Chapter Ten

The mist rolling off the North Sea obscured most of the dim light afforded by the quarter moon; however, during brief breaks in the gloom, Wallace could catch an occasional glimpse of the  _Gotham Town_ and _Prince of Wales_ to the starboard and port sides respectively. The two smaller frigates were the assigned escorts to the flagship _ Manhunter_.

When the wind shifted slightly from its nor'west heading, sounds of music and laughter could be heard carried in the sea breeze. Wallace had never been to sea before, and he was finding the new experience invigorating and exciting. He asked the Officer of the Day permission to help on deck, and the young subaltern, grinning broadly promptly assigned him duties with the senior quartermaster. No one on board ship started at the top; even the Captain had once served as a lowly midshipman, swabbing decks and hoisting sail.

"Be careful what you ask for," Wallace said ruefully.

On the whole he'd enjoyed his day on deck. It was confusing and at times frightening, but Wallace was a fast learner and the quartermaster never had to repeat an order or instruction. By the time the watch ended, Wallace learned how to tie five different knots, differentiate between a sea gull and an Avalon man o' war (it would take a few days to live *that* one down!), swab a deck until it sparkled (then test its cleanliness by literally eating off of it), and polish brass fittings until they not only shone, he could see himself and the faces of every other man jack who'd ever polished the Bloody thing!

"I'm even beginning to talk like a seaman," he said.

"Aye, and we'd be proud to have ye join our little club, Sir Wallace," Ship's Senior Quartermaster O'Reilly spoke. "For a Bloody landlubber . . . and a scurvy Army man no less . . . ye've not done too badly today."

Wallace smiled. "Thank you, Mister O'Reilly. Coming from you, that's praise indeed." He stretched and groaned at the sore muscles that came from the endless scrubbing. "I ache in places I didn't even know I had!" He moved his sword arm in ever-widening circles. "I *thought* my weekly bouts against Captain Gordon would have prepared my sword arm for just about *any*thing. But no one ever made mention of one of His Majesty's knights polishing brass fittings and swabbing decks by hand." He smiled ruefully. "Next time I see any of the household staff at Castle Wayne going about their daily duties, I'll show them each just a little more respect!"

O'Reilly laughed. "Aye! But ye are a bright one, Sir Wallace. I ne'er had to show you how to do anything more than once, afore ye had it down. Now that young Officer of the Day, Mister Cody, I must've tanned his back at least a half a dozen times a day because the poor lad nae could comprehend instructions correctly the first time. Hardheaded, he was. Son of a high muckity muck in His Majesty's cabinet." Wallace looked away, hiding his smile.

"But now . . . he's one of the finest young officers on the _Manhunter_. I'm proud to've had a part in hewing him to perfection. Whoever trained you, Sir Wallace . . . ye owe that man a debt o' gratitude. Aye, ye do indeed, lad!"

Wallace nodded his head. "Aye . . . I owe a debt of gratitude to many, Mister O'Reilly. My uncle, Sir Barry Allen who raised me as his own son, Lord Wayne who took me into his service when I was but a mere page, Captain Gordon who trained me in the arts of defense. There are others, of course, too numerous to name, yet, who because they took the time to offer advice here, or correct a stance or a grip there, I am a better man for it." He grinned broadly at the sum total of his life. "I'm proud that they each played a part in *hewing* me into who I am today."

"Well, Sir Wallace, I'd best be turning in. A seaman's day starts mighty early while he's out at sea. I respectfully suggest, young sir, that you turn in as well. A swabby's life on board ship is a long and arduous one!"

"Aye, aye, Mister O'Reilly." At that moment a deck hatch opened and the two men could hear the sounds of singing and laughter coming from below decks. The men were singing an old sea chanty about the Captain's Daughter. They both listened for a few minutes, laughing aloud, as the lyrics became increasingly ribald.

Shaking his head, Wallace gave O'Reilly a friendly wave and bid him goodnight.

"May ye dream of a ship with white, billowed sails and a star to steer her by, lad," said O'Reilly softly.

****

They broke camp long before first light. By the time the sun's rays began peeking over the horizon, they'd been on the road for several miles. A robin that clung quietly onto a branch was startled by the strange wailing sounds wafting in the breaking dawn. The King's own Highlander Bagpipers were waking the day in their own unique way. The shy forest creatures scurried from the rare intrusion into their peaceful existence: The advance body of the Army of Avalon was on the march to the north.

Knights rode proudly on horseback, their mailed armor glinting in the morning sun. Infantry marched in step, carrying shields, pikes, and crossbows while singing ribald ditties. Wagons laden with the supplies necessary to support a war machine trailed behind the fighting men.

Pennants fluttering crisply in the breeze signified the several dozen noble families on the march. The Royal Family's Golden Eagle holding a trident on a royal blue field flew proudly above all the others at the head of the column. This was immediately followed, in the position reserved for the Honor Guard, by the red, gold, and green colors of Clan Grayson; the clan motto, "Constant and True," proclaimed boldly in the old Gaelic tongue.

And so it followed, the dark brooding night bird of the Wayne family, the gold crossbow on a bright emerald field of the Queen family, the Allens' golden bolt of lightning on a scarlet field. Avalon's oldest, proudest families united in their sworn duty to stop Mordant's evil legions from bringing forth another Dark Age.

And yet, Richard knew that despite their brave show of strength on the march, they were woefully undermanned. Orrin's forces, even with Wayne's reinforcements, were barely five thousand strong. Until the main Metropolis garrison arrived with its twenty thousand men, they'd be fighting little more than a holding action. "Shoot and scoot" as Wayne used to say during his lessons in tactics; however, this was the best way for a small force to fight against a larger, better-equipped army.

Of course, King Orrin has the Emerald Warrior on *his* side, Richard added sardonically.

****

The lock turning startled them awake. The younger children began crying in terror; several huddled around Barbara. The others who'd been taken had never come back. Holding tightly to Timmy, Barbara stood protectively in front of the children. Meghan had her arms around two of the smaller ones, comforting them.

The door opened and admitted a tall hooded figure in blood-red robes. There were several others standing behind and to the sides of him. His face was partially obscured in shadow. He stood and surveyed the small group of children for a few moments, then slowly reached up and removed his hood. Barbara gasped. She didn't know what she'd expected . . . horns, warts, certainly a countenance that mirrored the evil of his inner soul.

Instead, she saw a young man, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties, who was outwardly beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. He had golden hair that curled quite becomingly, grey eyes that showed a clear intelligence behind them, and an open demeanor that invited friendship and fellowship.

Then he smiled.

Barbara felt a shiver shoot up her spine. She had seen snakes size their prey before striking; they'd had a similar smile.

"Lady Barbara, welcome to my humble corner of your world. It isn't much, so I intend to take Avalon to make up for it. Meanwhile, we may enjoy the somewhat enforced hospitality of our hosts." His smile broadened. "Unfortunately, I had to kill them. They kept crossing themselves and asking to be delivered from evil . . . most annoying as you can imagine. Oh, well, who'll notice one less obscure monastic order? It's not like they're the Jesuits or Franciscans or anything important like that, right?"

Barbara didn't say anything. Why was he toying with them? What did he want? Time to take the initiative.

"These children are hungry . . . They haven't eaten in days . . . This baby needs new cloths; the ones he has are soiled . . . You have to--"

"Have to--? *Have* to--? Lady Barbara, you are my prisoner! I don't 'have to' *any*thing I don't want to do! That's why I'm invading Avalon! Those bastards put me to sleep for almost two hundred years! They destroyed my kingdom and left me with only dregs as my followers! My exile ends now! And you and these children are going to be very helpful in ending it!"

"I don't understand . . . why are we here? Why are you holding these children prisoner? What *good* could we possibly be *doing* for you?" she cried in anger.

"*Good* . . . ? I thought you understood that I didn't *do* 'good'!" he mocked. "Oh, you mean, what good are you doing for *me*! Well, that's different." He looked at the children. His grey eyes took on a dark shadow of death within them. He smiled cruelly as one of the children, a young lad of about five, suddenly collapsed.

Meghan screamed. "He's dead! You've killed him! He's dead!"

The other children began to scream in panic. Mordant smiled amused. Barbara hugged Meghan then the rest of the children to quiet them down. When she'd finally comforted the children sufficiently to still their rending sobs, replacing them with heartbreaking whimpers, Barbara knelt beside the fallen child. She touched his midnight black hair. His name had been Jason Todd, she remembered, barely five years old. She caressed his pale features, her throat catching as her finger lightly traced a light smattering of freckles across the tiny bridge of his nose.

"Why . . ? How . . ?" She managed to choke out.

"Why . . ? Because I wished it. How . . ? Like *this* . . !" He turned to another child. Barbara screamed in horror.

"NO-OO-OOO!!!" Mordant stayed his hand and smiled almost benignly.

"Oh, all right. At least, not yet." His grin broadened. "How, you ask. Well, at first I had to literally make blood sacrifice . . . so messy. Did you know that if you don't stem the blood-flow just right, it goes everywhere, getting on everything? Do you know how *hard* it is get bloodstains out of linen? It's almost impossible!"

Barbara was watching him almost uncomprehendingly. He smiled at her confusion, enjoying himself immensely.

"Well, anyway, you lose so much of the blood's essence this way . . . most inefficient. And the organs . . . " He made a gagging gesture. "I've always *hated* liver!" His voice dropped conspiratorially.

"Mayhap I shouldn't say this in front of the kiddies, eh?" He giggled then, a strange frightening sound, almost maniacal. "Oh, what the hell . . . they'll find out sooner or later . . . and a mind is *terrible* thing to waste!" He laughed at his own quip.

"Well, after a while a very strange thing began to occur . . . I no longer *needed* blood sacrifice. I could *feel* the children's essence . . . their life-force if you will. They're all of Romany stock, by the way, in case you're wondering. That's why their life-force is so powerful . . . just like you're betrothed's." He paused then smiled almost wistfully.

"Now *there's* a Man . . . so powerful . . . so masculine . . . so *gorgeous*! Once I get my eager hands on him . . . well, I'll enjoy myself first, of course; it's been *ages* since I indulged in purely physical pleasures with one so attractive to the eye . . . But I digress." He giggled again, and made panting sounds, like a dog in heat. Barbara grimaced in disgust.

"Anyway, the Romany life-force is so strong and I've grown so powerful now, that I can just draw the children's life essence from them as the need arises. So, you could say that I'm feeding off of them even now. That's why they're all looking so peeked, poor lambs." Barbara's eyes lit with a sudden idea.

"So, why let them starve? If you need their life-force, then surely the longer you keep them healthy and alive, the longer you'll be able to feed off of them? You can afford to be magnanimous, Mordant. Why *not* feed them . . . I mean, even a farmer feeds his cattle if he expects to fatten them for market and reap the greater profit."

Mordant looked at her for a moment, his grey eyes hooded. Suddenly, he smiled. "Why not indeed?" He turned to one of his minions. "You! See to it that these children are properly fed and cleaned. Even a farmer doesn't allow his food stores to become maggot infested, does he, Lady Barbara?" Barbara swallowed and shook her head. "And just to show you my gratitude for pointing out my short-sided mistake--!"

He gestured casually. Barbara suddenly found herself in a circular hall surrounded by walls of fire. The intense heat was overwhelming . . ! She could feel herself burning . . ! She screamed . . !

****

Richard screamed suddenly, and clutching his midsection doubled over and fell off Nightwing.

Riding immediately behind and to Richard's right side, Roy was taken by surprise. His mount reared in panic, and it was all Roy could do to keep him from kicking his friend. The noncommissioned officers soon had the situation under control, however, and they successfully managed to route the column and follow-on foot soldiers around their injured Captain.

By then, Roy had moved Richard safely to the side of the road, and laid him down in the shade of a large oak. Princess Donna rode up quickly on her chestnut charger. She dismounted and hurried over to where Roy was ministering her cousin. She knelt next to Richard and gently laid his head on her lap.

"Sir Roy, what happened? Is he injured badly? Oh, please tell me!" Her worry for her cousin stabbed at Roy's heart.

"I know not, Your Highness. We were simply riding in formation . . . He suddenly screamed and fell off his horse! I cannot explain it!"

"Perhaps I can, Your Highness." Both youngsters looked up. Fra Haly, the Grayson family's personal Confessor and staff prelate at Castle Wayne, until young Sir Richard came into his inheritance and returned to Graetheson Court, stood before them. The good Father was dressed in full battle armor, a Christian soldier of the Lord in fact as well as in spirit.

"If I'm correct, then Sir Richard has just been the victim of some sort of foul necromancy," he said as he dismounted. At this moment, Lord Wayne rode up at full gallop on Nightstar. He expertly brought his war-horse to a full stop on an instant. Before anyone could say anything, he'd dismounted and kneeled next to Richard. He studied his adopted son for a few moments without saying anything. There was no show of emotion on his hard features; his dark eyes were obscured by his battle helm. Then, as if noticing the others for the first time, he stood to his full height.

"What happened? I heard Richard fell off his horse, and as that is as near an impossibility as a man being able to fly, I came immediately."

"We're not sure what happened, Lord Wayne," Donna began, "but Fra Haly believes that--"

"--That Sir Richard could be victim to some foul necromancy, milord," Haly finished.

They were interrupted by Richard's sudden mutterings. "Barbara . . . I'm here . . . your hand . . . your HAND . . ! NO! BARBARA . . !" Richard shouted this last and sat up suddenly, reaching for his love who had been taken from him yet again.

****

Barbara screamed and screamed again! The heat was overwhelming her . . . her flaming red hair was now literally aflame. She could feel her face blistering . . . her hands . . . all exposed areas of her body. "My God . . . my God . . . " she whispered, falling on her knees and sobbing. "Why hast thou forsaken me?"

"Barbara . . . Barbara . . . " the gentle whisper entered her head. Richard's complete love and devotion suddenly enveloped her like a soothing balm. She felt the flames recede suddenly, an emerald fountain of fresh spring waters rising in a cooling plume around her.

Barbara looked up from where she knelt. A hand was held, palm out, to her. Richard stood before her, an emerald knight in emerald armor, reaching his hand out to her. A benign green-hued halo radiated from within and without him . . . the Emerald Eye, she knew. Somehow the Emerald Eye had brought Richard to her, to take her back.

Smiling through her tears, she slowly reached her hand out to him. He suddenly seemed to move away . . . it seemed that the further out she reached the further back he retreated. His smile faltered . . . He began to dissolve before her . . . He called to her . . !

****

"BARBARA . . !" Richard awoke. He looked around dazedly. He was sitting on the ground, in the warm spring morning. A few feet away, the column still marched, oblivious to what was happening on the side of the road. He could hear the sounds of creaking leather, metal striking metal, horses' shod hooves, men's rhythmic marching, and squeaky wheels turning laboriously--the typical sounds of an army on the move.

He felt a sudden wave of dizziness wash over him. Donna called out worriedly, "Richard! Don't try to stand, cousin. Rest yet awhile." Richard shook his head impatiently.

"Nay, cousin! I must away to Melrose Abbey . . . Barbara needs me. Her jeopardy increases with each passing moment!" His clear blue eyes became dangerously icy. "He toys with her . . . he *toys* with her!" He reached for a hand up from his guardian. "Bruce, I swear on my parents' graves that he will *pay* for the tortures that he puts her through! I *swear* it!"

"Aye, lad; however, rushing headlong to face such a powerful enemy without proper preparation will gain you nothing, except perhaps your death and Barbara's. What then? The legacy of the Emerald Guardians states that the Chosen shall come during this generation and lead us all to victory against the Forces of Dark. But the Chosen must be ready for the encounter." He gave his ward a hard, unsympathetic look.

"Yes, Mordant toys with Barbara . . . but more importantly he toys with *you*! He knows that you're not ready yet . . . He wants you to go rushing foolishly into his arms. Once there, you stand little chance of defeating him. And what of Avalon . . . what of our people . . . all will be lost then. Mordant will have won . . . We will have entered a New Age of Darkness." He appeared as unyielding as the stony crags upon which Castle Wayne stood. Then pointing a gauntleted hand at Richard he said harshly, "Like it or not, Sir Richard Lord Grayson, *you* are the Emerald Chosen. It is *your* legacy"

"I didn't *choose* this legacy! And I don't *want* it!" Richard shouted. "All of my life people have whispered about me . . . said things I didn't understand. Some even used to make warding signs when as a mere lad, I first arrived at Castle Wayne . . . as if by looking at them I could turn them into a frog or cause warts. You *know* that! Alfred used to come into my chambers at night and hold me in his arms, because I *hated* being thought different. And Barbara . . . Barbara used to make me laugh . . . I think I've loved her all my life, Bruce . . . " Turning anguished eyes to the heavens, he cried out, "She *is* my life! Why have you taken her from me? Why?!"

"Nay, lad . . . 'Tisn't our Lord in Heaven who has taken her . . . but rather Satan's spawn here on earth," Fra Haly spoke quietly. "You've been blessed with the power to bring down this demon, Sir Richard, but you must know how to wield it properly. You cannot depend on these flashes or visions that come to you only in times of great stress. You must learn to *control* the Emerald Eye and not have the Emerald Eye control *you*. For once you can harness this power and brandish it as easily as that sword that hangs on your side, then will you be ready to face Mordant and end his reign of evil."

Richard nodded, his head hanging dejectedly, his back to them. Not turning, he asked Haly in a subdued tone, "Father, will you hear my confession? If I must face this evil, then I must face it in a fitting state of Grace."

"Aye, lad," Haly said. The others moved away respectfully, giving Richard and his Confessor privacy.

Chapter Eleven

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