The Last Knights of Cambria Book 1: Echoes of Gideon

Chapter 15: Me, the King of England, and the longest night of the year

I run through the palace, even as my limbs scream in pain. Blood is pouring from my probably broken nose. Again. It's been an honor. But at the moment it's inconvenient. I hurry to the Queen's chambers. I can hear vicious coughing coming from the King's room.
"Your Majesty?" I rap on the door.
"Gideon," she tugs me in, she's strapping on a leather bodice and her attendants are helping her and one another get into light, archer's armor.
"What did you find out?" She asks.
"Courtenay is an incredibly powerful sorcerer, he detected me there, and with him at Henry's side they're going to be nearly unapproachable," I say.
"Okay," she says.
"They spoke little, they detected me, I do not know how, at a guess it has something to do with Courtenay's ring, if you're close cut it off it's his right hand I'm guessing it's an amulet," his eyes glowed the color of it, it's a guess, but we have nothing else.
"And?" She asks.
"And somehow they are responsible for the king's ailment," I say.
"What?" Her grip tightens on my wrist.
"He'll likely burn the city they attack at nightfall as we suspected. But King Henry asked Courtenay about the king's illness as though he had some control over it they laughed—my guess is they're cursing him somehow, but I've no idea how to break it and this is what happened when I tried to spy further," I gesture to my face.
"So they know we know," she says.
"Yeah, but I doubt they care, they think they will take the city tonight," I say.
"Why wait?" She frowns.
"Theatricality, if you want my guess they were—," casual as discussing a night at the opera, "—just, this a weekend's entertainment. And if you so much as touch one the other will swiftly end you I doubt you'll find one not by the other's side. They're like a pair of vipers," I say, realizing I'm gripping her hand too.
"Remain with the king, I am leading the people into the mountains, there are places we can hide, the king remains here with a small force to buy us time," she says.
"As you wish," I nod.
"You may do him some good if it is a curse," she says.
"Your Majesty—they have the power to kill him now or they believe it, he's alive for King Henry's cruel entertainment," I say, "Courtenay asked if he should die now."
She nods, tears in her eyes, "As I said. You may do good yet. I cannot force you to stay—,"
"I stand with my country," I say, smiling a little, "If I die, I die for Wales."
"You are brave, and noble, and a better man than we could wish," she says, cool fingers tight on my wrist.
"I'll to the king," I nod in thanks.
"Remain with him. Thank you, Gideon," she says, smiling one last time, grimly.
"I'll spy on your progress, and aid you if I can," I say, nodding.
I duck out and hurry down the hall to the king's chamber. He's similarly arming for battle.
"It's as though a ton of bricks is dumped on my chest," he gasps, clinging to the Duke's arms as he struggles to even stand.
"Yeah there's a reason for that, it's over on that ship being petty and eating grapes with its hetero-life-partner," I say, walking in.
"What?" They both say.
"I gleamed little from my spying except that Courtenay is cursing you—he knows your ailment and is intentionally making it worse. So if you have any comfort there is nothing physically wrong it's all his black magic," I sigh, tears in my eyes, "But I am sorry, your majesty I have no way of healing you I could not even determine the spell."
"Is that what happened to your face?" The duke asks.
"Yes, I'm fine," I sigh, dismissively.
"He's cursed me? That witch?" The king asks, lowering himself weakly to his bed.
"And you live merely at King Henry's command. If it gives you strength you're fighting his magic, nothing more," I sigh, "But he could kill you at any moment— he offered— Henry stayed him on a whim."
The duke swears.
"You can do nothing?" The king asks, eyes bloodshot.
"I can stand by your side and perhaps fight Courtenay which might weaken it I don't know, I have no clue how deep his magic goes, but he detected me when I was there spying upon him which I did not know was possible," I shake my head, "I'm so sorry."
"No, it's not your fault Gideon. They've wanted this crown, I suppose they shall have it," King Elis touches a simple gold coronet, lying next to him on the bed.
"Not without a fight, if you can't stand I'll carry you. We will not let these evil men win," the Duke says.
"They spoke of attacking at nightfall, but they knew I heard them," I say, staggering a little.
"Lie down, Gideon, we have a few hours yet. Rest as you can we'll have need of your strength. We stand at the wall and let them come, it will give the others time to get out," the king wheezes, each breath more painful than the last.
"I can—," I begin.
"Not like that you can't. Magic takes your strength and we do need you yet, eat and rest, Gareth has changed the longbow lines for a different watch, join them in the kitchens," the duke commands me, "Then once you've slept find armor."
"My lords," I bow a bit to them both and hurry to obey.
The bowmen are in the kitchens, tired and mostly silent. I find the archers to usually be a cheerful enough lot, chatting to one another readily or making jokes and puns about the implements of their trade. But now they are grim, exhausted from the night, and needing to be ready for another. I join the line for food.
"Eh, what happened to you then?" Gareth asks, tugging my head up to check my face.
"I can take a punch," I say, licking clotted blood from my lips. It's all down my face and chin from my bleeding nose.
"Come here," Gareth steers me to the table by the back of my neck, using a rag to wipe my face clean, "Your nose is gonna be slightly different now but eh, you'll live. What happened?"
"Ask the duke," I say, glancing around. I'm not going to talk too much here now, "The king knows."
"All right," Gareth says, finishing scrubbing my face, "That hurt?"
"Nah," not as bad as the rest of me, "I'm staying for the siege."
"I don't suppose it'd do any good to tell you you're young enough to fight another day?" Gareth asks.
"It would not. We don't run, do we?" I ask.
He shrugs a little, "You know the odds yourself well enough. This won't go our way. Not with as many as they have."
"No, I know. But if the queen and the others can make it into the mountains," I shrug, "Wales can fight another day."
Gareth nods, his face grim.
"I stay with the king, where's everyone else?" I ask.
"The Dancer who I last saw arguing with people, and the servants and like are all going with the women and the village people, we'll hold Harlech as long as we can. I'm sending half my bowmen with them. King Henry will know they went, it can't be an easy chase," Gareth says.
I nod.
"I'll be on the longbow line, tonight," Gareth says, "You take care of yourself, boy."
"I will," I say, hugging him impulsive.
"Ah, watch your face," he says, squeezing me back all the same, "Don't need it more smashed up."
We both pretend it's going to matter. We eat in silence, and then Gareth too orders me to get a few hours rest. After our night I'm forced to obey, slipping off to my room one last time. I pass out for maybe an hour, and wake and the sun is still in the sky. I have some time yet.
If this is our last stand, then we're making it a good one. And I fully expect to give my life to it. Which is a fine enough way to die. I'm not meant for growing old. But. I should say one more goodbye.
I slip off the ring one last time.
I'm a few blocks from Mariah's apartment. I pray she's home, it's what, mid afternoon here? Something? I shake my head, jogging through the snowy streets back towards the dirty apartment complex, it's small, and on the bad end of town known as Jersey. But I'm glad she has something.
I mount the stairs quickly, knocking then using my key. Leaving a note would be all right.
"Hey, sorry I didn't hear you," Mariah says, she's sitting on the sofa, watching TV. The apartment smells of cigarette smoke and weed. She's on the worn sofa watching a cracked flat screen t-v. There's a decent game system set up and I see a cat bed, but no cat. "Want some pizza?"
"Oh um—sure," I say, coming over, "I came by to um, say actually. I'm headed out of town for a bit. I don't know when I'll back."
"Where are you going?" She asks.
"Nowhere, just. You know, trying to live," I shrug, sitting down on the end of the chair.
"Okay," she nods, stubbing out a cigarette, "You can call all right? You can always come back here. I know you like these guys you hooked up with."
"Yeah. I'm good. I'm really good I promise just—it's better off this way, like you said. We all have to try to live our lives and it might not get better but at least we were really living. That's all I want, after—I've spent my whole life in books and playing games in my head, now I'm not," I say.
"Good," she nods, "You got to try something."
"Yeah," I say, hands on my knees.
"What happened to your nose?" She asks, looking at me, "That looks bad, Gid."
"Oh um—friendly fire of sorts, it's becoming bragging rights in retrospect, also I'm completely fine," I laugh, a little, as she tips her head to look at my face.
"Well, you're having more fun than me," she says, nodding to the TV, "Friday night new Cold Case episode."
"What is it?" I ask, smiling a little at the TV. If the parents were out we'd sometimes watch these together.
"Some missing heir, disappeared off his the family yacht, like they clearly killed him," she scoffs, "Here it's back."
She unmutes the TV. A picture of a fancy boat, yacht I guess, flashes as the host's radio announcer voice drones on through the tinny speakers.
"On a quiet night off the coast of France, ten years ago, the Graeme family was filled with confusion then, panic, when they discovered that seven year old Septimus Graeme was nowhere to be found onboard. They sent a distress call to port, but searches revealed nothing," the tv narrates. Another shot of the ship. Then the black water.
"The seven year old was known to be afraid of the water. Known as Dancer to his family—,"
I stand up, my blood running cold. The picture flashes on the screen. Trademark glare, greasy dark hair and pitted angry eyes. Dancer is ten years younger in the image, but no less recognizable.
"Septimus was recovering from surgery after an unfortunate accident at his parent's estate, details of which were never fully revealed however staff noted the boy was wearing a brace the night of his disappearance, making swimming in the rough ocean water impossible—,"
"Yeah, so like they probably threw him overboard—Gideon? Are you okay?"
"I—I need to go. I am so sorry, I need to go, right now," I say, my breath coming in way too fast.
No.
No.
Oh Dancer.
No Dancer please why would you lie to me?
"Okay, be safe," Mariah says, turning a little.
"Thank you um—I'll call or come back if I can, but I really need to go," I rush up and hug her quickly, then leave, I think she calls after me but I'm breaking into a run the minute I hit the street. I bolt down an alley and tug the ring from around my neck and slip it back onto my finger.
And I'm back at Harlech
No, Dancer, why would you lie to me like that? What amulet does he have? He wears a bracelet, that must be it. Why not tell anyone? He kept up the lie too long? Perhaps I'm overreacting. Perhaps he was just lying to me because he didn't want me to reveal him. He didn't want to go back that's fine. Maybe the others have an idea? I don't know. But I do know I need to talk to him. We're about to have the fight of our lives if he has any magic he can help.
I race down the stairs. I'm so used to finding him in the library I can't begin to imagine he won't be there. But of course he is.
"Aren't you leaving?" I ask, stopping in the doorway.
"No. We're not finished yet," Dancer says, looking up from his book, as he stands at his desk.
"You have magic too," I say.
He closes the door, eyes glowing blue as blue magic shoots from his hands, pinning me to the wall. He has magic all right. And he's much, much better at it than I am.
"Why? Why would you lie to me, to everyone?" I ask, trying to tear myself away.
"You don't need to know that. You don't need to do anything but hold still," Dancer says, limping across the room towards me. A knife is in his hand, shiny, sharp, and ceremonial.
"You—why would you kill me? I don't get it, I'm working with you, for you— I'm trying to save the king as well," I growl, grunting with pain. Resisting him is doing no good. My own energy is low and who can I draw from? I dare no one, we need our strength for the battle. And perhaps I can reason with him. "Dancer, we're on the same side."
"This isn't the part of the story where the hero talks his way free. This is the part where you die mysteriously, and no one mourns your name," Dancer says, advancing till he's directly in front of me, eyes still glowing bright blue. He lays a hand on my chest, feeling for my heart.
"You cannot do this—why would you—you're taking my heart," I realize, "You're trying to cure the King, it was all for him, wasn't it? You—you killed Sadie!"
Dancer laughs humorlessly, "Very good."
"She followed you out to the woods you probably revealed you had magic and offered to help. She would have trusted you," I say, my voice filling with hate.
"A necessary casualty. I had nothing against her. Or you, you understand. But I won't let Elis die when I prefer his heart to yours," Dancer says, pressing the knife into my skin.
"The King is cursed! Courtenay—he's cursing him. He's been doing it this whole time he's not sick, it's a curse," I cry, using all the strength in me to keep the knife from my chest. He's terribly strong. He's using someone's energy, whose?
"I know," Dancer laughs, "And do you know the only thing to abate his curse? The heart of a wizard. Sadie is the only reason Elis is still alive. We thank you for your service to crown."
Fight or flight gives in, I find the duke in my mind and tug on his strength. And with as little force as I can, I throw Dancer back across the room, breaking free of his magic, and then I let the duke go. We're about to be in battle; I can't do that again. I've got to win this on my own.
Dancer flies into his desk, breaking it, and losing his hold on whoever's energy he was taking. He cries out in pain, struggling to stand.
"I don't think you're a bad person, but you are not the man who gets to kill me. Henry V punched me in the face—,"
"Is that what happened to you?"
"Yeah."
"What was it like?"
"I mean, honestly kind of cool in retrospect."
"I mean, it would be."
"Yeah, but—I realize I'm gonna die, but not because of you," I say, regaining my breath.
"Hm. Sorry," he launches himself across the room and we lock like a pair of dogs, both using magic to keep the other from us as we tumble, swathed in our blue light.
I hear the alarm bells start ringing. Arrows fly through the glass windows. Longbows. How close are they? I need to get out there. Saxon arrows litter the floor along with broken glass we're rolling through.
"We are wasting our strength here, come, help me end the siege, if we kill or injure Courtenay we can save the king, together, both of us alive—,"
"I can sense his life, I have since I first came here, and the curse is taking hold he will die before morning. This isn't personal. And I have enjoyed our time together. But I need your heart," he says, his knife inching closer and closer to my skin.
"Not happening," I snarl. I'm losing strength and this is wasting both of us. He's not listening to reason. And maybe he's right. But I don't want to die like this.
I reach out, past the knife, and with a flick of my wrist, snap the bracelet off his hand.
I grip his neck, and feel the usual cold and static as we're tugged between realms. I hasten it by tugging my own ring off, curling it and the bracelet tight in my hand.
"No!" Dancer cries. We're in the middle of the street I disappeared from. We both raise our hands then simultaneously, look confused for a solid ten seconds, remember we can't use magic here, and we charge at each other. I have our amulets locked in my hand. I need to get back there. Without him.
He uses his bent leg to twist around mine and we both fall to the snowy concrete. A taxi honks at us, but nobody is paying any real attention.
"No! You'll ruin everything," Dancer claws at my face. I roll over, trying to put back on the ring, and crawl away from him. We lost his knife in the scuffle. So, I thought I was safe.
I didn't see the Saxon arrow in his hand.
He jams it through my shoulder, and I can feel my collar bone snap as he shoves it and me to the pavement, and the breath goes out of my lung. I slide the ring onto my finger.
And once again I'm on the floor of the library. Alone. I can't breath my breath is coming in gasps. I wince. The arrow is sticking out of my shoulder. I break it off. That will keep the blood in. I keep the ring on and drop Dancer's bracelet to the ground. I can't even think of it right now, just of him trapped on the other side, no longer a threat.
I have a battle to fight.
I limp out to the ramparts, I'm staggering from the injury, but adrenaline is kicking in. I'm mostly in armor and I still have my own sword in my right hand.
When I get there, it's worse than I feared. The English forces are advancing up the castle rock, using the shields as we anticipated. Their longbow men are set up on shore, blasting us with flaming arrows. I don't see King Henry which troubles me. He must be watching from the ship.
"What happened?" The Duke puts a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm fine," I hiss.
"I felt you," he growls, under his breath, "What happened?"
"Dancer," I tap my shoulder, Wincing as I touch the broken arrow, "I have maybe two hours breath left in my body."
"That go straight through you?"
"Just about," I touch my rib where the other end pokes out mercilessly.
"Where is he?"
"No longer a threat," I say, "Where are we at?"
"They're coming up the rock, they're battering down the doors, they've got logs across the moat. So maybe an hour, before they hit the fields and find the the Queen. They're already burning Harlech," he nods to the flames in the east, sure enough, our little village, raised to the ground. I feel tears in my throat.
"Let's buy them more than that, do you have me?" I ask.
"I have you," he says, hand on my shoulder, other keeping me up.
I spread out my arms, feeling my own eyes glow hot. Their arrows stop in mid air, I chop them in two, hot blue magic flowing through them. They fall and I redirect them back at their own men, feeling each splintered bit of wood sing true into soft flesh.
The king laughs, then chokes, blood bubbling from his lips.
They send another volley and I do the same with it, I have little strength left in me now, but the duke is uninjured and holding me up, I draw strength from him, and cautiously from the long bowmen.
Then I see him.
Courtenay is there in the dark, beyond their long bow lines. His eyes glow red, and despite the distance I hear his ceaseless chanting echoing through my brain.
"GET DOWN!" I cry it even though it is nearly too late. The wall shakes, and I feel it crumble as the door beneath us explodes with magic.
And they pour into our ward.
Gareth is shouting for the long bowmen to turn their fire. The King is directing his knights to go and stop the flood of enemy soldiers inside.
"JAC," the King shouts, pointing at the now open tunnel through which they're running in.
"Challenge accepted," the duke leaves me to leap down the rock, catching himself on rubble, to stand in the doorway, cutting down any many who dares come with blows of his great sword.
"Gideon—see if they are away or how long we need," the king gasps, he looks as bad as I am.
I nod, disincorpating, this time it's almost a relief to flee my broken body.
I run, uninhibited, out past the fields, past the line of trees, I can't run this fast I'm using energy none of us have, I draw from us all, all my friends, every knight, skimming the surface of their strength as we all fight for our lives.
With no lanterns, no torches, they are steeling through the night. The queen at the front, hair braided back, all of them in whatever armor they could afford, quietly making their way towards the mountains.
I pause, in pain and relief. At least it worked.
Rhiannon stops, dead in her tracks, her hand on her sword. She sees something I do not.
I look past myself but see nothing but dark. And then the dreaded figure.
"Bit late for a walk, isn't it my lady?" King Henry asks, throwing a cloak back from his face as he straightens up from the shadows. Longbowmen, and yeomen, with torches no longer covered, and swords drawn, move to surround the escapees.
"Let us pass," Rhiannon raises her sword. He walks forward, great sword in hand, but he just reaches out and lifts her by the neck, pinning her sword with his much larger one. She tries to fight it, but he has his hand on her throat, easily lifting her off the ground.
"Are you going to tell them to drop their swords?" He asks, raising her up to his height.
"Surrender," she breaths.
"Your people can't hear you," he says, his black gloved hand over her throat.
She drops her sword. "Do not fight them," she calls, a bit stronger. He laughs, dropping her to the dust and snow.
"Very good, now, kneel before your King," he says, tapping her down with his sword. She glares at him, hate burning in her eyes as she slowly climbs to her feet again.
I can do nothing. Anger fills me. I'm dying and I know it. I need to get back now.
I race back to Harlech, it doesn't take me long I draw on whatever strength I can find. And painfully I drag myself back into my own body only to discover I have no air left, I'm living on fumes of oxygen long forgotten in my one working lung the other is a searing pain as it collapses in my chest, wet and filling with blood that burns as it runs into my throat.
"Well?" The king looks at me.
I shake my head, tears in my eyes, "They had men in the mountains."
"And so Wales falls," he whispers, sinking to the castle wall.
"Dancer died saving you," I say, quietly, "He was trying to save you. Your wife, the queen lives, she's taken prisoner."
"And I and my brothers die here. I hope they write songs about us, Gideon. And I hope they tell the tale well of how we died for this land, and when some Welsh boy plays soldier he dreams of the men whose blood was not enough to ransom our freedom," he says, tipping his head back to look at the stars.
I stand, slowly, my legs shaking in pain, I make my way to the edge of the rampart, their ships bob in the dark.
"Hold me up," I say, as I fall.
"What?" He asks.
"If you can stand, keep me up, we are not finished yet," I breath.
He comes, his own shaking blood soaked hands dragging me up as I fight to breath, blood bubbling out of my mouth and my chest burning in so much pain I feel as though I cannot see.
And I look to the channel. And to the stars.
I look down at their army. And feel the energy flowing through them, fresh young soldiers.
"Sing to them, our men," I whisper, "We need to be strong. They're about to get weak."
We're overrun. We're going to lose. But I'm going to cost them their ships.
"Men of Harlech, march to glory,
Victory is hov'ring o'er ye,
Bright-eyed freedom stands before ye,
Hear ye not her call?
At your sloth she seems to wonder;
Rend the sluggish bonds asunder,
Let the war-cry's deaf'ning thunder
Every foe appall," King Elis sings, softly, his voice week at first. But as the bowmen hear him, they echo the familiar tune, their voices, though weak, pouring through the night. As one by one they realize, they're not alone.
And I look to the Saxon invaders. Dark, black, armor shining with blood. And I feel their strength fresh and ready in their limbs.
And I seize hold.
Blue light pours as my eyes burn in my head. I can feel myself hovering above the ground, the magic pulsing through me as I steal their energy, and direct it all, like a lightening bolt, towards the first ship.
It breaks in two, with a great crack that startles even the men at arms fighting below.
"Echoes loudly waking,
Hill and valley shaking;
'Till the sound spreads wide around,
The Saxon's courage breaking;
Your foes on every side assailing,
Forward press with heart unfailing,
'Till invaders learn with quailing,
Cambria ne'er can yield!" the king sings louder, gripping me as I nearly fall, and I can hear not just his weak, dying voice but the voices of our men. I imagine I hear Gareth joining in as familiar as when he and the bowmen would chant the words. An old song of courage that echoes in your heart when hope deserts you.
And I raise my head again, forcing myself though my head quakes in pain. And I draw their strength again. Another ship.
"Thou, who noble Cambria wrongest,
Know that freedom's cause is strongest,
Freedom's courage lasts the longest,
Ending but with death!
Freedom countless hosts can scatter,
Freedom stoutest mail can shatter,
Freedom thickest walls can batter,
Fate is in her breath."
The ship explodes, blue light pouring from my chest as I spit blood, I can't feel half my side and each time I breath more blood pours down into my lung. I scream in pain with breath I don't know I had. I cry ripping through me even though I don't have the strength for it.
I don't know how long I reach again, for more breath or more strength, each is like a knife to my chest. And the song is chanted over and over. And so long as they are still singing, we are still fighting. It doesn't matter that we're losing. It matters that we're giving them a taste of hell.
"See, they now are flying!
Dead are heap'd with dying!
Over might hath triumph'd right,
Our land to foes denying;
Upon their soil we never sought them,
Love of conquest hither brought them,
But this lesson we have taught them,
Cambria ne'er can yield!"
I make it through a third ship, the lights glowing bright around me as now men in the field fall in pain and fear as the ship cracks and begins to sink into the sea. The last explosion of magic gives me some pleasure as it runs out of me, then I realize there's nothing left in me anymore. I can't even rise or move. Blood pours from my mouth. A fatal wound, I am finished now are I not?
The king lowers me to the ground. He's shaking as well, his breath short, eyes filling with tears. I realize after a moment they are for me.
"Look, the sun is rising, my brave one," he says, his voice almost falsely cheerful, "It rises on Wales just once more."
"I tried," I whisper, my voice bubbling with blood and tears, "I'm so sorry."
"We are not beaten yet. It is another day, and we fight again, just not with you. Go to sleep," he says, hand on mine. And I realize he's telling me it's okay to die. That it's all right now. And I can let go. "Sleep now, my finest warrior."
I breath in once more. And as I feel the life drain from me look up again at the sunrise painted in the sky. Brilliant, beautiful pinks and purples. The reward for any who lived through this longest night. I can hear the trumpets, and the war horns. But it's all faded now. Faint.
And as I feel the darkness close in. I rip the magic from me, to disincorporate one last time. Because, I personally think being a ghost will be a very great adventure.

The End