The Calling

Bors broke into a clearing on the edge of the castle and looked over the ancient remains. A noise behind him disturbed his thoughts and he turned his head to watch his two companions push through the undergrowth, “Tintagel” he whispered, his voice dripping with sadness at the site of the ruined castle.

“My home...” said Tristan as he pushed past the large Knight and stood over the castle, looking into the remnants of the site from his cliff top vantage point. “What has happened?”

“Time has not be kind” offered Percival gently.

“Time be cursed” spat Tristan, “this not time, this is wanton carnage” he turned from the castle and placed a hand across his eyes, “tis neglect” he said sadly.

Bors placed a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, “tis sad, but hold...we have a life to save” he said softly.

Tristan nodded sagely and turned back to the castle and stood overlooking the castle for a moment, his heart heavy with regret and sadness tainting his soul. “Yonder path will lead us to the castle” he said sadly.

“We are not to go through the front door” exclaimed Percival

“Nay, the path leads to the rear” he countered pointing around the main body of the castle, “there lays an escape passage constructed for my family in times of siege” he explained as he began his slow descent down the path. “Few know of it, and it will offer us safe passage within the castle” The three Knights walked slowly down the path, picking their way through the shrubs and undergrowth growing across the path, partially covering the small narrow path.

The shrubs parted behind them and a Knight stepped out and signaled to an unseen figure behind him, hidden by the thick bramble. “Go forth” he said quietly, watching the retreating Knights, “Inform Lord Agravain...we have visitors”

Mordred peered over Morgan’s shoulder into the water and licked his lips in excited fever. “Is he dead?” his question hung in the air for a moment and Morgan chose to ignore her nephew as she continued to stare into the water. She straightened and returned to her sphere which was still and clouded, the image within the ball was blurred and still offered the image of Francis peering over the edge of the boat, screaming into the water. “Morgan...” whispered Mordred, “is he dead”

“Be still Mordred!” snapped Morgan, “he is not important”

“He is too me!” retorted Mordred, “is he dead?” he desperately grasped at Morgan’s arms and shook her as he questioned her.

“I warn thee” snapped Morgan, “my patient runs thin”

Movement at the edge of the courtyard brokered the confrontation between the two main antagonists as a Knight entered and whispered into the ear of Agravain. He listened to the report and moved respectfully into the center of the yard. “My Lady” he said slowly, bowing toward her.

“Speak”

“We have visitors My Lady”

“Explain”

“Three trespassers have been spotted travelling toward the castle on the westerly road”

Morgan turned to the crystal ball and spoke into the glass, “show me!” she commanded. The image of Francis blurred and changed, showing a vegetation covered path winding down toward the rear of the castle and three Knights picking their way through the heavy bramble. “It would so appear we have company” she smiled.

“Does thoust want them bringing here?” asked Agravain.

“No... not yet” she purred and looked at Mordred, “we know their destination. We shall let them continue to their goal, then we shall take them”

“Their goal?” queried Mordred.

“Idiot!” spat Morgan, “the girl” She turned on Mordred, “Is it not obvious” she said, “they have been sent to save the girl” She looked at the Knight Commander and barked her orders toward him, “observe their progress, but do not engage...yet. We shall let them reached their objective before we engage” she turned back to Mordred, “does thoust think thee can manage that”

Mordred pulled his sword from its scabbard and ran his hand along the expanse of the blade, “it will be a pleasure Aunt” he purred, flashing a twisted wry smile.

Tristan pulled at the undergrowth which was growing up the side of the castle wall. His heavy armoured gloves pulled at the thorny barbs and tiny fangs dug into his exposed skin on his arm as he pulled and moved the vines. “Tis a passage around here” he said as he worked.

Bors and Percival stood with their backs to their comrade and stared out over the extending landscape, “Hurry...” urged Percival, “I feel we are being watched” he complained.

“Thoust are letting your imaginations to cloud your mind” remarked Bors, “there is naught here, except us, we are undetected”

“I do not feel so...” Percival held his sword aloft as his eyes flicked over the trees and shrubs, “tis perfect cover” he complained, “does thoust not feel it in the air?” he asked and waited for Bors to shake his head, “there is something here”

“Thoust is too cautious” he complained.

“Thine reckless nature, shall be your death!” snapped Percival, then his nature softened slightly, “I am sorry old friend, but I do not like this” he indicated toward the trees.

“I like in not either Percival” admitted Bors, “but are we not divine in our quest and true of heart. Have faith my Lord”

“It is here!” exclaimed Tristan and pulled at a large prickly burst of bramble. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and chopped savagely at the thick undergrowth, letting large swathes of branch and thorn to fall away from the gaping hole in the wall. “This should lead into the bowels of thine castle” he explained, “close to the dungeons”

“What of the ruined building?” asked Percival, “is this not a risk”

“We must take the risk” said Tristan, “tis a maiden’s life at risk if we do not”

“Nay, I mean, the building” Percival explained, “if the building is in ruins, is it not possible that the tunnel is also decayed?”

“Come young Percival” laughed Bors pushing past both of the Knights and into the mouth of the tunnel, “we push forward”

“Wait!” whispered Tristan, “we must proceed, but Lord Percival...if thoust could remain here”

“Nay...I go with thee” complained Percival, “do not mistake my caution for cowardice. My blade thirsts for blood and glory as much as thine”

“Your honour is not in question” remarked Tristan, “but our safety is”

“What does thoust mean?”

“Our retreat must be guarded to ensure we can escape with yon maiden”

Percival nodded, “why me?”

“This is my home” explained Tristan, “I know the castle better than anyone, and Bors is larger and stronger than us both together. Thoust has stealth and cunning which can conceal our retreat. If thoust can remain on guard to protect our retreat and ensure our safe passage. We may need a fleet return”

“I understand” said Percival nodding, “may God be with thee” he said and offered his hand toward Tristan.

“And thee” he whispered and ducked into the tunnel, swallowed by the darkness.

“Be careful” whispered Bors as he hovered for a moment at the mouth of the tunnel before he too allowed the darkness to swallow him.

“And thee” whispered Percival as he watched them go. He stood for a moment looking at the mouth of the tunnel and contemplated following for a moment, before sheaving his sword and leaning against the wall of the castle glancing around into the darkness. The bushes moved slightly causing Percival to start and he pulled his sword from its scabbard almost immediately and stepped forward toward the bush. he swung his sword into the vegetation and watched as a small rodent ran from its confines. He smiled and watched it run across his feet and escape down the tunnel beyond, “go yonder vermin” he said softly as its tail disappeared into the darkness and pushed his sword back into its scabbard at his waist. He stood facing the yawning gap in the wall and moved forward, with his hand on the hilt of his sword. The bushes moved again behind him, and he barely offered another glance as they parted and from the confines of the thorns three Knights burst from the bramble and rushed toward Percival, two grasping at his arms whilst the third stood before the Knight grinning in his face. “Mordred!” spat Percival, “it would appear not all rats are sleek in nature” he mocked.

Mordred swung the back of his hand across the face of Percival, drawing a thin sliver of saliva to explode from his mouth as his head was thrust back. “Me thinks thoust should show some respect” he countered as he circled the Knight. “Thy have grown ignorant over the years”

“Release me...and I would still best thyself”

Mordred laughed heartedly, “do you think me a fool?” he said as he walked over the tunnel mouth, resting his hand on the top of the tunnel and peering in through the darkness. “were does this lead?” he asked.

“I know not” admitted Percival

“Thee lie!”

“I know not” repeated Percival

“Who art thou with?“. Mordred turned to face Percival as he asked the question. He waited for a moment in silence before swinging his fist deep into the Knights stomach, “thoust shall tell me” he insisted as Percival doubled over, a sudden pain coursing through his body. “I shall repeat...who art thoust with?”

“I journey alone”

“You lie!” he yelled and brought his hand sharply across his face drawing blood from his mouth. “I know you are accompanied!”

“I journey alone” insisted Percival.

Mordred clenched his fist and brought it to bare once again in the stomach of the Knight and watched as Percival sagged beneath the blow. The two Knights holding Percival strained against his weight as his knees sagged beneath the weight of his body weakening from the blow to his stomach. “Take him away” ordered Mordred, returning his attention to the tunnel. “Inform the Knight Commander that I shall meet him inside”. He watched as the Knights bowed slightly whilst holding the heavy form of Percival in their arms, then as they crashed through the surrounding undergrowth he moved into the darkness of the tunnel.

Tristan pushed at the roots which poked through the stonework from the ceiling. His fingers pressed against the edge of the wall and watched as parts crumbled beneath his touch. “We should be beneath the main castle wall” he commented as he forged his path through the darkness.

“I hear noise from behind” whispered Bors.

“There is naught” said Tristan, his eyes flirting with the darkness.

“I can hear...”

“There is naught!” snapped Tristan, “our goal is close and Lord Percival guards are rear” he pushed at more roots as they covered his face, “we must focus...”

“Indeed” agreed Bors, “but let prudence be our word and caution our companion”

“If Morgan has the maiden” said Tristan, “she will have placed her in the dungeon, if they still exist”

“The walls are confined” complained Bors as they moved slowly along the tunnel. “If we are attacked...”

“Then we will defend ourselves, now be still” Tristan pushed forward, his temper rising as the extent of the ruins became more apparent. He stepped over rocks and bricks which lay discarded over the floor of the tunnel and shook his head sadly. He could see a small wooden door in the darkened passage, small cracks of light pushed through the rotting planks. “There...” he whispered, “ahead” Bors looked past his shoulder and could see the small door at the end of tunnel and followed Tristan to it. “Tis locked” said Tristan quietly.

“Out of my way” commanded Bors, “I shall remove the barrier”

“Nay...we must be silent” warned Tristan as he put his shoulder against the door. “Assist me” he said as he pushed firmly against the rooting wood. Bors moved into position and placed his shoulder against the door and pushed his extreme body mass against the wooden barrier. The rotting door shifted slightly under the pressure of the two Knights and gave way, offering access to the ruined echelons of the castle. Tristan stepped into the open space beyond the door, forcing the overgrown creepers as they hid the door from view. Parts of wood scattered over the floor and the door gave way and metal feet sank into the moss lined flooring. He knelt down and ran his fingers over the floor and looked up at the exposed sky, through the open roof top. He sighed heavily and could feel remorse sweep through his body as memories past through his mind; Blancheflor and Rivalen, his father and mother and his uncle King Mark of Cornwall before his mind wandered to his dear sweet Iseult...all dead. He felt a hand placed on his shoulder and he looked up into the soft brown eyes of Bors and smiled sadly. “They are lost” he remarked.

“Aye, time has been harsh” agreed Bors, “but let us mourn later. There is one life which is alive now”

Tristan nodded and stood, gazing along the ruined walls of the castle. “From my recollections, the dungeons should be this way” he pointed down stone lined corridor which ran along a moss lined passage. Bors followed his eyes casting around as they walked slowly through the ruined building.

Behind them the creepers covering the tunnel parted and Mordred peered through the ivy and watched their progress down the passage and smiled cruelly, before pulling himself free of the tunnel and pressing himself against the wall of the castle, following...moving slowly and carefully picking his way through the debris.

Gwen sat on the floor, she felt cold against the open roof and shivered as the wind whistled through the open rafters. She brought her legs up against her chest and pulled her arms around herself as she felt her cold arms press against her hands. Her plain white t-shirt giving no protection against the savage cold, she tucked her head into her knees she sobbed into her brown, tight fitting jodhpurs. Tears stained her legs, as a flurry of water ebbed from her eyes and masked slight rivers across the face, staining her ivory skin. Cold, hard chain bit into her wrists and ankles as her shackles restricted her to the small confined room. Puddles lay across the floor, and light streamed in through the open roof, where once great beams would have masked the line of stars which hung mournfully in the night sky staring balefully down on her. Large bales of hay sat in the corner of the room, and fragments of straw scattered across the floor as small insects and rodents ran across the strewn dirty floor. Fear had been replaced with despair and her sobs masked her terror at the present position, alone and cold in a nightmare world.

A noise from the door alerted her to company and she braced herself against another nightmare. She pressed her legs further into her body and watched as the door opened slightly, and a helmet slowly moved into the room. “Go to hell!” she spat as the Knight moved into the confined space.

“Be thy not scared my Lady” said the Knight softly, “I am Lord Tristan of Cornwall” he smiled and pulled his helmet from his head and moved into the room. “I have been sent by my Lord Francis to set thee free”

“Francis...” she whispered, a smile breaking out over her face. Tristan could see the marks of her dismay across her face as scars of tears mixed with the mucus and tinged her beauty.

“Aye my Lady...he awaits” he said softly and moved closer to her, his hand raised before him.

“I can’t move” she said, a sob escaping from her mouth as she spoke. She raised her hands and the sound of the chains shook the room slightly as the echoed tinged the air.

“Be still” said Tristan as he knelt by the girl. His hands touched the metal of the links and he ran his fingers across the thick chain. He could feel her tense as his fingers inspected the chain and his touch brushed against her skin. “I will not hurt thee” he insisted, looking into her eyes. She shook her head and looked past him, her body tensing and moving under his presence. Tristan looked behind him and could see Bors framed in the doorway, the light silhouetted behind his large frame. “Be not afraid” he said, “he is a friend”. He waved Bors into the room and the large Knight move quietly inside, his feet moving silently across the debris in the dungeon.

“I am Bors” he said softly and bowed toward her, his face breaking into a smile. She could see the light play over his large bulk and even through the darkness which surrounded her could make out the scar which ran over his forehead. “you are safe my Lady” he smiled as he spoke.

For the first time in hours, she felt safe. Her thoughts guiltily went to her father, and Lance and despite herself found herself smiling. She glanced at Tristan who had pulled his sword from its scabbard and had placed it between two links on the chain, then her eyes went back to Bors, framed in the doorway.

His smile froze and his eyes bulged in the light as he stood watching his comrade. Gwen frowned at his expression and watched as the front of his chest began to bulge beneath his armoured chest plate. His body contorted and writhed forward as the bulge grew outward and slowly a point forced its way through the metal armour, rising up into the air, slowly and methodically. His fingers stretched outward on his hands as his arms tremored beneath the extreme pain coursing through his body, his eyes bulged upward and rolled in his head. His smile turned into a grimace as blood forced its way through the open orifice and tinged his ginger beard. A final thrust forced the end of the sword through the last part of the armour and a scream was muffled by blood as Bors sagged, skewered on the end of a long blade.

Gwen watched with horror as the giant of a man sagged beneath his body weight and sunk to his knees, blood flowing freely down his chest and staining his armour, while crimson tinged his beard as his mouth froze open in a quiet scream. Mordred stepped from behind the Knight and smiled as he held his sword, deep in the back of Bors and smiled into the room.

Gwen screamed…