to stand, thank you," he said in all seriousness.

 

Yvain crossed his arms behind his back, staring at one of the shelves of many jars and books that lined the walls. A huge map of Kilcad stretched above the lord's desk of mahogany and detailed the tiniest tree impeccably. Gawain silently praised the artist and turned his attentions back to Gavid.

 

"So what is all this?" the lord said. "I am a learned man, but I will admit that I have never heard the tale of the Knights of Minerin. Lord Druid, if you would please oblige?"

 

The druid held himself regally, nose in the air as he glared at the two knights. "The Knights of Minerin were the sons of the greatest leaders in the land. When they were born they were sent to the Fey Folk to be brought up, for their mothers were each of the Fey people. The oldest of the two by a mere day or so was gifted with the Gaze of Discernment, while the younger wielded the Lion's Glare. Both were trained to be formidable warriors and were gifted with powers and instruments that were beyond dreams. The Fey looked down with pleasure upon their cousins.

 

"The first gift they gave the two young boys when they turned thirteen was a pair of horses, one as black as midnight, and the other as shining as pure silver. Their names were Harfor and Turrien, and they were ever lasting. It was rumored that they could not die, for as the boys grew in stature and power, so did they, diminishing not. They could outrun an eagle with a wind behind him, and their thundering hooves could trample down any man standing in their way. They were as valiant in battle as their masters.

 

"The second gift, when the boys became young men and grew strong enough to wield true weapons, were the two swords Danalin and Zephyrind. Danalin could not be broken by any means, not even the strongest stroke or the hardest crystal could shatter it. It was drilled with five holes down the center of the blade, and it weakened it not at all. But when the wielder of the sword swung the blade about his head, it would keen and shriek and draw the powers of the Fey. It was also called the Mourning Sword. The other sword, Zephyrind, was as sure as the truest arrow. Nothing could turn it aside once its course was determined, and with it all manner of winds could be summoned. It is said that when the wielder wished, they could summon dead spirits from the ground.

 

"The knights themselves were, when they reached manhood, an unstoppable force. It was said that when they road to battle, the earth shook and the Fey Folk sang from the woods. The younger, Yvain of the bloody sword, turned back hordes with his Lion's glare, and the elder, Gawain, could see an assassin hidden in a tree from a four league away. They rode their magnificent steeds as if they were extensions of their own bodies, and their swords could cleave a man through armor. They held back entire armies single-handedly."

 

The druid bowed his head at the end of his tale and then glared at the knights. "And which of you claims to be Gawain?" he asked viciously.

 

Gawain lifted his head, eyes sharp. "I am Gawain," he said softly.

 

"And I am Yvain," the silver-haired Knight clamed, his eyes narrowed as he glared at the druid.

 

"Of course you are; that's what you claim to be," the druid sneered, his lip curling.

 

Yvain's eyes shot open and the druid staggered back with a hand over his heart, gasping. Gavid glared at Yvain and Gawain pursed his lips in disproval. Yvain ran a hand through his hair. "Might have over done it," he admitted in a whisper.

 

Gavid clapped his hands together. "There is nothing for it," he admitted. "You two must go out and find the necessary proof that you are what you say for us to trust you. Then, perhaps, you will forgive us these precautions and aid us in this bloody war."

 

Gawain and Yvain bowed and left the room. Yvain cast a glare over his shoulder to the druid, still lying weak in the chair and staring, his face ghostly white.

 

* * * *

 

Gawain and Yvain rode their destriers deep into the woods, along paths that only they knew. Gnarled trees cast shadows along the path, dappled with sunlight peeking through the rustling leaves. Ferns and ivy made the ground lush with green; flowering bushes and trees cast their heady savors along the wind with their petals of pink, blue, and ivory. Red berries were caught up by the greedy paws of red squirrels, who chattered angrily at the intruders, their tails in the air. The sound of an eagle keening above the trees shushed them, and quiet took hold of the forest again.

 

Subtle hints for knowing eyes were placed all over the forest. The fairy-like tinkling of wind chimes far above their heads marked the beginnings. Then it was a small ribbon tied here, a bell on a string there, tiny branches broken and small cuts in tree bark. Gawain saw all and waited, guiding their erratic path with ease.

 

The sun was high in the sky when they reached a low, dark cave. Yvain frowned as a growl permeated from his wanting stomach. He grimaced and glanced at Gawain.

 

His dark haired companion was staring keenly at the edge of the cave. "Foriyu..." he murmured

 

Yvain smiled as the edge of the cave wriggled. A young man with charcoal skin and muddy green eyes turned to look at them, his dark curls a mess of bracken and ferns. Thoughtfully he brushed some dust from his neat black shirt. Now that he was facing them, they could see the gold and silver thread embroidered around the low neckline, his muscular chest slightly slicked with sweat. He grinned tightly. "Your eyes have not lost any of their keenness after 100 years a stone," he said, licking his sharp teeth. He nodded to Yvain. "Still no effect," he told him.

 

Yvain swore with a grin. "I was hoping your defenses would have weakened after a century. There hasn't been a Lion's Glare for you to get used to."

 

"Tough luck," Foriyu said. "So what are you doing here again?" His image flickered as he half melted back into the stone and then pulled free again.

 

Gawain stared deep into his eyes. "Tell me the truth," he said gravely. "Where are our steeds and swords? Surely the Fey Folk know."

 

Foriyu shrugged. "I do not know. The Elders would, but I can tell you for certain that until you retain them, no one will believe that you have returned."

 

Gawain gritted his teeth. "When can we see them?"

 

Foriyu blinked. "The Elders will not see you."

 

Gawain stared in surprise. "What?"

 

Foriyu's eyes turned serious and his expression went cold. "The elders have decided that this journey is your own. For now your powerful instruments are stripped from you, as are some of your other powers. The Elders deem the fact that you were turned to stone a mistake of carelessness upon your part. To redeem yourselves in their eyes you must find your swords and steeds unaided. Only then will you be able to save Kilcad from the Saxons and return to the Fey Folk."

 

The Fey smiled in their baffled faces and melted back into the stones. Yvain sighed. "So the Fey are disappointed in us. Where should we start?"

 

Gawain's eyes were shut tight in thought, his face dark. "The Shrine of Telturan."

 

Yvain's face twitched, betraying no emotions, but his eyes had hardened. Grief edged his expression and his lips were tight. With a brief nod he turned his horse and led the way back through the woods.

 

Gawain hesitated, staring at the stones around the cave. "What is your purpose?" he whispered. Still staring back, he turned his horse and followed Yvain.

 

* * * *

 

The journey to the Shrine was sixty leagues over wild fields. Silver elk and moon wolves were rampant, filling the grasses with bountiful game and dangerous adversaries. The knights covered the distance in five days, pushing their mounts to the limits through the wild grasses.

 

At dawn on the sixth day, a low grey gate appeared in the mists before them. Yvain remained silent and tight-lipped as they approached, and Gawain felt a shadow of solemnity settle over his brow like a crown.

 

At the gate a blind man sat cross-legged on the ground, his young face turned to the sun. Yvain and Gawain dismounted not far off, walking softly forward. The knights nodded to the man. With a small smile, he nodded back, following them with his sightless eyes.

 

The air in the Shrine was chilled and quiet. Small footsteps of its keepers could be heard pattering up and down distant halls and stairways. Arches of pale, cool stone and pillars draped in cloth muffled the sounds of voices.

 

Yvain's eyes roved over the chapel-like central hall. "I'd never thought I'd return here," he murmured.

 

Gawain turned to him. "If you'd rather wait outside..."

 

Yvain cut him off sharply. "I may be younger, Gawain, but I am certainly not weaker. We are evenly yoked. I can handle what you can."

 

Gawain watched his friend solemnly. "I never have doubted your power, friend. But in this place, your yoke is heavier than mine."

 

A young maiden robed in white appeared in front of them. "You have been expected," she said softly. "Please, come with me."

 

The young lady led the knights deep into the catacombs. Stone coffins, the likenesses of those entombed within carved on the top, lined the paths. As they reached a tall door, Gawain realized that Yvain was no longer beside him. Turning, he saw Yvain standing at the foot of a coffin, his eyes blank and stricken.

 

Upon the coffin was carved the face and body of a small young woman, her hair falling in spirals well past her waist. Her hands were clasped about a flute and her feet were bare. Yvain reached out and touched one of the stone feet softly, his teeth gritted tightly. Abruptly he turned and walked towards Gawain, his eyes sparkling violently with pain. "Let's get this over with," he growled.

 

The maiden led them to the door and opened it. She stepped back, eyes downcast. With a small sigh Gawain led the way over the threshold.

 

She stood staring out the window, the only occupant in the room. Robed in black, a raven perched near her, she turned slowly to eye them. "So you have come at last." She smiled slowly at Yvain. "I did not expect you to come here."

 

Gawain folded his arms across his chest. "You know what befell us?"

 

The woman smiled. "Mmm, I wondered why you didn't come to visit me anymore." Again her eyes moved to Yvain. "Especially you."

 

"I never came to visit you," the knight said stiffly.

 

The woman smiled. "No, of course not. You'll be glad to know that she died well on in years."

 

Yvain could not stop the pain from pulling into his face. He looked as if she had slapped him, and he also appeared about to throtle her. "Sorceress," he rasped. "You have no idea, do you? When we were turned to stone we did not die. I saw every day of those one hundred years through unmoving eyes, unable to breathe or escape from my crushing prison. I watched as the woman I loved came to the statues every day and wept at my feet, wasting away into an old woman. I never saw her smile. Soon her tears stopped and she seemed to have no more life or substance than a piece of glass. I could not reach out to touch her, comfort her. And then she stopped coming, and I knew that she was gone forever." Yvain turned away, every muscle in his body tense. "Do not bring it up again," he snarled.

 

Gawain swallowed pain for his friend's grief and turned to the woman. "Do you know where our swords and steeds are?"

 

The woman pressed a finger to her chin. "Far away and guarded safe. They were taken to the Mvien Isles, off the coast of Kilcad. They are guarded by many things, and only the true Knights of Minerin may claim them. However, you two do look changed from your ordeal. The faces are the same, but with your powers stripped and your tools hidden, both of you look quite hopeless."

 

Gawain bared his teeth angrily. "Tell us what guards them," he commanded.

 

"Four gates, guarded by the Ten Siblings of the Fey. If you can get past them in fair combat, you will be given your steeds and swords again, and you will return to rescue Kilcad from imminent destruction." The sorceress smiled coyly, stroking her lips. "Not a small task for you at all."

 

Gawain grunted. "We'll handle it."

 

The sorceress smiled again, her eyes glinting with stars and moons and unseen futures. "For all of our sakes," she said in a low voice, "I hope you can."

Edited February 27, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Road to Mvien

 

Gawain and Yvain called upon a ship of the Fey. This, at least, they could claim from their kin. It was a proud ship, slender and carved from the trunk of a silver oak. Its sails were dawn in color, blending with the rising sun on the sparkling waves. A great dragon’s head grew from the prow, arching proudly forward and breathing a tongue of intricate flames from between its jaws.

 

The ship flew along the waves with no aid from the two knights. A whispered course and away it went, an unearthly wind filling the sails.

 

They sailed all day, with no sign of land on the horizon. The isles were farther out than many expected, a good fifty leagues and more. By night the ship slowed and drifted, allowing the knights a semblance of sleep.

 

The moon was full on the waves, glittering back from the depths and winking at itself. Gawain was awoken by an illusive sound on the sea. He sat up, his eyes narrowed in sleep and confusion. Beside him, Yvain dreamed on.

 

A slap hit the side of the ship and it rocked precariously. Something bumped the hull and stern of the boat, and Gawain sat up, clutching for his sword, a sword that was not there. He leaned over the side of the ship and looked into the sea. Small algae in the sea glowing from the moon’s light made the ocean a faerie pond. Tiny fish circled the boat, flittering back and forth. A late night sea turtle drifted beneath them.

 

A pair of luminescent golden eyes, eyes of the sea, blinked at him as the turtle passed. Gawain gasped and lurched back as a woman rose from the sea, her face oddly shaped and slick with scales. Her eyes, large and pale and knowledgeable, gazed at him with faint amusement. Her hair was dark blue and turquoise as the sea, and fins sprouted from her shoulders like aquamarine wings. Her ears were finned as well, angling out of her hair. Instead of legs, she was serpentine and scaled from the hips down, ending in a wide-finned tail. Seaweed dripped over her shoulders, providing a semblance of modesty, though her silvery skin slipped through the shifting vines seductively. She ran a webbed hand through her hair, smiling at the knight, her teeth slightly sharp. “Why do you come here, knight?” she questioned in a musically husky tone. At her voice Gawain shuddered: her tones were that of a Siren, alluring and dangerous.

 

 

 

 

 

Gawain clutched the rail of the ship hard. He would not, could not let her sing to him. “I am a Knight of Minerin, and I seek my sword and horse.”

 

The Siren touched his cheek, her eyes sharp but her hand gentle. “You must be weary from such a long journey of toil,” she crooned, shifting so that more of her skin showed. “Perhaps a lullaby to aid in your dreams?”

 

“No!” Gawain said sharply. “That won’t be necessary. I was sleeping before you bumped our boat. I will rest again once you leave.”

 

The Siren smiled, and the change in her face made Gawain shudder again. She opened her mouth and began to sing:

 

“Over the mountains and cross the seas,

He waits far under, within the valleys,

Bullabylu, Bullabylu,

His whispering name travels far on the wind,

Hovering deep in a song through your mind,

Bullabylu, Bullabylu,

And sleepy children pleasure take,

That not a nightmare will slumber break,

Bullabylu, Bullabylu,

Bullabylu your lids will touch,

And dreams of fantasy and other kinds such,

Bullabylu, Bullabylu,

Will bless your dreams as you rest so deep,

So close your eyes now, rest and sleep.”

 

Despite his great efforts against it, Gawain felt his heart snagged as though by a fish hook and he stumbled towards the edge of the ship. The Siren stretched her arms out to the knight, and, gripping his wrists, pulled him into the sea.

 

Yvain woke with a start as a splash startled the calm of the boat. Gawain was nowhere to be seen. With a shout the knight leapt to his feet, causing the boat to rock precariously. Beneath the ocean he could see the flash of Gawain’s black hair and red armor. A pair of pale eyes looked back at him; a sharp smile flashed through the water.

 

Yvain cursed, yanked his boots off, and dove into the water, setting out with powerful strokes, his eyes piercing through darkness and swarms of fish to follow the Siren and her captive.

 

Hundreds of feet down, nearly to the bottom of the ocean, a great city swam into view before him. Towers of pearl and walls of coral hardened stronger than steel formed the massive city. Fish darted in and out of windows, seaweed drifted from small perches. Not so far off a whale sang its song, casting a critical eye over the mythical, iridescent city. Faintly Yvain could see the Siren pulling Gawain’s limp body into the gates, greeted by two muscular guards holding long pikes. As Yvain approached, the Siren female turned back, her seaweed garment swept away by the current, and sneered at him, holding Gawain’s face close to her chest. “He is mine,” she spat through bubbles.

 

Yvain darted forward, kicking hard, his face twisted in hatred. “Give him back!” he yelled, releasing his precious air. He clamped his mouth shut, his lungs straining.

 

The Siren laughed, and flicked her hair over her shoulder. The guards let her through the gate, dragging the pale Gawain after her. Yvain shot forward, but the guards slammed their pike shafts together, laughing at him. “Go back to the surface and thank any gods you praise that you were not chosen,” they jeered. “Go back, mortal!”

 

Yvain felt rage fill him and his eyes snapped through the water. Around him the sea boiled and the guards shrieked under his gaze, covering themselves with their arms and cringing towards the rocks. Yvain shot past them, his eyes wide with rage.

 

The Siren was not far into the city. She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened. With a flick of her tail she shot farther into the city, shrieking in rage.

 

From the small houses poked the heads of more Sirens, with eyes of all colors and hair that floated about their heads on the current. Yvain blinked in dismay, gritting his teeth. Beyond the crowd that had gathered before him, he could see the female Siren binding Gawain to a tall spire of stone in the middle of the city. The knight’s hair floated about his head like dark magical strands, carried on the current, and a bubble floated from between his slightly parted lips. His lashes were dark against his pale skin, and the Siren clutched his face in her hands and kissed him.

 

Gawain’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, inhaling as the Siren transferred oxygen to his lungs. The Siren pushed away, trailing a hand down his chest and laughing. Gawain’s lips were pressed together to save his air and he trembled with rage as he struggled against the bindings.

 

Yvain screamed, letting forth a huge stream of bubbles as the Siren pulled forth a long dagger of sharpened shell. She smiled at Gawain again. “Your blood will feed our children for many cycles of the turtle,” she hissed. “You may take comfort in that.”

 

Gawain’s eyes widened as the knife slashed along his arm. Bright red blood burst and flowed into the water and Gawain winced. Silver blood mingled with his, another sign of his Fey heritage, and the life-fluid spread through the water in a huge cloud.

 

The Siren smiled wildly, lifting the knife for another stroke. As the sharp blade approached Gawain’s chest, the Siren stopped short. Her lips parted in surprise and she looked towards the crowd.

 

Yvain was floating above the Siren throng, his eyes literally glowing with rage as he bore down his full power upon the blade in the Siren’s hand. The Siren grimaced, her muscles bulging as she tried the force the blade into Gawain’s body, but Yvain kicked forward, increasing the power of his eyes. The Siren shrieked and yanked her hand away. The knife floated down to the floor.

 

Yvain gave a large kick, scooping up the knife and slashing through the ropes that bound Gawain tight. Grabbing his companion by the arm, he kicked upwards, keeping his eyes on the Sirens below to stay their charge. They shrieked and writhed beneath him, singing and stretching their arms towards Gawain. Gawain shook his head, screaming a mouthful of bubbles to drown out their alluring noise.

 

They burst through the surface, gasping in great breaths of air. The boat drifted lazily over to them and Yvain clambered over the side. He reached down and dragged Gawain into the boat along with him. “Fly!” he commanded to the ship, and they burst forward so quickly that Yvain lost his footing and sat down hard on the bottom of the ship.

 

Gawain was panting, clutching his arm and fighting unconsciousness. Yvain cursed again and yanked out bandages, wrapping up the large gash in the knight’s bicep. “All-cursed Sirens,” he snarled. “What are they doing this close to the coast?”

 

Gawain’s eyes fluttered. “War...draws...them...desire...blood...” His eyes closed and he slept.

 

Yvain nodded, easing the Knight’s head in his lap. “Well, that would do it,” he agreed silently. “The Fey will see to it that they are punished.” He grimaced as he remembered the image of the female slashing into Gawain. “Severely punished.”

 

* * * *

 

Dawn found the ship resting easily in a cove. Seagulls swirled overhead, crying their hunger and their loneliness to the great rock faces before. Yvain sat up bleary-eyed, staring at the towering spires, and above them, the trees. “We are here,” he murmured. Prodding Gawain on the shoulder, he woke the knight. “The Isles of Mvien.”

 

The ship found them a black-sanded beach to land on. An easy stairway cut into the cliff-side, providing them a way up. Four miles they toiled upwards to the huge forest that lay above.

 

A great arch of silver appeared just before the trees. Standing beneath it, garbed in a slender gown of silver, was a maiden with two heads. Their eyes glittered amethyst and their skin was as fair as if they had been painted onto a picture. Their hair was long and black, pulled back from their eyes by scarves of scarlet. They smiled at the two Knights as they approached. As one, they greeted them. “Welcome, knights from afar. We are Lumiere and Foncee, the twins, the two youngest sisters of the Fey. You wish to find the treasures that lie within.”

 

Gawain and Yvain glanced at each other, wondering how these two children were related to them. Gawain nodded. “Aye, we seek what is in those trees.”

 

The twins smiled and their right hand reached up to pull at their dress. It slipped from their shoulders, falling around their feet on the ground. Beneath, the twins stepped away from each other, with their own arms and legs, garbed in silvery armor and white cloth. Their swords were pale and thin, glittering in the moonlight, clearly of Fey make. “To reach the second gate, you must pass us first,” they chorused. They tossed two swords to the knights. “Draw and fight!”

 

Yvain cast the twins a glare. “Can you not see my companion is wounded? He is not fit to fight! What-” he paused as Gawain pressed a hand to his arm.

 

Gawain was staring into the forest. “My steed calls to me, Yvain. I will fight from necessity.”

 

Yvain lifted his head and concentrated. Then faintly to his ears came the sound of a fey whinny on the wind. The sound made Yvain’s hair rise and he felt fire rise through his veins. A feral grin stretched over his face and he turned to stare at the twins. “Well then,” he said. “That does change things.”

 

Lumiere and Foncee smiled identically, their eyes flashing. Yvain twitched and grinned widely. He had never encountered another with the Lion’s gaze, and appreciated the challenge.

 

Gawain bent and picked up the sword. It was of fine make and rested comfortably in his hand, but it did not have the feel of his blade, his true sword. He glanced at Yvain beside him, also handling his sword. “Well then,” he muttered again, and launched himself forward.

 

The twins moved with a stealth and grace that belied the strength that flowed in their veins. Their hammering blows made the knight’s arms shudder and their ease with their blades far surpassed the knights’ with unfamiliar swords. Yvain’s head snapped back as the fey before Lumiere shot her leg up almost vertical, hitting his chin with her bare foot. Gawain stumbled back at the same time as his opponent, Foncee, leapt into the air, battering his chest with swift punches and kicks. Pushing against Gawain’s shoulders, she flipped over him and kicked him in the back. Gawain swept around, catching Foncee on the shoulder with his sword tip, tracing a small line of blood.

 

Gawain and Yvain backed away, grimacing. The two girls watched them calmly, their hair shifting in the wind. Yvain wiped blood from his chin and shook his head. “Would that we had out real blades,” he hissed.

 

Gawain stared calmly forward. “We have become dependant upon our helpers,” he said sadly. “There was a time when we were feral with any weapon.”

 

Yvain shook his head. “Was that before the century, or even farther back?” He pushed forward, rage and frustration pouring speed and power into his limbs. A shrill equine cry from the woods made him cry out in anguish of anticipation. “You will not hold me from my Turrien!” he cried out.

 

Lumiere’s eyes widened and she gasped as she was forced back. Grief that had been held within stone burst through Yvain’s quiet, controlled exterior and manifested itself in his blows and strikes. In seconds the knight’s sword tip was pointing at the Fey’s slender throat.

 

Yvain glanced over at Gawain. His companion was white and sweating, clutching his arm, but he too held Foncee at sword tip, his eyes fixed on the forest beyond. Simultaneously a whinny split the air. The lines around Gawain’s mouth deepened and his eyes looked haunted. He turned his gaze upon the Fey before him. “We have defeated you,” he said calmly. “Let us pass.”

 

The twins moved away from the sword tips and smiled. They pulled their white dress on, appearing still as thin and beautiful as they had when one. “Of course,” they said together. “Go, Knights of Minerin.”

 

 

 

They spent a night on the plains, a fire the only light other than the stars and moon above them. Yvain cleaned his borrowed sword, eyeing it with distaste. “So who do we meet tomorrow?”

 

Gawain shrugged. “That we will have to see on the morrow.” He paused, looking out into the night. “Do you think this will prove it?” he whispered.

 

Yvain shrugged in response. “If they don’t, we can always call to our steeds, and swords are just swords.”

 

Gawain sighed and nodded. “True, but...all the same. They must believe us.”

 

Yvain put his sword on the ground and lay down, rolling up in his cloak. “Either way, we’ll not regain any of our strength jawing all night. Get some sleep. No need for watches here.”

 

Gawain nodded, his eyes still on the forest. As Yvain drifted off, he heard his comrade again. “They must...”

Edited November 14, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Wolves of Ambewein

 

The forest twittered around them, shifting in the early morning breeze. Sunlight peeked through green leaves, tainting the air around them emerald. Great twisting oaks and slender willows waved in the wind, their leaves fluttering and spinning like pin-wheels. A deer watched them pass, large liquid eyes glittering with knowledge. When Gawain looked again, he saw not a deer, but a young boy clad in deer skin with large dark eyes and stag horns leaping away through the bushes. Large flowers of paradise cast their heavy scents through the woods, and the very air was heavy with magic, a tangible substance that made Gawain and Yvain sigh with contentment. Half-carved, stone faces of giant boulders lay among the trees, the remains of an old quarry. Wind-chimes, the sign of the Fey, sang in the highest branches, and large bejeweled creatures moved along the ground, there a snake, there a turtle.

 

The forest faded and a large field of grass stretched before them. Not too far across the field glittered the continuation of the forest, but to their left and right the grasses continued in a never ending plain. A large herd of silver stag started at their approach and took flight, leaping through the field and beyond into the distant sun.

 

The knights continued their journey into the forest, walking fast and sure. Every now and then they heard a whinny, and their fervor increased.

 

A second gate appeared before them. Three young women stood before it, their eyes large and silver, their hair the rich auburn of the twisting forest trees. From their backs sprouted wings that seemed woven from gossamer and silver filigree. Their garments were dusk purple and their skin seemed covered in silver gloss. Large moths with fake-eyes on their wings settled among their hair and dressed. Before them was a large board. "Welcome, travelers," they whispered. "You have come past Lumiere and Foncee. We are Bomba, Tula, and Alba. Sit here."

 

Gawain and Yvain lowered themselves onto the grass warily, staring at the women before them. Suddenly a dark blackish-blue wolf approached from the forest, watching the strangers cautiously, but running her head along Bomba's bare arm. The Fey ran her hand under the wolf's chin, a hint of a smile touching her features. "This is Ksud. She is the alpha wolf of a large pack at the high rock of the forest, called Ambewein, not twenty miles from here. She is the only one who will come to us; the others cannot speak our tongue as she does. The knights of Minerin were known for their ability to tame animals and commune with them. Your task will be to locate the alpha male, Nwad, and face him before tomorrow night."

 

Gawain bowed his head. "We shall." The knights stood and followed Ksud into the forest, their eyes keeping track of the stealthy wolf by the tip of her tail.

 

* * * *

 

Night fell swiftly in that part of the forest. The trees loomed up before them, rustling gently in a welcoming wind. The stars glittered, drilled in the dark cloth that was the sky, revealing the light that was hidden from above. Gawain pressed his feet into cool dirt with a sigh, running his hand along a smooth birch, a rough oak, relishing in the feel of cold stones and fuzzy moss. Statues didn't feel. Wind played with the knights' hair, pulling it and tossing it gently about their faces. The trees above stretched their branches, fresh green leaves spinning on their tiny twigs in the zephyr. Gawain was pulled in farther by a word, a sound, a command, drawn by the wolf.

 

Moonlight streamed through branches, dappling the ground before them. The knights needed no light: these trees had been their home once; they were their second family. They knew every pathway, every new sproutling. They knew the animals of the forest, the fleet deer, the wild wolf, and the illusive bears. Gawain paused, his eyes half closed; bent and inhaled the scent of moon-bathed hydrangea and bluebells, of honeysuckle and bleeding-heart. Above Yvain an owl hooted calmly, and more distant in the woods his mate sang a hoarse reply. The pale-haired knight lifted his head to watch the dusky shape swoop past, no sound vibrating from his wings. A small breeze from his feathers was the only mark of his passing, a flash of golden eyes.

 

Farther into the forest, the paths they had treaded so often became wilder, governed by an other power than man's feeble hold. The knights paused, wariness filling their bodies. The wolf had stopped here, lying down with a sigh. Her mouth stretched into a panting smile as dark shapes with glittering eyes appeared around her, leaping from the trees and foliage like hidden acrobats, their legs longer than that of normal wolves, their fur thick and starry.

 

A shift in the woods made Yvain turn and look. He inhaled sharply and pressed a hand against Gawain's arm.

 

His face was as cold and white as the moon in the heavens, his hair a flowing mantle as deep and dark as the sky, highlighted in midnight and starlight. His eyes were the only truly visible feature on his face, burning with the intensity of the wolf, the wisdom of the owl. They held immeasurable kindness and love, the love that pours warmth to the frostbitten land and gives life to the dormant flowers, pressing them to shove forth their tiny buds and burst into blossom. And then there was also cruelty, the cruelty of a smile that burns and draws the dew from the ground until it cracks and begs for mercy and moisture, humbled and broken to his will. The rest of his face was hidden in the shadow of his night, a flicker of a wolfish ear, a straight nose slipping into firelight, the curve of a strong jaw gilded by sliding silver. He appeared robed in granite, stone that moved and slid into tree, bird, plant, ground, everything at once. Large wings stretched back from his shoulders, black as obsidian. He stretched out a long-fingered hand to the knights, a silent question. How?

 

Stunned, uncertain, the knights glanced at each other. "Are you the alpha-male?" Yvain asked in a bare whisper.

 

Almost as an answer Ksud stood and trotted over to the Fey, rubbing her head up under his hand. Yes, was the simple reply. His eyes held a snarl of humor, as unlike his face as a knot in a blanket. Tree, he answered. Wolf, owl. Rock. He reached over and touched a tree. Green light blossomed from his fingers and spread through the tree. Flowers poked early from the branches, their heady aroma filling the two knights' senses. He turned and looked at them again, piercing them with his eyes.

 

Gawain fought the urge to bow or fall to his knees, while Yvain whished only that he did not have to look into his terrible eyes. He saw them, peeled them apart and studied them. Leaves swirled in a sudden wind, blending with him and his hair, and the knights was again unable to distinguish between him and his world. Distant from them now, his last words. You'll do.

 

The wolves disappeared after him, their hunt yelps filling the air with blood-curdling cries. Storm clouds thundered over the sky so quickly it would make the mages on the coast wonder for months. Rain poured down, drenching the two knights as they sat in stunned silence. Yvain collapsed against a tree. “The Lion’s Gaze,” he gasped hoarsely.

 

Gawain shivered. “The Gaze of Discernment. So he is the father of the forest...the alpha-male. I have heard stories...” he broke off, staring into the trees.

 

Yvain bowed his head. “Was that it?” he whispered. “Was that the task? I’d rather have fought all three of the sisters.”

 

Gawain did not move his gaze from the trees. He felt wrung, like laundry out to dry, as if something had gnawed at his willpower. “He was testing us...we will see him again.” The knight jerked himself from his revere and looked at his companion. “We must head back. We need to cross the gate.”

 

* * * *

 

The three sisters smiled at the haggard knights knowingly when they returned and moved aside, bowing to them. “Welcome, brethren,” they murmured. “Move ahead.”

 

The trees dissipated slightly as the knights moved on. The ethereal whinnying they had heard increased, whipping Gawain into a near frenzy. Yvain did his best to keep his companion from bulldozing through the island towards his steed’s cries.

 

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the third gate. This time four Fey were standing in their way, two boys and two girls. The boys were naked save for deer fur that covered them from the hips down, their long hair mud brown and curly. Gilded horns arched back from the tops of their heads, and twisted earrings hung from their slightly pointed ears. Their gloved hands held long spears of silver wood.

 

The girls were dressed similarly, their bodies covered with deer hide, their hair hanging to their hips. However, they had no weapons. One had her entire right side tattooed with black symbols and curling vines; the other, her left. Gawain’s eyes were red with weariness and pain. His arm was worse, not healing as it should with their Fey blood. Poison was all Yvain could think of, and he knew he would have to deal them through this gate on his own.

 

The two boys approached with long, gliding strides, their eyes sparkling with a mischievous gleam. “You have come this far, I see.” One said, a grin stretching across his face. “I suppose that means you really are the Knights of Minerin. However, we were brought here for the very reason that we do not know you. You have proved yourselves against the first two gates: now prove yourself against us!”

 

Yvain held out a hand to stay the eager youngsters. “My companion is wounded,” he said. “There was poison in one of the blades that struck him earlier. If you have medicine he might use while I fight you...”

 

One of the girls shook her head. “We are not allowed to give aid of any kind until you reach the last gate. Only then will you be cared for before your final battle. Assuming you get there, of course.” Light flickered across her skin and she seemed to disappear, her tattoos glittering bluely with magic. Her twin twirled a leaf in her fingers idly, staring out at the fields.

 

Yvain grimaced. “Fine then,” he muttered. “I’ll fight you all myself.”

 

The four Fey advanced, the boys holding their spears ready, the girls their hands stretched ready.Yvain drew his blade, prepared to take them all, when a flicker of motion caught his eye and he turned his head. A raven feather fluttered in the wind, a lock of midnight hair, the golden eyes of an owl, and Yvain was again struck dumb and senseless. Only the sharp, tearing pain of a spear entering his thigh brought him back. Roaring with agony and rage, Yvain ripped the spear from him, throwing it far into the forest. His eyes were wide with pain, the Lion’s Gaze making the air sizzle and snap. One of the Fey fell back momentarily with a cry as Yvain’s gaze pierced him.

 

The girls flew at him, gripping each other’s hands. One leapt, using her twin’s still gripping hands as a balance, and kicked at his head. Yvain ducked, and the twin let go of her sister’s wrists to come in with several sharp jabs to his ribs. Yvain jumped forward, catching her under the chin with his forehead. He jaws snapped together and she collapsed, pushing herself back to her feet over her shoulders.

 

Yvain turned, his teeth bared as he sought to gain his balance. Suddenly he felt the piercing gaze again and he went rigid, agony lancing through his skull and spine. What you have lost now returns, warrior, the Lord of the Forest said.

 

Yvain dropped his sword, his Fey senses swirling around him. Suddenly everything seemed to enter slow-motion. The young Fey charging him seemed to be walking at a leisurely pace. Easily Yvain dodged the spear thrust at him, gripping it in his hands and heaving the young man over his shoulder. One of the twin girls launched her foot at him. Yvain caught it with one hand, grabbing her knee with the other and throwing her after her brother. The two remaining siblings converged on him simultaneously. Yvain dodged them lazily, blocking their attacks one-handed. In a matter of moments they were sitting on the ground, eyes wide. “Minerin!” one of the young men whispered in awe.

 

Yvain turned to see Gawain standing, his wounds healed completely. He was grinning, and picked up a rock. Easily he smashed it in one hand; his powers had been returned as well.

 

Yvain felt his mouth stretch into a wide grin, but it was wiped from his face when he turned to see the four Fey bowing at the knights’ feet. “Oh stop it,” he grumbled. “It’s nothing big.”

 

The gateway creaked open and one of the young women stood, smiling. She pressed her fingers to a tattoo along her side. It flashed blue softly and then she peeled it away. Taking Yvain’s hand, she laid it on his palm. The tattoo flashed again and Yvain rubbed it; it was firmly meshed in his skin. He turned and saw Gawain examining his own tattoo from the Fey’s twin. They bowed again. “The Lord of the Forest favors you,” one said. “Enter to the next gate. You are almost there.”

Edited February 27, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Lady of the Wood

 

The largest and final gate was not far from the four siblings. Yvain and Gawain trudged up the mountain-side, glancing over their shoulders as they watched the nine siblings follow them, their Fey eyes glittering in the afternoon light.

 

Yvain grimaced and turned his eyes back to the mountain-top. “What do you think is up there?”

 

Gawain shook his head. “I don’t know. The Lord is there, I can feel him now. There is another force though, a foreign one that I have never felt before. It is as powerful as the Lord, but in a wilder sense. I do not wish to guess what it may be.”

 

Sweat had begun to collect on their brows by the time they reached the top. A circle of trees and mushrooms in iridescent colors filled their vision, and indeed the Lord of the Forest was reclining against a tree, one of his long arms curled around it leisurely. He watched them; as if he watched long-cursed knights trudge up Fey mountains every day. No longer did his gaze burn them, but it felt warm and tingled across their renewed Fey powers.

 

Standing in the middle of the faery ring was the Lady of the Wood. Her dress was silvery, made of spider webs and snow icicles. Ivy curled up her waist and around her delicate wrists. Her hair was golden and fell to the forest floor in delicate spirals. A crown of twigs and buds was upon her brow, and her wide, dark eyes watched them from beneath long silver lashes. On her shoulder a hawk perched, watching them with the same keen gaze, keening quietly at the silence.

 

The knights stood straight, keeping their eyes respectfully on the ground. Gawain cleared his throat, the unofficial spokesman. “Lady, we are the Knights of Minerin.”

 

The Lord of the Forest grinned, his lip curling in a very wolfish baring of sharp teeth. His eyes glittered wickedly with humor. Assuredly, he sneered.

 

The Lady of the Wood cast him a humored glance, a small smile curving her pink lips. In a clear, commanding voice she addressed the knights. “You have come this far,” she said. “And you have proved yourselves to be the knights we know you are. You have but one final test for us. Now that the Lord of the Wood has given the powers that formally belonged to the Knights, restoring your should you truly be the ones we know, you must prove your ability to control such power.” She turned and beckoned to something in the trees.

 

Four Fey appeared, their long gossamer wings revealing their royalty, as did the crowns that adorned their brows. Two maidens led them, carrying swords. They knelt before the knights. “The swords, Danalin and Zephyrind, forged by the Fey from the metal of falling stars. Danalin, called the Mourning Sword, and Zephyrind, the caller of the dead.”

 

Yvain took Danalin in his hands, his eye gleaming as he felt the perfect balance that had been made just for him. He drew the magnificent blade from its sheath and looked at it. The hilt was made of silver, its hand-hold wrapped in midnight-blue leather for grip. A black stone was set in the pommel. The blade itself glowed with a multicolored light, glittering with the fires of the star it had once been. Five holes were pierced straight through it. Yvain gave the sword an experimental whirl and a wail split the air. With the same stroke Yvain cleaved his stand-in sword in two. The Lady smiled and bowed to him. “No one but Yvain of Minerin could have made the sword cry and break all over blades. Welcome, brave knight.” The knight grinned, snapping the sword back into its sheath and buckling it onto his hip.

 

Gawain held his sword tightly, staring at it. Its hilt was fashioned alike to Danalin’s, save that the leather around its hand-hold was scarlet and the stone was ruby as well. The blade was long, almost as tall as Gawain, and curved slightly at the end. Runes were carved into its blade, charms to wake the dead and call them against his enemies. Gawain hesitated, glancing up at the Lady, knowing what he was expected to do. But hesitation would be deadly, and he would be labeled an imposter. Setting his teeth, Gawain gripped the hilt strongly and spoke Fey words deep in his throat so that none could hear.

 

The sun seemed to dim and the trees whipped about as a stale wind curled up from the ground. Mist the color of death rose from the grasses, pulling away to form stricken faces with gaping mouths. The whispering of the dead filled the air and Gawain lifted his blade, directing the spirits upwards. With a shriek they soared into the clouds, disappearing again with a thunderclap.

 

Gawain placed the sword carefully back into its sheath, swinging it across his back and strapping it there. The clearing was breathless for a moment and then the Lord approached, his eyes glittering wildly. Dead ought not walk again, he intoned. Take care how you use the blade in this upcoming war, Minerin Knight. Gawain bowed, a hand on his heart in acquiescence. The two maidens handed them their daggers as well, returning every blade that had been lost to the two knights.

 

Then two male Fey dressed in long silver robes led forward two horses.

 

Yvain and Gawain could not keep their cries from their throats. As soon as the horses neared, the knights threw their arms around their necks, weeping openly.

 

Gawain rubbed his midnight black horse gratefully, tears stinging his eyes. “Harfor,” he murmured. “My dear Harfor.”

 

Yvain slapped his silver horse on the neck in camaraderie. “Turrien!” he said. “Have you been fighting?”

 

Turrien opened his mouth, baring yellow teeth, and squealed, pretending to bite Yvain. The knight laughed, pulling on the great steed’s forelock. “That’s my boy!”

 

The Lady of the Wood smiled at them. “Go now, Knights. Save Kilcad from the Saxons.”

 

Yvain and Gawain mounted their horses, their ecstasy only challenged by their battle-rage. They bowed their heads to the Lady of the Wood, and then disappeared, their horses flying them down the mountain on winged-feet.

Edited March 22, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Knights' Return

 

Yvain could not help but whoop with jubilation as Turrien sped down the mountain, practically flying so great were his leaps. With a glance Yvain saw his comrade's face, alight with fierce joy and anticipation for the upcoming battle. They were headed for the coast, where the Saxons would have first landed in their war ships.

 

The forests disappeared and suddenly there was the ocean. Neither horse balked, thrusting their feet straight out into the spray. Kicking up water, the horses sped across the surface of the ocean, their manes streaming in the wind, salt flecking their chests and necks.

 

They ran until night fell, keeping just along the coast. Wild energy crackled in the air; somewhere in the forest to their right-hand side, the Fey were preparing for battle. Burning stars fell from the sky, hitting the water with the sound of chimes and bright explosions of color. Farther out to sea the mermish began a keening cry to the knights. The word spread like wildfire over land and sea.

 

The Knights of Minerin had returned.

 

Dawn was turning the eastern sky rosy when the ships came into view. Yvain yelled encouragement to his charger, watching the ships eagerly. Gradually the horses moved until they were speeding across the beaches. Their footsteps slowed and they trotted into the woods, taking the knights deep into Fey territory.

 

Foriyu appeared next to them, trotting to keep up with the horses. "The Kilcad armies are on the eastern side of the Boar Mountains. Their plans are to face the Saxons this day and drive them from the shores." A cynical smile twisted his face. "If not for you two, that would not come to pass. The Fey elders are proud of you, Knights. They will stand beside you in this battle."

 

Gawain grinned. "Then let it come!"

 

* * * *

 

"I don't care if they have catapults!" roared the commander, slamming his fist onto the desk before him. The lower ranking soldier withered under his ferocious glare. "The priests can spout all they want to! We're losing this war and if something drastic doesn't happen soon..."

 

The sound of thunder drowned him up and the commander frowned. Shoving past the two soldiers before him, he pushed the tent flap away. All eyes were turned to the forests, all mouths gone slack. Following their gaze, the commander felt his jaw drop as well.

 

The thunderous sound was not weather at all. It was a horde of Fey, roaring and shrieking at the top of their lungs, advancing on the camp. At their head were two Knights on horse back and two tall Fey, one a lady, the other a Lord. All around them, war-painted warriors gave off their keening shrieks, magic curling in a haze above their heads there was so much excess.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The commander of Giant's Thimble, Gavid, approached the armies, the dark-haired druid at his side. A grin stretched across his features. "So you were telling the truth," he said, eyeing the long blades at their sides and the great horses they rode. "And now the Fey are here to back you up on it."

 

The dark-haired druid grinned and beckoned. "Please, our commander would be greatly honored if you would counsel with him."

 

Gawain and Yvain nodded. Without a command their horses strode forward, as if they had understood the druid's request. The Fey army followed, an assortment of half-humans, elementals, and powerful warriors of the trees.

 

A spluttering noise went ignored by the majority of the force. "B-but it cannot be!" a white-haired druid insisted, turning his head in an attempt to find anyone to listen to his plea. "The Knights of Minerin are long gone, someone must have stolen their statues! This is preposterous to claim-"

 

He was broken off as a tall Fey backhanded him, knocking him over. Clad in naught but a ragged warrior's skirt, the Fey snarled down into his face as the druid touched the part of his cheek that had taken on the consistency of bark, his eyes wide in horror. The Fey pointed a sharp-nailed finger at the druid. "You question the authority of the Fey with your prattling, old fool," he hissed, his voice swaying like branches in the wind. "Keep your trap shut or I'll close it for you, and that'll be a curse you won't wake up from!" He moved on, leaving the druid stunned on the ground.

 

The commander of the army, a man named Lathr, watched as the Knights rode forward. Reports before had told him of two warriors, travel worn, nothing new. But these before him were clearly warriors born. Their armor was no longer travel dirty: it shone with a bright luster and appeared as if it were woven as part of the knights' skin itself. Their horses gleamed with power, their intelligent eyes fixed on the commander before them. The Knight's themselves were impressive, hardened, their eyes glittering with Fey power and their hair swaying in the breeze. One had hair the color of obsidian, glittering with a bluish light in the sun; the other had hair the color of silver, his golden eyes matching the color of the tattoos that slanted across his face. The commander felt a chill run through him when the golden-eyed knight looked at him and he gritted his teeth. "Who then are these?" he asked, now looking behind them. His eyes widened as he saw the Lord and Lady of the Wood, but he politely turned his eyes back on the knights.

 

The dark-haired knight nudged his horse forward. "I am Gawain, a Knight of Minerin."

 

The other, the silver-haired knight, grinned. "I am Yvain, a Knight of Minerin."

 

Gawain patted the sword slung across his back. "I believe you have a Saxon problem."

Edited November 14, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Yvain and Gawain followed the druid and Gavid down the valley towards the settlements nearest here. When the trees had parted, Yvain inhaled sharply, and Gawain's eyes snapped with rage. Before them spread miles of ruined land, torn down trees, and smoldering ruins. The dead lay everywhere, from the old to the young. Not far from where they stood, Gawain could see a baby hacked to pieces lying near its similarly treated mother. His throat tightened with grief and disbelief. "Saxons," he muttered.

 

Gavid leaned on his horse's saddle. "They've cut a bloody path along the coast, all the way from the North Monastery to here. We've managed to hold them against the Boar Mountains, but...as you can see we cannot stop them for long."

 

Yvain turned to stare at the general. "They attacked the monastery?" he whispered.

 

Gavid grimaced. "Killed the monks while they prayed. I've never seen such slaughter. Even the little apprenticed boys and nuns that were there weren't spared. They burned the whole thing down, and then moved on to the villages. I swear I won't sleep for a month, I've seen so many dead children. Their motto is 'never leave a man, woman, or child alive that can carry a sword'. Every now and then the Fey have intervened when they edged too close to the forests, keeping them from moving inland, but they haven't lifted a finger to stop this carnage."

 

They moved their horses through the wreckage, taking in the horror of it all. Here and there fires still burned, and not far a house's roof fell in as the supporting beams gave way to the conflagration. A large pile of dead were burning at the center of the town. Gawain shook his head. "How could they be driven to do this?" he muttered.

 

The druid looked pale, and he shook his head. "That's not the worst of it. A lone survivor ran to us, told us how they killed babies in front of their mothers and then raped the women and daughters in front of their husbands and fathers before killing them. Slowly. They killed sons and daughters before the parents, anything to torture them mentally before torturing them physically. I swear, when I get my sword into them..."

 

Gawain turned to stare at the trees. He knew they could see him watching him. You see this? he thought. You did not prevent this. You did not care.

 

Yvain looked on the verge of murder, his eyes wide and slightly glassy with tears. "Then let's not wait any longer," he growled. Slowly, the four of them turned their horses away from the massacre and moved back to the camp.

 

* * * *

 

Yvain and Gawain sat motionless on their mounts at the top of the hill. Mist from the Boar mountains swooped down the slopes like great animals, drifting forward to envelope them. Yvain could not stop a strange, slow smile from spreading over his face, a smile only his comrade in arms knew. "The mist will cover us well," he said, his hand on his blade.

 

Gawain glanced behind him. Already the fog was inching around the Fey horde. There was a reason a good number of the more human-shaped Fey painted their skin with faded blue coloring. As the mist roiled around them, they disappeared into the dense blue-grey coverage, ready to attack. The knight grunted and turned back to look at the shore. Lazily he made a rough count of warriors. "It looks to me like well over forty score. That's a great number of fighters."

 

Yvain stretched his jaw, his eyes lighting up, and he stroked a finger down one of the tattoos on his face. It glowed pleasantly at his touch and he could not help but baring his teeth in a wild grin. "I almost pity them."

 

"Almost," was the cool reply.

 

Not far from them, the dark-haired druid and Gavid stood with Lathr, watching the knights converse. "Is it really them?" Lathr asked.

 

The druid did not take his eyes from them, but Gavid glanced at the Fey horde that had been swallowed up by the advancing mist. He felt a cool tendril of the fog touch his cheek and he shivered. "The Fey army should be enough evidence for you," the druid said. "And even if that is not, their horses and their blades are enough for me. As for their legendary powers, I can see it living in their very skin. I almost look forward to this battle to see what they can do."

 

Lathr grunted. "Shedding blood, no matter how deserving it is, is never something to look forward to."

 

The druid shrugged. "I am not a warring man, commander. I merely stated that their powers have been held at bay for a century. I am sure they are eager to take some revenge for their pains."

 

Indeed, as he said it, the Saxon army took form and roared a challenge at the armies of Kilcad. Lathr saw the knights glance at each other knowingly. The mist swallowed them up.

 

Lathr grunted. "Assemble the men. I think it's about to get very hot."

 

Gavid bowed. "Yes, commander."

 

The armies faced each other on the green grasses of Kilcad. A young boy, no older than 16, clutched his spear nervously, regretting ever lying about his age. A veteran beside him clasped his shoulder. "Don't fear lad," he said. "It'll be over soon."

 

The young boy stared up at him, his face pale and sweat stained. The Saxons had begun to move forward, their chanting and drum beating shaking the earth. Their march turned to a run, and then a charge.

 

The young boy whirled as two war cries split the air, entwined so perfectly they sounded like one voice. Upon the hill behind them, two knights upon to great horses held their blades aloft, their destriers rearing onto their hind legs. Behind them, a massive army of Fey screeched their approval. The knights urged their horses forward, and they charged down the hill towards the Saxons.

 

"What are they doing?" the veteran muttered. "They'll be slaughtered."

 

Suddenly the knight with the white hair drew his blade and began to whirl it about his head. A keening wail filled the air, and the Saxons ahead of them faltered, some screaming and falling to their knees. The scarlet-armored knight drew his own weapon and thrust it at the sky. Lighting snapped from the clouds and mist boiled forward, taking the shapes of ethereal ghosts. The Saxons screamed, and some stumbled back, only to be killed by their comrades who dumped their bodies off their blades in disgust.

 

And then the knights had charged through the armies of Kilcad and were upon the Saxons.

 

The Saxons could not see the knights through the fog. They held their swords and bows ready, but they could never be ready for the thunder that hit them. Feet from them, the knights would explode into sight, pounding down upon them. Fey leapt from everywhere, dragging some Saxon warriors into the ground. Some hugged a Saxon tight and then morphed into trees, trapping the Saxon forever. All over the battle field, plants, animals, and even stones were appearing.

 

Suddenly Yvain was thrown from his horse. A great beast of a man, nearly seven feet tall, slammed into Turrien and made the horse stumble. Yvain rolled to his feet, hefting his sword and drawing a dagger, screaming a challenge. The Saxon laughed at him, swinging down a huge double-headed axe. Yvain danced nimbly aside, slicing through the axe's blades as though they were pieces of butter. The Saxon stared at his cloven blade stupidly for a moment before rushing the knight with a roar of rage. Even when Yvain's sword pierced him through, he bore the knight to the ground. Yvain screamed as something sharp pierced his side, but he shoved the Saxon off of him with as much strength as he could muster. He held a hand to his back and felt blood flow over it. With a grunt he put his fingers to his chin, as if picking at one of his tattoos. The golden ink peeled from his skin like wax, and spread into a great web of ink. Wincing, he pressed it against his side and it flowed into the wound, meshing over it and in it like new skin, mending both his flesh and his armor. Yvain punched himself in the chest and growled, standing up. He screamed his war cry at the heavens, setting out to find another Saxon.

 

Gawain was surrounded by warriors, but none of them seemed eager to advance. The dark-haired knight held his slightly curving blade angled across his body, his piercing violet eyes fixed on the Saxons around him. A circle of dead surrounded him where foolish warriors had attacked. Then, almost lazily, he held up his sword and muttered in an inaudible voice. Great warriors of ghostly features leapt from the ground. They swirled around Gawain in a cyclone, wailing a dirge of the dead. The Saxons screamed as Gawain glared at them from behind their ghostly forms, and then they set upon the Saxons with brutal finality. Gawain walked out of the collapsing circle calmly.

 

The sun broke through the mist, dazzling the land with light. Yvain saw a young boy trapped under the body of an older man, slain by a Saxon. The knight pulled the body off of the boy and lifted him to his feet. "And what are you doing here?" he asked, not unkindly.

 

The young boy stared shakily at the dead man beside him. "He saved me," he whispered. "He would have lived through this fight if it hadn't been for me. But he moved in front of me...I didn't ask him to."

 

Yvain looked down at the dead man and felt something deep in him shift. "No. We never do ask them to do it for us. They die for us and we never wanted them to." For a moment he paused. "But then, we must honor them for their sacrifice. Now, go find a Fey to look after you."

 

The young boy nodded and, still shaking, moved swiftly across the battle field. Yvain watched him go for a bit and then looked about him. The battle was ending, faster than it had begun. The Fey Lord swept up to him from out of nowhere, his eyes glittering. You and your brother have saved Kilcad.

 

Yvain grunted. "At great cost." He looked about them, saw the dead littering the ground. More Saxons were there than Kilcad warriors, but it did little to comfort him.

 

Gawain stepped out of the mists, the green fog of ghosts trailing back into his sword. Behind him Turrien and Harfor stood shoulder to shoulder, covered in blood not their own. Over Harfor's back was slung a soldier who was groaning. Gawain sheathed his sword with a snap and looked over at the battle field. "It is over. Kilcad will lie safely again."

 

* * * *

 

Yvain sat before a small fire of sandalwood and lavender branches, staring into the distance. Behind him, Gawain stood watch. "I miss you," Yvain whispered. "I must go on in this life, a century of my true time laid behind me." Yvain pressed his fingers to his head and heart. "I will go on for you," he said. "And when it is my time to die, I will join you."

 

Gawain bowed his head in respect for the dead. Then, in almost an afterthought, he drew his sword. Resting its tip on the ground he called softly. A pearly blue smoke floated from the blade and touched Yvain's shoulder. Yvain turned and looked up into the face of the ghost. He did not smile, but a little of the pain left his face. Gawain sheathed his sword and the smoke faded. "One can not truly bring back the dead," he whispered. "Only shades of their former selves. One day, it will be as you say, and you will be together again."

 

* * * *

 

Yvain and Gawain knelt before Lathr and the Lord and Lady of the Fey. Lathr bowed to them. "You have rescued us even when you were set against great adversity. You saved us again when before it caused you only grief. Our debt to you is unreachable. We can only begin to repay you."

 

The Lord and Lady stepped forward, crowns of willow branches and silver in their hands. The Lord smiled, a strange occurrence that made him appear as a spring tree. Gawain, Knight of Minerin. You have earned your place among the Fey ten-times over with your bravery and your stead-fast courage. Our debt to you is strong. Rise, a Knight of the Fey. He set the crown upon Gawain's dark hair.

 

The Lady looked deep into Yvain's eyes. "Despite adversity and great personal loss, you stood for what was right. When none other than your brother stood beside you, you never once looked back. Your flag will ripple on the wind for the next centuries to come. Rise, a Knight of the Fey." She set the crown upon Yvain's white hair, and the Knights stood. Light poured from their armor and the grass around them blossomed with tiny white flowers. The Fey screamed their approval and the warriors of Kilcad thrust their weapons into the air with a shout. The trees of the forest in the distance waved in the wind. Far over the forests and into the mountains, two hawks of white and black flew to the sun, their wild cries forming a melody on the wind. Below them, two horses ran, their strong muscles carrying them across the lush green grasses of Kilcad and far into the west.

 

The End

Edited March 22, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws