The Last Knights of Cambria Book 4: Secrets of the Mountain

Chapter 3: How fast the night changes

Dancer
"Ow ow ow ow, I promise! I'm telling you the truth! Let me go!" Well, I needed my monthly reminder why I don't voluntarily interact with the Duke of Conwy. Here I am. Being held upside down by one leg. About to die.
"Let him go—Jac put him down—he doesn't know anything," Gareth is trying to help. A little. He hasn't actually gotten me down.
"I'm just saying we'd know that for sure if I had him in the Maiden for a few hours," the duke says, calmly, holding me upside down by one leg, I may have mentioned that part, while we stand in the inner ward. It's dark out. I knew I might not be safe fully, but hell. I am trying to help.
"Someone used Gideon's ring that's all I know—I could not catch who did it—Sadie will back me up she went to tell the King and Queen I was coming to find Gareth ow—," I gasp as he drops me.
"See? We'll ask Sadie," Gareth says, stepping between us, "Dancer, I swear to god if you do know something later on as it happens then I'm not going to be able to protect you from him. You know that right?"
"I'm telling the truth!" I say, crawling backwards, head spinning, "Please, I swear it is the truth!"
"Jac, we know Gideon traveled to other lands as a wizard, there may be no foul play," Gareth says, hands on his step-brother's chest as he stops him from pursuing me.
"And I'm telling you I was going to practice with him with the pair of triple-loaded daggers we'd finally gotten in, there is no way in hell that boy intentionally missed the chance to touch a sharp weapon let alone for me to teach him to use one. I know that boy, Gareth, that is our boy. He's not gone of his own accord, something got him, something's killed him or keeping him, and we need to go and fetch him," the Duke says, pale eyes glowing murderously, as he advances slowly pushing Gareth across the ground.
"It's not me! Also, if he were dead he'd be haunting us so he's not dead," I point out.
"Aye, you'd know all about that wouldn't you?" The duke growls.
"Look, look, I agree there's foul play and I'll let you do what you like with Dancer if he was involved, but right now he's helping," Gareth says, quickly.
"I am!" I say.
"Dancer, you need to just like, run I'll keep talking with him but go," Gareth sighs, "And if you know ANYTHING—,"
"I don't," I sigh, struggling to my feet, "I swear I'm telling you what I know which is someone took Gideon's amulet. And I have no idea how or why he isn't home."
"Remains to be seen, if that's all you know," the Duke says trying to walk forward.
"Dancer, just run," Gareth says, bracing against the much larger man's chest, "And for all our sakes. You'd better be finding Gideon."
"I am," trying. When I have no idea how. Or where he is. God, Gideon, please be all right. Please be safe?

Gideon
"So do you just know everything that's ever happened? Or do you have to access it in your brain? Like a library?" I ask, as Fionn tosses another knife. Since we can't throw the spear we're throwing knives between the other's feet. Like you do. When you're bored, in a cave.
"We don't actually have to talk," Fionn grunts, not flinching as I throw my knife.
"Right, probably weird to talk about. Got it. What do you want to talk about? You can tell me more about basically anything? Tell me about fighting that fire demon?" I offer.
"How about you tell me who taught you to throw knives?" Fionn grunts.
"The Duke of Conwy, we both like weapons, he found out nobody ever taught me how to use them even though I love them, so he's taught me everything he can. We were supposed to get in these triple loaded tri-blades? They're really neat the blade is spring loaded—anyway we were going to mess with those but now I'm missing. He's probably not even surprised anymore. I disappear sometimes, being a wizard. And well, as you see I talk all the time," I say.
"That's good. Boys should have someone teaching 'em about weapons," Fionn says, tossing another knife, casually, so they form a neat line.
"I get that it's a sore subject or something, but I do think you should let me go and help Oisin, like, that amulet left him in the middle of London and London's awful, it's nowhere near where the horn is, if I'm even thinking of the right horn," I say.
"He'll find the Dord Fiann, don't you worry," Fionn says with the absolute confidence of someone who has never tried to navigate the London metro.
"I believe he will. But I would honestly like to help. I've got nothing against Ireland. And you're kind of a Scottish hero too and I like them, hey we bring you up in Wales a little, similar stories anyway. What I don't get is, why you don't trust me? You're not a bad guy," I say, frowning as I kneel to gather the knives. It's true. Many heroes, like Fionn, have legends based across the UK, usually variants of the original story but clearly the same story, which begs the question, were some of these people real? I mean, clearly Fionn was, I found that out. But he's not the only one. The King in the Mountain is a fairly common story across the entire world. Even heroes like CuCulian, bear a striking resemblance to heroes halfway across the globe, for example Achilles. Both CuCulain and Achilles are fair to red haired, short, effeminate with no beard, fight with a spear, a Demi-god, who have an illegitimate son they don't meet until the kid is ten, and eventually get killed epically in battle, but not before being responsible for the death of their best friend/battle buddy, a river is involved. It's not the exact same story, but there's are enough similarities to beg the question, did Achilles or CuCulian exist, and if so where and did their exploits just did get diluted and appropriated?
Similarly, Fionn, like King Arthur, both are raised in relative obscurity, wind up leading a band of legendary warriors, and both are said to wait to rise when their country needs them. It's a looser connection than the Achilles one I just stated, but it is there. Again, apparently in this world Fionn is a real person with very real magic. I wonder how much of it is true in my world? And if so, how many other common legendary heroes are based in fact and not fiction? I mean, these guys were thousands of years BC, ergo, it would be the equivalent of say 5000 years from now, someone trying to figure out if Abraham Lincoln was a real person based off of only fragments of the movie Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and a piece of the statue. Yeah, that's about what we're dealing with with some of these guys. We know they were revered heroes sure, but is our main surviving evidence an elaborate piece of fan-fiction? Or was this story just super popular at the time akin to say Spider-Man, so people had lots of stories about him and pictures of him? We know they were a hero, but that's about it.
"How do you know I'm a hero, as you say? I've not been kind to you. What makes you think I'm not bad?" Fionn asks, cocking his head a little, as he too gathers up the blades that are half buried in the sandy floor.
"Oisin told your stories, you didn't. He made you out to be a hero. And he loves you or he wouldn't stay in here with you we have proof he can leave the cave. He doesn't. Even if the stories he told aren't all true—or they're exaggerated. He cared enough to tell them, and if you were a good enough dad for him to do that, well, then you have be a decent guy," I shrug a little, "Pretty easy way to tell, in history actually. If someone is decent, is if their kids like them. Kids always know."
It is honestly an easy way to refute most arguments on character. English Kings, pretty easy to tell who was a halfway decent guy and who wasn't by how many times his kids did or didn't fall out with him. Edward III had five sons, not one tried to kill him or take over, obviously he was pretty decent of a dad. Henry II not so much, his kids more than once quit speaking to him or tried to overthrow him. Forget the war crimes and the rumors of affairs. The people who were there witnessing it all decide to over throw you (or not?) that's pretty telling.
Even Henry VIII (not a good guy at all) didn't try to do anything to his father, Henry VII. And again Henry VIII was pretty rotten of a dude, but he still didn't try overthrow his father, ergo Henry VII must have been a half-way decent parent. Edward II, known as being nice to most everyone? Yeah, he didn't like his father and disregarded his wishes, more poof Edward I was a miserable human being. Especially considering that Edward II was known as being nice to his servants and his nieces who he had custody of. Edward III mourned his father's death, and he locked his mother up in a convent. Say what you will about them, Edward III picked his preferred parent pretty plainly. Even if the history books don't agree, or fail to realize it. The kids always know. We see what's going on. We see the late night arguments. The drunken rages. We learn to tremble at the slightest change in tone. We sense it even before we have a name for that primal fear, the reason to tremble. We see everything. Kids do, time, history doesn't change that.
So, if Oisin is sticking by his father, after all this time? Fionn is putting on a gruff exterior for me. For whatever reason. That's not who he really is. Kids know who you really are.
"I just want to go home, that's all, and I suspect you know what magic could let me. I get you don't trust me, but I'd like to convince you that you can," I say.
"Who are you so eager to go home to anyway? Got a sweetheart waiting?" Fionn asks, idly, as we get back in position with the knives.
"No, just my friends. I've got a few things going is all. We've been invaded fairly recently and we're trying to maintain Welsh independence. I did mention my friend got some nice daggers I wanted to play with. And I'm supposed to sort of start school. But I didn't want to do that anyway. And a couple of weeks ago, my friend and I traded with the Fae for a baby," i say.
"What?" He nearly hits my foot with the knife.
"I'm sure you heard me," I say.
"Well feckin' elaborate. Hell, boy."
"You see--the queen of Wales needed a baby—she's my friend. So she was going to adopt one, like from local people. Then she and I got to talking. And I said, 'you know Fae folk live in the woods and they steal babies all the time and they love switching them out. I found a few spells why not summon one and ask for a faerie child' and she said 'well why would I want to raise a faerie child?' And I say 'because we already contracted said baby to marry into King Henry's family' and she said 'I'm in'. So we went into the woods one night and asked the Fae for a baby and they gave us one. Her name is Lowri, really cute. She really likes me for some reason and Dancer she likes us wizards. Sadie won't hold her she says she doesn't hold babies. Why are you staring at me like that?" I ask, tossing another knife.
"So—this is normal for you is it? Trapped in a mountain? Cursed? This is not that unusual given your life?" Fionn asks.
"Oh. No. Not really," I say, shaking my head, "No it's um, not even surprising."
"You need to be watched," he sighs, throwing his knife to line up perfectly next to the other one.
"I know, but like I said the faerie child seems fine and anyway, I am trying to go home. I'd like to go home and then I will be watched," I point out, "I'm guessing you do know how I could get out of here, don't you?"
"Boy, it would take the strongest magic in the world to get you out. Even if I wanted to," Fionn says.
"And you don't want to. Why? You don't trust me, not just because I'm another wizard, no there's another reason," I say, quietly, frowning, "But that doesn't make sense —you know everything if you've looked into my life a bit you know I'm telling you the truth. And your only concern is the safety of Ireland. I'm Wales I'm—allied with Henry. Henry's your threat to Ireland isn't he?"
Fionn raises an eyebrow.
"I'm right aren't I? But wait—no you've got it wrong," I realize, with a sinking stomach, "You sense, somehow, that Ireland is in danger the Fianna's magic depends on it. So you know Ireland is in danger and Henry is out here being public enemy number one, but you're wrong."
"And why would I be wrong now?" Fionn asks, his voice suddenly dangerous, "And I know you've sworn allegiance to England's lion."
"Okay, for one thing agreeing not to harm him or his family has nothing to do with torching his armies like I may do again in the future, I know, I've checked. For another, you're wrong because whatever is a threat to Ireland. Is now a threat. Lately. And what you fail to realize about Henry is since that man could read he's been a threat to everything everywhere! Does he have plans to conquer Ireland? Yes! Absolutely he does, he has running schemes to conquer most of the world," I groan.
"And if he's such a threat why do you care, so badly, that he lives or dies?" Fionn asks.
"I'm guessing you've seen what's happened, not what's gonna happen otherwise you wouldn't be this far off. I know basically what's going to happen. And believe you me. Henry's extended life is preventing a bloody conflict and ultimately put on the throne the man who will conquer Ireland," I groan, "You have to believe me. This is messing it up—worse, hard as it may be to believe Henry is not the biggest threat to Ireland, in fact he's protecting you. He wants Ireland free so he can fight a few pet wars with his son in a couple of years, which probably we can distract him from given proper time. He's not your threat right now something else is causing, whatever Fianna alarm bells to go off."
"Explain. How is it you think Henry Rex," Fionn spits the word, "Is helping Ireland by remaining alive?"
"Ugh—we're about to speedrun the most complicated period of English history, well one of the most, but bear with me. The minute Henry V dies his son, Henry VI, takes over. Henry VI is soft spoken and peaceful, little too peaceful, other nobles wind up not liking him and through a bloody conflict eventually overthrow him, brutally killing him and his son. Two opposing Kings take the throne for a period, in rapid succession, and then Henry VI's maternal nephew, with the help of remaining relatives and supporters, takes the throne to become Henry VII, he's mostly preventing civil war and the like and doesn't do a lot, but his son will be a real piece of work, and when Henry VII's eldest surviving, Henry VIII takes the throne, he's a coward, he takes delight on looking powerful by killing the weak that includes his wives, and also Ireland, he wants to be a warlord he conquers Ireland fully and starts what will be centuries of conflict and eventual starvation of your people," I say, all in mostly one breath. There, about three hundreds of history in one paragraph that was actually not bad.
"You admitted in your first breath that Henry Rex wants to take over my land," Fionn growls, twirling a knife in his fingers, "And you're sworn allegiance to him; excuse me for not wanting to believe you."
"Me agreeing to not personally kill him is immaterial —Henry is a complete piece of work, he's merciless and needlessly cruel and he lies for entertainment, but he's not a bad person. I heard it too, don't say anything. My point is yeah, he absolutely would take over Ireland. But not right now. He doesn't want to do that right now, I promise you. He's having fun in France I just helped him remove any barriers for conquering the south of France he's busy," I sigh, "I want Wales free, I want Ireland free, I want France free, but right now he's half on my side and he's leaving Wales alone. And I guarantee you he's not dreaming of Ireland either."
"How can you possibly claim to know that?"
"Because —this is about to sound really terrible and I know that but you're a dad bear with me here—he wants to take Ireland with his eldest son. But his oldest boy is just eleven, will be twelve in December, he's not big enough yet and the boy hates conflict," I say.
"Why would that stop him?" Fionn grunts.
"Probably won't—but look, age thirteen Henry first went to war, in Ireland, his cousin, technically second cousin, King Richard II, took him, let him go to war. His little cold warlike heart loved it I'm sure, he was clever he liked being taken seriously and the man loves violence you know he wanted to go, I'm sure it was the first time he got to do something that fun (for him). And so of course what does he figure he ought to do with his son but take the boy to war in Ireland? Nice and close to home, easy, fun little father-son trip in his eyes. But the boy isn't yet twelve. Henry will happily be a threat to Ireland but he'll do it when his son agrees to go with him," I sigh. "In another year, yes, I'll agree Henry is your man. But today he is not a threat to Ireland, which means something else is. And we need to find out what."
"You're a talker, boy," Fionn says, dryly, "That's for certain. And I'm surprised at your loyalty to King Henry."
"This is not loyalty, this is fact. I will happily throw hands with Courtenay any day of the week, but I also know that is counter productive at the moment when Henry isn't—currently—our threat. He's usually a threat yes, but today he's no more a threat than last week, and there's no reason to wake the Fianna over him when he's happily invading France at the moment," I sigh.
"Then explain to me why the horn hasn't been sounded. If there's some—non-Henry Rex threat, to Ireland?" Fionn asks.
"Oh, Henry probably already took the horn preemptively, like that's in character. I will be the first person to agree that he's a complete idiot and very annoying, but I'm saying there's a worse threat here," I sigh, "Look I do not like Henry," that's a lie I kind of like him and think he's cool, "But I do know him. God do I know him. I've spent the last eighteen months with him, I've nearly been killed, I have been killed, twice. He's punched me in the face, and chased me around Windsor castle, held me at sword point, and threatened to kill me more times than I can count. I know him. Trust me on that. And right now he is not the threat you think you're facing. Because nothing has changed he's been planning to attack Ireland for years."
"That's charming. But you must understand, there's no way I can trust you," Fionn says, "You'd think me a fool if I did."
"Ah, I get that," I sigh, putting a hand through my hair, "Look, there must be some way you can trust me I'll do a spell anything—,"
"A wizard of your power? I wouldn't trust a spell," he scoffs, "And it isn't going to matter."
"Yes it is! If Oisin sounds the horn and you all attack the wrong threat that doesn't do us any good. I'm not saying Henry can be trusted I'm saying he loves going to war if something else is invading Ireland he'll happily help stop that in return for a deal of some kind," I say. Making deals with Henry is kind of like selling your grandma' s pearls to the pawn shop, but I don't have a lot of options right now.
"You're arguing awfully hard for his life."
"I'm arguing for something that will not work! If you summon the Fianna on what—England? That's not going to save Ireland if England is not the threat," I sigh.
"I never said our first plan was to sound the horn," Fionn says.
"What? That's—that's your thing you're waiting for Ireland's greatest need," I say, shaking my head, "That doesn't make sense."
"My boy can easily defeat a few Englishmen. That requires no Fianna," Fionn says, a little tiredly, "All we needed, was your amulet. He took the power, to transport himself back to your world, with that if he for whatever reason can't kill the Englishmen, he can summon us."
"Oisin is Ireland's protector—you trap wizards so he can travel back and forth, anyone who stumbles on your ruins—you probably have them all over the islands," I realize, "You—he's going to kill Henry."
"And if you're no friend of his like you claim, then that's not a problem is it?" Fionn asks, shrugging a little.
"I'm not. But it is a problem. I'm not against Henry dying, god he's awful at the best of times and truth be told he should have been dead a eleven years ago—no I'm not against him dying. I am against him dying and kicking off the War of the Roses on a baby eleven year old Henry VI whose not strictly great at this, and will probably blame Wales or Ireland or both for his beloved dad's death," I groan, hands to my face, "Listen to me, Fionn, I want to help you. But you really, really do not need to do this, it is going to make things worse. Believe it or not Henry staying alive is in all our best interests. Killing him, his sons will blame Wales and or Ireland and so will his brothers, and that is a vengeance we don't need raising down on us goddamn it!"
"What makes you think I'll leave any son of Henry's alive?" Fionn asks, folding his arms.
"No, they're children—half of them are babies," I shake my head, "The eldest, I swear to you on whatever you hold sacred—he's a precious cupcake he's never harmed a person or thing in his life. His idea of conflict resolution is making people who have actively tried to kill him, dance together. He begs mercy of his own oppressors. Besides which fact he's eleven he's a child."
"The son of a ruthless warlord, who by your own admission would slaughter our people for sport," Fionn says, bitterly.
"He is not his father. You were hunted your whole life for who your father was—you spent years thinking Oisin was dead because of who you are—,"
"And now he's strong," Fionn says, flatly, "And I trained him so that he will not fall."
"No—how are you any different than those who hunted you then? Than the Dark Man who very nearly killed your son over his—meaningless quarrel with you don't know why he was after you actually I don't remember—,"
"Entertainment. The same reason Henry threatens my people. Do you know how many innocent, Irish, boys will die when he comes to our shores? I do. I hear their screams even now, echoing in my mind. Screams he relished the first time he set foot on my shores, getting a taste for war," Fionn snarls, "And I will kill any number of English boys, to save them. You can't say you wouldn't do the same. You who helped him to slaughter the French just to save your precious Wales?"
"We all fight for our countries, I do not deny that and I do not deny Henry is personally the source of 80% of our problems—however I am telling you right now I know his sons are innocent, I know he is at the moment, very briefly, slightly by accident, innocent. And I know I have participated in war. But at some point the bloodshed has to stop. And death upon death does not do it. Henry VI is a great place to start him on the throne he's no threat to you he's the opposite of a threat, he'd bargain for Irish and Welsh and French independence, that is what we are waiting for. A future with hope. And yes Henry is the one who is in the wrong but we have to be the bigger people. And slaughtering his whole family is not the way to peace that you seek, on the contrary it will reign vengeance down and I don't care how powerful your Fianna is, the armies of England and France and Scotland combined and the Welsh bowmen? You do not want to bring that to your shores," I plead.
"Well. Shame you don't have a say in it," Fionn says, without any remorse. He puts a hand through his stiff white hair. He doesn't look much older than Henry, though I'm sure the magic is preserving him. He's been alive for centuries now. He likely only woke because Ireland is in danger, did a quick recap of everything going in the world and saw the hot mess that Henry is making of this side of the globe and came to the very valid conclusion that our favorite king of England is a certified problem.
"Please, at least let me show Oisin what I know," I sigh, "Let me—talk with him. I'll help him get the horn, I promise. I'll help you save Ireland this is not the way to do it."
"We're going to try this way. And when Henry and his sons are dead, then you go right ahead and protect your country. And let me worry about mine," Fionn says.
"I am not against you. But I'm not letting you kill an innocent child," I say, closing my left hand over my right.
"Why do you say it like you have any control over what I do and don't do?" Fionn scoffs, "You're trapped here. Same as I am. And by now Oisin has likely made his way to Henry."
"Yeah um—give it a minute. I'm happy to help you. And I'm totally on your side for Irish independence. But I'm also going to protect my friends," I say, looking down at the crosslet ring on my finger, "I did warn you. I have very powerful magic."
"Not powerful enough to save them now, there's no way," he says, seeing the ring, "The only thing that might work is a protection spell—but what prince or king would accept the protection of a filthy Welsh child?"
"My king," I grin, as I feel the magic drain through the ring, filling me. And then everything goes black.