Chapter Text
"Are you all right?" Hunith put an arm around the sobbing woman, gently pulling Olwen's head to rest against her own shoulder.
The men lit rush lights and gathered farm implements, surrounding the village by the light of the full moon to ensure Morgana's soldiers did not return. A cartload of straw had been lit on fire and two of the oldest boys were stamping it out. The women righted barrels that had been overturned and carts that had been dumped during the search or attempted to calm terrified children.
Olwen wiped her rough linen sleeve across her face as she straightened. "Thank you, I'm all right. I just...it reminded me of when Kanen's lot attacked and Matthew..."
Her voice trailed off and Hunith squeezed her arm in sympathy. No matter how many years had passed since Matthew's death, and despite being in love with Edern, Olwen still mourned her husband. Hunith could understand; small wooden carvings still filled each nook and cranny of her hut.
There was a wail from her left and she saw little Henry sitting in the dirt in front of his mother's hut, thumb in his mouth and tears and snot trailing down his face. Beth shouted at him to be quiet while she rocked a sobbing infant in her arms, her skirt pinned down by the twins attempting to hide in them. Hunith picked up Henry who immediately stopped crying and snuggled against her breast. She put one hand on his tangled blond head and hitched him higher on her hip. It had been so long since Merlin was small enough that his fears could be soothed with a hug.
She took stock of the damage to Ealdor. Small children had woken screaming and crying, men tried to force the black-robed strangers with their covered faces to leave, and women hid food, not knowing if they were being raided again. Now the fear and confusion was subsiding as word spread that the foreign warriors had been searching for Arthur. Thankfully, they had quickly abandoned their search of the village to chase Camelot's fugitive former king. She prayed to the gods her boy and his companions eluded their pursuers.
In Ealdor, the men stood guard and the women and children restored order and offered comfort and aid. Despite the peril they had briefly endured, none would begrudge Hunith having offered a bed and a place to heal to Camelot's deposed king, even if it had brought the violence spilling across the border into Essetir. Arthur was held in high esteem as Ealdor's saviour. It helped that Gwen was regarded as a hero for her part in defending them from Kanen and to this day none would hesitate to offer her shelter no matter the peril. Morgana, too, was fondly remembered both for fighting Kanen's bandits and her passionate appeal on behalf of the village women. It broke Hunith's heart to think she had sent soldiers to Ealdor, risking the villagers in her conflict with her brother.
Hunith straightened her headscarf as she looked around for anyone who might be injured. She had gathered the basics of her healing kit before rushing into the moonlit road.
"Hunith!" Jane shouted from the far edge of the village.
Still holding Henry, Hunith hurried in the direction of the pregnant woman's voice.
Sandy knelt on the trampled ground, doing her best to ease the pain of an elderly woman whose left leg was bent at an odd angle beneath her skirt. The moon was bright enough that Hunith could see how tightly Helen's lips were clamped and the lines of pain radiating from her eyes. Without asking what happened, Hunith handed Henry to Jane and dropped to her knees, heedless of the green goose shit trampled into the mud.
"Those soldiers were in an awful hurry to head into the hills," the elderly woman said, thin lips still gritted against the pain she must be in. "Ran me down in their rush."
Hunith hummed in acknowledgement, her attention on her task as she examined the broken leg. Helen grunted and squeezed her eyes closed. Hunith handed her a chunk of willow bark from the satchel tied at her hip and Helen bit down on it while Hunith worked.
Her gaze flicked to the heavyset blonde kneeling beside her. "Get me a couple of sticks, about as long as your arm and as straight as you can find."
Sandy jumped to her feet and ran to find splints.
"Where's Gwen?" Jane asked, rocking Henry on her hip, next to her swollen belly. "I hope she's all right."
"I hope so, too," Hunith said quietly. All of them: Gwen, and Isolde, and Arthur, and Tristan, and Merlin.
Hunith's eyes strayed into the dark hills, outlined by moonlight, and hoped her boy and those he guarded had made it to the caves before the soldiers caught them.
She bit her lip and concentrated on ensuring that Helen would be able to use her leg again once it healed. If the bones mended wrong, she would have a crippling limp.
Sandy returned with two branches as long and thick as her forearm and handed them over.
"I need cloth," Hunith said.
"Here." Jane bent awkwardly to set Henry down, then unwrapped the scrap that tied her mousy brown hair back.
Henry immediately stuck his thumb in his mouth but did not resume crying.
Hunith finished wrapping the leg, broken bones aligned and braced on each side by a branch. When she was done, she looked at Helen. "Chew more willow bark if the pain gets too bad and stay in bed for a fortnight."
Helen raised one grey eyebrow in spite of the pain still obvious in her expression. "I don't have time to be lying in bed for a fortnight. I'll go easy on the leg, though."
"Good enough." Hunith got to her feet, shaking the mud and goose shit from her skirt, and easing the cramp in her legs.
Beth joined them, the baby in her arms hiccoughing in the aftermath of his sobs, the twins now each clinging to an older sister. Henry blinked up at his mother and she checked him over, relieved that he seemed calmer.
"Is everyone here all right?" asked Rolf as he and a few of the other men approached, scythes and rakes in hand.
Sandy smiled up at him as she wrapped her plump arms around his middle. "Everyone will be fine."
Edern laid down his makeshift weapon and picked up Henry, cradling the dirty little face against his shoulder and smoothing the blond hair several shades lighter than his own. A smile lit his broad face when Olwen threw herself at him. He shuffled the little boy into one arm and put the other around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. His smile vanished at Beth's glare.
There was a blinding flare from the wooded hills above the village as if they had erupted in fire. For a moment, Hunith's heart stopped. That was near the entrance to the caves. The caves Merlin had headed for.
Spine-chilling screams followed the inferno and the village men grabbed their implements and raced in that direction. She picked up her skirt and ran after them, heedless of branches whipping her face or tree roots trying to trip her up. It was only when a sharp pain in her side forced her to slow and she bent over, lungs burning as she tried to gasp in enough air, that she heard the beating of monstrous wings. One hand pressed against the stitch in her side, she scanned the black sky.
Despite its dark colour, the immense dragon was not difficult to spot. Relief made her limp and she dropped to the leafy ground, one hand braced against the nearest trunk. She was familiar with the sound of those wings, forcing airways to hold the dragon's scaled bulk aloft as it moved at a speed she still marvelled at even after so many decades. She knew who had called him. And now she knew what the fire and screaming had been. Her boy was safe.
Ahead of her in the woods, she heard Rolf curse.
"Dragon!" one shouted, before the sound of the men's running boots headed back toward the village.
Using the tree as a crutch, she pushed herself upright, pinched her side to ease the biting pain, and continued toward the cave entrance. The screams had faded but the charred smell of burnt flesh and hair stung her throat.
The smell got worse as she neared the open area beyond the cave's largest entrance. She removed the green scarf from her head, wrapped it around her mouth and nose, and tied it in back. It screened the stink but not the smoke causing her eyes to water and sting.
She stopped. Under the full moon, with some of the trees at the other edge still burning, the clearing was as bright as day. She wished it were pitch dark because the sight caused her stomach to clench. She clamped a hand over her cloth-covered mouth.
Kilgharrah settled down among the bodies as if they were nothing more than a pile of ash, spiked tail curling around his haunches and monstrous horned head held haughtily above her.
"Merlin is safe," the alien voice boomed.
"Thank you," she said tightly.
If a dragon's brow could raise, his scaly face would have done so. "You do not appreciate my rescue?"
"I'm glad Merlin and the others escaped and I thank you for saving them." She averted her eyes from the charred bodies in front of her, swallowing back bile.
Kilgharrah snorted and lowered his head slightly, his enormous amber eyes blinking at her. "Not one of these would have made a mark in history, I assure you."
She gritted her teeth. In her experience, dragons were too casual about human life. Despite their great ability as Seers, and Kilgharrah had been called one of the best, they discounted the lives of people who did most of the planting and birthing and living and dying and watched only those few whose names were sung in ballads. For a moment, her gaze took in the hundred bodies spread across the clearing, each of whom could have been a father or grandfather many times over and no one, not even a dragon, could See what these men and all their progeny might have accomplished in lifetimes and generations lost.
"Where's the little one?" she asked of the white dragon, hoping Aithusa had not witnessed this slaughter. She was too young to see how a dragon's power could be used for destruction.
The Great Dragon snorted, a puff of putrid smoke and steam. "He is off on another of his play jaunts."
"She's a barely more than a hatchling; she's supposed to play."
The spiky face pinched as Kilgharrah's head lifted again. "He has a destiny to fulfil."
"She'll never fulfil her destiny without opportunity to grow and explore and learn."
For all his posturing, she knew Kilgharrah was rather amazed at Aithusa's quickly-growing powers. Recently, Hunith had allowed an axe handle to turn causing the blade to slice across her thigh. The bleeding had been intense while she simply stared in shock, unable to move or shout for help. Aithusa, who had been nearby, hopped to her side, took a breath, and enveloped Hunith in smoky breath. Sparkles had danced in the air around her and she thought she was losing consciousness, but her wound was healed. There was a dull ache and a scar beneath her torn dress, but she was able to walk. She had mumbled her thanks but Aithusa merely chirped and went back to chasing butterflies.
Aithusa reminded her of Merlin as a child; her passion for life. The white dragon found joy in everything from water bubbles in streams to leaves rustling in the wind. Magic fascinated her and she experimented endlessly. She had made a lair in one of the tunnels and divided her time between exploring the woods and exploring the caves where Merlin and Will had once played.
Now, her son was caught in events that spread devastation and mourning.
Hunith stared at the piled bodies, the ground still burning beneath them and ash and smoke drifting across from the burning trees. "Does anyone here live?"
The Great Dragon rose up, his gigantic head so high above that she craned her neck to hold his gaze. He shook out his wings wide enough to stretch nearly across the clearing, flapped them with enough force that she was knocked back a step, then lifted straight up into the air. In moments, he was gone. She was glad for the cloth still covering her mouth and nose because a whirl of ash and dust was stirred by the dragon's departure.
One of the charred bodies whimpered. Hope flared that one of these boys might survive. Swallowing back bile, she stepped among the tangle of charred corpses. She confined her gaze to their eyes, looking for one with life. Nearly beneath her boot, eyelids flickered and the soldier whimpered again. When his gaze fixed on her, tears leaked into the crispy remains of his hair as he made a noise she assumed was a plea for help. Blocking out the sights and smells all around, she bent to assess his wounds.
He lay partly beneath the corpses of two fellow soldiers, which had probably shielded him, but his headscarf had burned his faces and his weapon, red-hot in the dragonfire, had taken the skin off his hands. What she could see of his torso and legs appeared unharmed. She peeled the burned cloth from his lower face. His whimpers turned to hoarse cries. Her healing kit included a salve of pig fat and honey but she had given Helen the last of her pain reliever. She applied the salve to his face and hands, his eyes streaming but fixed on her.
When she had done what she could for his burns, she straightened and looked around. The bodies of his comrades looked much too heavy for her to wrestle off him.
She looked down, an apology in her eyes. "I'll be back," she promised, looking into the soldier's tear-filled eyes.
He whimpered, silently pleading for her to stay, but she turned away. Ignoring his weak moans, she picked her way around the clearing, trying to avoid stepping on bodies. One of the lifeless faces staring at the sky made her heart clench: the boy was younger than Merlin, with barely a dusting of hair along his jaw, his cheeks still slightly rounded. She reminded herself that if this boy had lived, her boy would be in danger, but she pictured his mother somewhere, not knowing what had happened to her son.
In an entire circuit of the clearing, only one pair of eyes blinked up at her, mouth moving beneath blackened bits of burned cloth that covered a face, but before she could do more than bend closer, the life left them. She did not find anyone else capable of making a sound or returning her searching gaze. Some may have eluded the dragon by fleeing, but no one else in this clearing was alive. She paused to bow her head in memory of the dead.
There were several gasps behind her. Rolf, Sandy's husband, stared around, wide-eyed, one large hand clasped over his mouth. Behind him, three other men had halted, frozen as their gazes darted around the moonlit clearing.
Rolf gaped at the destruction. "We could smell it from the valley."
"One of them survived." She pulled their attention to the injured soldier.
His whimpers had ceased, but his eyes were wide and pleading. She imagined he was still in a great deal of pain, though the salve should prevent infection from eating in where he had no skin left.
"We need to get him back to the village," she said.
Rolf motioned to the others and they pulled the bodies off the fallen soldier, their noses scrunched and faces turned away.
"Where are we taking him?" Edern asked. He had hold of the soldier's legs while Rolf and Tom each gripped an arm.
"Take him to my hut, I can continue treating him there."
As they made their way back to Ealdor, she looked up to see Kilgharrah's outline, wings spread, cross the face of the full moon.
#~#
In the days after her son's escape, other survivors of the dragon's attack trickled through the village. Hunith tended the wounded while her fellows shared what food could be spared, then the refugees continued on their way. Those who were capable paid for the hospitality by chopping wood or plucking chickens. None seemed eager to return to Camelot, but not all had a home elsewhere to return to. Many looked barely old enough to grow a beard. How many of these soldiers had been stolen from their villages in a raid like the one that had captured Gwen?
Most headed southward on foot, a few in other directions, with only the clothes on their back and the bit of food Ealdor could afford to share.
The last remaining refugee was a boy whose hands had been burned so badly he would not regain use of them. He had tried to communicate his name, but she had despaired of pronouncing it and resorted to calling him Reez.
She was applying salve to his blistered hands when Sandy called from beyond the curtained door of her hut. Setting aside her pot of pig fat and honey, Hunith wiped her hands on a rag tied around her waist and hurried outside to see an unconscious soldier suspended between two of his fellows, feet dragging uselessly, followed by three more bruised and limping men in cloaks and head scarves. She frowned at their shrivelled appearance, as if they had been without food or drink for a week. They were clearly Southron soldiers, but why they had taken so long to seek help was a mystery.
One stumbled and fell in the packed dirt surrounded by the collection of thatched-roofed huts. "Vosser," he croaked.
The others collapsed beside him, lowering their unconscious comrade to the ground before dropping to their knees, arms limp at their sides. She hurried to examine the unmoving soldier.
Sandy lifted up her skirts and ran to the water barrel as fast as her plump legs could carry her. Beth stuck her head out of her hut and Hunith shouted at her to fetch the men bowls of gruel.
"Try to get some water down his throat." Hunith indicated the unconscious man when Sandy returned.
While Sandy dribbled water into his mouth, Hunith felt along his limbs. He remained unresponsive but when she touched the swollen bruises at the base of his skull, he awoke with a strangled cry of pain before collapsing once more.
Sandy jumped back at his motion. "Should I keep giving him water?"
"That's enough for now. You did well." Hunith patted Sandy's hand. "You'd best get more for the others."
The two who had been carrying their fellow croaked agreement. Sandy held a wooden cup to the lips of the man who had asked for water.
"Not too much too quickly, though," Hunith warned.
He gulped it and Sandy had to tug it out of his hands. Before he could grab it again, she held it to the mouth of the next soldier whose lips were also dry and cracked. Despite their pleading, Sandy brought them each only one cup more and then went to help Beth carry bowls of gruel to the men where they sat on the ground.
Meantime, Hunith examined the the other men. They winced when she felt along their arms, legs, and backs, but there were no broken bones. One of the men, a red-headed boy who looked too young to be a soldier, had bruises on the backs of both hand already turning yellow.
She got to her feet. The soldiers' eyes followed her, darting between her and the other two women.
"Feed these five, give them a little more water each, and then send them to my hut." She mentally reviewed her inventory of bruise ointment. The most seriously injured soldier she would monitor, but there was not much she could do for him.
She hailed two of the village men just arriving with a cartload of wood to carry the severely injured man into her hut. "Lift him as carefully as you can."
She led the way to her home and held aside the curtain for her newest patient to be carried inside. When the soldier with the burned hands saw his comrade, he tried to lift himself, only to fall back with a cry of pain.
"You've got quite the collection of strays." Edern winked at her as he and Rolf laid the crippled man on the dirt floor beside her hearth.
Rolf merely rolled his eyes as they left.
She made the newcomer as comfortable as possible, careful with his head and broken neck, then returned to dressing Reez's burns. As she sat back, using her forearm to wipe moisture from her brow and careful not to get salve on her forehead where it may drip into her eyes, the other soldiers limped through her door. The boy with red hair and freckles swayed in the doorway, but he did not appear to be as battered as his comrades.
None of them were burned, though a few had singed clothing, so they had escaped the dragonfire but nothing explained the broken neck and bruising.
At sight of the new arrivals, Reez exclaimed happily and they all fell into an animated conversation that involved waving their arms and pointing at the sky. While they talked among themselves in a language she did not know, she administered salve to heal their bruises. Each of the former soldiers mumbled something she assumed expressed their gratitude.
The red-headed boy gave her a solemn look. "Thank you."
Surprised at his ability to speak her tongue, she said, "You're welcome." How well could he understand her speech? Would he be able to explain why it had taken them nearly a week to pass through Ealdor? "What's your name?"
"Caleb."
"What happened to you? After the dragon attack?"
The boy flinched at the word "dragon." "In cave." Caleb's speech was halting and his hands fluttered as if drawing her pictures in explanation. "I woke first. Dark. Leader dead. Tried find others. Many still sleep." He gestured at his companions. "Finally, all wake except one." He pointed to the soldier with the broken neck. "Find way out. Took time. Finally crawled to sun. Then went back, carry him out." The boy mimed dragging.
They must have been deep inside the cave to be lost, though without light they could have blundered around for hours even steps away from an exit tunnel.
"Why were you asleep?"
The boy shuddered and lowered his voice. "Sorcerer."
Her heart leapt into her throat. Had these men come in contact with her son, who had been forced to defend himself? If so, did she want to know what he had done? The fear in the red-headed boy's eyes made her heart clench.
"Told us be careful. Others not understand." He gestured at his fellows. "Maybe not believe. I tell go back." He mimed gesturing to leave. "Then too late." He flung his arms up.
She tried to calm her thundering pulse. "Who was there?"
"Us." Caleb indicated the soldiers who had arrived with him. "Leader. And Sorcerer."
"No one else? Not the king you were chasing or his companions?"
The boy shook his head.
She patted his arm, thanked him, and got to her feet to collect their dirty bowls. She set down the dishes on the board that served as a counter and leaned her palms on the unfinished wood. Her son and his secret were safe. Briefly, she closed her eyes and mouthed a prayer of thanks to the gods. Then she looked back at the battered group huddled in her hut and the unconscious man on her floor: soldiers who had been ordered to chase after fugitives, had barely escaped a horrible death by burning, and then been felled by magic. She said another prayer for them and the family of the man who was permanently crippled.
Reez looked up and said something to her she had heard several times in the past few days which she understood was a request for pain relief, and his fellows followed suit. They began pointing to places she knew from examination were tender, but she shook her head.
"I cannot do anything for the pain." She looked to her dwindling stock of willow bark. "I'll try to find something."
Caleb translated her words to the others, who looked at her with a mixture of tired disappointment and hope.
She wished she could communicate more easily with the men. Gwen had understood the Southrons without difficulty and could have acted as translator, but Gwen would not return to Ealdor. Surely Arthur would relent and end the misery of both of them. Hunith was happy for their reunion, but she would miss the young woman's company. It would have been good to have an extra pair of hands through spring and summer.
Morgana had also been gifted with the ability to speak several tongues.
Hunith remembered the sweet girl who had acted with such compassion and gentleness when Uther refused Hunith's pleas for help and the strong young woman who had trained her to swing a sword, then fought valiantly against men twice her size. That kind soul could not have become the monster some accused her of being and everyone in Ealdor would agree. Hunith had asked Merlin about Morgana, but he was tight-lipped. He had merely told her repeatedly the young woman was much changed and to avoid her in the unlikely event they crossed paths. Gwen had been likewise reluctant to discuss her former mistress and friend. The only information Gwen had shared was a warning that Morgana was not to be trusted and to be on guard if ever they encountered each other.
The idea that Morgana could be her enemy now was distressing. Sending soldiers after her brother, her rival for the throne, was understandable but her disregard for Eador's danger hurt. Hunith sighed. While Tristan's constant snide remarks about Arthur were undeserved, she agreed that kings--and kings' daughters--wreaked havoc on people who only wanted to plant and harvest and dance and marry and raise children. Perhaps now there could be peace at last.