A Light in the Dark: A King Arthur/Warhammer 40k Imperial Knights Story

[MysticKnightJoe]

They cooked two cans of the spam over an open flame, filling the region with a salty meat smell. Both warmed their hands over the fire. "You want any, Alis?" Dinadan asked the druid.

The woman shook her head. "My flesh-stomach roils at the smell, I will stick with more stable ration as I perform the rights on the machines." She walked away.

Dinadan watched after her with a sigh. "You ever think it's all a bunch of flim flam?"

Bedwyr frowned. "What?"

"All that ritual and dancing about and incense." Dinadan poked the fire. "You think it actually does anything?"

"I think so." Bedwyr had seen several tech rituals in his time, and they seemed to result in something. "They must have some purpose, otherwise why do them?"

"I'm not saying that," Dinadan responded, sounding a little tired. "I'm saying it gets expensive for a poor knight like me, and it just feels like more and more gets added." He poked the fire again, and the meat sizzled more.

Bedwyr sniffed the air. For all the claims that it didn't taste good, it certainly smelled just fine. "I don't know what to tell you. Pellinore says ritual is part of the life of a knight."

"Shame most of them are foolish," Dinadan said dryly, "I could do without most of them."

Bedwyr stared at him. "Do you have an example?"

"Courtly love." Dinadan said with no hesitation.

This startled Bedwyr out of his enjoyment of the cooking meat. "Love? Of all the things you think are foolish, you think love?"

Dinadan shrugged. "Way most knights go about it, sure. All those favors and poems and nonsense."

Bedwyr reached into his pocket, and stroked Vivian's favor. Despite himself, he felt a rage building. "How can you call it useless?"

"How old are you?" Dinadan asked unexpectedly.

"Fourteen, last week," Bedwyr answered immediately.

"You have a girl?"

"Of course!" Bedwyr declared, proudly. He produced her favor and waved it in Dinadan's face. "She gave me this to signify our bound."

Dinadan stared at it dispassionately. "She's what? Thirteen? Fourteen? She'll forget about it, and you'll be clinging to that scrap of cloth for the next decade."

"She's not like that!" Bedwyr snarled, face growing redder and redder. Who did this guy think he was? He wasn't that much older than him.

"Why are you so attached to her anyway, have you even tasted her cooking yet?" Dinadan asked.

"Why does that matter?"

"It matters, believe me," Dinadan said. The infuriating smile wasn't leaving his face.

Bedwyr managed, "Well, she works in Sir Ector's kitchen, so she can probably cook well."

Dinadan nodded sagely. "Ah! A cooking maid. You do have some sense."

Bedwyr scowled, feeling even more insulted. "I still don't see what this has to do with anything!" he growled.

Dinadan shrugged. "Young guys, knights, they tend to go for pretty girls they can compose songs about. It is all very silly really, they all go for richer men or get married off. You are smart though. A kitchen maid is so low-class that she won't be noticed, and there isn't real worry she'll be married off." He gestured to the favor still gripped in Bedwyr's hand. "Ditch that silly thing, and you're on your way to making sense of all this."

"She'd be insulted if I did," Bedwyr spat. He clenched the favor tightly.

Dinadan snorted. "She'll be more insulted when you come home, clinging to a ratty child's kerchief. Listen, kid, girls love gestures of chivalry, until they find it cloying. How long do you and Pellinore intend to be off hunting the Questing Beast? There will be a time limit on her willingness to wait, between the frankly high chances of both of you dying alone and forgotten in the Chaoslands, or worse, falling to the dark powers." He tapped the side of his head. "I hear rumors, you know, how they claw their way into a man's brain and eat him alive."

"We won't fall," Bedwyr said stubbornly, "and we won't die either." His confidence was bolstered by his growing anger at the older man.

"Such confidence," Dinadan said dryly. He poked the fire again, the growing flames cast him in harsh profile. "I'm sure no one else has ever insisted such."

Bedwyr shook his head. "I am so glad I didn't end up being your squire."

"I know," Dinadan said. He smiled. "I'd be a terrible teacher. We'd be trying to kill each other a week in."

"I've barely known you an hour, and I'm already tempted," Bedwyr snarked, catching up to Dinadan's tempo.

Dinadan laughed. "A common reaction, really." He stirred the contents of the pan. "Food's ready."

The meat was salty, and somewhat oddly textured, but Bedwyr found himself liking it just fine, chowing it down quickly. He felt the slow building contentment of a filling stomach, and the pain of his ordeal melting away. The cuts on his hand still hurt, and they would have to be checked sooner or later, but for now he felt strangely at peace.

"We are soldiers, you know," Dinadan said suddenly. "No better or worse than any man or woman on the battlefield. We just like to dress it up all pretty because we don't like facing the fact we aren't any different from common footmen."

"We do have the Knight Frames," Bedwyr argued, though truth be told, he could see Dinadan's point to some extent. Warriors were warriors. One fighting with a sword and gun deserved honor much the same as one in a Knight.

Dinadan seemed to notice Bedwyr's lack of heart. "It's a weapon, no matter what ritual is attached."

Alis reemerged, munching on a ration brick and looking a touch contrite. "The rituals are complete, Sir Dinadan. Are you telling Bedwyr about your heresies?"

"Hardly heresy, Alis," Dinadan insisted cheerfully. He took a bite of spam. "Simply pointing out that you are grifting me for every throne I get."

Alis sat down beside Bedwyr, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of spam. "I have to fight you every week for the money you owe for my services, Sir Dinadan."

"And the spar is worth more than any ritual you provide, dear Alis," Dinadan mocked.

Alis sniffed, but had an air of amusement about her. Bedwyr suspected this was a common discussion between the two.

"We've known each other since childhood," Dinadan said, "so we are stuck with each other."

"What can you do?" Alis murmured, still with the same air of detached humor.

They ate in companionable silence, salty spam and near tasteless ration blocks alike. The sun sank, and it grew dark once again.

"I don't have space for more than two cots," Dinadan admitted. He looked about, nothing. "So you better hope Pellinore comes for you soon."

"I'll be fine," Bedwyr insisted. "I can just sleep on the front seat." He'd slept in worse circumstances, he realized, as recently as this very day. One night in a chair wouldn't harm him.

Dinadan snorted with amusement. "Damn, tough, stubborn, and willing to be subjected to subpar circumstances. Maybe you would be a good squire for me. I had one you know, but he ran away a few months back."

"Can't imagine why," Alis muttered, swallowing another chunk of ration brick.


[Sorry for the wait here, the Holiday season is always hectic, and this one was a touch rough. I should be back to a more regular schedule now!]

 

[Icipall]

Bedwyr shook his head. "I am so glad I didn't end up being your squire."

"I know," Dinadan said. He smiled. "I'd be a terrible teacher. We'd be trying to kill each other a week in."

Click to shrink...

Can't deny that.

The meat was salty, and somewhat oddly textured, but Bedwyr found himself liking it just find, chowing it down quickly.

Click to shrink...

Fine.

Alis reemerged, munching on a ration brick and looking a touch contrite. "The rituals are complete, Sir Dinadan. Are you telling Bedwyr about your heresies?"

Click to shrink...

Yup. All of the heresy.

"Hardly heresy, Alis," Dinadan insisted cheerfully. He took a bite of spam. "Simply pointing out that you are grifting me for every throne I get."

Alis sat down beside Bedwyr, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of spam. "I have to fight you every week for the money you owe for my services, Sir Dinadan."

"And the spar is worth more than any ritual you provide, dear Alis," Dinadan mocked.

Alis sniffed, but had an air of amusement about her. Bedwyr suspected this was a common discussion between the two.

"We've known each other since childhood," Dinadan said, "so we are stuck with each other."

"What can you do?" Alis murmured, still with the same air of detached humor.

Click to shrink...

Nice to see they're good friends.

Dinadan snorted with amusement. "Damn, tough, stubborn, and willing to be subjected to subpar circumstances. Maybe you would be a good squire for me. I had one you know, but he ran away a few months back."

Click to shrink...

Foreshadowing!

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Bedwyr woke up in the front seat of Dinadan's car. His hand still ached, Alis had wrapped it in linen soaked in something that stung. Druid healing lore continued to astound Bedwyr, it was able to do something as complicated as replace his hand, and something so simple as to clean his wounds and help them heal.

With a stretch, Bedwyr rose to his feet. His body ached a little from his uncomfortable sleeping position, but it was no worse than anything else he had ever experienced. He walked through the door into the backroom. "Dinadan?" he called. It was dark within.

"Eh? What?" The knight's voice was hollow. "By the otherworld, it's barely light out."

Bedwyr frowned. "It is seven, Pellinore always said a knight rises early for exercise and training."

"Of course he bloody did," Dinadan grumbled. He waved his hand, and Bedwyr at last was able to make out his cot. "I'm not that kind of knight, kid. Get out of here and close the damn door."

Bedwyr backed away, a little flustered, and closed the door behind him. He shook his head, pulled his cloak close around him, and walked into the crisp winter air.

The fire was crackling away, and Alis was sitting beside it, tending to it. Her hood was down, revealing feather-light brown hair and a glittering eye-piece. "Have you suffered the wrath of trying to wake Sir Dinadan before ten?"

Bedwyr nodded, sitting across from the woman. She was pretty, even if the strange druid rituals had replaced parts of her body. He was in no position to judge.

She smiled. "It is fine on campaign, of course. There are other things to worry about when you are at war. But now, when things are peaceful?" She laughed gently. "Sir Dinadan likes to get his full-night's worth."

"You could argue we are always at war," Bedwyr said sadly. He held his hands before the fire, sighing as the cold metal stopped paining him.

Alis watched sympathetically. "A poor replacement, as metal goes. Better than flesh, but not by much I'm afraid."

Bedwyr shook his head. "I was born without one, so this is better than I've ever been." He edged his false foot closer to the fire. "Same with the foot, and same with the eye. I was born half-made on my right side."

"And they weren't able to get you a new eye?" Alis asked.

"They said they are rare, Gofannon hadn't sent one down."

"The Magos is unpredictable, yes."

"Have you met him?" Bedwyr asked, a little excited.

The druid snorted. "Of course not, no druid has. He lives in Ynys Mon, beyond anyone's current reach."

"Is it in the Chaoslands?" Bedwyr asked. It was the only thing he could think of that would be so elusive.

"No. He lives on the moon itself. Ynys Mon was once the main base of the druids, modeled after Holy Mars itself. Now it has been cut off, as we have lost our chariots." She poked the fire, and her face took on an intense melancholy.

"Myrddin has a chariot!" Bedwyr declared. "He flew us over the Chaoslands itself."

"One chariot, while nice, doesn't mean we will be able to reconnect." She shook her head. "And no doubt the wizard told you about the storm that cuts us off even further?"

"He did," Bedwyr said. He found himself growing melancholic as well. The knowledge of how trapped they really were hung heavy on his heart. "Do you know Myrddin then?" he asked, to hopefully lighten the mood.

She covered her mouth to hide a laugh. "Every druid knows Myrddin. He is a dangerous and powerful man, and learned lore from Gofannon himself. As befits the last wizard of Avalon, I suppose."

"What does wizard mean?" Bedwyr asked. He had never really thought of it, but it seemed like an important title.

"A wizard is one who has mastered all the lores of not just Avalon, but the galaxy beyond," Alis answered. "One who has learned the mysteries of the Adeptus Mechanicum, the dark histories, and, of course, psychic ability."

Bedwyr shuddered. "The stuff of Chaos."

"Indeed," Alis agreed with a grim nod. "And there are other things Myrddin knows, secrets no mortal has known since the Imperium took Avalon for itself. So says the rumors, anyway. There is a reason there hasn't been a true wizard for five thousand years. Until Myrddin Wyllt, the mad enchanter, who even the remnants of Imperium fear."

"I don't think he is really mad," Bedwyr said carefully. He did like Myrddin, and wanted to defend him on some level.

"To be like him, and touch the dark, is to be mad," Alis said softly. "I'm sure even he would agree with me on that."

Bedwyr thought for a second, and then he laughed. "Yeah, I think you may be right."

"And there are worse things to be then mad," Alis added. "You know that, right?"

And Bedwyr thought about the cauldron, and the creeping sense of something that lay beneath its rim, ready to seize and enslave him to the dark and cruel forces of the galaxy. And he nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Alis looked at him, her eyes wise. "Yes. I can tell. You have the look of someone who has touched the dark before. The ruinous powers. And here you are, still yourself."

"It is all I have to offer," Bedwyr said calmly.

She laughed. It was a kind, gentle, laugh, incongruous with her mechanical eye and no doubt other, hidden, augmentations. "And a beautiful, valuable thing it is. For why else would Chaos want to destroy it so badly?"

Bedwyr smiled, a little shyly, and his heart rate increased a little. "I guess," he stammered.

The druid maiden smiled, and returned to tending to the flame. "When your master returns, perhaps we can break out bacon and eggs. King Pellinore has an icebox, I would guess."

"Rich enough for one," a grumbling voice interjected. Sir Dinadan emerged from his car, stumbling a little drunkenly to the others. He winced at the sun, and held his cloak close against the wind. "Could use some fresh food. So I damn well hope he kept that signifier of Kingship, and didn't sell it off to some lucky bastard."

"He has one," Bedwyr confirmed.

"Good," Alis said lightly, "it means we won't have to suffer through Dinadan's collection of cans and bricks."

"I'll have you know ration bricks are the peak of fine dining," Dinadan snarked. He sat heavily beside Bedwyr. "Why else is everyone trying to find the hamper?"

"Because all our ration bricks are almost five centuries old, and we grow weary of getting as much cobweb as protein."

"Spiders are plenty protein," Dinadan sniffed. "And cobweb? That's pure fiber right there. Plenty of knights in this land need more of that, to clear themselves out."

Bedwyr had never eaten a ration brick, spider, or cobweb, so he couldn't make a judgement here. He just nodded along awkwardly, and kept his hands warm.

A loud honk rang out, and Bedwyr spun, excited, as Pellinore's car slid beside, Sagramore's only a little behind.

"Good. The proper food is here," said Dinadan.

 

[Icipall]

"You could argue we are always at war," Bedwyr said sadly. He held his hands before the fire, sighing as the cold metal stopped paining him.

Click to shrink...

Welcome to Warhammer.

"No. He lives on the moon itself. Ynys Mon was once the main base of the druids, modeled after Holy Mars itself.

Click to shrink...

The druid came form the moon.

"To be like him, and touch the dark, is to be mad," Alis said softly. "I'm sure even he would agree with me on that."

Bedwyr thought for a second, and then he laughed. "Yeah, I think you may be right."

"And there are worse things to be then mad," Alis added. "You know that, right?"

Click to shrink...

In the land of the mad it is the sane one who's crazy.

 

[dermenscha]

He lives in Ynys Mon, beyond anyone's current reach

Click to shrink...

He follows the teachings of the ancient master, Ohbe-One Kehnobee, and always seeks the high ground.

 

[QuietlyObserving]

He follows the teachings of the ancient master, Ohbe-One Kehnobee, and always seeks the high ground.

Click to shrink...

The fact that there is a character named Inquisitor Obi-Wan Sherlock Clousseau is one of the things I love about 40k.

 

[SwankyPapist]

Bedwyr scowled, feeling even more insulted. "I still don't see what this has to do with anything!" he growled.

Dinadan shrugged. "Young guys, knights, they tend to go for pretty girls they can compose songs about. It is all very silly really, they all go for richer men or get married off. You are smart though. A kitchen maid is so low-class that she won't be noticed, and there isn't real worry she'll be married off." He gestured to the favor still gripped in Bedwyr's hand. "Ditch that silly thing, and you're on your way to making sense of all this."

"She'd be insulted if I did," Bedwyr spat. He clenched the favor tightly.

Dinadan snorted. "She'll be more insulted when you come home, clinging to a ratty child's kerchief. Listen, kid, girls love gestures of chivalry, until they find it cloying. How long do you and Pellinore intend to be off hunting the Questing Beast? There will be a time limit on her willingness to wait, between the frankly high chances of both of you dying alone and forgotten in the Chaoslands, or worse, falling to the dark powers."

Click to shrink...

Kinda late, but PREACH! Long distance relationships generally don't work and normalizing them will only set couples up for resentment and broken hearts. Also, methinks he speaks from personal experience.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Pellinore looked weary to the bone as he emerged from the car. His exhausted eyes brightened when he saw Bedwyr however.

Bedwyr waved, smiling. He found it broadening as the others left the vehicles as well. Sagramore, Claire, Liemire, Manw. All tired, all a little bloodied, but all alive and well.

"I see," Pellinore said, "you've had quite the time of it." He gestured to San Pitie's car, still tipped on its side. "Does he still live, Sir Dinadan?"

"Pretty sure," Dinadan answered. "Haven't checked yet."

Pellinore shook his head, rubbing his forehead in his exhaustion. "I suspect you were ordered to bring him alive, Sir Dinadan. You are as irresponsible as ever."

"Meh," shrugged Dinadan. "He's fine, probably."

Pellinore gestured to Manw. "Would you care to check, Manw?" he asked.

Manw grunted. He walked to the tipped over car, and started to clamber up the side. "He is my target, after all. You knights are a clumsy lot, up and killing an important target."

"He's fine!" Dinadan called after the wulf. He shook his head. "Honestly, the riot act already. Bedwyr here helped me string him up and everything."

Pellinore sat heavily beside Bedwyr, patting his head. Bedwyr could feel the clamminess of Pellinore's skin. His mentor had driven himself to exhaustion. "It should be fine," Pellinore said. "Thank you for helping my squire, at any rate."

Dinadan shrugged. "Didn't know he was in there, and the little bugger was doing well enough on his own. Had San Pitie beat in a sword fight. And San Pitie twice his age even, so he is either one of the worst sword-fighters on the planet, or the kid is just that good."

"Or both," Liemire added dryly. The old druid sat down beside Alis, and the two quietly began to converse together.

Bedwyr smiled, and added, "He cheated too." His hand twitched in pain at the memory of his duel. The answering chuckles from his friends helped him ignore it.

Manw poked his heavy head from the tipped over car. "He's alive. Was asleep as well, somehow. I got him down and tied him up. For people who wanted him alive, you sure were clumsy about it."

Dinadan shrugged. "I'm not exactly excited about this job, wulf."

Manw smiled, though Bedwyr could tell it wasn't meant to be friendly, there were too many sharp fangs for that. "I'm a hunter, I take pride in my craft, knight. If the client says 'alive' I bring the target back alive."

"It is a shame I'm not a hunter then," Dinadan said, "just a humble knight. And a damn hungry one at that." He grinned at Pellinore. "The kid says you have an icebox with fresh food, King Pellinore."

Pellinore snorted. "Your subtlety and mastery of bending situations to your will is as good as ever, Sir Dinadan."

"I try. You have food right?"

Pellinore laughed. He gave Bedwyr a kind smile. "Are you good to fetch food for everyone, Bedwyr? Or do you need rest?"

Bedwyr jumped to his feet, and gave a quick bow to his master. "I'm fine, Pellinore!" WIth that, he ran to Pellinore's car, heart pounding like a drum.

The icebox was where he remembered it, of course. He opened it, and for a moment, stared at the collection of meat and vegetables and fruit. His stomach rumbled, and he realized he was hungry beyond measure.

"It was terrifying to turn and find you gone," a woman's voice said gently.

Bedwyr looked away from the icebox to see Claire nearby, the damsel watching him with eyes shrouded by her veil. Bedwyr smiled nervously. "I was fine. Just a bit of a fight."

"You have the soul of a youth," Claire said calmly, "belief in your invincibility is the surest way to be slain." She said it with the tone of something memorized.

Bedwyr held up his bandaged hand, a bitter grin on his face. "Believe me, I know that one wrong step means my death, Lady Claire."

Claire stepped close to him, and surprised him with a sudden embrace. Bedwyr struggled briefly, but relented after a moment. "Remember, Bedwyr," the damsel said softly, "you have a role to play. Be it King or Knight or just a man, there is something ahead for you." She pulled back a little, so Bedwyr was only lightly in her arms. She glared down at him, and Bedwyr felt like he was being scolded by an older sibling. "And you can't follow that role if you die to an idiot like Bruce San Pitie."

Bedwyr flushed, and stared up at her. "Why are you so sure about me?" Myrddin did say that reading the future was a complicated business.

She smiled. She reached out a finger and tapped him on the nose. "I just know, we damsels have a sense about these things. And besides, you have one waiting for you." She pulled away, and walked to the door. "And even if your role is simply as husband to a damsel, that role is something to cherish." She laughed softly. "Now, hurry and gather food. I think Sir Dinadan grows impatient."

Bedwyr watched her leave, then rushed to gather as much as he could. He was already hungry, the spam no longer enough to handle the ordeal.

**************​

The food was spiced, cooked, and devoured as quickly as it could. For that brief window of time, the scene around the fire became as spirited as any feast hall. Dinadan and Manw argued loudly about points of tracking, Alis flirted with Sagramore rather outrageously, Claire eventually swatting the druid over the head. Pellinore watched it all solemnly, like the King of the Wood.

Bedwyr ate and drank a little too quickly, finishing well before everyone else, and between the food and the gentle warmth of the fire, he found himself dozing off. The talk became a slight background buzz, lulling him to comfortable sleep.

He was woken up ten seconds later by Dinadan saying, loud enough to break through the gathering's wall of noise. "So, where to next for you lot?"

"King Tewdrig," Pellinore said, "in Caer Dydd, and from there Ynys Wydryn."

Dinadan hissed through his nose. "The witch's isle. You can't be serious."

"We seek the Loremaster Blaise," Pellinore said, "for he may know how to track the Questing Beast, or how to find someone who can." He didn't say the Green Knight, that was almost as insane a notion as going to a castle full of Psykers.

"I've heard," Dinadan said. He took a minute to bite, chew, and swallow a chunk of beef. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That Tewdrig has been gearing up for a purge. More intense then any prior."

Pellinore frowned. "That may complicate things."
"You don't let people into a place you plan to burn to the damn ground," Liemire growled. The old druid leaned close to Dinadan. "Where did you hear this?"

"Just rumors on the wind," Dinadan insisted, holding his hands up. "Tewdrig, they say, is going to be pushing soon for rulership of the whole world. The purge is to get rid of the unsanctioned psykers and centralize his power base in that regard."

"Meliodas and now Tewdrig," Pellinore muttered, Bedwyr able to hear thanks to his proximity. "And the Emperor only knows what Owain is thinking." He shook his head, and said more audibly, "Well, something to speak with the man about, when we get there."

Dinadan grunted in annoyance. "A braver man than me, that's for sure. King Tewdrig gives me the creeps. So intense."

Manw chuckled. "I am almost happy I don't have to turn Bruce San Pitie in, even if I lose out on the pay for the hunt. King Tewdrig sometimes looks at me as if he can imagine the pyre around me, and the flames licking at my feet." He barked a laugh.

Afterwards, the conversation returned to its normal level, shifting into a dull buzz. And once again, Bedwyr found it fading more and more into the background, before he settled into sleep. This time, he wasn't awakened until morning.

 

[dermenscha]

Awww everything is nice.

so since this is 40k the next chapter must be twice as sad to make up for it.

 

[Cheap Orange Knofe]

I keep hoping for a WHFB shout-out. Brettonians-in-space!

 

[Icipall]

Bedwyr held up his bandaged hand, a bitter grin on his face. "Believe me, I know that one wrong step means my death, Lady Claire."

Click to shrink...

And in the end, you were one of the few who lived past the age of Camelot.

"Meliodas and now Tewdrig," Pellinore muttered, Bedwyr able to hear thanks to his proximity. "And the Emperor only knows what Owain is thinking." He shook his head, and said more audibly, "Well, something to speak with the man about, when we get there."

Click to shrink...

Everyone wants to rule the world.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

It was quiet from then on. The next morning, Pellinore and Sagramore worked with Dinadan to flip Bruce San Pitie's battered car over. It wasn't easy, and took nearly half the day, Knights not exactly being designed for such work.

There was little Bedwyr could do, so he watched and ate breakfast as metal cracked and the knights struggled for position. It finally tipped over and landed with a massive crunch. The front of the machine was crumpled by Dinadan's shot, and when they tried the engine, it coughed, sputtered, and died.

"Blasted Machine Spirit couldn't take it," Liemire said, after hunching over it with Alys, performing a ritual. He rose to his feet and formed the symbol of the cog with a gnarled hand. "May it rest in peace, the poor old thing."

Alys shook her head. "We are going to have to tow it."

"Can't just leave the chunk of metal here?" Dinadan asked, in a tone that suggested the answer wasn't going to go his way.

"We need every bit of resource we can get our paws on," Liemire snapped. He waved filth encrusted hands at Dinadan. "We can't afford to just throw a whole car away for your laziness."

Dinadan slumped beside Bedwyr, wiping his sweat-soaked brow. "I was just asking you old druid bastard, Emperor help me." He took a sip of water, and looked over at Bedwyr. "How's the charge going?"

"Fine," Bedwyr said. He reached out, and poked said charge with the tip of his sheathed sword. Bruce San Pitie, bound tightly and gagged, let out a muffled groan and what sounded almost like a rather foul curse. "He's trying to curse me," Bedwyr said coldly.

"That's heresy, I think," Dinadan sniffed, "and I know heresy." He leaned over to the bound knight. "One more thing like that and I'll burn you at the stake, Bruce San Pitie."

"A cold world, where spewing a harsh word is considered of higher import than this bastard's other activities," Claire said. She took a long sip of her water. Her veil concealed her expression.

Dinadan shrugged. "You are preaching to the choir, lady, if I had my way, this guy would be food for the crows and rats."

Bruce San Pitie grunted again. Bedwyr poked him in answer. He had been told to watch the man, and so he had.

"Though of course, any vermin that laid mouth on his corpse would wither and die." Dinadan sneered.

It continued as such for much of the day, and after the rest, they hitched San Pitie's car to Pellinore's. The criminal knight was tied to a chair within, and Manw set to watch. Bedwyr was privately pleased with the break, exhaustion catching up with him, and wound up sleeping for the rest of the day.

*********​

The crude procession continued for the next five days, awkwardly and ploddingly, to account for the prisoner and his battered car.

Bedwyr found himself sitting on the hood of the car as it trudged slowly along, the heat from the engine off-setting the stark wind of winter. Pellinore sat beside him, silent and calm as a statue.

"We are almost there?" Bedwyr asked suddenly. He clenched and unclenched his left hand, feeling the ache of his healing wounds. It was improving rapidly, at least.

"Should be coming up on the city soon," Pellinore responded. A moment later, the King asked, "Are you sure you are ok, Bedwyr? After all that has happened lately?"

"I'm fine," Bedwyr said quickly. He could tell where this was going, Pellinore was going to try and convince him to stay, again. "It wasn't that bad, really, what wounds I got have healed already, and Bruce San Pitie wasn't that threatening, I took him down easily." He spoke quickly, not allowing any argument.

Pellinore nodded. "I understand." He sighed. "So be it, no matter what happens, I will no longer push the issue. We are at the point of no return anyway." He reached over, musing Bedwyr's hair. "Just don't come crying to me when it becomes too much, lad!"

"I won't, I promise," Bedwyr said. "I can take anything."

"I certainly hope so," Pellinore sighed. He looked up to the sky, exhausted. "We live in a dangerous world, defending you from everything was a fool's hope."

"You aren't a fool," Bedwyr stammered. "None of you were." He took a deep breath. "You just wanted to keep me safe, that isn't foolish." As he spoke, something tickled the back of his nose. A charred scent. He looked up, and saw at last a pillar of dark smoke.

"Oh Emperor!" Pellinore saw it as well in the same instant. "Caer Dydd is burning!"

 

[Icipall]

"Fine," Bedwyr said. He reached out, and poked said charge with the tip of his sheathed sword. Bruce San Pitie, bound tightly and gagged, let out a muffled groan and what sounded almost like a rather foul curse. "He's trying to curse me," Bedwyr said coldly.

Click to shrink...

He's not very good at it.

"Oh Emperor!" Pellinore saw it as well in the same instant. "Caer Dydd is burning!"

Click to shrink...

Well, shit.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

As they drew closer, the pillar of smoke rising from the city became more obvious, hanging in the air like one of the old tall buildings of Londinium. The smell grew stronger as well, a thick scent that reminded Bedwyr of the campfires he had sat beside. There was something else to it, something that made it lose the comforting edge the camps always had.

It was an edition to the wood-burning smell, an undercurrent of something else cracking apart and cooking. Bedwyr shivered, and decided to not ask what it could be. From the grim set of Liemire's jaws, he had a suspicion.

He and Pellinore had ducked back inside the car the instant they sighted the smoke. Pellinore had rushed to the back, getting his machine, Perfect Sinew, Bedrydant in the old tongue, ready for battle. Aside from them, Bedwyr was sure Sagramore and Dinadan were getting set as well.

"Is it an invasion?" he asked Liemire, his voice a strange marriage of fear and excitement.

Liemire grunted, uncommunicative. HIs eyes were focused on the road ahead, on the controls of the car, on whatever secrets boiled inside the druid's powerful mind.

"Maybe," his assistant answered instead. The hooded figure slipped beside Bedwyr, and pressed something into his hand. "If so, be ready. If need be, we have said the benediction over this gun. It will fire."

Bedwyr gripped the gun. "Well, that is the bare minimum of what a gun is supposed to do," he said.

The assistant shrugged, and slid back into the dark. Bedwyr turned away from the shaded figure, back to the now sweating Liemire, and the steadily looming walls of Caer Dydd.

The walls, to Bedwyr's surprise, were still standing, solid in front of the car. Behind them the smoke loomed and the stench of burning grew steadily stronger and stronger. But the walls were strong, and there was no sign of battle.

Four men approached the car. Their weapons were sheathed and their hands were in the air. "Hail!" The lead man's voice boomed. He was a sturdy, powerfully built fellow in the earliest steps of middle age. He was as bald as an egg, and he wore a pair of mustaches that hung on his lip and down to his chin. He wore a golden torc around his neck, and Bedwyr struggled to recall the significance of that.

Two of the men beside him were wearing the armor of men-at-arms, and Bedwyr, at the very least, recognized the symbol of Dyfed, a sea beast known as a Selkie. The men looked tired, soot-stained, but their blades and armor were unbloodied.

The other man was a Priest of the Cult Imperial, wearing the blood-red robes of the order. He was young, Bedwyr realized, only a few years older then himself, with pale skin and glum blue eyes, his head was shaved, as if in emulation of the man leading the set, and the warhammer at his side was bright and unnotched.

"I am Meurig ap Tewdrig," the man called, "Prince of Dyfed, Morganwg, and whatever else my father got together. Am I correct in assuming I am speaking to King Pellinore?"

Pellinore answered through the speakers. "You are, Prince Meurig. Is all well? I see smoke, and smell the stench of burning homes on the wind."

Meurig frowned, and Bedwyr saw him shuffle a little. "If you are asking if we are being invaded, the answer is no. But all is not well, King Pellinore. And it is not something you can settle by stomping about in your grand mount, I'm afraid." The Prince gestured. "Come. I have a camp ahead. We will talk there. I will explain how my men and I ended up having to leave our own damn city."

Meurig's camp, as it turned out, was a glum little collection of tents and other temporary buildings, guarded by yet more men-at-arms and a few scattered knights. The mounts of these few loomed over the lot, like massive grave markers. The mood was sour and cold. The heat from the town offset it, however.

Bedwyr and Liemire emerged first from the car, and were greeted by Meurig. The Prince managed a grin at Bedwyr. "Well, Pellinore, you've either been cursed to be younger, or I've been misinformed about your age and accomplishments." The smile was strained, but it was an honest attempt. A weak laugh flickered across the gathered men.

"I am not Pellinore, I am just his squire, Bedwyr," Bedwyr answered, nervously, "Prince Meurig, Sir."

The man laughed, a bit more heartily. "A squire? At last, I say."

"No regrets from me, though he is a stubborn fellow most of the time," Pellinore said. He walked up to his fellow noble, patting Bedwyr's shoulder. The other cars parked nearby, though none of the others joined them.

"A good quality, I say," Meurig said with a grin. It died quickly. "We have other matters, I'm afraid. We can catch up later."

"What has been happening here?" Pellinore asked. He looked up at the stream of smoke.

"King Tewdrig," the priest answered softly, "in his wisdom, has decided to purge his realm of the unbeliever, the mutant, and the heretic. He has begun with his capital, Caer Dydd."

Pellinore frowned, and looked out among the tents. "And you haven't joined him to this end?"

Meurig put his hands on his hips, suddenly looking much older than his years. "My father woke up this morning, proclaimed he'd had a vision from the God-Emperor. He is convinced that the Emperor is returning to this world. Soon. And he has to make ready for the return."

Bedwyr shivered. He looked skyward at the smoke rising from the town, and felt the cruel stench filling his nostrils. "Would the Emperor really want something like this?" It was a genuine question. A lot of the Cult Imperial was still a cypher to Bedwyr.

The young priest's expression grew somehow more uncomfortable. "The God-Emperor does preach that purging with fire and flame is often necessary. The question becomes whether now is one of those times." At the extra scrutiny, the boy priest stammered, "I am Bedwin, by the way. An initiate."

Bedwyr nodded in greeting, feeling an odd sense of camaraderie with the other young man. Like him, he was learning how to fulfil a role.

Meurig patted Bedwin's shoulder. "It was Bedwin here who informed me of my father's plan. When I confronted my father, arguing against it, I was ordered to leave." He gestured to his camp. "So I gathered together a few score men, my sworn-knights, and their families, and got out of there before the fires started."

Pellinore frowned. "And all he had you do is stand around outside the walls?"

Meurig shrugged exhaustedly. "Well, he may have implied more, may have not. I'm not taking any chances." He looked between Pellinore, Bedwyr, and Liemire, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing here anyway, Pellinore?"

"I intend to complete my hunt for the Questing Beast. To that end, I planned to ask King Tewdrig's permission to visit Ynys Witrin to see the Loremaster Blaise." He gestured. "We also came across Sir Dinadan, who has Bruce San Pitie held captive, as ordered."

"Well that last bit I can handle," Meurig said gruffly. "Hand him over, and I'll get him to my father."

"And the payment, for Sir Dinadan and Manw the Hunter?" Pellinore asked politely.

Meurig fumbled in his clothing for a moment, and produced a pouch. He threw it to Pellinore, who caught it a little clumsily. "That should cover it."

Bedwin leaned up and whispered in Meurig's ear. Meurig listened for a second, then nodded.

"Bedwin here has agreed to escort you to Ynys Witrin. By order of Tewdrig, only those accompanied by a priest are allowed to go there. You mentioned Manw right? He'll want to know that King Gwyn and his tribe are there as well."

"Been awhile since I've seen King Gwyn," Pellinore said thoughtfully. "Is he still the deadliest mortal hunter on the planet?"

"Deadlier." Meurig smiled, and it didn't die as quickly as his other ones.

*************​

Bruce San Pitie was shoved out of the car, bound and gagged and still screaming muffled curses, his car and knight left with Meurig's camp. Meurig checked the man, and saluted.

Dinadan and Manw split the payment amicably, but complained about the general size together, growsing irritably about contracts before both returned to Dinadan's car.

The boy priest Bedwin opted to ride with Pellinore, quietly sitting in a corner of the back workshop, eyes closed and arms crossed. It took Bedwyr a second to realize that the poor fellow had fallen asleep.

"He seems like a decent person," Bedwyr murmured to Pellinore.

"He does," Pellinore agreed. He placed a somewhat ragged blanket over the priest. "Brave of him to go against his superiors like that."

"Brave or stupid," Liemire growsed from the driver's seat. "Who can bloody say what goes through the minds of clerics." After a moment, the druid asked, "Do you really think that Tewdrig was visited by the God-Emperor, Pellinore? Cause it seems pretty damn far-fetched to me."

Bedwyr poked his head through the side window, looking back at Caer Dydd. It seemed to him like the smoke had grown stronger, the smell reaching further and further. He pulled himself back in, and rolled up the window, though it did little, the air still felt flinty and uncomfortable. His eye and nose itched. He couldn't find an answer to Liemire's question, and neither could Pellinore.

"At the very least," Pellinore said wearily, "we have permission to go to Ynys Witrin. An escort. I think that is as good as we can get here."

"You think this will end with some poor sods that didn't go to every mandated mass?" Liemire asked. "It will expand, Pellinore, you know it, I know it. And first on the list will be the few loyal psykers we have left."

"Then we best hurry."

Liemire shook his head. "And I know you. You can't leave people to die. Even if you don't care about a bunch of ticking time bombs, you know King Gwyn and his people are innocent of whatever Tewdrig is going to accuse them of. The fact they are abhumans, and therefore have even a slight layer of protection is immaterial. You are walking into another fight, and we can't afford anymore of those."

Pellinore said nothing, seemingly lost in thought. After a second he looked at Bedwyr. "Get some rest, lad."

Bedwyr didn't argue, walking away from the driver's seat to huddle next to Bedwin, pulling up his own, battered, blanket. The smell remained, keeping him from true rest, and what Liemire said made him shiver. Were they just going to run into more smoke? Something told him the hunt had only just begun.

 

[dermenscha]

"Do you really think that Tewdrig was visited by the God-Emperor, Pellinore? Cause it seems pretty damn far-fetched to me."

Click to shrink...

Given the current... incapacitation of Big E, I highly doubt it.

So it's either just a completely baseless dream, or more likely a daemon got clever.

 

[Icipall]

"No regrets from me, though he is a stubborn fellow most of the time,"

Click to shrink...

Well, he learned from the best.

Meurig put his hands on his hips, suddenly looking much older than his years. "My father woke up this morning, proclaimed he'd had a vision from the God-Emperor. He is convinced that the Emperor is returning to this world. Soon. And he has to make ready for the return."

Click to shrink...

Yeah, right. Seems like Chaos bullshittery is in play.

"Bedwin here has agreed to escort you to Ynys Witrin. By order of Tewdrig, only those accompanied by a priest are allowed to go there. You mentioned Manw right? He'll want to know that King Gwyn and his tribe are there as well."

Click to shrink...

That's good, at least.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Bedwyr had hoped for a warm bed in an inn. The still-healing wound on his hand ached, the chair bit into his back, and even Bedwin's soft snores kept him awake as Pellinore's car trundled away from the pillar of smoke that marked Caer Dydd.

Bedwyr rose to his feet with a groan. He rubbed his back, trying to grind out the ache. It stubbornly stayed. Bedwyr let out an involuntary groan.

Bedwin stirred, and Bedwyr flushed in embarrassment. He watched, hoping the priest wouldn't wake up, but it was a lost hope. Bedwin looked up at him, sleepy eyes shy. "If it makes you feel any better, the main inn in the city was burned to the ground." A sad smile. "I'm not sure why, come to think of it. The Mistress was always nothing but kind to me and my brothers."

"It doesn't make me feel better," Bedwyr said. He grimaced, imagining a whole building burned to the ground. "It really doesn't."

Bedwin shrugged with a rustle of fabric. He didn't rise from his seat, and in fact seemed to curl tighter into himself. "If nothing else, you wouldn't have gotten a proper bed." A weak yawn. "Or a bath. A bath would be great. Get the soot out." He laughed weakly. "Some say that fire itself is holy, and therefore never clean what it produces. I've seen men like that before. I think they are wrong."

"Because they are insane?" Bedwyr asked bluntly.

Bedwin snorted. "No, because they smell like walking latrines." He reached out from the blanket and scratched his ear. "The insanity goes without saying."

Bedwyr laughed. WIth another stretch and groan, he stepped alongside Bedwin. "I think we are going to get along alright, Bedwin."

"Not if you keep keeping me awake," Bedwin grumbled. He rolled away from Bedwyr, curling into his chair tightly. "If there is one kind of man I believe should be purged, it is one who keeps irritating me personally."

Bedwyr flushed, and staggered away as quickly as he could. "Sorry, I'll get out of your hair."

Bedwin chuckled sleepily, petering off a second later. He was asleep shortly after.

With his own chuckle, Bedwyr moved to the front of the cab. He was surprised to find the car had stopped. Pellinore and Liemire weren't alone in the front. Bedwyr stopped short.

"Time for me to move on." Dinadan. He sounded uncharacteristically serious. "I have to tell King Geriant about this. This kind of thing has a nasty habit of growing out of control. We don't need that anarchy. Sometimes, one king can talk down another."

"I don't think I could, so what are you saying, Dinadan?" Pellinore asked, voice level.

Dinadan swallowed audibly. "I didn't...oh, you're screwing with me. Ha ha. Hilarious, Pellinore. Remind me to beat you senseless one of these days. Bugger and blast."

Pellinore gave a cheerful laugh. "Well, stay safe, Sir Dinadan. Tell King Geriant I will return, though he knows that well enough."

"Right."

"And tell him that if he has to, band together with Owain and Leondegran. As many Kings as he can. We need an alliance right now." Pellinore sighed. "Like back in Uther's day."

"Yeah, and look how that turned out," DInadan said sourly. "I wasn't a knight then, but my father told me the stories. How all that hope turned to ash, and everything fell apart. People don't want to go through that twice, Pellinore. No one wants to go through something like that anymore then they have to. So they only trust themselves. That's the way of humanity, I guess."

"Do you think that of even your own King?" Pellinore asked curiously. His voice was soft, almost sad.

"I think that of all humans." Dinadan's voice was weary in answer. Bedwyr heard his footsteps as he turned away. "If there is any good in this world, in this galaxy, it has been trampled down into the dirt. All we can do now is survive. Hope we don't get crushed anymore. Vainly, of course."

"I hope that one day, you are proven wrong, Sir Dinadan."

A long silence. Breath held in it, and Bedwyr could no longer feel his heart beat. "I hope so too." Dinadan's footsteps sounded away.

A few minutes later, the car rumbled back to life. Bedwyr almost fell over, forgetting he was standing unsupported. He was similarly surprised by Pellinore reaching out and helping him steady.

"Dinadan is gone?" Bedwyr asked.

"It isn't forever," Pellinore said calmly. He smiled. "We have to prove him wrong, one of these days, after all."

Bedwyr smiled back, though he still felt hollow. And tired. At the very least, his hand wasn't aching as much.

"Get some sleep," Pellinore told him firmly. "That's a direct order."

"Having trouble sleeping in the chair," Bedwyr admitted. He flushed. "Most sound strange, after all I've been able to handle."

"Not at all, things add up," Pellinore said. He gestured. "Sleep in the cab. The chair there is a bit more cushioned. I will sleep beside Brother Bedwin. I'll need to speak with him soon anyway."

Bedwyr nodded, a little too weary to really argue. He plodded by Pellinore, and went up front. Liemire was there, staring out at the unfolding landscape. He barely reacted to Bedwyr's presence.

"Liemire?" Bedwyr asked. He limped over, and slid into the seat. It was indeed more cushioned.

"Get some sleep." It was all Bedwyr heard from the druid, before he at last fell asleep.

************​

From there, they made their slow, bitter, way across the frost strewn hill-lands, only occasionally stopping, training only in the mind, and feeling the weight of the weather, their destination, and their quest on the horizon.

Bedwin stuck to himself mostly, taking a small corner of the inner room of the car to himself. Bedwyr hadn't had a straight conversation with him since the first night. The boy priest seemed to prefer the quiet, wearing it like a cloak around him.

Manw stayed in Sagramore's car, and Bedwyr never saw any of the passengers or master of that car. Occasionally they would send messages through Pellinore's battered vox unit, which was how Bedwyr was still aware they were still there.

The villages were locked down for the winter, huddling among themselves for warmth and substance. Inns were open for the rare winter traveler, but Pellinore decided to not stop at any of them, believing it would make their trail a little too easy to follow by Tewdrig. Paranoia, Bedwyr thought, though if Tewdrig did decide they were a threat, maybe it was for the best.

And so they, like the villagers, huddled together against the cold, turtling into their ceaselessly moving groundcar and dreaming of spring. Liemire, his apprentice, and Pellinore took turns driving. Liemire would fight against it, claiming he needed no rest. But sometimes, he simply wouldn't have the energy.

The journey, in all, took two long, miserable, weeks. Pellinore told Bedwyr that it would have taken longer if they had stopped to rest for even an instant, as would be more customary. But they were in a hurry now.

At last, they came on a maintained road, and the going became far more smooth. Eventually, they stopped at a large and beautifully maintained inn, with a sign painted with a symbol of a red dragon.

Pellinore stared at the sign for a long time, his expression incomprehensible. After a moment he shook his head.

Bedwin's expression as he looked at it with a lidded gaze was a bit easier. He looked curious, and a little amused. He leaned close to Bedwyr. "The dragon. It was the symbol of this world once. The entire system even. The Red Dragon of Avalon, the banner of the High King. The last man to claim it, and the name Pendragon, was Uther." A sniff. "Perhaps he learned why the Imperium banned it, so long ago."

"Why?" Bedwyr asked.

Bedwin smiled thinly. "It is said that before the God-Emperor brought the planet under compliance, the old rule was under that banner."

"The Tuatha?" Bedwyr regretted the question the moment it sprang from his lips. Bedwin looked startled, and a little affronted.

"Who told you about them? I hear tell you are from the Chaoslands, do they still hold to those false old Gods?"

"Myrddin," Bedwyr answered, a little dryly.

"Oh. Yes, that makes sense," Bedwin shook his head. "That man knows far more than he should, and doesn't know when to shut his damned mouth." The other boy flushed a bit. "Least that is what my old master always said."

Bedwyr shrugged. "Don't think he's told us anything more harmful than my old family said in the Chaoslands." Just in case though, he made a mental note to not mention too many of the specifics of what Myrddin said or did to Bedwin. Or any priest, really.

Bedwin grimaced. "Oh, I'm sure. He's a mad old wretch, and a scavenger, and a thief, but he is loyal. The strongest psyker on the planet, and got a full pass, even under these stringent conditions." He looked deep into Bedwyr's eyes. "Do you have any idea what he is doing? If you know him so well. All the remaining priesthood knows is he is gearing up for something."

Bedwyr shook his head. "He seem like the kind of guy who ever actually explains himself?" Most certainly he wouldn't speak of Wart's mention of enchanter knights. He was getting a strange feeling that Bedwin was trying to get something out of him.

Sagramore and Claire emerged at that moment, Sagramore offering a hand to his sister to help her down from the step. She barely seemed to need it, gliding down as effortlessly as a swan landing on still water.

"A dangerous woman," Bedwin said. He shook his head. "Most damsels are, of course, but there is much going on with her."

Bedwyr didn't respond beyond a grunt of vague agreement, and any further conversation was stopped by the emergence of a pudgy and cheerful innkeeper. He did learn the inn's name, at least. It was called The King's Man.

 

[Icipall]

And so they, like the villagers, huddled together against the cold, turtling into their ceaselessly moving groundcar and dreaming of spring.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, not a pleasant trip.

Eventually, they stopped at a large and beautifully maintained inn, with a sign painted with a symbol of a red dragon.

Click to shrink...

Hah! It's the Red Dragon Inn!

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

As Inns went, The King's Man was fine enough. Bedwyr hadn't been to many, to be sure, but at this point, after a colorless journey, the heat from the fire and the bustle of conversation in the common room felt like a kind of heaven.

The innkeeper, a bustling and excitable fellow, tried to insist that Pellinore would pay nothing, citing loyalty to the "True King". Pellinore, of course, declined strongly, and practically shoved the coins into the man's unwilling hands.

They sat in front of the fire, with bowls of hearty stew and mugs of cold mead brought to them by a sweet-faced maid.

Sagramore took a long swig of his drink, and a massive spoonful of his stew. He frowned. "Can't tell what meat they are using here."

Manw had already downed half of his. The wulf grunted, "Salt pork."

"Thank you," Sagramore said. He looked at Pellinore. "So, what next, King Pellinore?"

Pellinore replied after a moment of thought. "We stay the night, then continue to Ynys Witrin across the bridge."

Sagramore shook his head. "Don't know if that is even worth it anymore. For all we know, Blaise has already made tracks. And besides." The knight looked around. "This place gives me the creeps."

Bedwyr eyed around the room as well, and for the first time looked beyond the warmth and color common to an inn. There was an air of creepiness to the people here, a quiet. Everyone huddled together in groups, away from others, and most cradled drinks. Hoods were up, and daggers and swords were prominently displayed.

There was one exception, though it was with the strangest man of all. He was wearing some kind of spectacles that made his eyes bulge under the hood of his clock. An owl was on his shoulder, and the man would occasionally feed it meat from his plate. The tawny creature stretched, and Bedwyr noticed the glint of metal.

"A druid," Bedwin whispered into his ear. "Of one of the stranger, more hidden sects. Some say a lot of them are going mad, isolating themselves deeper and deeper."

"I'll say, one of them is on the moon," Bedwyr snarked cheerfully. It bounced off Bedwin like a rubber ball.

The hooded druid looked up, and Bedwyr saw his face reflected in the man's strange, owl-like, optics. They flickered in the fire light, and Bedwyr looked away. It almost felt like looking into the depths of a soul, and not quite liking what you saw.

More food was brought, both by maids, and the pudgy innkeeper, who fawned over Pellinore with utter glee. "This is my wife's recipe, King Pellinore. Been passed down her family for generations, you know, and now it can only be found at my humble inn. It's free tonight, wouldn't do that, but you were a right proper King's man, so here you go." He kept going, until Pellinore waved him off, and at last the man bowed and walked backwards away from the table, leaving them with the steaming bowls and plates of food.

The food almost made up for the oppressive atmosphere. It was solid, pleasant fare, well-cooked and seasoned. And after so long without hot food, it was basically a royal feast.

Bedwyr's head started to spin, several mugs of cool mead finally getting his nerves flickered and heart pounding. He belched lightly, patting his belly.

Bedwin elbowed him lightly. "You best be more cautious. That druid hasn't stopped staring at us all night."

Bedwyr looked over, seeing that both the man and cyborg owl were indeed staring right at them with wide eyes. "Do you think he's dangerous?" he hissed back.

"Maybe," Bedwin whispered back. "Someone watching us is never good. And it is you specifically."

"Are you sure he isn't staring at you, since you've apparently been watching him?" Bedwyr asked tiredly. Bedwin's paranoia was starting to annoy him.

Bedwin flared his nostrils. "Don't be a pedant, Bedwyr."

"You two ok?" Pellinore suddenly interrupted their discussion. He leaned lightly over the table, surveying Bedwyr. "You seem like the mead is getting to you, best go to bed now."

Bedwyr didn't argue, standing up, and starting to stagger to the stairs. He almost fell, balancing himself on the chair.

Bedwin was beside him. "I will help him, King Pellinore." The priest, of course, was focusing as much on the owl-druid as Bedwyr.

Looping his arm in Bedwyr's the priest started to lead him away, a little too quickly.

"Slow down," Bedwyr hissed.

"He's following us," Bedwin hissed back. "I think he's armed."

"Everyone is armed here, we are armed." Bedwyr really was getting sick of the priest, and the mead wasn't helping.

They reached the stairs. Starting to more slowly climb up it, Bedwin darting glances back. "He's quick!"

"Just stop," Bedwyr groaned.

The druid was upon them now, massive eyes surveying, staff in hand, owl on his shoulder, and a sword at his hip. Up close, Bedwyr saw that he was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, lean and frail.

Bedwin let go of Bedwyr, turning on the druid. Bedwyr staggered and gripped the rail.

"Don't play with that boy," the druid sniffed. "You look to be new to the hammer, and drunk and paranoid besides." The owl on his shoulder cried.

Bedwin didn't move to put away his weapon. "Who are you, first?"

"My name is Archimedes," the owl-druid said, sounding quite irritated. "Not that that means anything to you. Though what I say next will be familiar to your even drunker companion." Archimedes stared at Bedwyr, and Bedwyr could swear he could see judgement in his eyes.

"What?" Bedwyr asked.

Archimedes reached into his cloak, making Bedwin stiffen. And then he withdrew a small bundle of paper. "Myrddin sent me. With letters. Most annoying, being used for such simple work, but here I am"

"You work for Myrddin?" Bedwyr asked, sobering instantly at the sight of the letters.

"For? Please!" Archimedes seemed to puff with irritation, the owl mirroring it with a fluffing of feathers. "We are partners in scholarship and teaching."

"Do you know Wart?" Bedwyr asked, feeling a little suspicious, even with his initial impulse.

"Of course I know him! I helped teach him his ABCs!" Archimedes insisted hotly. "Now, are you going to take the letters before you shuffle off to drunken sleep, or not?"

Bedwyr reached out and took the bundle from Archimedes. He looked them over, and made out a few names. Wart, Cei, Aglovale, even Morfren and Sanddeff. No Vivian, he realized, a little bitterly, though she was probably already gone from the Caer. The last one was from Myrddin, written in a fancy and looping script.

"Thank you," Bedwyr said, and he meant it. He missed his friends, his teachers.

Archimedes smiled. "Pray don't mention it. Now, I'm going to go speak with King Pellinore. Myrddin did insist on me acting as messenger to him as well." The druid walked away, muttering angrily to himself. "What does that man think he is? Ordering me around like some kind of servant. It demeans us, Archimedes." The cyber-owl on his shoulder squawked in answer.

Bedwyr decided not to dwell on the fact the owl was apparently named Archimedes as well, hurrying upstairs with his letters. He barely noticed Bedwin clambering after him.

"Goodnight, Bedwyr," Bedwin said. The priest blushed a little. "I'm sorry I got so antsy. Things have been complicated lately."

Bedwyr nodded at the priest. "Don't worry about it, Bedwin. We all get jumpy sometimes." He felt a little jumpy himself, clutching his letters tight to his chest.

Bedwin smiled. "Yeah, I guess. Best to get used to it. Well, goodnight again." The priest turned and vanished into his room across the hall.

Bedwyr rushed into his room, jumping onto the bed. All exhaustion, all drunkenness, was gone like it had never been. He took Wart's letter first, and just barely held back from ripping it open. It almost felt, for a moment, like his friends were with him, even so far away.

 

[SwankyPapist]

Am surprised that there's a guy still loyal to Uther's memory and so open about it. He must get a lot of shit for it.

 

[Icipall]

Bedwyr eyed around the room as well, and for the first time looked beyond the warmth and color common to an inn. There was an air of creepiness to the people here, a quiet. Everyone huddled together in groups, away from others, and most cradled drinks. Hoods were up, and daggers and swords were prominently displayed.

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People are wary and afraid.

Archimedes reached into his cloak, making Bedwin stiffen. And then he withdrew a small bundle of paper. "Myrddin sent me. With letters. Most annoying, being used for such simple work, but here I am"

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Should have guessed.

Bedwyr reached out and took the bundle from Archimedes. He looked them over, and made out a few names. Wart, Cei, Aglovale, even Morfren and Sanddeff. No Vivian, he realized, a little bitterly, though she was probably already gone from the Caer. The last one was from Myrddin, written in a fancy and looping script.

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Nice that Bedwyr's friends are doing their best to stay in contact.

 

[Always Late]

Should have guessed.

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An owl and a tech-priest named the same thing? And directly after a classical mathematician?

Ithink we found one of Cawl's old pupils. Or maybe a split just nuts enough to take a new name.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Bedwyr spent longer than was strictly wise reading and rereading the letters. By the time he finally slid into sleep, he'd finished Cei's, an untidy scrawl about continued training. With more of a snarky air then Wart's, whose writing had been clean and elegant. Still, it made him feel like Cei was right there, speaking with him.

There was only one more. The one that had the name "Myrddin" on it in spidery blue ink. Bedwyr somehow doubted the wizard was simply writing a social letter. Somehow, the idea scared him. Something would change if he opened that letter.

He reread Wart's again, smiling as his dearest friend described his continuing training regime. Knightly training, history, and yes, Myrddin's strange and mystical lessons.

Bedwyr leaned back in bed, staring at the ceiling. Once again, he considered what the mage was after. Why Wart? Thinking about it chilled him to the core. Myrddin was playing some kind of game, the same game as Meliodas and Queen Scathach. He, Wart, and Cei were tied up in it now, even if he was far away.

At last, Bedwyr took the letter from Myrddin. If he was going to be involved in this, he would help Wart and Cei as well as he could.

To Bedwyr's surprise, the letter was, at first, as casual and friendly as any other. Myrddin wrote as if he was nothing more than Bedwyr's uncle. He found himself smiling, despite himself. There was nothing strange about the old wizard's letter.

And then, at the end, written in the same blue ink in the delicate hand, Myrddin moved into what Bedwyr would have expected.

I understand that you and Pellinore will be nearing Ynys Witrin by now, and meeting with my old teacher, Blaise the Loremaster. This is all to the good, and he will guide you well. No doubt, as you read this, Archimedes is already informing good Pellinore of my aid to him: A boat to meet you at the coastline of the Isle once named Mona, to carry you across the sea.

The reason for this is simple, I have contemplated the future of your quest, and the future has told me that much is knotted together in this endeavor. You must make it to the Chaoslands as quickly as possible, and find the Questing Beast as soon as possible. And you must slay it, that is paramount.

Know this, Bedwyr, there are those who read the future who would put a much tighter leash on you. The Farseers of the Aeldari, if they knew what I knew, would lock you in a tower. The Imperium's cruel Inquisition would perhaps do far worse, if they let you live beyond your dark past.

Reading the future, as I once told you, is a complicated business. A dark business, that can be twisted up, as any magic in this universe can be. I believe, beyond all else, that you must grow in your own way, by your own word. I could have kept you at Caer Gei, with Arthur and Cei. Some would say that I made an error.

But you would disagree, and I am in agreement with you. What looms in the future will be insurmountable, unless you can stand on your own. And for that, I believe you must go on this first quest with King Pellinore, against the Questing Beast, the first challenge, though not the last. The Chaos Spawn Alpha, that must be slain.

Do remember this, Bedwyr, the future is a tangled web, and at any moment any thread can be cut away. Just because I see much in your future doesn't mean you are suddenly invincible, for nothing is set in stone until it occurs. Beware the Chaoslands, Bedwyr, for that is where death reigns.

Beware the Questing Beast, the deadly target of your quest. Beware the foes that lurk in the shadows. Beware the Lords of Chaos and their foul minions. But most of all, beware Chaos itself. That is the true enemy of all, and it is strongest with the Alpha.

Until we meet again, and I believe we shall,

Myrddin Wyllt

Bedwyr refolded the note, and put it away with a shudder. A boat to take them to the Chaoslands, faster than they expected. Myrddin was right to warn him, for he had been putting the danger further in his mind. But now, here it was, in stark, brutal, color.

Bedwyr leaned back in the bed. Myrddin, he knew, could see the future, somehow. And somehow, he was part of the weave the wizard saw, an important part.

With a sigh, Bedwyr slid into sleep. Best to not dwell on the future, he decided. Such would drive him mad.

************​

The next morning, they went outside to find Archimedes already outside, leaning on his staff and looking to the west.

"Have you decided to come with us, then?" Pellinore asked, politely.

The druid snapped a look. "Oh heavens no. I detest adventure you know, I only do it if there is no other choice. But, I have decided to help you a little bit. I have sent Archimedes ahead to ensure that those you are looking for still remain."

"The owl, you mean?" Bedwin asked, watching the druid suspiciously.

"Yes, what else would I mean?" Archimedes answered casually. "I sent him out last night, around midnight. He is...oh dear. Oh dear, that is not good."

"What?" Pellinore walked up, laying a hand on Archimedes' shoulder. "What is wrong, Archimedes?"

"I can see through Archimedes' eyes," the druid responded. He frowned, tapping his staff nervously. "He is flying closer now, let us see…"

"Dammit, Archimedes!" Pellinore growled.

The druid was still, eyes flickering. He didn't respond, seeming focused on something far away.

"By the Omnisassiah," Liemire muttered alongside Bedwyr. "I never realized anyone would be mad enough to do it."

Bedwyr could only watch with the rest, waiting for Archimedes to do anything. He remembered old stories he'd heard, about druids who could put themselves into other bodies, mechanical or biological.

Finally, the druid tapped his staff on the ground again, returning to life. "Ah. Yes, I see." He turned to the rest, ignoring the mix of incredulity and horror. "It seems that Ynys Witrin has been attacked by King Gwyn ap Nudd and his tribe."

"What!" Manw barked. He stormed close. "You lie!"

Archimedes looked up at the hulking wulf, showing no signs of being threatened by the large abhuman. "I don't lie. I simply report what I have observed, and what I observed was packs of wulfs moving corpses to several funeral pyres."

Manw growled, shifting from foot to foot in agitation. "It isn't possible, why would King Gwyn do this?"

"I could think of several reasons," Archimedes said archly. He absently checked a device on his wrist.

Manw didn't respond. He hung his head, clenching and unclenching his clawed hands. "I must see my King," he said at last. "This isn't honorable." Something hot entered his eyes. "I may have to challenge him for leadership."

Pellinore put a hand on the upset warrior's shoulder. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I will come along as well," Archimedes said, an annoyingly cheerful note entering his voice. "If only to catch up with Archimedes part way through. But I think I will leave before any violence starts, if that is quite alright with the rest of you."

No one argued with the strange owl-druid.

 

[SwankyPapist]

DUN DUN DUN

How very ominous.

Is Myrddin talking about "Chaos Spawn Alpha" because he has a way to differentiate the Questing Beast from all the other Chaos Spawn or does the change in name have no significance other than as a second name?

 

[dermenscha]

What looms in the future will be insurmountable, unless you can stand on your own.

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"Because eventually the only other survivor of Mordred's Massacre (TM) is going to die in the middle of an extremely important job and you'll have to finish it all by yourself."

"By the Omnisassiah," Liemire muttered alongside Bedwyr. "I never realized anyone would be mad enough to do it."

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If you think this is bad, you haven't seen his reaction to mirrors.

Love this chapter.