The Last Knights of Cambria Book 5: Deaths of the Rose

Chapter 7: The lion's den

I fall asleep in the chair, listening to King Henry read from the Bible. The chair isn't overly comfortable, but I'm far too exhausted to care. And his voice is very soothing. It was once smooth and clear, now time and illness have made it raspy but no less sweet. Sweet as the eleven year old boy who wanted to save my soul and invited me to sit with him, even though I was a ghost and he should have been afraid. He was not, he read to me. And tonight he does again, his wife tucked under one arm, their son curled up next to them. Jasper on the floor for some reason. I think it's an in joke but I don't know. And its warm. And I'm safe.
And I wake to the loving sensation of Exeter violently shoving me out of the chair.
"They're gonna name a syndrome after you," I snarl, face in the rug.
"Good morning! The sun is shining! We have three Yorkists locked in our castle. It's two days till the Lord of France's ships arrive! And nothing is going wrong yet!" Exeter says, cheerfully, kicking Jasper in the shin.
Jasper sits up a little, clutching Harri who starts mumbling. Jasper mutters, "You know it's really bad. I wake to someone kicking me someplace and my first thought is 'ah that'll be our Harry don't get your blade, summit's wrong with him'."
"Your Majesties," Exeter bows deeply despite having clearly just woken us up. King Henry and Queen Margret are waking due to the general commotion caused by me falling onto the floor in a heap, swearing.
Oh, and it's worth noting that Exeter is clearly and completely splattered with blood. Fresh blood. He stabbed somebody on his way up here, sort of blood.
"Harry, thank you, I did ask to see you at dawn, yes," Queen Margret says, clearly regretting that wording.
"As you see it is dawn!" Exeter says, grinning maniacally and gesturing to the window.
King Henry does not really move and tries to keep cuddling his wife and sleeping, mumbling, "I'm sure the Archbishop would love to, father. Ask him instead." It's kind of muffled, but I can just make it out.
"Okay, I'm gonna say it—," Jasper says.
"No, I think we're happier this way," I say, still not getting up.
"I'm gonna say it—Harry did you just kill something?" Jasper asks.
"Yes! Thank you for asking!"
"Oh god, he killed Warwick," Margret wakes up more.
"No! Because you told me not to, your majesty! And I would not dream of contradicting you or going against you express wishes. The scum of the earth two-faced not fit to be called a man, lump of flesh. Is very. And regrettably. Alive! As you requested!" He kind of bows again.
"Is he like—a demon or something pretending to be a person, badly?" I ask.
"I realize we started that rumor, Gid, but like, now, yeah, I think it's true," Jasper says.
"Be quiet you two. I like him like this—Exeter, thank you for coming at dawn, as I requested. Why don't you go and get cleaned up from whatever happened —," Queen Margret says, sitting up a little more.
"Something died."
"Something human? Sorry, I need to know," Jasper sighs.
"No! Regrettably, no more humans have died!" Exeter says.
"You had to throw in regrettably," I mutter.
"We're going to leave it there—," Margret says but Jasper says at the exact same time, "What, did you strangle a pigeon over your head?"
"Yes! And it was a crow! Thank you for asking! You don't usually notice how I look, this is a very nice change, Jasper. Eventually we may train you up to be acceptable to women folk," Exeter says, hands on his chest, like really touched.
"I need more sleep, or wine, to process this conversation," Jasper says, shaking Harri's shoulder. The boy rolls over mumbling.
"See? We didn't want to know, Jas, we talked about this. Usually we don't want more information, on that situation here," Margret waves her hand at Exeter who is beaming, "This is for our own good. We let this go. It is over now, too late. We let it go too long, and now we're part of the problem. So we might as well have fun."
"Yes, my lady," Jasper says, rubbing his face sleepily.
"Okay, Exeter, you're going to go and wipe that blood off—I know you like it there don't—you don't have to nod. And have breakfast, and I will meet you in my drawing room, in an hour, more if he doesn't let go," Margret says, she's still half in Henry's arm he's fallen completely back asleep. I'm going to guess this manner of waking is not atypical.
Exeter bows again, waves at Jasper, grins at all of us, and then leaves.
"Do you want help, your majesty?" I ask, as she pries the King's arm off of around her and it goes right back where it was. He's decently taller than her and his good arm loops almost completely around her to hold her to his chest like a teddy bear.
"No—yes actually, hand me that Bible. It's the only acceptable substitute, the other thing he falls asleep holding, there," she says, as I hand her the large book for her to replace herself with.
"Harri? You want breakfast?" Jasper asks, patting his nephew's stomach, "Come on, lad."
Prince Edward wakes finally, but looks at us, closes his eyes and crawls over to use his father's feet as a pillow.
"They'll do that for hours," Margret says, fondly, as she finishes settling Henry, "You two go and have breakfast.  Then once you're washed up will you go and check the wall? I'll send Exeter for you if I need you he's still energetic it'll be fine."
We both murmer assent, and bow. Harri stumbles to his feet and bows sleepily.
The castle is bustling again this morning. Most of us are running on fairly little sleep, and I feel weary and heavy headed, though that could partly be the wine. They keep plying me with wine here and I'm not used to it. I'll drink watered-down wine in Wales, though usually I stick to water. Courtenay has given me wine a couple of times, straight wine, but that's about it. I don't like the taste, but the taste of the water is not always great. In Wales the water is nice it's from the mountain streams and the like.
We go to our rooms to change, I find clothes have been left for me, just a simple shirt and pants that will go under armor. Also a leather coat and cloak. I don all of it, and by the time I'm done, Jasper is changed and ready as well, with Harri in tow. The little boy has clearly had his face scrubbed and his hair is wet and pushed out of his face.
Jasper leads the way down to the kitchens, where we are immediately satiated with plates of food, an entire loaf of bread, a wedge of butter, a pitcher of milk, and cooked meats. We pull up chairs at a little corner table in the kitchens, and that is how I find out why the Queen outlawed Jasper from using furniture in her presence. He turns the chair at an angle, backward, and then basically contorts himself into it. His legs are wrapped around the chair and each other and his arm is through the rungs of it. There's no practical way to describe what it is he thinks he's doing, but it's definitely not using a chair as god intended. As I say it, he may not have the correct number of bones. It may be more, or less, that I do not know but something is going on there that I want no more information on.
He and Harri take this as a matter of form though and the boy sits down like a normal human being.
We lay out out our food on the table. I don't drink milk,  but I accept the greasy meat hungrily, as well as the warm fresh bred.  In our quiet corner we keep to ourselves. Little Harri is more awake and Jasper tells him to drink the milk. The boy refuses meat and all else, only wanting bread, which is a mood to be honest.
"You have to eat meat, or drink some of the milk you can't just have bread, all right?" Jasper says, tucking the boy's hair out of his face as he eats.
"Yes, Uncle," Harri nods, looking at me a little  bit.
"That's just Gideon, he's my friend. You remember I told you about him?— I think you met him once—? You did when he was littler, oh right you don't remember anything," Jasper says, shaking his head a little.
"No, sorry," I say.
"Ah, It doesn't matter, glad to have you," Jasper says, good naturally, "You remember I tell you about my friend Gideon? He's Welsh like us. He's the one with the dragon."
"Can I see it?" Harri asks.
"Yeah, let's hope not for combat though," I say. I'm probably going to summon it to be honest I'm getting sick of these ghosts. I hold up my arm and show Harri the dragon sleeping on my forearm. "There he is. Let's hope we don't have to wake him up."
"Well, whatever works," Jasper says.
"Okay," Harri says, very quietly, fussing with his bread, "I want to see it fly."
"I'll do my best," I smile.
Harri nods, hiding sort of behind a big piece of bread he plans on eating himself.
"You played cards with Gideon last night? Or the night before? Something like that? So, I know you're not being shy so what's wrong?" Jasper says.
Harri shrugs a little.
"Come on," Jasper says, "I'm not going to know what to do with a quiet little boy."
"The ghosts last night," Harri says, chewing his lip.
"What about them?" I ask, fear running through me. Technically they're on his side if they're against Richard, so why would they scare him?
"I saw them, from where I was hiding. It was like they were looking for someone," Harri says, softly.
"Were they?" Jasper asks, "You think they were looking for the King?"
"I guess. I don't know. But they all looked the same."
"What?" I ask.
"You didn't notice? They're all the same person, like it's repeating," Harri says.
"He's right," Jasper looks at me.
"We know it's an apparition. And I think it was some sort of—ghost of a wizard being summoned," I say.
"So who is summoning all of it?" Jasper asks.
"They acted like they want something," Harri says. Of course he's right they do. They're just not looking very effectively.
"I'm not going to let them get you," Jasper says, "We don't know—what we're doing. But we are doing our best, eh Gideon?"
"Yes," I say, softly, "I may have another idea though."
"What?"
"I killed the snake, and the troll, by taking their energy. So if somehow we can find a way to do that with all the ghosts," I shrug a little, "Maybe we can get closer to whomever is giving them energy to begin with."
"Worth a try."
"I can't do it alone though—I nearly burned out on the snake. But, if we did it together, it might work," I say.
"Yeah, but I couldn't, I tried, it's a wizard thing I think," Jasper says.
"Yeah, but you took wizard magic when I filtered it through me, if I take it—,"
"And keep feeding it through me—,'
"We might get more, I don't know," I say, smearing more soft butter on the warm bread, "That's all I came up with on like, five hours of sleep, in a chair."
"Hm, yeah, I've got nothing," Jasper says, rubbing his face.
Harri smears butter on warm bread and stuffs a large bite in his mouth, looking at me again then his uncle.
"D'you want to go practice sword?" Jasper asks.
"Yes! Definitely!" I say, happily.
"I was talking to the six year old. I was taking it as a given you want to play with swords you ever said no to that question, Gid?"  Jasper asks.
"No," I wince a little, "You make a good point. I have not."
"There we go. Harri? Before we get attacked again or something stupid happens again?" Jasper asks.
Harri nods, his mouthful of bread.
"Good, Gideon is here so you can practice on someone who isn't me," Jasper says.
"The Duke of Exeter said he might come down later and spar with us," Harri says, softly.
"Oh god don't depress me Harri, I can't cope already," his uncle groans, "Eat something that isn't bread now. Otherwise you'll stay little. Or your face'll look like mine. Or something. Put some appropriate threat in there, just, in your head. I've not got one right now."
Harri looks directly at his uncle, then drinks the entire cup of milk, he chugs it, like alcohol, he has the proper wrist movement, everything. It's hilarious. He throws his head back and sighs a little bit and everything. I try not to laugh.
"You're very funny—do not encourage him, god, he picked it up at some point and I'm pretty sure Harry pays him to continue and everyone thinks it's all very funny. But one of these days he's going to do it in front of the King who will tell him to slow down and he'll say 'Uncle Jasper drinks like that' and then the Queen is going to have to explain to her husband that that's how people drink alcohol and how she knows that and then she's gonna kill me, finally," Jasper says.
"We drink wine all the time," I say.
"Yeah. I know. That's not the same as sake or liquor which King Henry has banned from court as it's a sin," Jasper says.
"Why does he not think wine is a sin?"
"Because somebody with some small touch of pity convinced the King, at an early age, that wine is okay because Jesus drank wine so it's not even alcoholic, and by some miracle and proof that god loves me, nobody has told the King otherwise, so we get to have wine. And remain sane," Jasper says.
"Ah," I nod, amused.
"I don't know who told him that I think it was my father or his, but it works. And what happens in the pubs that Uncle Jasper takes you to stays in the pubs, as does the language used there, because so far as fancy people are concerned you've not been there, got it?" Jasper asks, poking Harri's shoulder. The boy actually smiles then.
"Yes, Uncle," he says, looking at his uncle sweetly.
"Do not, I do not fall for that, you are not cute," Jasper says, putting a hand over the boy's face. He giggles, stuffing more bread in his mouth.
I've actually eaten my fill and am feeling sleepy again. The idea of sword practice energizes me, however, and after we finish eating we wind our way out of the keep, and near the outer wall. That way we'll be out of everyone's way, everyone who is doing actual work.
It's a fine clear morning, with just grey clouds rolling in the sky no fog, and you can smell the ocean. Jasper finds us light wooden swords, and he and I discard our real weapons. We don't put on any padding, but he has Harri put on a jacket so he doesn't get too bruised.
There's a general commotion from the keep, and in the direction of the kitchens. Two rather small rather naughty York boys are stumbling from the kitchen arms loaded with more breakfast, clearly arguing with each other and their pursuers.
"Well. They all lived through the night. Look at that," Jasper mutters, not overly enthusiastic.
"Are we going to leave that as it is?" I ask.
"Most definitely. Not my problem. Warwick is a problem but he's getting the unique pleasure of dealing with Harry this morning," he replies, cheerfully.
We let Harri take turns attacking us, then defending, then we let him rest and spar with each other, letting him watch and describing what we're doing. We go mostly at half speed, but soon the boy cajoles us into going at full speed, for his entertainment. He takes great delight in the idea that his uncle can beat up just about anyone, and wants proof of it. In reality though we're decently matched, Jasper is the more experienced swordsman at this point, but I've had a baptism by fire and what I lack in I experience I make up for in sheer enthusiasm.
We're keeping up with the other rather well, trading blows and narrating it to Harri while he rests his little arms. He's thoroughly entertained by the exchange.
At one point, I knock Jasper's sword out of his hand, and he uses magic to recover it to his off hand, in time to block my blow.
"Where'd you learn to do that?" I laugh, most sorcerers don't bother to incorporate magic into sword play let alone know enough to use their other hand.
"You," Jasper grins devilishly, "My father used to get so cross when Eddie and I would do this to him."
"You say I can't use magic when I sword fight," Harri pipes up.
"That's because only I get to cheat. No seriously, you can once you've mastered the sword, for now learn how to do it without magic, it'll save your life one day," Jasper says, "Now go get the shields. You're up again."
"He has magic?" I ask. I didn't know, but then he's little, I wouldn't.
"A bit. His dad and I both," Jasper shrugs like that explains it, "I don't know if he's good, but I'm training him a little. He's not like his dad or me at that age —thank god. Our father didn't know what to do with us we'd get in a fight and be throwing each other through walls. I think he was shocked we both lived to age ten. Like every time he came home and we were both still in one piece he was genuinely surprised and proud."
"Your father was a good man," I say, nodding.
"He was patient. More so than me," Jasper says, watching as Harri selects a shield for himself from the pile of weapons we'd dragged out, "So I don't know. I show him magic, a little. But I can't tell if he doesn't try or he's not that good at it. It's different. I had my brother to bash around with. And Harri wants me to just chat with him and not be teaching him all the time."
"I didn't start training till I was fifteen," I say like that wasn't a year and a half ago and it completely was. "He'll go at his own pace."
"He will," Jasper nods a little, "He's clever. Suppose everyone says that about their own little ones."
"No, he is," I say. He's clever enough to survive. Mostly I think that is down to Jasper, but still. He lives to an old age and gets to die in his bed. Both of them do. A rare happy ending for men of their breed.
"I want to fight you with the shield," Harri says, bouncing back up to hand his uncle a shield. He's carrying one for himself too.
"We'll go a few rounds, then you practice on Gideon all right? It's good to practice other opponents."
"I—,"
"Before you finish, the Duke of Exeter doesn't count as a person."
"Okay."
I watch them to ref and mostly enjoy their good natured bickering. The boy is lively now, finally, in the company of his uncle, and he very quickly starts talking about unrelated things, which Jasper humors to no end.
The lonely child would much rather talk than actually do his lessons, and for whatever reason every single bout between them ends with Harri 'winning' by abandoning all weapons, screaming, and tackling his uncle with all the force in his tiny body. Jasper, for his part, collapses and completely surrenders, when this occurs, letting the little boy whale on him with his fists which is clearly doing no damage whatsoever.
I'm about as entertained as they are, laughing and watching the goings on. After the chaos of the last few days I'm more than happy for a day about the castle with something approximating normal life.
And of course that's when the alarm bells go off.
"Go inside, right now, stay hidden," Jasper says, giving the boy a real sword back, "All right? You wait outside the King's chamber."
"I want to help," the boy says, quietly.
"You are, by staying safe," I say, putting back on my cloak, "Watch out the window, you might see my dragon."
Harri nods.
"That's my boy. Now go," Jasper, says, patting his shoulder, "Get going."
"They're early today," I say.
"Yeah, can't have a moment," Jasper asks, going to our weapons as we put back on our real ones. He shrugs on mail, but I forgo it. I'm not planning on being in close combat and I know I'm already worn out.  He offers to help me put it on but I shake my head.
"I'm going to need my strength. I think I have a plan," I say.
"Is it a good one?"
"Not really. Can you help?"
"Isn't that what our friendship is based on?" He grins, slapping my back, "Come on, maybe god will have mercy and Warwick will get killed this time."
"God doesn't love us that much, Jas."
"I mean, clearly not, but he ought to love the King."
"Yeah, but the King's probably in there praying nobody at all gets hurt."
"I mean. Yes. That's definitely true."
We jog most of the way to the front of the keep, and mount the ramparts. Other soldiers are following suit and the bowmen are already in place.
We arrive about the same time as the York boys, who look like they've spent the morning trying to kill either a drunk badger, or each other. Richard is currently fixing his goth little outfit, and Hal is trying to mess him up again. 
Warwick has beat us there, but that's only because he's with the Duke of Exeter who Queen Margret I'm going to assume assigned to watch him permanently. I say that because the Duke of Exeter would agree to just follow this guy around staring at him. He wouldn't even need a reason he was probably gonna do something like that anyway.
"What is it? More ghosts?" Jasper asks.
"Aye, hundreds," The Duke of Exeter, bouncing a little on his heels and grinning like a madman.
"Go back inside," Warwick says, noticing the boys edging over to look out. This is definitely not to preserve them he's just out here so he wants them back in there.
"But I want to fight! I can wield a sword," Hal says, bravely, attempting to hold up a sword that is bigger than him.
"You cannot. You're far too small," Warwick says.
"That's not what your mother said," Hal replies, instantaneously.
The effect is immediate. Warwick just moves to swing to punch the boy off the rampart. Richard dives to save his foul-mouthed friend almost as soon as he starts talking, takling Hal to the ground and safety. The Duke of Exeter starts laughing so hard he looks like he's going to throw up. Jasper has to cover his face not to react. I jump in front of Warwick and catch his fist before he can actually kill one of the kids. We look like a baroque painting. The boys and Exeter are laughing uncontrollably and Jasper is doing everything he can to not lose it. The Duke of Exeter has tears running down his face.
Queen Margret walks up, at this point in time, and very appropriately says, "What is going on?"
And then every single one of us, equally sincere, equally obviously doing something weird says, "Nothing, your majesty."
"Go down stairs now," I say, picking the boys up by the back of their shirts to usher them away.
"But—," they say, in unison.
"Also, 10/10, best four minutes of my life, will cherish that memory forever, your ancestors would be proud, go," I say, pushing them towards the stairs.
"But then it'll come in," Richard says, shaking his head, "It'll be like last night."
"Yet I have a plan, give me till noon, if the battle rages on, then join us, all right?" I ask, "Now go. Also Warwick needs to remember he can't actually kill you both."
"Yeah, I like how he just blames me too," Richard says.
"It was like, 80% your fault you trained him," I say.
"You did," Hal says.
"Don't agree with Lancasters," Richard says, grabbing Hal's hand, "Come on. Let's go see if Warwick has any more dynamite."
"Yeah—you know what I'm not gonna worry about that," I mutter. They look responsible. I would have happily been horribly burned if somebody had let me play with dynamite at that age. It's probably good for them. Also, Richard can use magic; they'll probably survive.
I return to my party, where Warwick is back acting like a reasonable human being while he plots the murder of a nine year old. The Duke of Exeter is giggling every time he looks at Warwick, but that is probably very typical behavior. Jasper and Margret are surveying the lines. They got supports and a blockade of spearmen and bowmen in the spot where the wall is broken, but that's not going to hold.
"It will easily take both of us to hold the wall," Warwick says.
"And if you do, then the rest is undefended," Queen Margret says, "Jasper, take the West flank, Warwick, help the bowmen hold the wall."
"With all due respect we will be slaughtered," Warwick snarls, with no respect whatsoever.
"Jasper can you hold the west flank—maybe ten minutes?" I ask, waving a hand a little to indicate I'm bad at estimating time.
"Yeah," Jasper nods, "What are you going to do?"
"Hopefully, get rid of them," I say, bouncing a little, "Your Majesty?"
"Just do your worst, Gideon, God knows we need it," she nods.
I bow quickly and then turn to run. I can feel the ghosts gathering in strength on the other side of the wall. I break into a sprint, dodging past bowmen and knights crowding the wall. And I feel the magic filling me, I'm draining their strength as quickly as they are getting it. And as I run along the wall, I stretch an arm out, letting the dragon break free of my skin. It soars into the air above us, twisting up through the clouds then diving back down.
And for the second time in as many days, I leap off the wall.
I tumble through the air, my eyes are already burning hot with magic. The wind is cold and fierce, biting my skin. Then the dragon is beneath me, swooping us both up into the atmosphere as my legs dig into the scaly sides. I don't bother to cling to one of the dragon's spines, instead stretching my arms out to the sides, letting the magic pour off of me. I whoop, laughing as the cold air fills my head.
We plummet down through the clouds, back down to the battle field. I can see everyone on the wall, and the green ghost soldiers swarming it. Jasper makes a universal gesture that that was two minutes and I'm a dumbass who can't tell time. The York boys have made it up to the wall, are appropriately scorched, and currently lobbing small explosives over the wall. Warwick looks like he's acting like he doesn't know they're there. They're like ten feet away from him.
The dragon lets loose a rain of fire, twisting us upside down I assume for effect. I'm forced to use magic to cling on, my head is going light as I drain the ghosts of their strength to support the assault. It's a wild ride, but I'm like a sieve. All the magic is just rushing through me no sooner in than out.
Now, I'm not good at a lot of things. I'm not perfect. I don't claim to be overly talented. I'm not the best swords man out there. And I'm not even a really good wizard. I've been told I'm not really good at social cues, I just personally think people should make it more obvious if they're having a wedding, and I was trying to be involved by asking who died. But anyway. I don't claim to have a lot of talents. Most of what I know is because I've spent an unreasonable number of hours on the internet. That's all. I'm not special.
But.
I am really. Really. Really. Good at antagonizing people till they want to fight me. It's like my main talent. I don't exercise very often because you know, pacifism. But. When the time calls for it.
I'm going to bet this other wizard is going to get pretty irritated I'm taking their strength and decimating the ghost hoard.
And I would be right.
Out of the mist of the forest, I see a shape. It takes a moment to make it out, at first I think it's just an apparition.
But no.
It's another dragon.
A great, white dragon, rising up out of the trees. On it's back the wizard, robed in white. The ghost wizard anyway. So another illusion. That's fine. I'll break this one too.
With no direction, which is great because I've got no idea how to give it directions, my dragon gives chase. And we're off. Spiraling through the clouds, me and my red dragon in pursuit of the white one. I'm still sucking strength from the ghost hoard, but now I set about draining this other dragon itself. That's like trying to pick up a armored car with your bare hands. My muscles ache, and the weight of the magic is enormous. I can't do it. I'll never take it all. But I can get rid of this ghost.
My dragon is gaining on the other, as we dip through the clouds, we're reaching the English Channel. We plunge down towards the white dragon, which is below us. It's sailing towards the water, and we dive bomb into it, all of us shooting down into the cold black water.
Then we're out again, I'm gasping for air and clinging on for dear life as I try to keep all the magic funneling through me.  I need to end this now.
"Get me closer! I don't know if you can hear me, I get that, sorry, I think I'm speaking welsh? I don't really know. I am not good at this," I shout, patting the dragon.
Either the intent or my words work, because my dragon cruises closer to the other, above it, so we're sailing in tandem down the English coast.
Then my dragon flips over.
I drop off, falling onto the white dragon. Three point landing, yes. Why do I never do that when other people can see? I fall flat on my face then.
The wizard turns, his eyes are filled with fear.
"I'm sorry about this, but I can't let you attack my friends," I shout, over the wind, crawling closer on the dragon's back, my red dragon is still giving chase though not in jumping distance.
The wizard stares at me, there are tears in his eyes. I realize after a moment his mouth is sewn closed. He holds out his hands, there are shackles on his wrists.
"What are you?" I ask, quietly. He's no ordinary ghost. I say that like I know what ghosts are like but I don't. I really don't. I was one I should know, but I do not.
He reaches out and takes my hand, pressing something into it, and then he leans close to me. Voice gravelly and cold, bubbling with water, "Please find me."
Then he's gone, and I feel his magic disappearing, and that of his dragon, I suck it all up, dispersing it into powering mine.
Which is good, because I'm now falling towards the water. I clutch whatever he gave me in my hand, it feels like metal, and I brace to hit the waves.
My dragon swoops beneath me just in time, and I fall onto its scales, blessedly. I check my hand. A pair of dog tags? Forget it, mystery for another day when you're not dying, Gideon. I tuck them around my neck, the only safe place at the moment, then straighten up.
Back to the battle.
Good.
"Good that's really good, good job glad we're on the same page, we should do this more often—the flying part. Not the siege and weird ghosts part," I say.
We're halfway back to the battle field when I feel the tug. The energy I've been draining, someone, something, is trying to reclaim it. It's all I can do to hold onto the dragon and try not to pass out. Well. It seems I've finally aggravated the final boss.
One minute I'm sailing through the air, the next I'm plummeting towards the ground. My dragon is gone, magic is all too rapidly leaving me. The good news is I can see Dover castle. The bad news is I barely have enough magic to cushion my fall.
I fall flat on my face, barely stopping myself from breaking any bones. See what I mean about falling like a moron when I'm in front of witnesses? I fall down all the time you'd think I'd be better at it by now.
I roll over, painfully, and find myself staring up at three wizards. They're wearing white robes, and look like middle aged white men, which never boded well for anyone anyway, being confronted by middle aged white men. Said with a lot of love for my favorite middle aged white men, Henry V and Courtenay, but they're gay passing, so it's not quite the same thing.
"Hello there," I say, because I miss my friend Sadie and she would think it was funny so I still have to make the joke.
"You need to stop interfering with our quest," one of them, the leader I guess? Says.
"Ah—no. See my quest is kind of interfering with your quest. Because as I understand it, your quest is killing a twelve year old boy," I say, scrambling to my feet.
"He is a monster," another one says.
"So, no, he's not, don't trust everything you read on Wikipedia. He's not perfect—and being twelve he's irritating—but it's everyone's right not to be perfect. And to be irritating sometimes. And to steal cakes for you and your friends, and play with swords, and mouth off, and try to explore places you shouldn't," I say, buying time. See, I've been in the past too long. I miss google. I really need to take some time and google 'how many middle aged white men can one sixteen year old uncoordinated Mexican take in a fight?' I don't know what the results will be, but I'm probably gonna die before I get them.
"The brothers have made their decision, please remove yourself from this time. You don't belong here twice," the third one says, condescendingly, "Do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking just by being here?"
"Oh, probably a lot. Look, can we not talk about this? He isn't doing anything —nor does he—no more than anyone else in this stupid war," I sigh, this isn't going to work. I can feel it.
"You're a waste of space, Saint. You've already earned a place in the books for collaborating King Henry the Fifth," the original one says.
"I mean, collaborating is a strong word since I'm usually a kidnapping victim when we hang out. But we'll go with it. My point is I'm not going to step aside, and let you kill an innocent child," I say.
"You know as well as we do what he becomes."
"Okay, so, I don't think you know that as well as you think you know that. The people he does execute or kill are in general trying to kill him—just like any of our heroes like Jasper or Queen Margret," I sigh.
"Your facts are grossly off, but we'll move on. You're not going to save Prince Edward."
"What?" I ask, my heart leaping in my throat, "No—no—you were coming for Richard."
"It's no harm if he dies," the second one says.
"No—no I saw it," I say, my head spinning in confusion.
"A diversion, as you and the foul mouthed child so rightly supposed," the third one says, "I assumed you would take the bait. Richard is enough of a villain."
"He's really not but—but why would you want to kill Prince Edward? He dies, he dies in the War of the Roses he's seventeen," I say, shaking my head.
"You're welcome," the first one says.
"In every timeline. We ensure order, execution of the guilty. Your Richard of York is no match for the Tudors, or the Lancasters, not alone. That boy on the other hand," the second one shrugs.
"He must always die. And thanks to your interference with his grandfather he'll survive in this timeline. Unless."
"We put a stop to it."
"Everything must be put back to order," the first one says.
"Okay what does he do? Why? Never mind don't answer that—,"
"Oh, so the rumors are true you are always LikeThis."
"—it doesn't matter what he does. We'll deal with that at the time, right now he's an eleven year old boy whose father reads him to sleep, who plays with his cousin—no," I shake my head, "You have to stop."
"This is not a discussion, Saint, this a courtesy as a fellow wizard to let you get out of our way."
"Look, look, even if he  goes on to make mistakes it's his right to do that! It's his right to grow up—you're basing what you know on our timeline,  he could be totally different. He could not he could make the same mistakes but we all are supposed to get the chance to grow old and to make things right and to become better people, we all have the opportunity in us to be the good person, to do what's right give him the chance to choose it. We all have the capacity for evil in us."
"And let someone innocent die?" The second one asks.
"He's someone innocent too!" I cry, "And you're killing innocent people to get to him, how do you not see that that is worse? Doesn't he deserve a chance? Don't every single one of us deserve a chance no matter what genetics or statistics or doctors say we are?"
"And you just wasted your chance to get out of the way," the first one says, "I'm sorry. A shame to execute one of your talent."
I brace myself for the blow and it still does me no good. All three of them shoot me with bolts of magic, just like I did to King Henry's ships, all the way back last solstice. And I'm burning in pain. But somewhere in my mind, I know I can't let go. Hold onto it. Hold every bit of it. They're giving it to you. You can't wince and brace for a punch, let yourself absorb the shock. Calm. Loosen my muscles, and take it. The pain is excruciating and my eyes burn in my head. In my mind, hazy and dim, I wonder if I'll be blind. I wonder if I'm nearly dead.
Then it stops. I can't see, all there is a blue haze before my eyes. My skin is bubbling in pain and I can feel it flaking off. The magic is making me hover in the air, that or I can no longer feel the ground.
"What did he do?" I hear one of them whisper. The magic is humming in my ears so loud.
And then I let it all go.
Lightening cracks out of me, and the three wizards scream in pain, twisting in agony as their own lightening is redirected back into them. And they can't survive it. I tip my head back, as the pain fades from my skin. I'm not hurting anymore.
The wizards are lying on the ground, as I lower back down. Their corpses are burnt and twisted.
I shrug and turn and run back towards the battle field, letting the dragon swoop out of my skin again, crackling with magic. As I summon lightening bolts for the ghosts, I see my magic, glowing hot and white on my skin. It's not blue anymore? Did I level up? That's cool.
And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Gideon, you just killed three people, don't you feel bad? To which I say, those three people were trying to murder an eleven year old because of something they read on the internet and didn't fact check. I feel pretty great.
My skin cracks with the lightening as the dragon pours hell fire down on the ghosts on the wall. Then I annihilate the remaining with shocks echoing from my hands.
I lower to the muddy ground, exhausted, and sore. I'm a little dizzy and blurry eyed, but still drunk on success.  The castle is intact. Jasper was fighting outside with a force but most everyone remained safe behind the walls. He comes to collect me, grinning as well.
I limp over, now I'm feeling the results of that. Ah, that was probably not great. Oh well it was fun.
"Recognize you now," Jasper says, clicking his tongue in approval.
"What—oh damn it," I sigh, looking down at my arms. My skin is split and cracked in zigzaged patterns, rough white scars forming up and down my arms wrapping around my fingers, "It like that on my face?"
"Yes. Looks good. Certain circles may be concerned though," Jasper says, clapping me on the back.