Conquest Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The ride to Willowdale was started out easily enough considering the superb state of the road. It would have been easier had it not begun to snow half way there.

Arthur awoke a few hours before dawn with the intention of getting a move on early. Daylight hours were short in winter and the sky didn’t look particularly friendly. Clouds had rolled in and now blocked the moon’s light like a petulant child withholding his toys from the other children for some minor slight while at play. By the time the sky had brightened the clouds enough to illuminate the road in weak, gray light, the first snow flurries of late autumn had begun to fall.

The decision whether or not to tell Uther of his time in Thomas’ kingdom was not easily made. Pondering the matter had kept Arthur awake for most of the night before and awoke him early that morning. It furrowed his brow as he rode ahead of the supply wagon Percival now drove. He listened to Gawain and Percival’s indistinct voices behind him as he rode. He didn’t feel like talking and he knew they could sense the surly tone of his mood.

Meeting with his father would not be a cheerful reunion, Arthur knew. Uther had never been a doting father. He’d been a strict disciplinarian with him, grooming his only son to take over the throne as Camelot’s king, and giving no thought to tenderness. They had never hunted together merely for the enjoyment of it like most father’s and son’s. Every hunting trip had been about making the perfect kill. Arthur had always felt he’d disappointed his father, most likely because Uther had rarely offered praise.

For Morgan life had been the polar opposite. Uther had doted on her, lavished her with praise whether she deserved it or not, and spoiled her rotten. There had been a time when Arthur was very young that he resented her for it. Igraine reminded Arthur often that Morgan was not to blame for differences in treatment they received from their father, and Arthur had not understood this until he was thirteen and he began to realize that Morgause, his other half sister, received even worse treatment at Uther’s hand.

Then Igraine died at Nimue’s hand. Things had really changed then. Uther had showed Arthur and Morgause no more kindness than before. In fact, he was even crueler. However both Morgan and Morgause offered Arthur comfort and kindness. They’d proven what it meant to be sisters and brother in the nights they’d sat up at his bedside, brought him soup, tended to his wounds from the early battles when the Conquest had first begun, and sang to him when the night when sleep was spoiled by nightmares birthed by the horrors of war. Arthur loved them dearly. He loved them more than he could ever love Uther, or even the crown that would become his upon his father’s passing.

As the miles crept along beneath his horses hooves, Arthur’s mind drew to a conclusion—a conclusion he knew Percival and Gawain would back him up on. He would lie to the king. He could, technically, be put to death for such a thing, even though he was the crown prince, but he would not give his father even the flimsiest excuses for breaking the peace treaty that had taken so long to make with Thomas.

“I’ve decided to tell father we got turned around in the forest,” Arthur said, going back to the wagon and riding alongside Percival, while Gawain trotted along on the other side of the wagon.

“We were never taken by Thomas?”

“No. We were never even spotted. We came to a bridge at the northern border a couple day’s ride from Miller’s Wheel, made camp, and then returned to Miller’s Wheel once we got our bearings.”

“He’ll spare you but put us to death if he thinks we’re lying,” Gawain pointed out.

“I will throw down the gauntlet if he so much as puts you in the stocks,” vowed Arthur. “Let’s pick up the pace. It doesn’t look as though the snow will let up any time soon and I don’t want to camp in it. We ride all night if we have to.”

*****

Uther had set up camp a few miles outside of Willowdale, which meant they had to ride an hour more than expected to reach the king’s tent. Arthur and his men entered to find Uther leaning over a table with the most recent maps spread out. He barely glanced at his son as he entered.

“Arthur, so good to see you back safe and sound. What news have you of Thomas’s resources?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Sire,” Arthur said.

Uther looked up from the maps. His brow had a very deep crease between his eyes from years of frowning and it looked almost like a deep gash now as he studied his son.

“You were taken by Thomas. Do you deny it?”

“Yes, I do. I don’t know where you heard such a ridiculous rumor,” Arthur insisted.

“I saw you taken by the enchanted mirror I received from Nimue before your mother’s murder. Unfortunately it will only show me what happens within my borders. Speak the truth, Arthur. What news have you of Thomas’s resources.

Arthur could be a good liar when he wanted, but he had never been very good at fooling his father.

“You mean to tell me you trust that witches’ magic?” Arthur asked. He laid as much scorn onto his words as possible.

“Yes, considering she gave me that mirror while she was still a member of my court!”

Uther’s eyes flashed with anger. His close cropped beard even shook as his body began to tremble in anger.

“It has never failed me, Arthur. It has not failed me now.”

“It has failed you now, Father. I was not taken by Thomas.”

Uther’s small, dark eyes darted between Percival, his son, and Gawain. All them stared steadily back at him without a hint of unease.

“Do not think you can lie to your king,” Uther warned them. “I will have their heads, Arthur, if you do not tell me the truth.”

“I have told you the truth,” Arthur insisted.

“He has, My Lord,” Gawain said. Percival nodded in agreement.

Uther stood straight and came around the table. He was an inch shorter than his son, but Arthur had always felt a foot smaller—until now.

“Touch my knights and I will throw down the gauntlet,” Arthur said. His voice didn’t betray his fear and he was glad of that. “I will denounce you as my father and leave you without a proper heir to the throne of Camelot.”

“I would kill your knights for their treachery and refuse to allow you to denounce anything. I am your king and your father. You will not lie to me, you will not fight me, you will not disobey me.”

“I was not taken by King Thomas. You can either choose to believe your son or choose to believe the magic of the witch who murdered your queen. The choice is yours.”

Arthur and Uther stared at one another so long Arthur began to feel a cramp in his neck. He tried to relax his shoulders without moving but to no avail. After a moment, Uther backed down.

That was the first time in Arthur’s life he had ever won an argument against his father. Uther’s eyes gleamed with something like pride laced with wrath.

“Very well then, I choose to trust my son over Nimue’s magic. The mirror cannot be trusted.”

Arthur bowed and turned to leave, motioning for Gawain and Percival to move ahead of him. Uther’s voice held him back.

“It is beginning to appear that you cannot be trusted either,” said Uther. “You are losing your way, Arthur. You’ve begun to forget the importance of our mission.”

“Your mission,” Arthur corrected.

“Oh, I see. Leave us,” Uther commanded. Percival and Gawain, who had hesitated and now stood just at the exit of the tent to wait for Arthur, bowed and stepped out into the cold night.

Sweat trickled down Arthur’s back. Most of it was from the excessive heat of the tent, but some of it was dread at another confrontation with his father so soon after the small victory he’d won. He turned to face his father and then strode back toward the center of the tent a few steps.

“You’re telling me you care nothing for your mother’s murder?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur said in annoyance.

“Then how else do you explain your reluctance to tell me what happened to you when you disappeared from the mirror that you claim has failed after serving me so well for so many, many years?”

“Don’t question my loyalty to mother. I loved her. I love her still.”

“Then help me avenge her!”

“How many people have to die before your need for vengeance is finally satisfied, Father?”

Arthur shouted the question, advancing another step. He backed down when Uther strode purposefully toward him until their faces were so close Arthur could barely focus on his father’s stormy gray eyes.

“As many as it takes to secure the kingdom, the world, against the threat of magic and those who would dare practice it! Your mother died as a result of Nimue’s treachery and here you stand before me, your father and your king, telling me lies questioning my resolve to avenge your murdered mother! How dare you!”

Both men stood there, Arthur looking away to the side of the tent, his father glaring into his face with breath reeking of meat and drink. Arthur backed away to escape it and felt his shoulders sag.

“If you don’t have what it takes to do your part to rid the world of magic, Arthur, tell me now so that I can replace you with a worthy knight of Camelot.”

“There is none worthier,” Arthur said.

“Then answer me truthfully. What did you see in Thomas’s kingdom? Who all was there? Were you tortured? Were you mistreated or put under any form of enchantment?”

“I am tired, Sire. I have travelled many days and nights and have not always had chance to sleep well in this cold. I will retire to my tent and write up a full and detailed report on everything I have done since leaving Miller’s Wheel and being…being captured by Thomas’s allies.”

Uther smiled and heaved a sigh. “Very good, then, Arthur.” He reached out and clasped his son by the shoulder. Now that he had what he wanted Uther’s ire began to ease. “You have taken the first necessary steps in restoring my faith in you. I expect that report in the morning. I will send a scribe to your tent so that you do not have to bother with writing the report yourself.”

Arthur bowed, feeling like a weakling, a child who had been cowed by only the hint of a threat from his overbearing father. He should have stood up to Uther, he knew, but the idea of him—of anyone—doubting his sense of duty or his loyalty to his mother both frightened and enraged him. He could not let such ideas linger.

Arthur set out into the cold, snowy night, his shoulders heavy and his heart sick. The peace between his father and King Thomas had lasted just shy of a year. Thanks to the simple mistake of getting turned around in the forest and crossing borders his father would wage war. Hundreds would die, and Arthur felt their blood would be on his hands.

*****

The Return to Camelot was a quiet and uneventful affair. Uther rode at the head of his men, Arthur directly behind him, Percival and Gawain rode with the other knights who had acted as Uther’s guard. The people of Camelot bowed as their king and prince passed but there was little fuss made, and Arthur was grateful for that.

Percival broke away from the group when they neared the street that led off to his house. His betrothed, Blanchefleur, waited for him and greeted him with open arms. She was plain in the face but made up for it with a voluptuous body and the kindest heart Arthur had ever known in a woman—outside his mother and sisters.

“We won’t see him for days,” Gawain said with a chuckle.

“I can’t blame him,” Arthur replied. He indulged in a moment of fantasy in which Lady Guinevere rushed down the steps of the castle to greet him as he returned home.

Rather than a wife to greet him, Arthur had the next best thing: Morgause and Morgan. His sisters waited at the base of the castle steps and bowed to Uther as he and Arthur dismounted and approached. Morgan’s dark hair was down to cover her ears, and a lock of it got into Arthur’s mouth when she threw her arms around him.

Arthur spat and said, “Morgan, you’re choking me with your hair!”

Morgan pulled back and pretended to be offended. “Is that all you have to say to me after being gone for a month? Bend lower, Brother, so that I may wrap my hair around your neck to properly choke you!”

“That would be a true tragedy,” Morgause said. She approached and kissed Arthur sedately on the cheek. “Welcome home, Arthur.”

“Welcome home both of you,” Morgan said. She kissed Uther on the cheek, but Morgause kept her distance. It made no difference since Uther didn’t acknowledge her anyway.

“You must be exhausted, Arthur,” Morgause said.

Arthur nodded in agreement. “Indeed. I want nothing more than a hot bath and a long lie down in my own bed.”

“The snow won’t last long, at first,” Morgan interjected. “It will finish by tonight and return in a few days. The snow will be very deep. Be careful on the steps, Arthur. You will fall on them.”

“How can you speak of these things with such certainty?” Uther asked once they’d entered the great hall.

“I saw them in my dreams,” Morgan said.

In a rare moment of harshness with Morgan, Uther turned to her and gripped her by the shoulders. There was something in his eyes akin to fear. It mixed thunderously with the anger that had become ever-present since Igraine’s death.

“How many times have I told you not to indulge in such dreams!”

“Take your hands from her!” Morgause shouted. She moved forward and pulled Morgan back, stepping between her sister and Uther. “How dare you touch her in that manner? She can no more help her dreams than you can.”

Uther was growing older but time and age had done little to slow his reflexes. He back handed Morgause so quickly, and with such force, she’d staggered back before she was fully aware of what happened.

“Take care how you speak to me, girl!” Uther seethed. “You are alive but for my good grace. You would do well not to forget that.”

“Please, father!” Morgan shouted, her eyes full of shock and fear. Tears wet her eyes and reddened them as she steadied her sister. “I’m sorry for the dream. I will do my best not to indulge them again. I forgot myself!”

Arthur’s gut clenched with fury. He urged his sisters back, away from Uther, and looked him in the eye. The weight of the stares from the knights and servants around them was heavy on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Have you something to say with regards to how I deal with my women, Arthur?”

If he said anything Uther wouldn’t hesitate to punish him—severely so—to save face. Arthur thought of his sisters, especially of Morgause’s precarious position in the family, and bit his tongue.

“Come, sisters. See me to my rooms and tell me of all the gossip that I have missed since I’ve been away,” Arthur said. He urged Morgause away first, surprised by how pronounced her bones felt beneath her skin.

It was a miracle Uther didn’t continue the confrontation, didn’t insist on shaming all of his children to make himself look—so he thought—good in front of his men. Arthur hurried his sisters along until they were well out of their father’s line of sight and then marched them to his chambers.

“I don’t feel like sharing gossip,” Morgan said miserably, once they’d reached Arthur’s chambers. “Oh, Morgause, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Morgause assured her. She pulled Morgan’s hand away from the reddened skin of her face. In the proper light flooding through the window of Arthur’s bedroom he could see how drawn and pale Morgause looked.

“Morgan, will you give Morgause and me a moment alone? I need to speak with her about what happened.”

Morgan frowned. “Why can’t I be here?”

Though she was two years older than Arthur, Morgan sometimes reminded Arthur of a girl much younger. She could be willful and petulant at times. Arthur did not wish to have a confrontation with her now. He was tired in so many ways, and he was genuinely concerned for Morgause.

Sensing something in Arthur’s eyes, and the fatigue in his shoulders, Morgan understood that he was not up for a friendly argument. She heaved a sigh and kissed Morgause gently on the forehead.

“I will have dinner sent to you, Arthur. A veritable feast shall be prepared,” she promised, and then left Arthur and Morgause alone.

Arthur led his sister to a divan near one of the windows and studied her. Her left eye was already beginning to swell. “I will get some cold water—”

“No need, Arthur. I have an old healing chime in my chambers. I will hang it over my bed and tomorrow I will be as good as new.”

“You’d dare use magic in the castle?” Arthur asked, flabbergasted. “Are you mad? If Father found out he’d have you burned at the stake in the courtyard.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Morgause blurted. She turned suddenly from her brother, but not before he saw the tears well up in her eyes.

“Morgause, why do you look so thin? Haven’t you been eating?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite lately.”

Arthur waited for further explanation but none was forthcoming. He took his sister’s hands in his and studied the pronounced bones that strained against the skin. It was then that he noticed an ugly bruise around her wrists, as though someone had gripped her tightly.

“How did this happen?”

Morgause pulled away and stood up. “I must go, Arthur. You need to bathe. Have one of our pretty maidens…assist you…with that. I will see you tomorrow.”

“You won’t sup with me this evening? I wanted to spend time with you and Morgan.”

“I’m afraid not. I do not feel well and, like I said earlier, I haven’t much of an appetite. Perhaps I will join you for breakfast.”

“Morgause, something is wrong here, but you won’t tell me what it is.”

“Not every aspect of my life is a riddle for you to solve, Arthur!” Morgause shouted. She rarely raised her voice to anyone, not even a clumsy or lazy servant, but most especially her brother or sister. She looked tearful and regretful now.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur, forgive me. I am not well.”

“It is forgotten.”

She smiled wanly and started for the door, but Arthur hurried to catch up to her.

“If you ever need to talk to me I always have a willing ear to listen. If you have troubles that seem too great for you to solve, come to me. I will do all I can to help.”

He kissed her on both cheeks. Morgause surprised him with a tight and prolonged hug. He thought, for just a moment, she may cry, but then she pulled back and smiled with more warmth.

“You are a powerful man, Arthur. You are second only to the king himself. However there are some situations even you are powerless to solve. I will be fine. Do not worry for me.”

“It astounds me how much you look like mother,” Arthur said, looking at Morgause with a sense of heartbreaking fondness.

“I know. It has been a blessing as well as a curse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I will see you for breakfast, bright and early. Don’t think Morgan or I will allow you to sleep in.”

She slipped away before Arthur could further question her. He watched Morgause until she turned the corner at the end of the hall and then went back into his chambers to shrug out of his chainmail. He smelled like a dead horse and wanted a bath so badly he was tempted to draw it himself.

Something was wrong in the house of Pendragon. The tensions between his father and sister were at the worst he’d ever seen them, yet he had no clue as to what was going on. Arthur decided, right then and there, he would discover the truth of what troubled Morgause and he would rectify the problem, even if it meant openly defying the king.

*****

After a night of sleep in his own bed, Arthur Pendragon awoke feeling rested and contented.  The rested feeling lingered, but the contented feeling was quickly crushed under the weight of his family’s problems as his mind awoke to remind him of his sister’s odd behavior.

Breakfast plans with his sisters were put on hold after Arthur was called to the council by his father. To his dismay, but not to his surprise, talk in the council chambers were of war rather than mundane domestic affairs.

“The Sisterhood of the Bow is real?” asked Uther. “You’re certain of it?”

“I saw them myself. Their skill is unparalleled to any I have ever seen, and I have seen my fair share of archery over the past five years,” Arthur confirmed.

“How many men did you witness?” Lord Olwyn. He was aged and decrepit but his mind was sharp.

“Not many. It was an outpost, nothing more, and I wasn’t allowed to stroll around to gather intelligence,” Arthur responded tightly. Lord Olwyn stood up as straight as his ancient back would allow and looked offended, but kept his silence.

“Father, I question the wisdom of rushing into another confrontation with Thomas so soon after Othanden. We lost many good knights there, and it will take years to train up more.”

“I have no intention of waiting years to battle Thomas. He recruits men against me, he uses magic…no, this cannot wait.”

“Are you seriously considering Hengist? His promises to ally himself with us have been broken several times.”

“Hengist will not survive another broken promise and he knows it. His mercenaries will flock to me or die,” Uther stated resolutely. “I have made it clear to Hengist that he has enjoyed the last of my good grace. He has promised his army, his land, and his resources to me. That includes a small army of almost two thousand mercenaries. I’ve also enacted a draft. All able bodied men are to begin training at once. Those who serve well will be greatly rewarded at the end of the campaign.”

“Our ancient laws state that only knights may serve in a time of war,” Arthur reminded his father.

“I have overturned that particular law for the time being. The men of my kingdom will fight for our cause. The training is intensive, and in six months, I will have enough warriors to march into battle.”

“Six months?” Arthur knew he looked as astounded as he felt. “You can’t make up for years of training in six months! You’re sending these men to their doom.”

Uther left his place at the map and went to sit in the high-backed chair at the head of the table. He waved his hand at the council and dismissed them. Their presence was purely ceremonial. Whatever Uther Pendragon intended to do he would do it, regardless of any objections the council may have.

Not that any single one of them would be fool enough to object to Uther.

“When a new village falls to my army its citizens are given a choice: They may swear allegiance to me or die. The ones who become my subjects are mine to do with as I please. What else did you expect, Arthur? This is war.”

Arthur exaggerated a shrug, “Oh, I don’t know Father. I suppose I expected you to care about your people. I suppose I expected you to respect our ancient laws, our traditions, our way of life as you have so relentlessly insisted that I do from the time I was able to talk!”

“What has gotten into you?” Uther asked, rising to his feet and marching over to Arthur. “Did Merlin enchant you while you were in Thomas’s kingdom?”

“No.”

“He could have and you would never know it. You’ve changed, Arthur. In the short time you were gone you’ve changed into someone I don’t even recognize. Something happened while you were in Thomas’s camp, now what was it?”

I met a woman that I can’t stop thinking about. She’s the daughter of my enemy. She’s my sworn enemy in fact, but she never leaves my mind and I long for her in ways I didn’t even know a man could long for someone. I’d rather die than see her hurt, and if Thomas falls to you she’d be among the first you executed just to spite Thomas, Arthur thought as he stared at his father.

The truth of his reluctance to carry out his father’s conquest to conquer Thomas and unite Albion under the Pendragon banner had been something Arthur worked hard to bury rather than acknowledge. Now that he had finally admitted to himself his reasons for resisting war with Thomas, Arthur couldn’t backpedal.

He would have to commit to one side or another. He would have to see his father’s mission through to the end or he would have to betray his own blood.

“Nothing happened to me,” he finally said.

“I am going to have Gaius examine you and make certain you haven’t been enchanted. If you haven’t then you will have to do something to prove to me whose side you’re truly on. I never thought I would have reason to doubt your loyalty, Arthur, but your behavior upon returning from Thomas’s camp inspires little faith in your loyalty to me, to your own people, or to your mother’s memory.”

Arthur swallowed. Sometimes Uther made Arthur want to haul off and punch him straight in the face. Usually those moments were when his father used his mother’s memory to manipulate him into doing things he didn’t want to do.

“I don’t need to see—”

“You will see him now. I will brook no argument, Arthur. Go to Gaius. I want a full report by tomorrow morning. Am I understood?”

Arthur gave a quick bow before storming from the council hall. He had to get away from his father before he did or said something he couldn’t take back.

*****

It was good to ride for pleasure, even in the cold. Arthur finished his ridiculous visit to Gaius in an hour, was given a clean bill of health, and then found Morgan wandering the castle halls looking bored. She hated winter. Uther wouldn’t allow her out as often in fear that she would ride into the wood and suffer misfortune that would cause her to freeze.

“You know Father doesn’t like it when I ride in the winter. He insists my horse will fall on some ice and crush me. How ridiculous!” Morgan said. Her brow furrowed in annoyance.

“You won’t be alone, Sister. I will accompany you. Dress warmly and we will sneak from the castle.”

“Arthur, you devil!” Morgan gushed, and then ran off toward her rooms.

Now the two of them were racing neck and neck. Arthur gave it all he had to try to keep up, but Morgan was an accomplished equestrian. She had an affinity with animals that Arthur didn’t possess. She leaned forward and urged her steed on. Soon she pulled ahead of him and reached the edge of the forest, winning the race.

“Morgan, not too far,” Arthur said, pulling his horse’s reins and coming to a stop. The horse’s breath was white as it puffed hard in the snow, trying to catch its breath.

“Why not, Brother? Let’s take a ride in the trees.”

What little snow had fallen had mostly melted, though there was still a dusting on the ground. Morgan’s face was flushed from the ride and the cold of winter. She was lovely. She also had a devious look on her face.

“Morgan,” Arthur said warningly.

Giddy with laughter, Morgan kicked her horse into a run and took off into the wood. Arthur gave chase, calling after her to return. She was, he knew, unaware of the magical boundary that Uther had set up around the castle. If they kept riding this fast they would soon pass through it, and Uther would know they’d strayed outside of the boundary.

“Morgan, you have to stop. As your prince I command it!”

Something in his tone got through Morgan’s delight at being free of the castle and she slowed. Eventually she slowed to a leisurely canter and came toward him.

“What’s the matter, Arthur? Are you afraid I’ll outpace you?”

“There’s a spell around the city that can detect people with magic. It will put a terrible curse upon anyone who crosses it if they have magic. You have magic, Morgan. You frightened me.”

Morgan threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Arthur. I never took you to be such a sore loser!”

“He is telling the truth.”

Arthur froze at the sound of the familiar voice. He hadn’t heard it in years. Morgan also turned and backed her horse away. Standing only a few yards away was a woman Arthur had never thought would dare venture this close to Camelot.

“Nimue!” Morgan shouted. She dismounted and ran toward her former mentor.

“Stop!” Nimue shouted. She held up her hand to halt Morgan.

Morgan looked deeply hurt. “Why?”

“Arthur wasn’t lying about the magical boundary, Sweet. I should know. I created the spell that Uther had another sorceress erect after he threw me from the court.”

“You must leave,” Arthur said, drawing his sword and dismounting. He knew it probably wasn’t necessary. Nimue could probably get past the boundary without suffering the curse but she wouldn’t risk Arthur running her through while she struggled to force her way through.

“Really, Arthur, all I want is to say hello to Morgan. We were friends once, after all.”

“Yes, Arthur, don’t be such a sourpuss. I wish I could hug you properly, Nimue. Tell me, how have you been?”

Life outside Camelot has not been easy. I miss you and Morgause so much,” Nimue said. She sounded genuine enough, but Arthur wasn’t going to give her even the slimmest opportunity to corrupt his sister.

Arthur walked forward and took Morgan by the arm. “The ride is over. Mount up and head back for the castle.”

“You can’t boss me around!”

“I am giving you an order, not as your brother but as your prince. Now go or I will confess to father that I snuck you out of the castle and that you insisted on speaking with Nimue when we saw her.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed in anger. “You wouldn’t!”

“It is all right, Morgan. I will see you again. I know, I’ve seen it in a dream.”

“I miss you, Nimue.”

“And I you. Give my love to Morgause.”

“I will.”

Morgan threw Arthur a filthy look as she stomped past him and mounted up. She took off for Camelot without a look back. Arthur decided he would deliver flowers and sweets to her the next day after she’d had time to cool off.

“Arthur,” Nimue said, halting Arthur in his tracks as he moved for his horse.

“You have nothing to say that I want to hear, Witch.”

“You hate me without cause. I did not kill Igraine. She knew the consequences of her actions when she had me use magic to save Morgan.”

“Shut your mouth or I will come across the boundary and run you through!”

Nimue laughed. “You could sooner move a mountain with your bare hands than kill me with a sword.”

“I will report your audacity to my father when I return to the castle.”

“It wouldn’t matter. I’m not physically here.”

Nimue suddenly disappeared, and then reappeared a few feet further back. “Or here.”

She continued disappearing and reappearing, but she never crossed the boundary.

“I am somewhere far away.”

“Stay away from Morgause and Morgan,” Arthur pointed his sword at her.

“Morgause is the reason I have come. My dreams have told me that your father has developed an unnatural attraction to her. I fear for her safety.”

“Stop,” Arthur warned.

“Uther is an evil man. Morgause’s resemblance to Igraine has endangered her—”

“I said stop! I will not listen to your lies. Nothing you say can be trusted.”

“Not so, Arthur! I have always been a friend to your family! I can be a friend to you and your sisters if you would open your eyes to the truth in front of you.”

“I’m not listening to this.”

Arthur hurried back to his horse and mounted up, rushing to sheathe his sword, and nearly stumbling over his own untied laces as he went. He was lucky he didn’t fall and impale himself on the blade. He climbed into the saddle.

“Look, Arthur. Look at your father for who he is. Look at Morgause. See how she suffers. Do not turn your back on her!”

Arthur kicked his horse into a run. He rode until Nimue’s voice faded.

“You’re better than him, Arthur! Be better for Morgause’s sake!”

Soon he was beyond the range of Nimue’s voice, but her words were now in his heart, and he could not outrun that either on foot or on the back of the kingdom’s fastest steed.

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