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With a sigh of relief, Justin collapsed against the straw, throwing a scrawny wrist behind his head, and blinking slowly at the cloudy night. It had been a long, tiring day. Of late, the enemies of the King had grown bold and, in their temerity, had set upon the villages of the countryside with a ferocity unknown since the days of Justin's tender youth. And now, as then, the great King and his knights had ridden out to meet them. Donning their glorious armor and sat nobly upon their regal mounts, they'd set out to repel The Witch and protect the people.
Not only the knights of The Table, or, even, of the Castle. But of the whole Kingdom. A massive force of the greatest warriors in all the land had, over the last many weeks, alighted upon the Castle, swelling their numbers to boggling proportions until finally, today, with their King at their head, they had burst from the Castle gates like a mighty storm.
It had been dazzling. Awe-inspiring. And Justin was proud to have played his small part—tending to the countless mounts that had swarmed the Castle stables. The fiery warhorses. The milder traveling ones. Even the sweet, soft-eyed beasts of the train. All had come under Justin's care and though he'd had his fellow stable boys to aid him, the work had been endless and exhausting.
Launching the great force, even more so.
For though the squires and valets had seen to the needs of the knights, the stable boys had been called upon to help dress and load the horses and by the time they were marching forth, Justin and all his fellows had been utterly spent.
Yet still, their work had not been done. Glutted these past few weeks and torn further into disarray by the hectic preparations, the stables were a mess, and it had fallen to Justin and the others to put things right. Hours had passed as they’d toiled. The mid-day meal came and went, and they took neither pause nor repast. Then came the afternoon and again, the customary break was eschewed. But when the sun had begun to drop behind the hills and young Percy's stomach had growled so loudly that Justin had heard it even above the noise of his own, he had called them all together and bid them take their leave.
There was not much left to be done, he had told them. Go and take your well-earned rest. He would see to the stables.
And though he held no rank loftier than their own and, in truth, was younger than all save Percy, he was steady and well regarded. Both his word and judgement, beyond reproach. Thus, with many grateful smiles and hearty slaps upon the back, they threw their tools and work aside and wended their way toward the Castle, leaving Justin alone to put the stables back in order.
Now, hours later, in the deepness of the night, his work was finally done and, at long last, he extinguished the light of his small lamp, and laid down to rest. The other boys would not be back until the morning, and indeed, not all at that. With the stables no longer bulging with animals and equipment, the little crew of fellows was free to resume the schedule of their normal operations, with only one on hand at night and never more than two during the day.
And however much Justin had enjoyed the excitement of the muster, he was not entirely sorry it was over.
For weeks, he and the other boys had labored without rest, skipping meals and foregoing sleep. And, young and vital though he was, he was tired. Not only of the endless, back-breaking work, but of the constant clamor and racket. Not once, since the muster had begun, had he been able to claim a single moment for his own. Not once, had he been free to simply breathe and let his mind wander. So now, as he gazed sleepily into the velvet night, he took a long moment to savor the quiet stillness.
Letting his eyes drift shut, he tilted his face into the breeze and smiled. Cool and fresh, without a hint of lingering damp, it was a blessed relief. The late evening storm that had set everyone abuzz with worry and made the stables even less pleasant than usual, had finally, well and truly, been swept away, and Justin could not have been more grateful. Not only did it likely improve conditions for the King and his men but also, Justin. Now, instead of languishing in a foul and muggy stable, he would enjoy a long quiet night, soft with sooty darkness, and touched with the sweet, clean scent of new earth.
For a bone-tired stable boy, a finer night could not have been imagined, nor asked for and, deeply contented, Justin began to doze.
In the distance, in the lush forests that bordered the grounds of the Castle, an owl hooted. Long accustomed to the noises of the night, Justin ignored it and snuggled down further into the straw. Even when he heard a noise like a twig snapping beneath the weight of a heavy foot, he did not startle. Believing it to be one of the other boys or a guardsman who had strayed from the walls for some reason or another, he did not hurry to open his eyes. Nor to search for their shape. That he saw nothing, at first, did not alarm him either. It was dark. He was tired. His sleep-heavy eyes were dull and clumsy. He yawned, rubbed at them with tiny fists, and tried again.
When he found nothing still, he sat up. Leaning forward, and pricking his ears as best he could, he listened for any sound to confirm the first, and when nothing came, he wondered if, perhaps, it had all been a fancy.
But there! The squelch of mud and the plash of water. There was no mistaking it and at once, he was painfully awake. Sitting ramrod straight and peering intently across the way, a shiver rippled through him. Suddenly recalling, with terrible clarity, every frightful tale he had ever heard about the forests, the tiny hairs upon his neck stood upright and his breath quickened. Yet still, his eyes could find no source for these odd sounds and, if he had been a different boy, he might have let it lie. He was only a stable boy after all. Young and inexperienced, uneducated and of no great importance to anyone or anything, but he was no fool and he knew it. Simple though he might be, humble though his station, he knew what he had heard and, with his pale eyes narrowed in concentration, he stole in their direction.
Slowly, carefully, he picked his way across the grounds. Sticking as close to the shadows as he could, he paused, holding his breath, and listening intently every few steps. Here or there, he adjusted his path, following where the faint noises led, and finding cover where he could.
Then, the wind shifted, and the aery clouds went with it, drifting slowly away to reveal the tiniest sliver of silver moon. And though its beams were weak, though they trickled unevenly across the Castle grounds, they were enough. For, of a sudden, from the corner of his eye, Justin caught a glint of something. Little more than a glimmer---an almost imperceptible twinkle---it came not three paces from where he was crouched and, startled by the sudden closeness, he drew a sharp breath and dropped lowly to the ground. Thus concealed, he peered out, blinking hard and focusing with all his might. Determined to find the source of the strange glimmer, he turned his head slowly from side to side until finally, a few feet from where he’d seen it last—a faint sparkle, hovering many feet off the ground.
And moving.
In a flash, and without knowing exactly why, Justin had the sudden comprehension that something was wrong. Something felt wrong. So, with his small, wiry body pulled as low to the forest ground as he could manage, he inched tentatively forward. Barely breathing and pale eyes scouring the night, he started and froze when a man's low voice drifted across the breeze. Deep and authoritative, it seemed more a rumble than actual speech and absently, Justin wondered if he had stumbled upon a giant. They were known to have fantastic powers, after all. Perhaps the ability to remain unseen was one of them.
Granted, he had never heard as much, but that did not mean it was not so. For, in truth, Justin knew very little about anything save what was needed to perform his duties. As such, he could not rule it out. Thankfully, after a beat, a new voice responded to the first and, just behind it, another still and they were so ordinary and normal that for a moment, Justin was so relieved by their undeniable mundanity that he forgot to tremble at their number.
When the moment passed however, and he realized that they were many and he was one, a cold dread tightened his chest, and a sickly feeling twisted his stomach. There were three, at least three, strange men, who he could hear but not see, and they were headed toward the Castle. In the dead of night. When the King and all the knights of the Realm had gone.
Clearly, some sinister design was at play and while he was neither knight, nor even simple soldier, he was still a loyal servant of Camelot, and as such, was duty bound to defend her with his life.
Only.... he was not sure how. He could raise the hue and cry, of course, but this far out from the Castle proper, the watchmen might not hear and even if they did, they were unlikely to arrive before the villains simply melted back into the shadows of the forest. In which case, raising the alarm was not an option. Or, at least, not until they were nearer to the watchmen.
Therefore, the soundest course must be to track them. Cleave to them like a shadow and when the time was right, waylay them, and alert the guard. How, exactly, he intended to convince the watchman of the villains’ existence he had not yet decided, but if he lost their trail, he would never get the chance to try. Better to keep them in sight and figure the rest out later. With his course set, he picked his way through the underbrush, stopping frequently to hold his breath and cast about for those little tell-tale glimmers. Those tiny flashes of light that winked up when the moonlight glanced off something more solid than air.
It was painfully slow going. Not only was it difficult to track solely by sound and the occasional mysterious sparkle but the men, themselves, were infuriatingly patient, moving toward the Castle at an impossible pace. For a boy, even one so steady as Justin, it was near to torture and throughout, he was hard pressed to stay the course.
Especially when he drew near enough to make out their words.
Then, he fairly trembled with the need to act. For, though they spoke low and sparingly, it was more than enough to glean their plans. They were assassins, sent by The Witch, le Fey. Their object, the Queen, the noble Guinevere, who, in the King's absence, they planned to kill. It was an ignoble, cowardly plan and Justin swore he would see it undone. No matter how long he was forced to crawl, with reptilian slowness, through the muddy underbrush of the forest.
Blessedly, after what seemed like an eternity, the torchlights of the Castle began to grow nearer and as they lit up the dark in a way the pale moon had not the strength to do, Justin’s quarry began to come more sharply into focus. Not perfectly. The edges of their silhouettes still blurred liberally with darkness, and they were still nigh impossible to see straight on. Yet, when the flickering light of the torches glanced upon them, their figures threw off a strange, iridescent shimmer.
And finally, Justin could see that there were four of them.
Only one more than he had previously thought, but somehow, counting their number and seeing the solidity of their frames made everything infinitely more horrible and abruptly, his nerves began to fail him. His search for a watchman grew almost desperate. His thoughts, into a chaotic jumble of panic. And his movements, so careless that he managed to plant one hand squarely into a deep, noisy puddle.
Eyes flying wide as the water splashed and sloshed, he wasted no time in flinging himself bodily behind the trunk of nearby tree. Naively hoping there was a chance the men simply had not heard it, he was sorely disappointed when light, rapid footfalls began to approach. Furious and terrified, he cursed himself silently and drew his skinny limbs in as tight as they would go.
Still the footsteps continued and resigned to inevitable discovery, he balled his small hands into fists and prepared to defend himself in whatever way he could. But then, there was a sudden rustle, a wet sounding squelch, a muffled curse, and a noisy splash. Apparently, Justin was not the only one who had failed to notice that sly puddle and, for a moment, he felt both satisfied and heartened. Until a second set of heavier footsteps drew swiftly near and all he felt was dread.
"What goes on?" One voice hissed.
"A polecat," the other responded sourly. "Thou dispatched me for a polecat."
"I dispatched thee to ensure we had not been followed," the first voice said meanly. "It wast thou who decided to blunder into a puddle. Now, make haste--quietly---or I will make a polecat's feast of thine innards."
With that, both pairs of footsteps retreated and, after vowing he would never again be so careless, Justin drew a shaky breath. Waiting for the footfalls to recede enough for safety, he gathered his courage and peeped carefully out from behind the tree. Amazingly, he almost immediately spotted part of man's leg, and the whole of a foot. Thrilled, his stern little features lit up with excitement and as silently as he could, he slipped his hands smoothly back into the puddle and coated them with mud. If he were lucky, the land would provide a closer, more abundant source and he would have no need for such preparations but, with the Queen’s life at stake, he could not afford to take chances. Already, he was outnumbered and outmatched. It was only sensible he should avail himself of every possible recourse, every possible contrivance. Thus, before resuming his pursuit, he coated the front of his tunic as well.
Setting stealthily off, he trailed the men with assiduous precision, taking every care and every caution, until, at last, he spotted a watchman. Positioned high above, on the western turret, he was moving steadily away from them. Which meant, his mirror watchman, on the ground, was approaching. Seemingly aware of the very same, le Fey’s men came to a halt. Huddling near the edge of the forest by a small patch of bald earth, they edged behind the cover of the trees and crouched low.
Knowing, in a flash, that it was now or never, Justin steeled his nerves and crept forward. Keenly aware that the slightest mistake could ruin everything, he closed the distance carefully, keeping a weather eye upon their forms and slowing his breath to almost nothing. Inch by inch he traveled, circling, like a stalking cat, until he found the perfect position---just behind the patch of naked earth. Which, to his relief, was a muddy, sloppy mess.
As he had hoped, the land had provided. And now, everything was perfect. Everything was in place. So, before his courage could give out, he darted forward, swept one foot violently through the mud, and raised the hue and cry.
At once, there was chaos. On the parapets, the watchmen scrambled. Before him, the villains whirled. And in his own ears, his heartbeat pounded. The enemy lunged, he kicked out once more, the watchmen returned his call and, as the assassins swiped the muck angrily from their eyes, he echoed it back.
“They are here,” he screeched, splattering them once again. “They have come to kill the Queen!”
“Be silent,” an assassin snapped, rushing furiously toward him.
“No,” cried another. “Leave the whelp and go. We are revealed.”
In a twinkling, the others saw the truth of his words and, like a flock of birds, turned as one and shot hastily into the night. Astonished by how suddenly they had gone and by how swiftly they were melting back into the darkness, Justin stood frozen and stared after them dumbly. Already, the guardsmen approached. Their hard, booming voices growing nearer with every moment. But they were a way’s off yet and even painted by heavy muck, the assassins were still not entirely easy to see. If they were to make it back into the heart of the forest, they would be lost. Free to regroup. Free to return. Free to plot and plan and weave all manner of evil designs against the Queen, the King, and the Kingdom.
Justin could not allow that. He had sworn he would stop them. Had sworn he would see their plans undone and like a hound on the hunt, he pelted after them. Tearing and weaving determinedly through the forest, he found their heels and called out shrilly to the guards. Incredulous, an assassin threw a hurried glance over his shoulder and seeing Justin, swore and whipped a glittering dirk in his direction. Had it met its mark, he and his confederates would have been delivered from their noisy little hound, and no longer harried, would have been free to glide back into the shadows and disappear.
But, by luck alone, the dirk fell short, and Justin continued to bay. Infuriated, the assassin cast another look toward him, pulled another dirk from out his belt--and stumbled heavily upon a root. In a flash, Justin was upon him, pouncing wildly and wrapping himself tightly around his thrashing legs. Holding on with single-minded purpose, he knew nothing beyond himself and the enemy. No longer did he listen for the approach of the guard. No longer did he scan the horizon for their torches. Now, he only willed his tiny fingers into steel and wished his scrawny arms into vises. Like some impossible wild creature, he met the man’s furious roars with his own. When large hands pushed roughly at his face, he tossed his head and snapped viciously at fingers. When the man swore, he swore back. And when he kicked, Justin howled and bit down until he drew blood. It was a valiant, ferocious effort. Incredible. Inconceivable.
Utterly doomed from the start.
For though Justin was brave. Though he was stubborn. He was still only a child. One solid punch was all it took to see his head loll and eyes flutter. To weaken his desperate grip and allow the enemy to rip loose one leg and bring a booted foot smashing down upon his upturned face. That was all it took. His fight was over. His little body went limp, his eyes closed, and he was kicked scornfully away as the enemy clambered to his feet.
Yet doomed though his effort was, it was not in vain. As the assassin had grappled with him--as he’d sworn and spit and kicked cruelly at his little face--the guardsmen had drawn closer. With flame and sword, they had encircled the assassin and his men and by the time he was scrambling to his feet, it was too late. The guardsmen were upon them. They were many. He and his men were few. And Justin had kept his promise.