Chapter 12: Aftermath and Arguements: Part Two
Lancelot du Lac had not expected to return to France, the country of his birth, so soon.
Yes, he had expected it to be necessary at some point, but it had barely been four moons since Arthur and his knights had returned. There had been so much to do in the lands that had once been the Kingdom of Albion, and the returned knights had not been idle. There had been malicious fey to expel from the lands, a sea serpent to slay, some power-drunk demigods to put in their place and demonic agents to root out.
The Knight of the Lake had thought that it would be at least a year before he was sent to France and that it would be as part of some diplomatic delegation. Perhaps it would even as part of some sort of relief force sent to aid in a time of crisis.
He had not expected the hasty dispatch that had arrived, informing his King that the scabbard had been found in France. There had been a number of opinions thrown around then. Some had suggested a mobilisation of a full company of knights to travel to the European mainland and retrieve the lost sheath by any means necessary. Arthur had been the one to decline such an option. Though one hundred of his knights would all but guarantee the return of his scabbard, such a militant approach might well damage relations between their two countries. No nation was happy when another force deployed soldiers on their lands, and a powerful force such as the Knights of the Round Table would only make the matter worse.
Another suggestion had been to employ stealth, to have certain select knights travel unobserved to France, and then move to steal back the sheath as soon as it was located. It was a less overt course of action, but again Arthur turned it down, worried about the impact it would have on international relations when discovered.
That had led to Lancelot’s current deployment. As one of the knights originally from France, he could return to his birth country with somewhat less resistance than many of his fellows born in Britain, Wales or Scotland. By coming here openly and without guile it was hoped that diplomacy and cooperation would prevail.
One of the aircraft of this new era had been able to bring him across the sea in less than an hour. After he had landed he had managed to persuade the French authorities to aid him in his mission. Then it had only taken him a few minutes to ride his steed to this port city where his King’s scabbard had been found.
The communications technology of this time had shown its worth, and only a few calls to the British government and Buckingham Palace from their French counterparts had sorted matters out. It had been decided that keeping a low profile would be the best approach. And that meeting the group that had the scabbard quietly was the best way to go.
So, here he stood, clad in full armour, Arondight sheathed at his side, every inch the knight he was in legend.
And yet . . . he felt nervous.
Of course, he knew the source of his worries. How could he not? They were burned in his memory.
Lancelot knew that he was responsible for the fall of Camelot, the death of his King and the breaking of the Round Table. Yes, Morgan Le Fey and her son Mordred had brought the end about, but Lancelot knew that it was he and Guinevere who had torn out the support that could have let the kingdom survive. Their affair, the lengths he had gone to in order to save her, the grudges that had been spawned by his actions, and the blood he had spilt, had torn out the heart and the roots of a kingdom that might have otherwise endured for centuries.
The remainder of his mortal life had been spent trying to atone, living as a monk, wasting away with guilt, giving his life to slay the children of Mordred when they attempted their own conquests. But it had not been enough, and he had died with regret and guilt gnawing at his heart. Now, he had a second chance. The power of his King and the blessings of Avalon had allowed him a new life, one with powers and strength surpassing any he had known in his last life. Lancelot had sworn to himself that he would not fail again. He would not let himself fall to his weaknesses, he would not become a weakness for his king, and he would not let Arthur down once more!
He knew that his failures were forgiven by his fellow knights, but not forgotten. He knew he was not the most hated of their number, but grudges remained. If he wanted to move away from that, if he wanted to earn back his good name he had to begin somewhere. This . . . this was a good place to start. If he could retrieve the lost scabbard then he would be helping Arthur avoid calamity. Their legend could be overturned and a new future could be opened up for them.
So, he could not afford to fail.
“Is this where the goddesses and the others are?” he asked of the man who had guided him here.
“Ah . . . yes, sir. They’re just inside.”
Lancelot followed the nervous young man. The Knight of the Lake could understand that trepidation. From what he had heard the demigod that now held Arthur’s scabbard was accompanied by two goddesses, an angel and France’s own patron saint returned. A formidable force and one that Lancelot might have to face should force be the only way to retrieve the sheath.
Lancelot hoped it would not come to violence. He was confident in his skills and the powers he had gained, but he was no fool and knew that he also was no match for a true god or angel. Most likely even the resurrected saint was more than he could handle, but that did not matter to him. He did not fear death, if he were to fall then Arthur could bring him back to life with the power of Avalon. No, it was a failure that had to be feared, and if this meeting came to violence it would fail.
Lancelot knew that diplomacy was not his strong suit, but he had treated with his foes before, had done his king proud.
“They’re just through here.”
The trip through the building was mercifully short, the people he assumed to be clerks and scribes all making room for him as he approached, whispering about his sword and armour after he had passed. It was a treatment he was growing used to in this new era. Here, knights were seen as oddities, rather than being feared and respected. He supposed that would change with time, but that was not his concern right now.
Stepping into the indicated room Lancelot looked around, taking in all the occupants at a glance. The blonde girl in armour must be the Maid of Orleans. She had a definite feeling of power, something vaguely similar to Arthur. She was connected to this land, not as a monarch, but something else, something powerful. In the corner, he could see a beautiful copper-haired woman with red wings hovering a few inches off the floor. Her immodest garb surprised him, but nothing more. The tall figure splayed out on the beaten sofa also surprised him, since he could feel the fierce and destructive energies radiating from her, and could tell that what he felt were mere ripples on the surface of an ocean that could drown nations were it unleashed. This was a god, and she was just . . . sleeping like some tavern wench recovering from a hangover?
What he did not see was the winged demigod that supposedly had the scabbard.
“Sir Lancelot?”
Jeanne asked as she stood up from behind her desk. Idly he noted the quality of the armour she wore, the sword at her hip. No woman had ever sat at the Round Table as a knight, but he was fairly certain that she would have fitted in well with them. Perhaps things could work.
“Jeanne d’Arc.” He replied, offering his gauntleted hand as he did so.
“At this time I am going by Joan of Arc,” She replied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “Since my charge is an Englishman.”
He could see the logic in that. It also served as a good opening to what he really wished to know.
“And I believe it is your charge I wish to speak to, about his duties as an Englishman as well.”
Joan paused, but to her credit, it was only for a split second. Her gaze did not waver as her eyes met his
“Yes. Adam has your king’s scabbard. However, the situation is somewhat more complicated than you know.”
“What complications can there be?” Lancelot asked, a frown creasing his forehead. “The scabbard is my king’s, it is his by right and providence. Do you think there is more to it than that?”
“I shall let Adam be the one to answer you.” She replied, nodding to the door as it opened.
The first figure to step through had to duck her head slightly to enter. Though she was uncommonly tall for a woman she wore it well, as she did the robes of ancient Greece, a red shawl over them. She was unquestionably beautiful, perhaps even more so than any woman he had ever seen, but there was something about her that made him think of Morgan le Fay. There was none of the cruelty or malice that seemed to pervade the immortal sorceress though. The similarity was in their bearing, in how they seemed to wear the certainty that they knew more than anyone else present, like armour. This was Athena of the Olympians. He had to admit that she looked far more the part of a god than her sleeping companion did.
Still, as attention seizing as she was his eyes locked on to the figure that followed her.
Tall and muscular, with caramel-dark skin, snow-white hair, eyes the colour of molten gold and large white wings folded behind him. All told a striking figure that managed to stun the knight for a moment. Damn, even Agravain, regarded as the most handsome knight of the Round Table, was overshadowed.
But even so, as soon as Lancelot saw the wrapped object held in the winged man’s arms it took all of his attention.
“Ah, Adam. Allow me to introduce Sir Lancelot du Lac, Knight of the Round Table and here on behalf of King Arthur.”
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The young man met his eyes and what Lancelot saw was not iron resolve or unwavering dedication, it was not regal authority or charismatic appeal either. The young man seemed somewhat nervous but kept his spine straight and his gaze did not waver. Commendable, yet hardly rare, such should be expected of even the weakest knave seeking to become a knight, something Lancelot had seen before in the hundreds. This Adam had something different, a weight about him that subtly pulled on those around him. Lancelot could only spot it due to the years he had spent in Arthur’s presence, and even so, there were differences.
“Sir Lancelot!?” The demigod’s surprised tone was more than a bit at odds with his appearance, but to his credit he managed to recover quickly, offering his hand to the knight. “It is an honour.”
Shaking the hand the knight nodded in return but decided to waste no time in stating his reason for being here.
“It is my honour to meet both yourself and your distinguished company. However, I shall not my mince words. I am here for the scabbard.”
“Ah.”
That was somewhat less than encouraging. The Knight of the Lake had been hoping that the demigod would simply return the scabbard immediately. Still, it was a powerful artefact, and these were uncertain times.
“If you are thinking of keeping the scabbard in order to protect yourself I suggest you abandon such thoughts,” he stated, hoping to dissuade any thoughts of greed before they could lead to conflict. “The sheath is powerful, but it was made for Arthur, it shall protect none other. All it shall do is mark you for those that seek it for their own ends.”
“Look, it’s not that,” Adam held up a hand as though to signal an oncoming horse to stop. “I get that King Arthur needs this back, and I want to make sure he gets it! But there’s a problem here!”
That was not what Lancelot wished to hear, but the affirmation that the demigod wished the scabbard returned to its rightful owner kept him from making any aggressive moves. Well, that and the four powerful women about the room who would not hesitate to take his side.
“Have you heard about what happened last night?”
“I know there was some kind of battle, though there are few details upon who and why. During the battle, you retrieved the scabbard, and your foes were driven away.”
A look of discomfort passed across Adam’s face as he shook his head.
“It’s worse than that. Last night we were up against the Wild Hunt, they were there hunting some demigod, things got crazy and I had to side with him to take on Herne. We were able to stalemate him for a bit, but only because he was holding back to try to break us.”
Impressive. Under other circumstances Lancelot might have believed that the winged demigod was boasting, since facing the Leader of the Hunt, even if he was holding back, was a feat even Arthur would have regarded as significant. However Adam was not boasting, he was just saying it as a prelude, before something more important.
“The scabbard just turned up during the fight. Don’t ask me where it came from, because I’ve got no idea. Once it did though it was all Herne cared about. He started fighting harder, but because he was so focused on the scabbard we were able to match him. In the end, we were able to hold out until Kali arrived, then the others, but even though I had the sheath Herne had the demigod who’d been helping me.”
Ah, the pieces were falling into place.
“We . . . we couldn’t stop Herne, if we made a move he’d have killed the demigod. So he left, and the Hunt took the demigod with them. Herne offered a deal, the demigod for the scabbard.”
And the final piece completed the picture, and it was not a picture Lancelot liked.
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I looked at Lancelot and did my best not to fidget.
This . . . this wasn’t something I’d been ready for. This was Sir Lancelot, the guy my dad used to read me stories about when I was little. Sure, they’d been the kidified versions of the stories, leaving out the infidelity and times when he killed his fellow Knights of the Round Table, but they’d still stuck with me. I remembered stories of Sir Lancelot joining jousting tournaments in disguise, of him slaying a dragon, of him saving Guinevere when she was kidnapped. He’d been one of my childhood heroes, and now he was in front of me.
The man looked every bit the noble knight I would have expected him to be. Tall, good-looking, light brown hair and dark blue eyes. He wore white armour with red enamelled edging, a sheathed sword at his side and no helmet. If I had to guess his age I wouldn’t have put him as a day over thirty-five, he was a man in his prime, with an aura of maturity and experience around him. he really could have just stepped out of one of those old books from my childhood, all he lacked was a white horse, and maybe some damsel he’d just saved.
When I’d watched Arthur and his knights come back I’d been thrilled. These had been my childhood heroes, and they were back to protect me and my country when everything had been going to hell. When I’d found out I was a demigod part of me had hoped I could meet them, fight alongside them, maybe even somehow become a knight.
And this was how I was meeting Arthur and his knights, by denying them.
“Young man,” Lancelot began, his voice gentle but somehow also clanging with authority. “I understand that you wish to aid your ally, but the Scabbard must be returned to Arthur. He is the greatest protection his kingdom possesses, and the Scabbard is an important part of his power. It must be returned.”
“I get that!” I replied, some of my frustration with the situation bleeding into my tone. “Herne . . . he said that if I didn’t meet him they were going to sell that other demigod like cattle, as a slave or to some reagent chop shop!”
Lancelot grimaced, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t listening, I could tell that much at least. He wasn’t just focusing on his mission or his duty or whatever, he was taking in what I was saying and acknowledging it. The problem was that it wasn’t enough.
“Adam, I understand. You want to save your ally from this terrible fate, and that is to your credit. I shall even stand by you, I shall aid you in seeking to save them. But the scabbard must be returned! Perhaps one of your allies could take the scabbard to Arthur, and once I know it is with him you shall have my full support. Perhaps the angel? They are most swift fliers.”
That was reasonable, that was him trying to meet me in the middle. The problem was that it wasn’t enough!
“Look, I know how important Arthur is! I get how much the UK depends on him!” I was doing my best not to let my volume go up with my frustrations, but it wasn’t easy. “My parents are back there! My friends! Hell, my boss and my coworkers are there, do you think I want any of them to get hurt because Arthur can’t help them?! What if the Hunt senses the scabbard flying away, huh? What then? Maybe they don’t show up. Maybe they vanish and take him with them to sell to some bastard in the ass end of Ethiopia! I can’t take that risk!”
“WHY?!”
The knight didn’t try to keep quiet, instead, his question came out in an almost-shout. It drew attention, people walking past our room visibly slowing, trying to listen in through the sound-dampening glass and plaster.
“Because he’s a KID!”
I did my best not to shout, but by the end, I was having trouble. It did manage to make Lancelot pause because he didn’t have an immediate reply, and that gave me a chance to plough on.
“He’s just a kid. He can’t have been more than twelve, okay? But he together with me, we took Herne on, and in the end, I couldn’t stop him being taken.
“I know it’s stupid! I know that the basic maths of lives says I should be giving you back the scabbard and then trying to save the kid without it. But . . . if I do that then the odds go down, okay? That kid, I only saw him for less than a minute as himself, and I’ve never talked with him, but I can’t just let him down. I know I’m not making too much sense. Hell, I know I’m repeating myself, but I’m not going to let the Hunt just take him! And I need the scabbard to make sure they bring him to me! So no, I can’t give it to you!”
That . . . had been more than I’d been planning to say. I’d started, and then I’d ended up going into full rant mode, the words just spilling out. I wasn’t even too sure just why it was so important to me to rescue this demigod. Yes, he’d been my ally. Yes, he was a kid. Yes, he was powerful. But that didn’t explain it. Still, I just felt completely certain that I had to save that kid, and letting the scabbard go would make that way more difficult.
“I . . . understand,” Lancelot said slowly. “Your desire to save him is commendable. However the scabbard-”
“Hey! Round table-wear guy! Adam’s already said he’s not giving the shiny sheath back, so drop it! Or are we going to have a problem?”
Kali broke in as she sat up, cutting Lancelot off. There was nothing overtly different about her, she was relaxed, maybe even half asleep, but somehow it suddenly felt as though knives were hanging in the air, ready to slash. The knight certainly felt it, because I could see his hand tense on where I rested on his sword’s pommel.
“Honoured Kali, I do not believe there is any need for unpleasantness,” Joan spoke up, coming out from around her desk. “Sir Lancelot, I fully understand your desire to stand by your duty. But we stand by Adam, each of us for our own reasons, but all of us are firmly behind him. If he does not wish to relinquish the scabbard yet, then we shall stand behind that as well.”
Well, that was the politest threat I’d ever heard. Still, it was a threat, and there wasn’t anyone in the room who didn’t recognise it.
“That scabbard is Arthur’s”
Lancelot wasn’t shouting this time, instead, his voice was tight and controlled.
“And I will return it.” I insisted. “But I’ve got to save the kid first, and if I don’t have the scabbard then I might not be able to, okay?”
“I think it is very far from ‘okay’.”
“Look, Arthur lost it!” My tone hardened as I decided to just tell him how things were going to be. “It got stolen, and I’m the one that’s got it now. I took it from Herne, and he took it from the kid, who took it from the thieves. Spoils of war, or whatever you want to call it. It’s mine right now and I’m going to use it to save that kid. Yeah, I know it’s reckless, but I’m not leaving him to be sold like a side of beef, understand?”
Without meaning to, my wings spread slightly behind me, an armchair sliding across the floor as one wing pressed up against it, moving the heavy furniture easily. On my other side, one of the sword-like feathers dug into a metal desk, screeching and filling the room as the metal resisted for a moment, then gave way. I hadn’t meant to do it, but I couldn’t deny that the effect was . . . impressive. I knew I would have been intimidated by it.
“That scabbard will return to Arthur!”
Lancelot was harder to intimidate than I was though. His eyes did keep flicking to the others though. Maybe if it had just been me he’d have been willing to resort to violence, but given my backup he wasn’t ready to start a fight he couldn’t win. Still, I could offer something.
“Yeah, it will,” I agreed. “The scabbard will be returned, but I’m saving that kid first. If you don’t want it to get lost, then help me!”
That last part was added on impulse, but it felt right. For his part my words seemed to make the knight hesitate for a moment, then his eyes met mine.
“If the scabbard is lost because of this folly, are you prepared to face the consequences?”
“Hell no!” I replied. “But that just means I’m going to have to do this right since I don’t want to.”
That caused his lips to twitch for a moment, almost forming a smile.
“An interesting response,” He paused, and then openly looked about the room, then just as openly removed his hand from his sword. “I am no fool. I cannot take the scabbard from you by force, not with all these allies you have accrued. But I shall not shirk my duty either.”
Then he moved! We hadn’t been separated by any great space, just two or three steps, but suddenly he was right there in front of me, one gauntleted hand resting on my wrist, not too far from the hand that held the scabbard. What was even more disturbing was that it wasn’t that Lancelot was fast, he didn’t cross the distance in some burst of speed. Instead, it was like . . . the only way I could describe it was as pure skill. He timed his movements with my eyes moving off him for an instant and then with me blinking. With just that tiny opening he was able to move so smoothly and silently, even in full plate armour, and reach me before I could react.
Around me, the others reacted too, to varying degrees. Kali was off the sofa and on her feet in a single liquid movement that would have made a panther proud. Joan stepped forward, her own hand falling to the sword at her side and her face growing stony. Hadriel’s arms uncrossed, and suddenly her empty hands were holding those enormous swords of hers. Athena was the least reactive, simply taking a step to the side, her arms relaxed, but her left eyebrow slightly raised. Nobody actually moved against him, but the tension crackled through the room like the pressure before a storm.
“I shall be going with you. I shall be there to make sure the scabbard is returned to my king. Am I understood?”
I just nodded, not trusting my voice at that moment.
“Good,” Lancelot then stepped back, his face breaking into a sunny smile completely at odds with his earlier grimness. “So, what is the plan?”
Ah, right. I did need one of those, didn’t I?