Days of the Dead Book 1: The Thief's End

Chapter 15: The Thief's End

Gideon
I go up to the Visitor rooms, and find the Welsh rooms. I make the point of disincorporating, so I can go where I like which at the moment is in Rhiannon's room. I reincorporate in the doorway and knock.
"Love that you can do that. Get in here," she says. She's sitting on the bed, braiding her hair.
"This is a trap," I say, coming down to sit on the other side of the bed.
"Uhuh, this is entrapment. And blackmail," she says.
"I've been good," I say, laying back and sticking my fist in my mouth.
"You clearly have not. Castile."
"Would we be friends, if I didn't get involved with sad lonely outcasts who need saving and doing it in a ridiculous manner?"
"Of course not, second best personality trait next to how you sleep and what you do with your hands," she says, sliding over the bed to move my hair out of my face.
"This is now kidnapping. I'm gonna fall asleep then have to sneak out or roll under the bed," I mumble, closing my eyes anyway. I am sleepy. And I could use a good cuddle. In Wales we have the word 'cwtch' which means cuddle but like a cuddle from a family member that makes you feel all safe and warm and it's a very excellent word.
"Yes, this is a kidnapping. Here, my accomplice didn't get to feel you earlier," she says, taking my hand and putting her over her firm belly.
I smile, I can feel the slight shoves of the baby moving around, already cross about being cramped in there with months to go. And of course, always, pulsing with magic.
"He feels me," I say, quietly. If I can feel the magic so can he.
"I'm thinking I'll call him Myrddin," she says, still holding my hand.
"You really want another little chaos magic child running around Harlech?" I laugh. Myrddin is the welsh version of Merlin. So obviously it's connotation is the child will have magic. Which I already know to be true. It's pronounced "Mur-th-yn", the 'dd' makes a 'th' sound in Welsh.
"Yeah, obviously." Rhiannon says, tugging on my hair, "You staying?"
"Looks like it," I say, moving up onto the bed more, "I'm gonna have to bolt though."
"Stay. I wake up here, and all I remember is those awful days, when you were dead. I'd wake up and you'd be here but you really weren't."
"I'm not doing that again. I don't die," I say, quietly.
"I know."
"Come here," I say, holding out an arm. She curls up under it, against my thick chest. I wrap my arms securely around her and nestle my face into her red hair. I snuggle her securely. I am very good at this. She folds her little hands in mine and presses one against her swollen belly. The baby has quit moving though, perhaps it wants to be cuddled too.
I, for one, am happy to go back to sleep like this. Safe. As she said very far from the two of us plotting our escape from here. Me dead, Elis nearly dead. We've come a long way. I think back to the riddle of the beggar's tomb. If I would measure up. Have I given more than I took from this world? Have any of us? How would we know, really, I mean aren't we all trying? We're trying to do what's right and protect those we love, what is enough? And if our lives aren't over yet then we might not have had enough time to make our peace. And surely we all want that don't we? Of course I want to help people more than I want to hurt them. I do just want to keep Wales safe. And now England by default. But we're safe, for tonight.
Alarm bells sound.
"First decent cuddle in days," I growl, sitting up.
"Goddamn it, Henry," Rhiannon sits up.
"I'm not even going to contradict that, yeah, safe to assume it's his fault," I say, squeezing her around the shoulders before going to put my sword and mail, "I'll go see what it is."
"I'll go stay with Elis," she says, taking a coat I toss to her, as well as a dagger.
"Right, be safe," I say, putting on my cloak as well and going to the door.
"I can't believe Henry is doing this to us," Elis sighs, stepping into the hall. I like how we all blame him for something that is definitely his fault.
Elis is in a night shirt which for whatever reason is embroidered with like moon and stars and night imagery, his hair is neat and damp. Dancer is behind him swearing profusely.
"I'll take care of them, go," Rhiannon says, patting my arm.
"See you in a bit," I say, before turning to jog to the end of the hall. There are dozens of guards already in the stairs, I push my way down to reach the ground floor then make a left for the family quarters. Again, I'm just assuming this is Henry's fault.
When I reach the main hall of the lower family quarters, I do find the usual suspects standing there looking surprised, also their teenage son, who looks like he fell asleep reading by the creases on his soft cheek.
The usual suspects clearly haven't been to bed, Henry is fully dressed in a coat like he was going out, and is wearing his sword, which his hand rests on. Courtenay is next to him, equally fit and ready to fight, hands loose at his sides and prepared to practice magic.
Prince Harry looks at me, something like fear in his brown eyes. He's holding a short sword, oh, good for him.
Behind the royals and Courtenay stand about a dozen palace guards, all in armor and ready to fight.
We're all staring at the windows. I don't realize why at first. Then I hear it. A soft scrabbling. Followed by a slam.
Something is trying to get in. Something big.
The window directly in front of the King shatters, and a ball of fire flies in. Courtenay and I immediately cast spells to block it before it reaches anyone. And that's how we learn that when presented with danger King Henry will definitely try to stab it even if it is not stabable, and his son and heir will hold his weapon very tightly to his chest, for general comfort, while squeezing his eyes shut, yelping, and taking exactly one step back.
"Harry, we talked about this," Henry, not surprised, but just disappointed as his son just closes his eyes and waits for death.
"What was that?" Harry ignores his father.
"I don't know—we'll handle it," Courtenay jerks his head at me.
"Go to your mother, now," King Henry says, to his son, "Get her and your siblings gathered."
"Yes, father," Prince Harry says, turning to run.
There's more scuffling. And I hear noises from outside.
The windows explode. Inside, leap large, white—dragons. Lizard like monsters with no wings but plenty of fangs, the size of the wolfhounds but twice as broad.
One leaps directly onto me, absorbing the magic I throw at it. I hear general scuffling and fighting as everyone else up and down the hall suffers the same fate.
The monster snaps towards my neck. I fight frantically wondering why the magic isn't working. Then I remember the trick I used during my brief stint in the War of the Roses. I can't attack it with magic. I need to take its magic.
I start rapidly trying to draw the magic from it, but it's not doing much good and it's really hard to focus on that when the teeth are snapping closer and closer to my face, and the claws are digging painfully into my shoulders.
Then, in one quick motion, the creature is ripped from me and thrown into the opposite wall. I sit up, panting, blood draining from my claw wounds, "My lord?"
The Duke of Conwy is standing over me, axe in one hand, other hand bloody from ripping the thing off of me.
"What are you doing here?" I ask. This is not Wales' fight I'm helping preemptively as I don't want us to have to become involved. In theory none of our few soldiers would have been even notified.
"Conflict," he grunts, cheerfully, lobbing his axe into another one, "Why are you here?"
"Eh, same," I say, panting as I struggle to my feet, "Can you handle them?"
"Just, nothing lives long without its head. Go get whoever's sending them," he says.
"That's not going to be Henry. It's his fault I assume, but it's not him."
"Damn. Knock 'em dead anyway."
"Will do," I run down the hall, sucking the magic from a few as I pass to weaken them so the palace guard can handle it. Oh good, Owen is involved now.
He's in one's jaws as it tries to drag him out the window. I leap over another knight to land on the thing's head, diving my sword into its skull.
"Saint," Owen says, a bit gratefully, struggling to his feet.
"My lord," I smile a little at him before running on.
At the end of the hall, Courtenay is fighting a particularly large one, and King Henry is fighting an even larger one. That's not strictly a problem because King Henry has never met a problem he didn't want to stab.
"Courtenay! You have to take its magic!" I shout. He can't do that, but remember I don't really like him.
"I CAN'T DO THAT AND YOU KNOW IT, SAINT!" Courtenay snarls, keeping the monster's flames at bay.
I reach out a hand, sapping as much magic as I dare from both monsters. If I overload myself on magic, then I can become ill, just like using too much magic. I'm pretty fresh at the moment, but I know this isn't the final boss.
"We're fine, go see what is sending them, and kill it," King Henry snarls, he's doesn't look strictly fine, but he definitely looks happy. I'm not kidding, he's bored stiff every time he has to be home. He not only would arrange a little invasion, but he has in the past, just to keep the palace guard on their toes and entertain himself a bit.
"Yes, sire," I say, before turning and hopping out the window. On the palace lawn, the fight rages on. Longbowmen are on the rooftops, picking them off one by one, but there's still at least fifty of the things standing.
So where's the leader?
It takes me a moment to see the white cloaked form, glowing with magic, well into the distance.
"Well, Kit did come back," I mutter, only to myself. I really wish it wasn't like this. But he's not only endangering the royal family, he's endangering my family too. And he can be angry at me, and King Henry absolutely more people need to be angry with King Henry, and Courtenay, but he doesn't get to harm innocent people.
All that's to say, I immediately summon a dragon of my own.
The red Welsh dragon rips from my skin. It's not been out in a minute. And we both love nothing better than to cause some havoc on the Windsor grounds.
I rise into the air, white magic flowing through me. I can channel it from the monsters he summoned, as needed, but I'm glowing hot myself. Unlike most of my epic showdowns, I'm well rested and not in need of a dramatic escape after this. No, I'm doing fine. And Kit isn't.
I raise a hand, drawing him to me, we're hundreds of feet above the castle in the cold night air. I draw him up in front of me, angry and eyes hot and blue with magic. But I'm tugging it from him easily. He's weak. Blood is running from his nose, ears, and eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" I hear my own voice echo, liquid and bubbly with magic.
Kit tries to spit but blood just bubbles from his mouth.
"Kit, listen to me. We think we understand the curse of the beggar's tomb. I know—a lot of people, have been really cruel to you and I'm going to guess your home wasn't so great either. But I promise I am here to help you so let me try to save you," I plead. He's fighting me, he's not winning, but he'll kill himself at this rate.
"I am finished," Kit says, tipping his head a little bit, "We both know the curse doesn't have a cure."
"We don't actually know that!" I cry.
He has a knife in his hand. He tries to stab me but he can't get through my shield of magic. He cries out in frustration, blood just pouring from his mouth.
"Kit, please," I say, feeling tears on my cheeks, "Why? I will swear on anything you like I want to help you."
"Can't you see I'm dying?" Kit rasps, "It finished me."
"So why do this? Let me help you get home did you not have that amulet?"
"I went home," he laughs.
"Then why are you here attacking us? To get revenge?" I ask, upset.
"To take as many of you with me as I can. It would be a good legacy, would it not? Kill the greatest wizard that ever lived?" He asks. And with that he uses the last of his magic to drive through my shield and dig a knife into my gut. Of course it hits mail, and he screams out in frustration, or tries to.
That effort sends blood pouring from his eyes, and his body turns to ash in my arms. A cold cold wind whips around me. The tomb claimed him? That's all it can be.
The dragon catches me out of the air and takes me back to the ground, which is a much more dramatic way to get back down, than just lowering myself. I'm not good at just lowering myself I always feel awkward. Courtenay does it really pretty, but this isn't about him.
We land in the courtyard, decidedly near the castle itself, which is fine by me but I'm assuming the royals won't like. I don't really care though.
I hop off the dragon, bone weary now, but still riding the adrenaline of the fight.
"Thanks again," I say, kissing the dragon's nose as it bumps me gently. I smile, and it melts back into my skin. It scurries up my arm to lie on my collar bone and pant.
I sigh, looking around. The battle is ended, and it looks like no fatalities, though several of the men are limping and wounded. It's dark, but I can't see any of our Welshman, save the Duke who nods at me a little before going back inside. He wasn't exactly invited and he's not a fan of social interaction.
"How are you not bleeding?" Courtenay sputters. He looks amazing, as usual. Like, there's blood running from his eyes but he has perfect hair and a jawline you could sharpen blades on it's fine.
"I don't know," I say, sighing a bit. I'm hurt from my scuffle with the little dragons, but not terribly.
"Well?" King Henry asks, strolling up to join us. He's in a chest plate, and mail that looks a little worse for the wear, his hair has blood in it, but likely not his. And he looks, completely happy. Like, he clearly just had a great time.
"The curse took him," I say, wiping my hands on my shirt.
"So, dead?" King Henry asks.
"No, I believe the tomb claimed him. I don't know if that means he is, dead, or not, I have to do more research, but he's gone, for now," I say.
"Why was he attacking us?" Courtenay asks.
"Yes, did he say?" Henry asks, like so damn innocently like he didn't enslave that person for five years and he has no idea what the motive could have been.
"He wanted to take us with him," I say, trying not to stuff my fist in my mouth because there will be another question.
"Go see a doctor. And I'd better not see you in the private apartments," King Henry says, sheathing his sword. He was previously just holding it like he was hoping he'd get to kill something again.
"Your Majesty, my lord," I say, bowing to Henry then nodding to the Archbishop.
I am not going to see a doctor I'm going to see my friends. I slip past everyone cleaning up, and head back to the visitor apartments.
Apparently my friends do not have great self-preservation, or they have great faith in me, because they were all waiting in the hall. They're in various states of dress, Rhiannon has a sword, Dancer has a knife or seven, the Duke still has his axe, for whatever reason Elis has a shield.
"What happened? We didn't see anything," Dancer says, upon seeing me.
"Are you all right?" Rhiannon asks.
"Gideon, I should send for a doctor," Elis says.
"He looks fine. Tell 'em about the lizards. They don't believe me," the Duke of Conwy grunts.
"Okay, so I've been drunk since noon, were there freaky lizards out there, or did I just shoot a bunch of dogs?" Gareth asks, coming down the hall, longbow in hand, half in his bowman gear.
"No, they were little dragons. He summoned them," I say, taking my fist out of my mouth.
"Are you hurt?" Gareth asks, coming over to check on me, handing Rhiannon his bow, "Don't touch—just hold it there—,"
"Yes, you've given me the lecture," Rhiannon says.
"I'm okay; it's not deep," I say, patting my shoulder where the claw marks are.
"Come in, I told everyone we shouldn't stand out in the hall—," Elis ushers us all into his room.
"You also wouldn't leave the hall so there," Rhiannon says, going to pilfer her husband's things for a shirt for me.
"Here, we can wash them, it's not deep he's telling the truth," Dancer says, coming over to help me get my mail shirt off.
"What happened?" Rhiannon asks.
"Gideon flew up into the sky and killed the bugger who was sending the things. King Henry lived despite so many arrows flying around," the Duke says.
"I can't assassinate people for you! We are not having this discussion again. I can hit a hare in the eye from a mile away it would NOT look like an accident," Gareth says, helping me off with my shirt. That's not bragging, by the way, he and the other bowmen can completely do that. Crossbows not that accurate, can accidentally hit a king and give him sepsis (Richard the Lionheart), but a longbowman oh yeah. They know what they're doing.
"Aye, but I'd not let them kill you," the Duke says.
"You two can renew your yearly Christmas argument, later, like at Christmas, like you usually do. Gideon, are you sure you're all right? You seem upset," Elis says, frowning gently. He's still holding the shield. Rhiannon tried to take it and he just held it. She left it.
"The wizard doing it. It was, the boy who I'd, well, the wizard who I'd talked to the other night. He was cursed, and I said I'd help him," I say, taking my fist out of my mouth to answer and so Gareth can wrap up my arm.
"So why was he attacking? Was he angry at King Henry for—obvious reasons?" Rhiannon asks.
"Obvious reasons to include the kidnapping and all the murders?" Dancer mutters, cleaning the gashes on my chest.
"No—yes he was, I mean obviously but. I told him I'd help him break it or help him go home. He said no," I frown.
"Was he giving up?" Rhiannon offers.
"Yes, but he said he wanted to take as many of us with him as he could. And me—he wanted to kill me," I say, sighing a little. "I don't know why—I helped him as soon as I could! I found him and I set him free and I've been trying to break the curse. He said he wanted to kill me because I'm a good wizard. But that doesn't make sense, why would he want to do that?"
"Gideon," Elis says, tenderly, coming over, "Let me tell you something about insane people."
"Is he looking at me?" The Duke asks, still fussing with my wounds.
"Not yet, but I'm glad you self identified, Jac. No—Gideon seriously. You're—a bit famous due to the incidents with the dragon. So. Let me give you a talk that my father gave to me when I was seven. There are completely insane people, in this world. Who are stark raving mad. Some just think hurting things is fun, Jac was the example for that one. But some of these people are going to want to kill you or me, because it would make them famous. Their claim to fame is killing a, well King in my case, Wale's beloved wizard in yours. And there is nothing you can do about it, there are people out there who are plotting to kill you, or bed you, just because of who you are. Both were equally traumatic to think of as I was seven, however," Elis says, gingerly putting his hand on my shoulders above the bandages.
"Oh," I realize that royals of course, similar to modern day politicians and celebrities, can attract the odd stalker. But I didn't think it would happen to me. I'm not anyone. Or I wasn't.
"Yes, oh. It's all right. Let's hope you never meet another crazy person like that again. It is awful, some man tried to stab me at my and Rhiannon's engagement, do, thing," Elis says.
"What happened to him?" I ask.
"Jac," everyone in the room except the Duke who says: "We're never really going to know are we?"
"Jac," everyone else says, again.
"It's all right, dear Gideon. It's not your fault. You were sweet, lovely, wonderful you, and I know you. I know you did everything you could to help this person, it's not your fault," Elis says.
"But he was enslaved—and if I'd found him sooner—he asked me to find him, if he lost his mind—," I begin, tears running down my cheeks.
"Gideon. Look at me. Every person in this room has been to hell and back primarily due to King Henry. Jac's been tortured—,"
"I enjoyed that."
"—you can ignore him. You and Rhiannon were locked up in here and risked death to save me— I spent about fifteen years, slowly dying under that witches spell—Gareth had to bury you and thought he'd lost all of us—Dancer himself nearly died saving me and you—,"
"That was slightly my fault," Dancer mutters.
"—my point is. Everyone, everyone alive, has poor things happen to them, yes, hopefully not to some of our degrees. But we haven't tried to murder our captor, or entire throngs of innocent people," Elis says, brushing some of my hair out of my face.
"He's right. You can be mad, or have a grudge, or want to encourage your step brother to commit regicide," Gareth says, smiling a little at the Duke, "But that is not the same thing as setting monsters on an entire castle. This isn't war. This isn't your Oisin trying to protect Ireland. This is a personal grudge and there's no figuring why he took it out on you. But it's not your fault that he did."
I sob, tears running down my face. My conversation with Prince Harry earlier rings in my head. If I've given more than I took. Clearly Kit didn't think so.
"He just—I felt like he was right. I didn't save him. How am I better than King Henry or any of our villains if I couldn't save him? I'm not innocent. I've taken lives too, yes in protecting Wales but why am I right and he's wrong?"
"Look at me, or don't— look, just listen to me all right? Why are you taking that one—insignificant—person's opinion about you? Over everyone in this room who loves you and absolutely thinks you're the hero here. Fine, you were not his hero. But you're our hero, doesn't that count for something?" Elis asks.
I nod, trying to stop crying.
"All right, he's still sad. Everyone hug him, now, but easy on the wounds,—-why do you both always do this?" Elis groans, as his brothers immediately hug me, but maul him. Rhiannon wiggles under my arm and next to Elis, laughing as the Duke intentionally suffocates his little brother.
"I'm okay, I am," I laugh, a little, enjoying all of them crushing me tightly, though.
"Good, we like you that way," Dancer says, hugging me from behind and whispering it in my ear, "We're safe."
Yes we are. If only for tonight.

The End