The Quest (The Sons of Camelot Book 2) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Ganador stepped out eagerly, snorting and prancing as though he was performing in a tournament. In truth, however, there were far too few of the townspeople who were out and about to witness his display. Leeds was barely coming awake as John passed through the gates of the estate and set the pace that he hoped would take him, his squire and two spare nags packing his armor and supplies half the distance to Kendal before nightfall. The early risers included the usual suspects: the baker, the milkman and the butcher. The latter was busy receiving a lovely delivery of fish from Blackpool. It had traveled all night to get there early and fresh and he beamed as he paid the delivery man, knowing the treat would go down well with his customers at opening time. He waved and called out his greeting to John as he rode past.

Before his departure, John’s mother had presented mixed emotions about his taking leave to go in search of his father; not unlike the silent reservations that he was already having. Like his own reservations, though, his mother’s concerns had lessened some, knowing that Arthur’s support was behind the quest and that Merlin would be joining him at some point. The addition of Thomas to his company was also a welcome relief for them both. Thomas was young and a little small in stature, but his bravery and skill could not be doubted after his performance a few years’ prior at Kendal.

It was a sobering thought for both John and his mother that the boys would be returning so close to the scene of that horrific battle. Though they had been spared from dying on that field, it had been just barely so and by the use of fae magic. If they hadn’t had so many powers looking out for them, they would have died like their fellow knights that day. John remembered their moment of salvation all too well.

On that day, John was just about to be struck down by any of the five Vikings that were surrounding him, when in the blink of an eye, he had disappeared completely, armor and all. Axes hit empty air while sword swung at nothingness. The Vikings had looked at each other in fear. They had just witnessed for themselves that there were supernatural powers at work on the battlefield and it was not being applied in their favor. They were fearful of witchcraft and of appearing weak, so none of them opted to speak of what they had seen. Gawain of Sheffield had just ridden his charger away from the battle to pick up a lance he had thrown into the ground after bravely slaying about a dozen Celt warriors, when he had similarly vanished. There were no eyes watching him to see it happen, however. As for Thomas of Manchester, he had been in the middle of the battlefield. The thickest of the fighting had surrounded him when every one of the fighters near him was surrounded by the brightest bolt of light they had ever seen. Each suffered temporary blindness and when they recovered their sight, it was as if each man had been staring too long at the sun and the blond haired knight they had been fighting had vanished into thin air.

Gawain, Thomas and John had later awoken in a white place. They seemed to be suspended in animation. There was no solid ground that they were standing on, no blue sky above them; nothing for as far as the eyes could see. Just whiteness all around. They still wore their armor and carried their weapons and they could all see each other, but save for that, there was nothing. It wasn’t until after the battle when Merlin and Mab brought them through to the other side of the white veil and back to the plane of Earth that they began to understand what had happened to them.

As John rode out onto the Skipton Road, he thought over everything that had been arranged for the trek. The plan was for Thomas to meet up with him at the Crooklands Crossroad and they would continue north on the Great North Road. A brief stop in Kendal and then they would rejoin the main road at the junction near Oddendale, where they would wait for Merlin before continuing their northward ride. The apprehension that he’d felt lessened and eager anticipation had taken its place as the sound of Ganador’s hooves on the cobblestones of Leeds tapped out a sharp rhythm. John was, once again, feeling the effects of freedom that came to him so often when he sat upon the top of the church. Though he wasn’t upon wings, he was upon the next best thing.

Though not a mute, Chatburn hardly ever spoke; a quality that was, in truth, much desired in a squire, but not in a traveling companion. By midday, much of the earlier excitement was beginning to wane as the humdrum of traveling began to set in. It was nice to have a look at how the northwest of Yorkshire was getting on. As happy as he was that things had more or less returned to the normalcy that had existed before the war, he still despised Otley and rode as quickly through it as possible. He kept his head down and tried to look like he was on urgent business so that his curt waves to bystanders near the road wouldn’t seem too rude. They were greeted cheerfully by those they met along the road and received warmly in Addingham, where they chose to take their break. They dined and rested their horses, then promptly got back on the road.

Refreshed and eager, they’d continued on their way to Gargrave where they would spend the night in the house of a cousin on his mother’s side.

“What news of Sir Jofrit?” his eager host had asked. “Does he fare well in Shetland?”

John thought it impossible that the news of his father’s failure to return home was not known by all of Yorkshire, if not the whole of England, especially a cousin of his mother. No doubt, his well-meaning host was only trying to keep the mood light.

“I am on my way to inquire after him,” John replied. It was a rather blunt response, but he wasn’t in the mood to go into great detail about the journey ahead of him.

“Then the word is true that he only made it as far as Inverness, then?” His host’s face paled as he spoke.

“That is the last news that we have.” John stifled the smile as he responded, knowing that he had read the original situation correctly. He didn’t doubt that rumors of his quest, from that point onward would go ahead of him. “He was on the road to Aviemore, which was the last we heard.”

After a thorough interview of the state of things in Leeds and the kingdom as a whole, not excluding enough questions to show the proper amount of filial interest in his mother, John was given a hot bath and a comfortable bed. He slept well and woke up early the following morning. With a good breakfast in his belly, the journey resumed in very much the same way that it had the morning before.

There was no need to hurry in the direction of Kendal, though it would take most of the day as it were. John didn’t doubt that Thomas would be at least a half a day late in arriving at their meeting point anyway. It was something that irritated John, but which he had accepted as the norm when dealing with Thomas. The phrase, “Thomas will be late,” had been uttered among the knights more than once, either in anger or in mirth.

In spite of his aversion to being on time, no friend was more loyal than Thomas. In fact, Thomas was as close to him as a brother. With their lands bordering one another as they did, there had always been a great deal of interaction between their families. Occasionally, Gawain and his family of Sheffield had been a part of those interactions as well, but not to the same degree as those with Manchester. As the two of them grew older and gained a great deal more independence, they often met at a halfway point between the two towns to engage in some sort of youthful entertainment.

They had dueled with wooden swords on a regular basis from the first time that they had met; following in the footsteps of their fathers and acting out some glorious, future feat against the realm’s most hated foes. They had raced their horses nearly every time they got together and even performed new tricks upon the backs of their mounts for one another. What new tricks they hadn’t yet learned, they invented. With such constant practice, the two did not only grow into decent swordsmen, but were considered expert horsemen by almost everyone in the counties.

Fond memories of time spent with Thomas during their youth clouded John’s mind and kept it occupied as the second day of his journey passed. After a midday meal and rest at Clapham, the second half of his day was spent in eager anticipation of his arrival at the Crossroads Inn. It brought back so many memories of Kendal. The pride at their victory over Mordred’s forces swelled in his chest, though his heart still became heavy whenever he thought of the loss of Henry.

John and Henry had never enjoyed the same camaraderie that John had shared with Thomas, but he had been a son of the round table as well and one with a good heart. Erandur, the drow king, had swept through their ranks with a vengeance that still sent a shiver down John’s spine. Had he not been slain by Richard, the Dragon Knight, John had no doubt that he and Thomas, perhaps Gawain as well would have also fallen.

In place of the cheerful memories of earlier in the day, the thoughts of those lost upon the battlefields outside the walls of Kendal sat upon John’s shoulders and darkened his mood like dark ravens awaiting a feast of flesh as he rode into the Crossroads Inn at Crooklands.

The night passed and half the morning and still there was no sign of Thomas. As he saddled the horses, Chatburn turned to a still irritable John and said softly, “Thomas will be late.” The four simple words lightened John’s mood considerably and he stepped forward from the stable wall to help his squire ready the animals for travel.

“Indeed, Chatburn. You are quite correct. Thomas is a regular at being tardy as church bells are at being on time. Let us press onwards to Kendal without him.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

By an hour before teatime, they were riding through the newly rebuilt walls of Kendal City. They were higher and thicker than before. John would easily have used the word ‘impenetrable’ but he remembered what they’d looked like under siege from the Vikings and the dark elves, so he dared not say such a thing. And the thought of it only served to sour his mood again.

“I’ll expect my things to be in order and stowed neatly in my quarters,” he’d snapped at Chatburn as they approached the castle where the late Henry had made his home. “No doubt we’ll spend several nights here, given the tendencies of Sir Thomas of Manchester.”

Chatburn neither responded nor sulked under the sharp tone of his master. He would do as he was told, neither cheerfully nor with a darkened heart. The man was as stoic as a stone, but also quite meticulous in everything that he did. In truth, he was irreplaceable, though he was easily forgotten because of his silence.

“John.” Lady Kendal greeted him as he was being led into the parlor. “We’d had news that you were on the road north coming in our direction with Thomas.” She looked past him in search of the latter and wrinkled her brow in confusion.

“Thomas will be late,” John responded with a soft chuckle.

“I had assumed that the two of you would be traveling together. I take it that someone is attending to your things?” she asked, leading him into the parlor where they were seated comfortably.

“Yes, my squire and I were well met by your stableman as we entered the ward,” John replied.

“It will do us all some good to have a couple of young men about to brighten the place up.” Lady Kendal forced a smile. No doubt, she was still struggling with the loss of her son, especially with her husband still afield. “Though it is a grave journey that you are bound upon as well. Has there been any word at all?”

“None,” John replied, trying to fight back the heaviness that had overtaken him as he entered Kendal and which seemed to hang all about him. He had begun to think that perhaps going there had been a mistake.

Chapter Three

True to form, Thomas had been late. John had passed two days in the castle before his neighbor finally arrived and two more before they had gotten word from Merlin that they were to meet him further north at Gretna Green.

Though he had fought it at every turn and the arrival of Thomas had lightened it, the burden of Cumbria, as he’d begun to call it, was all around him. Though the darkness of it was certainly felt in the castle at Kendal, its effects were even more evident in the disrepair of the surrounding countryside.

They had traveled only a few hours before Thomas spoke of their surroundings. “I fear that we have let down a brother, John.”

“Of which brother are you speaking?” John asked.

“Look around you,” Thomas responded, waving his arm in a broad circle. “With both the estate holder and his son in absence, Cumbria has fallen into a horrible state. There hasn’t been the kind of ‘keep on carrying on’ recovery here as there has been almost everywhere else.”

“I can see that; however, neither of us were the cause. The stragglers from Mordred’s armies hid in the forests and caves and swamps around Kendal for well over a year after the war before the scouts and sheriffs could root them all out. Under the circumstances, I think they’ve done as well as could be expected. The other counties sent as much aid as they could and we all pulled together in the aftermath. So, how have we let our brother down?” John still hadn’t grasped where Thomas was going with his earlier comment.

“We ought to have sent more aid or tended to some of these things ourselves, don’t you think?”

The weight of Thomas’ question hit him with its full force. They had mourned Henry and felt the heaviness of his passing in their hearts, but they had, indeed, neglected to tend not only to Henry’s family, but also to the people of Cumbria. In that moment, he began to realize that the darkness and the “curse” had been guilt lying upon his shoulders.

“We can send word back to Camelot and to our respective homes at Penrith,” John replied. “It is a very sad commentary on our status as good, Christian knights of the realm to have erred in such a despicable way and we ought to ensure that things are set right again.”

“I am in accord with you on this, John,” Thomas replied. “But you know as well as I the reasons for Cumbria’s fall to the wayside. As it is, both Camelot and Avalon have been stretched rather thin for the last five years. Both governing courts have struggled with structural reorganization, repairs to infrastructure and dwindling coffers. I doubt anyone can say that they have even returned to the countryside this far north since the Battle of Camlann. Arthur himself fell gravely ill just three days after officiating Rhys’ wedding. It is not entirely anyone’s fault.”

“This I can understand. Still, having seen what we have, it is our duty to sound the call to arms in Kendal’s aid.”

“Indeed, brother! We will create a detailed plan for the restoration of Cumbria and send out a half dozen messengers to our other brothers and to King Arthur himself.”

“Yes,” John agreed. “Drawing on the aid of the others will no doubt restore Cumbria to its former glory, if not make it the jewel of the realm. I believe that Arthur would certainly be eager to join such a noble undertaking.”

“Dufton!” Thomas turned in his saddle and called out to his squire. “You are to take note of those items that you see in disrepair and prepare to assist in laying out our plan.”

John knew that it was likely that Chatburn would deliver a similar report; he knew that the man had missed not even the tiniest detail as they rode. Still, he ordered his squire to the same task. Perhaps the man would surprise him with a little bit more eloquence, if given a task that required it.

At Keld, where they took their midday rest, they began to record the long list that would be presented to the administrators in Leeds and Manchester and then Camelot, of course. They saved the greater detail of their plan for later that evening, being eager to move northward on their quest and knowing that they were expected to arrive in Penrith by nightfall.

“Gerald will certainly take the lead; don’t you think?” John asked as they were once again joined to their mounts and laying down a rapid pace northward. He was referring to the Master of the Exchequer in Leeds. John had known Gerald Winchester all his life. He had handled all of Sir Jofrit’s financial matters and seen to those of the city as well. He was an honest, fair and meticulous man.

“I don’t doubt it,” Thomas replied, having known Gerald all his life as well. However, he had a sense of loyalty to his own accountant, Edwin, in Manchester. “He is certainly the more aggressive of the two financiers, though Edwin would certainly hold his own when it came to the administrative aspects of the project.”

“Do you anticipate conflict between the two?” John asked. “A conflict between administrators, especially in our absence, might create a lasting quarrel between our houses.”

“Perhaps it is better to place it under the authority of one or the other and not have the two of them working together,” Thomas chuckled. “I, for one, am not eager to return home with a feud to settle.”

“Then we’ll leave it in the hands of Gerald,” John announced.

“Edwin is certainly as capable,” Thomas countered. “What would be wrong with placing the task in his hands?”

“Perhaps nothing, but it was my suggestion that we help out our brother’s people and, therefore, my man ought to handle the details of it,” John responded with a superior tone.

“It was only your suggestion after I goaded you into it,” Thomas replied.

Disagreements between the two weren’t uncommon; they’d had them since they were young. Both had plenty of stubborn pride and rarely gave in easily. They were qualities that served them well in tournaments or in battle, but, at times, became a bit tedious when there was something to be worked out between them.

“Ah, there you go, rushing in to take the glory for your own,” John countered. “It is an act of charity, but you’ll glory in it just the same.”

“An act of charity, indeed! It is just another opportunity in which you will attempt to show your superiority. You’ll drink that into its fullest, I don’t doubt.”

John’s ire was rising and the discussion was becoming more heated. “You’ll take a good deed of mine and twist it to suit your own purpose, won’t you?”

“So, you’ve admitted that you’ll be taking all the credit? Seeing as it will be YOUR good deed!”

“I’ve admitted nothing of the sort. Our brother needs our aid and we ought to give it. However, you’ve decided to make it into a conquest of your own.”

“There’s an easy way to decide this,” Thomas snapped, drawing up on the reins and bringing his mount to a halt.

“Two out of three falls?” John asked.

“As per usual,” Thomas replied. “Dufton, my staff!”

“Chatburn!”

By the time the two of them had dismounted, the long wooden spear shafts with which they sparred were already presented to them by their respective squires. With their tempers fully aroused, the two of them wasted no time joining their weapons with a hardy crack.

Knowing one’s adversary as well as Thomas and John knew one another created a situation where gaining the upper hand was next to impossible. They thrust and parried with equal grace and skill. It was quite some time before each scored a fall upon the other. So, evenly matched in determination and skill were John and Thomas that they were well winded and losing much of their earlier verve for the conflict. With a draw lingering in the air, it was Dufton, Thomas’ squire, who came to their aid.

“Have you considered a coin, sires?” he called out.

“A coin?” Thomas asked, holding up his hand toward John as a sign of a momentary truce as he turned toward Dufton, but still keeping a wary eye on John. More than once, he’d received a blow during such a break in their sparring and he knew that John would take any advantage that he found.

“You could toss a coin in the air and whichever side lands facing upwards will decide the contest.” There was something of a smirk on Dufton’s face. He glanced toward Chatburn, whose eyes twinkled with delight, revealing far more emotion than was usually present in the stony features of the man.

“If you’re in agreement,” John said, holding up his hand and lowering his staff slowly.

“It suits me,” Thomas replied.

The two of them presented their staffs to their respective squires and Dufton placed a silver coin with the likeness of the crown on one side and a cross on the opposite into the hand of Thomas.

“Which side of the coin do you choose?” Thomas said, stepping forward with the coin in his palm.

“We’ll not have you toss the coin,” John replied, not giving away anything to Thomas. “My man, Chatburn, will toss it.”

“Very well,” Thomas responded. “And my man, Dufton, will call the side.”

“Agreed.”

The coin was passed to Chatburn, who waited silently for the next direction from his master.

“Crown,” Dufton called out.

“Your squire has called the crown side,” John announced as though he was in an arena full of spectators. “Toss the coin, then, Chatburn.”

The coin tumbled through the air and landed upon the packed earth where their sparring had taken place. All four of them moved forward to look down upon the silver piece, which glistened in the afternoon sun and displayed the crown side of the coin.

“It will be your man, Edwin, then,” John conceded, extending his right hand toward Thomas.

“Very well,” Thomas replied. “But I expect plenty of assistance from your man, Gerald.”

“It shall be so,” John replied.

Without further ado, the two remounted their horses and rejoined their journey toward Penrith.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had such a good bout, huh?” John said after a few moments.

“It has, indeed,” Thomas replied. “Let’s pick up the pace, shall we? A tankard and a place to put up my feet are all that interest me now.”