The Knights of Aragon

Chapter 47

I've had multiple versions of a specific nightmare. The same one that I had in that gods forsaken forest. It's mostly the same thing repeatedly. Except for the ending. There's something about it that irks me. That fair woman seems to change every so often. Whether it be in appearance or in character, she changes, nonetheless. It feels like I've seen her in passing before. Her beauty is unforgettable, but I'm not sure where we happened to cross paths. The answer feels like it's on the tip of tongue.

Especially at this very moment.

We trained for the three days that I had promised them. Vera and Boas both had improved greatly in their skills. Beaufort and Gawain struggled a lot more than I thought they would. They are great fighters-there's no doubt about it-but they lack control. They are both driven by strong emotions like fear or anger. Usually, it's not bad. But when fighting those with tricky powers, it is crucial to have skin made of impenetrable armor. It is what I tried to teach to them. Whether they learned or not is entirely up to them.

Goosey was finally able to sprout a mustard seed. In fact, she sprouted several and planted them out in the grounds. Goosey's main challenge is control. Her sorcery protected her and those around her instinctively. I believe it to be one of the main reasons they have survived in the wild the way they did. She also had to learn to be patient with herself. That will be a task that she'll have to do on her own.

Rhydian and I sparred separately from the rest. I am confident that we both utterly understand what will be waiting for us in the coming days. We didn't need to voice that at all. We simply trained with each other in preparation for it. And through it all, I never once stopped thinking about Draxum. I miss him greatly. It is the only reason I am doing something so dangerous and potential deathly.

Which leads me here. After the three allotted days that I had given them, I found myself up and ready before sunrise. I aimlessly strolled through the hallways before ending up here. In a random hallway with various random paintings. I stare at a particular painting that grabbed my attention among all the others that hang on this wall, and this is where I've been nearly all morning. Art is, in a word, valuable. Within a single brushstroke, a story is told. But there is something about this one that captivates my attention even as the rest of the house wakes up. It's unnerving me how focused I am, even for me.

"Are you ready?" Rhydian asks behind me.

I squint at the paint, nearly taking a step back. "Does this painting look strange to you? In any sort of way?" He steps forward and stands beside me. The painting depicts a group of mortals. They are each doing different things, but it somehow feels important. Each person has a task, a role, an identity to fulfill. All six of them covet their position dutifully.

A couple hold each other's hand formally, facing the painter. The woman is elegantly dressed in a crown of violet asters around her head. Those same flowers circle her wrist and their petals rests at her feet. Her dress is the same shade of purple as those flowers with ropes along her waist. Her husband-I presume-is wearing a royal, burgundy mantle with a crown that I am quite familiar with. I knew who he was the moment I laid eyes on it. On his right stands Lancelot in his coat of arms. He's down on one knee, staring at his majesties feet in silent contemplation. To his right, is someone that I cannot make out, but her genuine smile is hard to miss. Her hair shines a light brown-free and wild-with a simple green dress. Her hands reach for the nature around her. One hand up to the trees, the other down to the earth.

On the Queen's side, is Merlin and Nimue. Merlin stands with his staff and a cloak that I've always seen him in. His clear blue and gold cloak that he never goes anywhere without. I'll have to tease him about this one. Now Nimue wears something entirely different to what I've typically seen her wear. It's a ceremonial gown from her realm. The silk sleeves delicately fall off her shoulders while the rest of her dress is bunched up into layers making it appear as if she was wearing cascading waterfall. They all represented something different. They surrounded the monarchs representing their elements.

"It's the painting of the last true monarchs of the time," Rhydian answers me.

I refrain from uttering the words 'I know'. It wasn't the response I was looking for. "Do you see anything strange about it, Rhydian?" I ask him again. "In the paint, in the way they're standing, in them?" I tap my finger on the wooden frame. I had never met the King and Queen. And I'm certain I've never met the woman to the far right. "I'm not sure what you mean, Val. It's just a painting." My eyes zero in on her hands. It is just a painting.

"Maybe you're right." My eyes glance up at her heavenly face. Maybe I'm becoming paranoid the sicker I get.

*****

The seven of us are decked in our heaviest armor yet, standing in a line at the mouth of the remaining gate. I had closed all the others on a whim after learning how to make one take us to a precise location anywhere in Aragon.

I made all the necessary protection charms to keep all the dangers out and to keep all who reside here hidden. No one will be able to break them. They have been intricately woven into the fabrics of this this place.

Rhydian leans over from my right and quietly asks, "What are we waiting for?" A corner of my mouth quirks up against my will.

"Nothing really," I whisper back, "the gate is open. I'm just...thinking about the future and the past. The last time we stood here, we were only three of us. Now look at us."

I don't mean to, but my eyes rest on the ground to my left. Staring at the empty space with longing. "It is true that we are no longer three, but we are eight. We have five more on our side." I knew he was right. It was just hard to envision any kind of adventure without my Draxum by my side. And yet, I take a tentative step forward. The light pulses brightly as I approach the gate. I conjure the image of where I want to go-willing it to take us-and before I know it, I am transported into another unknown.