Mordred moved first.
I barely saw it happen, only the blur of red and black as the paladin lunged forward, grail clutched in one hand, he grabbed the priest with the other. He drove his shoulder straight into Nermil as he charged. The wizard shrieked sothing about prophecy before the crazed paladin threw them all through the open doorway to the fae realm.
All of us stared in horror.
Then the Green Knight laughed.
The sound rolled through the ruin like distant thunder, low and imnse. A laugh that made the stone walls tremble and sent dust drifting from the cracked ceiling. It wasn’t cruel , but it carried the deep amusent of soone who gives in to mirth rarely and is letting themselves indulge.
“What a wondrously foolish thing,” he said, the antlers of his helm tilting slightly towards the portal, “to carry that cursed thing deeper into my realm willingly. No plan of mine could match such foolishness.”
Roots shifted beneath the stone and leaves rustled softly against the walls as the Knight turned his attention towards the rest of us, his gaze passing slowly across the battered collection of survivors who were still trying to rember how breathing worked.
“Saplings,” he said, the word carrying no insult, “thou hast shown a comndable instinct in casting a rat from mine nest. Such creatures gnaw without end, and the forest rarely grows stronger for their presence.”
His gaze drifted briefly towards the portal where Mordred had vanished.
“The vessel the twisted one bears is a nuisance long known to the elder boughs of this world, though ancient pacts forbid my hand from dealing with it directly.”
That sounded suspiciously like the sort of problem that ended with soone else being asked to solve it. Which ant we might not be utterly screwed right now.
The Knight lifted one hand.
Roots cracked the earth beneath our feet. Beside each of us grew a plant with a single stem. At first it looked to be a sword, but after a while it stopped short of the hilt, and I recognised the shape as a scabbard. A single unbroken piece of wood without knots or blemish. As I watched, I realised mine had shifted slightly, reshaping itself until it matched the size and curve of my blade.
A faint sigil ford at the top, an oak with roots in the shape of antlers, filled with green moss.
“A token,” the Green Knight said mildly, “to mark that I have taken notice of thy little grove.”
Arthur looked dangerously close to speaking. Maeve, wanting to pay him back for protecting her, kicked him in the back of the leg and shook her head violently before looking to . Everyone else had joined her.
What a trying ti to be a Herald.
I cleared my throat carefully, then coughed as my battered body struggled to breathe. A wash of power settled over , the pain receded. I didn’t feel fixed, but so manner of power eased things enough for to speak.
“Lord of the forest,” I began, because flattery rarely hurt when dealing with ancient powers, “while we are deeply grateful that the… rat in question has been removed, one concern does remain.”
The Green Knight watched patiently. Or possibly predatorily.
Hard to tell.
“It would be difficult for us to sleep peacefully,” I continued, choosing my words with care, “if we were left wondering whether that particular poison might soday find its way back into the world again.”
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Which was the polite version of asking what was happening with Mordred. The Green Knight nodded lightly.
“The cup and those who bear it shall be held,” he said eventually, his voice holding the utter certainty of one reciting ancient law, “as a stone held fast beneath bark that has grown around it.”
“Captured. Enclosed. Forgotten by most.” He lifted one gauntleted hand slightly and closed his fingers tightly. The leaves along his armour stirred faintly.
“’Tis possible, of course, that one day a determined soul may co digging through mine roots seeking that stone once more. Whether the stone finds that wait to be an eternity or a brief passing of seasons is not for to say.”
That sounded reassuring and worrying in equal asure.
“Do you—” Arthur shifted, as Maeve smacked him again.
“That soothes our imdiate worries. A question remains, what would you have us do now. What of the matter of… noble strikes?” I asked.
The Knight’s helm tilted again, a brief chuckle coming from him. It was unexpected and made the skin on my spine crawl.
“I might normally suggest such a ga,” he admitted, “for it is a pleasant custom among those who grow from mortal soil.”
“But not with thy kind.” A wooden gauntlet lifted. He pointed directly at .
I blinked.
“My kind?”
“I am no fool to invite fire to spread in my domain,” the Knight said calmly. “And I recognise one who would risk the challenge when invited. So no, you saplings have to grow. If thy allies seek a test, then in ti they may seek out for a noble exchange.”
I gulped. He must have sensed my phoenix blood. But was that a complint? Or possibly a warning. Hard to say with fae.
The Green Knight regarded us for another long mont.
“I do believe this part of the tale finished,” he said eventually. He gestured towards the scabbards lying on the stone.
“Those who bear my mark may walk the paths beneath my canopy without fear of root or branch. Follow mine rules and know favour. Should thy journeys one day bring thee again to my court, thou wilt find a welco waiting.”
The antlers shifted slightly.
“And perhaps,” he added thoughtfully, “thou might even assist in removing so small annoyance that has beco lodged among my roots.”
Yes. There it was, definitely a job offer.
“Until then,” the Knight continued, “I shall speak with one who knows these halls well enough to guide thee safely from beneath the canopy.”
He turned. The portal behind him blood once more with green light. The twisting leaves and branches danced once more. Without another word, he stepped through it.
The power went with him.
The air felt empty. The world felt duller without the Green Knight. The stone tree reverted to its natural shape.
For several seconds none of us moved.
Then Sephy leaned against , gently, holding softly.
Around us, others slid to the floor and collapsed. We spent a few minutes in silence. The only sound was the drinking of our most potent healing brews, and the gentle sound of grief that ca from Maeve.
It took so ti to get us all ready to move, to build a litter for Rensleigh.
We walked through the halls.
We were hobbling our way out of the maze. Sephy hadn’t let go of for even a mont. I wasn’t against it, I needed the support. Even with the healing brew, my body was barely holding together. Bors was the fittest of us all and took the lead, with Tristan and Arthur leaning on each other, their respective limps cancelling each other out.
Maeve was at the back, pulling the litter with Rensleigh’s body upon it. She’d refused help. Her expression had gone completely still, the sort of empty calm that arrives only after grief has burned itself into sothing quieter and far more dangerous.
Eventually we were t by the others. They were bloody, but mostly unwounded, having slain the remaining forces at the gates, drawn by the noise and the unmistakable presence of fae power that had shaken half the ruin.
One by one they bowed their heads as they saw Rensleigh’s body.
No one spoke. After a while I cleared my throat.
“The Grail is lost, to us and to them,” I said simply.
The questions ca thick and fast, and we decided to build a camp in the ruins to recover. I did my best to explain. The others joined in occasionally, apart from Maeve, who sat apart from everyone, eyes fixed on the covered body.
“Our families will want to hear about it,” Tristan sighed wearily once the rounds of questions finally eased.
That was one way of describing the inevitable avalanche of questions waiting for us. For a mont the silence threatened to return. I didn’t like it. No matter how high the cost, we had stopped the Grail returning to the hands of the cultists. It wasn’t the end I wanted to this tale, and it ca with death and grief, yet we had held out, we had triumphed in our own way.
I was exhausted, though. I could think of nothing to lighten the mood.
Then Gaz clapped his hands together.
“Well,” he said brightly, “before everyone gets too gloomy I should remind you all that you’re still expected at my wedding.”
Several of us looked at him before we rembered his impending nuptials with his beloved Tiffany. Maeve let out a bitter chuff of laughter without looking up. We looked over to her, and she gave a weak grin.
“Hopefully the groom won’t jump out the window this ti.”
For the first ti since the battle ended, we actually laughed.
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