“Melehan saved my life. If he’s still alive, and we know where he is, we are absolutely going to go in there and get him out.”
I mean, I don’t want to cast aspersions here, but Arthur seems to have strapped on his big-boy-quest-pants for a Saxon wizard he barely knows with a bit more alacrity than he summoned for his wife.
Also, for the record, I fucking saved Arthur’s life. Melehan helped. A bit.
Don’t get me wrong, no one is happier than me that the wizard is still alive - dude came through for us in a tight spot. I even named a bloody unique healing artefact after him - but it wasn’t so long ago Arthur had me up against a wall and was choking me out. Don’t remember bathing in the warm glow of any ‘Morgan saved my life’ chat back then.
Did someone take an overdose of her whiny bitch pills this morning?
I fear this one of those occasions where I am with the sword, my dear.
There is literally no one in my head that I do not hate right now.
Whilst quietly seethed, I took in the sights and smells of Slaughterbridge. Forsaken marshland? Tick. Dodgy-looking rock structure that undoubtedly had a troll living under it? Tick. Picturesque crooked stream running under it in no manner named after an even-toed ungulate in the genus Camelus that bears distinctive fatty deposits? Tick.
It was a lovely spot for a rescue mission.
The Saxons had set up a makeshift camp on the other side of what we shall call a 'bridge' because 'pile of stones' takes too long to keep saying, meaning we would have to go over it and through the sentries on that side if we were going to retrieve our missing wizard and princess.
If we wanted to have any chance of getting in and out alive, we needed to be able to drop the guards at just the right moment, or we were going to find ourselves taking on a couple of hundred spearmen who had already kicked our arses once.
“If we’re doing something, it needs to be now,” Bors’ voice was a low, menacing rumble. I think he still had some tension to work out from getting his arse handed to him during the game of riddles. And the handsy Forest Guardian. Oh, and he probably still had some unresolved issue about this war party killing a bunch of his friends.
Man, these Saxons were fuuuuuuucked.
“They’re getting ready for a change of sentries. If we let them have the chance to reestablish their lines, it will be hard to slip through unnoticed. I’m up for some mayhem, but we need to be realistic. Uther would have my arse for even thinking about this.”
They both looked at me. Oh, so my opinion matters now?
Whiny. Bitch.
I drew Drynwyn with a flourish and nodded. “I can lead us straight to the wizard, but this needs to be an in and out job. No grandstanding. No famous doomed last stands. Do we agree?”
Arthur had unslung Rhongomynyad and was already scrabbling his way down towards the first sentry.
Sure, don’t worry, mate. I’m only the one with the map to the destination in my head. You go right ahead and lead.
Twat.
Bors shrugged apologetically to me, then made to quickly follow his friend, his axe held low to his side in two hands.
They both started crossing, in a crouch, over the bridge towards the unsuspecting sentry.
Apparently, we were really going to do this.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
I tell you what, if Melehan doesn’t give me the full “aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper” when we find him, I’m going on strike.
*
We were helped that what was on their side of the bridge wasn’t really a proper camp. This was an army in retreat rather than a proper military set-up, so things were a bit loose at the edges. So much so that I reckon that the first bridge sentry was looking straight at us for a good thirty seconds as we ran towards him without raising the alarm.
And then his window of opportunity to cry for help vanished as Arthur drove a spear through his throat.
He’s fucking wasted carrying that spear. Man’s a work of death art.
Bors darted to the left and took out the second lookout. Unlike Arthur’s measured strike, Bors’ axe arced through the air with raw power, removing a big, shaggy-haired head from its broad shoulders.
Then they dropped back down into crouches, as the three of us hid ourselves from any passing archers who might take offence at us straight-up murdering two of their mates.
But no flurry of arrows came our way. So far, so good.
I checked my Qi-gps, and we appeared to be much closer to Melehan’s location than I had expected. He must have moved towards us. Well, that was handy.
Something’s coming.
“What? What do you mean?” I looked around and couldn’t see any other Saxons between us and the woods.
I don’t know how to describe it, my dear. It’s as if . . . you know how I visualise Qi as water?
“Dude, is this really the time? We’re Magnificent Sevening a rescue operation here.”
It’s like we’re standing on the beach, and the tide has vanished. As if all the Qi has suddenly been sucked out and away. I imagine this is how it felt to be around me.
That gave me pause. I’d doom-scrolled through many a video of approaching tsunamis, and they all started with just that phenomenon on idyllic beaches. I dropped into my Artist’s Studio and could tell something was up. Although my internal reserves looked sound, I wasn’t pulling in as much Qi from the wider world as I was used to. I tried to cycle things around a little faster, with little positive results. It was like trying to suck in a particularly thick milkshake.
“Any ideas what is causing it?”
Power.
“Awesome. Can you maybe work on an answer that’s not wholly fucking useless and come back to me?”
Of course. I would recommend not using up any Qi right now. Keep your reserves as high as possible until I figure this out.
“Sure. It’s not like we’re about to do something incredibly dangerous that might need me to pull our arses out of the fire. Great timing.”
“Wizard, let’s go.” Arthur gave me a come hither gesture to which I was absolutely not going to respond. I tell you what, if he clicked his fingers, I was going to snap them off.
On the count of three, we cut across the open land on their side of the bridge and dashed into the woods, where we paused so I could orientate myself back to Melehan’s location.
Things then started to get a little bit more difficult.
For whatever reason, whichever way we went, we kept running into little groups of Saxons who were most displeased to make our acquaintance. From their demeanour, they were obviously hunting for someone, and whoever that was, it clearly wasn’t us.
Had Melehan escaped them? Guinevere?
Whatever, we were fucking these guys up and good. I don’t like to brag, but it seemed like the three of us together were a brutal team. With Rhongomynyad, Arthur kept these little pockets of twos and threes easily at bay, the spear’s reach keeping them from closing in with their shorter weapons. He was a spikey line of defence that no one could cross. In the meantime, Bors acted as our battering ram. He ploughed through them, his axe smashing down any semblance of order in their defences. If Arthur was the wall, Bors was the sledgehammer.
And then there was me. Or, I guess, Drynwyn.
As you’d expect, most of the Saxons - given a choice between a giant nightmare with an axe, a whirling dervish of spear death and a twiglet with nice tits - decided I was the one they wanted to engage. So, the sword was being kept quite busy.
At some stage, I would need to take some fencing lessons. It was embarrassing to do nothing more in a fight than cling to its handle.
We’d left a trail of about fifteen corpses around us by the time horns of alarm started to be heard. At this point, I think we could safely conclude that any element of surprise we might have had was pretty much over.
“How much further, wizard?”
“Arthur, have you forgotten my name?”
“What?”
“I think you mean ‘pardon,’ not ‘what’. After all, I’m sure we all agree it’s important for the Prince of the realm to set an example regarding politeness and etiquette.”
“What are you talking about? Where’s the wizard?”
“Morgan . . .“ Bors shook his head in my direction. “Not the time.”
I don’t know why I decided this was a hill I wanted to die on. “No. He knows my name. He uses it, or this quest is over.”
Arthur sighed with his whole body. “Fine. Morgan, if you would be so kind? Where do we find the wizard?”
“You see, politeness costs nothing. Melehan's Qi signature is coming from just beyond the trees that smell like piss.”
Arthur had taken a quarter of a step forward before I added. “Was there a ‘thank you’? I’m sure there will be a ‘thank you’. . .”
I’m actually embarrassed to be associated with you right now.