Chapter Eleven

The proud Avalon Navy crossed the halfway point at eight bells; loud cheers of "Long live the King! Hip, hip . . . hooray!" could be heard resounding across the waters, passing from ship to ship like wildfire. Sir Clark stood on the bridge of the _Manhunter_ with Captain Sir Perry White and Lord Admiral Sir John Jones. The fleet would soon be arriving at its disembarkation point at Abb's Head, fully six hours ahead of schedule.

They sailed on calm seas for the rest of the morning, a rare enough occasion in the North Sea to warrant feelings of unease from the more experienced sailors. Perched high above the ship's deck on the main topsail's yardarm, Wallace concentrated on tying a seemingly endless array of knots and on not looking down.

"I tell ye, lad, 'tis unnatural for the North Sea to be so beguiling. She's the witchiest woman ye'll e'er encounter. If she be loving and yielding at the moment, then the next she'll be trying to rip yon mainmast off its foundations! Ye mark me words!" Wallace smiled at the old sailor who was speaking. O'Reilly had assigned Seaman Bilbo the job of *teaching* Wallace *the ropes*, a task the veteran sailor undertook with pride.

The old seaman called out a sudden warning.

"Avast, lad! D'ye wish to bring down the mainmast?" At Wallace's emphatic negative shake of the head, Bilbo continued, "Then don't untie that span . . . that's the mainstay; it helps to steady and support the mainmast."

Wallace swallowed a little unsteadily; he then carefully reached for the correct line. He looked at Bilbo for confirmation; the old seaman nodded his head sagely. Wallace let his breath out in a swoosh; he hadn't even noticed that he'd been holding it. Working at the top of the world could be a little unnerving even for one of His Majesty's knights.

Thus the morning quietly passed.

Wallace spent most of it viewing the comings and goings of the ship's company from high above. Bilbo was a character and an old salt, but he knew knots, sails, and just about anything else nautical. In the short time that Wallace had spent with him, he felt that he'd learned more than during his entire schooling as both a page and a squire. He felt pleased with his decision to work during his passage, rather than sit idly in the officers' wardroom with the other passengers of noble blood.

The period of calm did not last. Soon after the sun passed its zenith, the blackness descended upon the fleet. A startled cry from the forward lookouts was the first warning.

"*Storm* clouds . . ! Dead ahead . . !"

The calm seas suddenly whipped to hurricane fury. Over the gale force winds, Wallace heard shouted orders:

". . . batten down the hatches!"

". . . lower the mainsail!"

". . . steady as she goes, bosun!"

Men scrambled to carry out the commands, fighting valiantly against the surging seas and unsteady decks. From his perch on the maintop, the platform at the head of the mainmast, Wallace began his precarious walk to release the mainsheet, in order to trim the mainsail before it was torn in the storm. Above the screeching winds, he could hear the cries of men suddenly thrust into danger and fighting to stay alive.

A towering wave suddenly crashed with explosive force across the Bridge, washing the First Officer and Bosun's Mate over the side. Left pilotless, the _Manhunter_ rolled uncontrollably first to starboard, then to port. The ship's bow was literally lifted out of the churning waters as the unearthly cyclone engulfed her. Then just as casually she was thrust back in, sending a shudder through the entire ship. As the ship lurched, Wallace suddenly lost his footing and only with a Herculean effort managed to latch onto a safety line. The loud unnatural groans of the ship's hull seemingly being torn in two sent shivers of terror through his very being.

That's when he saw the wall of water.

"In the name of God," Wallace cried into the wind, "what's *happening*?"

****

". . . In the name of the Father . . . " Fra Haly murmured as he gave Richard the final Blessing following absolution. Richard remained kneeling in silent prayer a moment longer. Then as he looked up at his Confessor, a strange halo-like aura began to radiate from the young knight. Richard closed his eyes and appeared to be looking inwardly. He still knelt, his arms at his sides, palms held out. A profound sense of peace spread across his handsome features. The faint greenish glow could just be made out in the bright sunshine.

The others looked upon him with awe. Wayne recovered first.

"Quickly! Shield him from the column!" The others rushed to stand between Richard and the passing lines of infantry.

Thus, they stood and watched awestruck as the Emerald Warrior emerged and did engage in battle against the Dark. From their perspective, however, all they saw was Richard kneeling before them as if in deep meditation; however, the almost electrified energy that sparkled from the young man told them all they needed to know . . .

****

Wallace felt himself falling . . . falling into the churning waters of the freezing North Sea. A calm voice in his head brought him back from the cold and the darkness.

"Wallace, take my hand . . . Be not afraid, my friend . . . here is my hand . . . take it!" Wallace reached out and suddenly felt a comforting warmth suffuse his entire being. A sense of calmness spread through the length and breadth of his body.

He woke.

Wallace was back on the maintop, lashed to it with a length of rope. How? He looked around in a daze . . . the wind whipped the cold sleet and seawater on his face with relentless ferocity. He turned his head to starboard. His eyes widened at the stunning sight. His throat caught; he couldn't breathe.

Kneeling calmly in midair, his arms spread-eagled, his palms out, encompassed in a shroud of emerald light, was his best friend since childhood, Richard Grayson! Neither the wind nor rain seemed able to touch him. In fact, as Wallace blinked the water out of his own eyes, he could see that the sleet was literally stopped by what seemed to be a protective emerald cocoon encircling his friend.

Wallace could see Richard's lips moving; his friend gestured suddenly with his hands, then whipping them up as if throwing something at the very heavens, a fierce emerald energy, burst forth from his outstretched hands in a thundering crack! The green beam of light shot straight up, cutting a swath of emerald energy through the evil blackness that had befallen the hapless fleet. The darkness retreated before the light, and within an eye blink, the fleet was again sailing in calm waters.

****

Richard's eyes fluttered open. The emerald halo dissipated so quickly Donna wondered if it had ever truly been there. Richard felt a wave of dizziness course through him. He felt as weak as when the fever had hit him two summers past. As he was about to fall backwards, Roy knelt down and offered his friend a supporting arm.

"There now, Richard, none of that. You've got an army of soldiers marching past. You wouldn't want them to think you're some kind of weak lass, now would you?" Roy's worried tone belied the lightness of his words.

Richard grinned weakly. "If I'm a weak lass . . . then there's no more dangerous a place in all of Avalon . . . than to be in your arms, eh, Roy?" Roy guffawed delightedly. Noticing Donna's disapproving glare, Roy suddenly cleared his throat and chastised Richard with mock-severity.

"By the strings on my crossbow . . . if you can jest, you fake, then you're fit to stand on your own two feet!" As he was about to let go, Richard suddenly collapsed . . .

****

. . . Awareness came first. Next, sounds and voices began to seep into his consciousness.

"Is he awake yet?" "How long now?" "Are you certain that he isn't injured . . . chasing maids . . . faking?"

The last two were Garth and Roy. Richard recognized their voices through his haze between wakefulness and sleep. He smiled in his dreamlike state. He was glad some members of his inner circle could still jest openly. He hated being ill . . . people always fussed so over you.

Finally, there was no longer a need to remain asleep. When he eventually woke up, Richard felt like he'd been on one of Captain Gordon's infamous twenty mile training hikes. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the angled canvas roof of his field tent. The second was Bruce Wayne's inscrutable countenance. The two men exchanged half smiles in greeting.

"I see you're finally awake . . . I'll have to send a missive to Alfred and let him know that you're all right. He sent you some of his famous chicken soup and insisted that we ladle you with it day and night until you came to. I was sorely feared for few a days that we were drowning you!"

"Days?" Richard asked dismayed.

"Aye, lad. You have been unconscious for almost four days now. The Metropolis Garrison has joined us, as have the Welch archers and fusiliers, *and* Captain Gordon's green troops. We are currently ensconced on the east-west line that runs from Moffat to the Cheviot Hills. When we first arrived we began a holding action and were quite successful. Sir Clark and the garrison arrived yesterday . . . They had a very interesting sea tale to share with us. Many thought they had all gone sea happy, but I believe them."

Richard looked at his guardian in amazement. "Then it wasn't a dream . . ? I *really* did . . . all that?" Wayne nodded.

"You *really* did all that!" He looked on his adopted son with quiet pride. "You saved the fleet, lad . . . I suppose it would be cliche to say that you saved the day . . . but truth be told, you did." He gave Richard a rare smile. "Are you ready to join the war, lad? The forces of Avalon await us!"

Richard smiled in turn.

****

As Richard emerged from his tent, he was met by the resounding clamor of thousands of shields being struck repeatedly by swords. Rank upon rank of soldiers took up the thunderous roar.

"Richard . . ! RICHard . . ! RICHARD . . ! RICHARD . . !"

Richard stood still, stunned by the accolade. He swallowed, a sudden lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. He looked around and saw his friends and family joining in the cheering. His uncle the King was smiling in proud approval. Richard slowly walked up to his Sovereign and drew his sword forth; he held it before him and kissed its hilt. Then kneeling in supplication before King Orrin, he offered him the sword, a bejeweled Grayson family heirloom.

"I swear on my honor, as hereditary Chieftain of Clan Grayson and all Dumfrieshire and Strathclyde, that my sword and my shield are yours today and for all eternity, Sire . . . As did my father before me and his father before him swear . . . As have all Graysons since before the time of the Great Mage War sworn fealty to the Crown of Avalon." He felt his shoulders being tapped lightly, and looked proudly into his King's direct gaze.

"Rise, Sir Richard Lord Grayson. . . and serve Us and Avalon as is your right and your duty as one who is Clan Grayson born!"

Richard bowed his head, then stood. He turned to face the gathered armies, and holding his sword aloft cried out, "We march today against the Forces of Darkness . . . WHO GOES WITH US?"

His answer came in the form of resounding cheers growing like a tidal wave from rank to rank of the combined armies of Avalon. Standing tall, his face alight with pride, Richard roared Avalon's battle-cry:

"For FREEDOM . . ! For GOD AND KING . . ! FOR . . . AVALON . . !"

The cry was immediately taken up by all: "FOR FREEDOM . . ! FOR GOD AND KING . . ! FOR . . . AVALON . . !"

****

The clamor could be heard even inside whatever dungeon Barbara and children were being held prisoner in. By now, the little ones were all too weak to move about. Although they were now being fed a thin gruel with a slice of moldy bread and water once a day, it was just barely sufficient to keep them alive. Whatever strength they might absorb from the poor nourishment, Mordant drew it from them almost immediately. The children stopped crying days ago . . . or was it hours? Barbara couldn't tell. Too weak to sit up, they just lay curled in fetal positions on the filthy cell floor.

Barbara was forced to feed them even the small allotted amounts of food by hand. Most of the younger ones were too far gone to even recognize food when it was put in their mouths. Barbara feared the most for Timmy. He was the youngest and smallest; therefore, he was the most susceptible to the ravages of starvation. And yet, he smiled happily whenever she held him closely to her bosom seemingly oblivious to the whole ordeal.

Meghan's eyes lost their luster . . . she retreated into a safe place that only she knew. Barbara was beside herself with grief. The children wouldn't last another day under these conditions. Tears of hopelessness streaming from her eyes, she began to pray in the words she'd been taught as a little girl.

"Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be Thy name . . .
Thy Kingdom Come, Thy will be done
On earth as it is in Heaven . . ." she whispered, tears flowing unbidden.
". . . And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil . . . "

The door suddenly exploded from its hinges!

"How *dare* you utter such blasphemies in my house?" Mordant stood before her, his eyes wild with fear and anger. "You *bitch*!" he screamed, slapping her across the face. "How DARE YOU?!" He gestured in a fit of rage and the room dissolved into darkness.

****

When she awoke, she stood on a platform, bound hand and foot upon a stake. The children were likewise bound. Most were too weak to take more than a disinterested note of their situation. Meghan was crying inconsolably. Barbara saw that the platform was piled high with flammable materials. A cold icy hand gripped her insides.

And little Timmy . . ? Barbara looked around in sudden panic . . . where was he?

"Timmy!" she cried out. "Meghan! Where's Timmy?"

She heard a sudden laugh, a laugh that frightened her more than any of the cruelties that had been visited upon them throughout their captivity.

"Are you looking for this little one?" Mordant held Timmy gently in his arms. The babe had been cleaned and looked well-fed and happy. "The Romany life-force surges powerfully through him . . . even more so than all the others combined. I believe, Lady Barbara, that here in my arms is the Chosen of the next generation." Barbara's eyes widened in fear as Mordant's face lit in sheer unadulterated ecstasy.

"I draw from him even now . . . and the little tyke just replaces it like he's a perpetual energy machine. He has the power of a thousand suns flowing within him. I don't need the rest of you anymore." He grinned delightedly. "You were becoming too much like an unwanted guest who has overstayed his welcome, anyway; practically eating me out of house and home."

When Timmy saw Barbara, his eyes lit in joy and he immediately held his arms out to her.

"Baw-bwa! Baw-bwa!" When it became apparent that he wasn't going to be allowed to go his surrogate mother, Timmy became increasingly agitated. His wails started softly but soon increased to gale-force volume. His broken hearted childish cries were carried by the wind. They were picked up by the birds that flew through the forests as they rushed away from the growing corruption that permeated Melrose Abbey. The birds, in turn, passed it on to the squirrels as they chattered and scurried about digging under roots and hiding in the brush.

Eventually, the small boy's cries were heard and heeded by the One whose sole remaining purpose was to champion the cause of Good against Evil, Light against Dark . . .

****

Riding at his place as the Captain of the Honor Guard, Richard suddenly pulled Nightwing to a stop and stood lightly on his stirrups. He *felt* the mantle of the Emerald Warrior envelop him. Nightwing sensed the sudden change in his master and stamped nervously. Richard sent him a comforting thought: <Easy, old boy, it's just me.> Nightwing settled down easily.

Richard drew his sword and held it up with his two hands; his right hand held the hilt, the left held the pointed end. Those who spoke later of the events they witnessed that day said that it looked like a beam of emerald light rose from the center of the blade straight up to the very heavens. A bright halo of pure energy radiated from Sir Richard enveloping him and his fiery steed. Releasing his stirrups, Richard stood easily on Nightwing's back. Man and horse moved as one. He whispered something to his horse, and Nightwing came to a stop.

Richard faced the long, chivalric line.

"Mordant oversteps himself even now! He holds his hostages bound and gagged at the stake! He intends on committing wholesale murder, as a token sacrifice to his evil Lord. I go now to stop his blasphemies . . . who *joins* me?" The roaring cheers were his answer. Gripping Nightwing's reins from his standing position, Richard urged him into a light canter. From there, Nightwing's gait slowly increased until he was at full gallop.

Richard maneuvered Nightwing until they were leading the column. Squatting down on his haunches, Richard easily returned to a sitting position in a single smooth motion. The army moved quickly in disciplined formation through the forests covering the Cheviots.

As he rode through the wooded hills, Richard's trained eyes spotted the distinct signs of battle from the recent holding action that the advanced guard was forced to fight during the preceding days while he'd lain unconscious following his battle against the storm at sea.

As the column moved, Roy, riding alongside Richard, regaled him with stories of his own personal prowess during countless hit and run skirmishes, near captures, and deadly hand-to-hand encounters he'd engaged in. With each more impossible tale of personal derring-do that Roy boasted of, Richard wondered if anyone else had been involved in the shadow war. Coming up from behind and joining them, Princess Donna finally interrupted Roy's nonstop braggadocio.

"Richard, Lord Wayne led the Avalon forces with such an acute brilliance that Father is considering asking him to take the honorary title of Lord Field Marshal during these days of war." She paused, then looking pointedly at Roy, continued, "As for Sir Roy here . . . the self-proclaimed hero of Avalon . . . I seem to recall Lord Wayne coming up behind him once or twice just as a few of the dark forces were about to filet him!"

"Ah, yes, Your Highness," Roy countered good-naturedly, "but only because Lord Wayne couldn't bear the thought of losing such a valuable commodity as I."

The two antagonists' squabbling continued through the ride across the Cheviots. Richard, riding between them, shook his head in long-suffering silence. He wished they'd just kiss and get it over with. It'd work for Barbara and him, he added smiling.

In fact, Richard was already well briefed about the previous days' actions. According to Sir Barry, a source Richard considered somewhat more reliable than his good friend, Sir Roy, Lord Wayne did indeed lead the Avalon forces brilliantly in a shadow war against the larger enemy. Apparently, Wayne's experience as the Dark Knight taught him more tactics about covert warfare than any of the other officers and advisors on Orrin's staff. He knew that their only hope for success was to hit the enemy quickly, then disappear into the relative protection afforded by the heavily wooded and rough terrain of the Cheviots.

At first, most of the knights shied away from such a form of warfare; it went against the first rule of chivalry they'd been taught with their mother's milk: A knight met his opponent on a field of honor, face to face. However, Avalon wasn't at war with an honorable enemy; therefore, for the good of Avalon, they quickly learned a second rule: Honor is the first casualty of war.

The long-awaited arrivals of Field Marshal Sir Clark Kent in command of the Metropolis garrison, the Prince of Wales' Archers and Fusiliers from the Cardiff Garrison, and Captain Sir James Gordon, in command of Lord Wayne's Castle Guard, placed the combined armies of Avalon on a slightly more equal footing with its dreaded enemy. The time for shadow wars was ended.

It was time for Avalon to force the Dark Legions into the Light . . .

****

Finally, the endless lines of horses, infantry, archers, and wagons arrived at their destination, the Tweed River valley, which ran immediately on the northern side of the rugged Cheviots . . .

As he emerged from the shadows of the tree line, Richard could see the forward line of Mordant's legions in the valley below building defensive fortifications along the banks of the Tweed. Richard pulled back on Nightwing's reins, bringing him abruptly to a halt. The Avalon forces stopped their advance at his signal. His eyes squinted in the glare of the afternoon sun and the constant dust kicked by thousands of men and horses on the move. Hooking his leg over the pommel of his saddle, Richard studied the situation.

Further north towards Melrose Abbey, he could make out what appeared to be an unnatural reddish haze. He turned away and concentrated at the task at hand, assessing the deployment of the enemy's bulwarks. Whatever was happening at the abbey would have to wait.

Wallace and Roy came up next to him. The three of them had worked and played together since they were children. Richard had always been the natural leader, while Roy and Wallace followed lightheartedly. Now, each one a knight in his own right, they fell quite easily and naturally into the camaraderie of old. As always, Richard was thinking and planning, while Roy and Wallace jested quietly as they waited.

Noting the hasty and haphazard configuration of the enemy's defensive fortifications, Richard grinned disdainfully. Raising his hands, he closed his eyes and gazed inwardly to the very center of his soul. He uttered words that came unbidden to his tongue, and instantly felt himself surging with a surplus of energy as it built rapidly within him.

Startled, his companions' horses began stomping and rearing nervously.

Richard ignored them. With each usage, Richard found himself increasingly able to control the Emerald Eye's energy levels. He could now prevent the unnecessary power overflow that had caused him to collapse earlier. Lifting his eyes to the Heavens, Richard asked their Blessing, then turning to the enemy emplacements, he focused the emerald magics that were crackling from his fingertips, and sent bolt after deadly bolt of arcane energy at the entrenchments, breaking the disciplined ranks with each succeeding strike. Until finally, all military discipline collapsed within the Dark Legions and they dispersed in a panicked rout.

The Avalon army's victory proved premature, however.

As the enemy lines broke, Orrin's forces chased the routed legions. Before long, in an obviously preplanned maneuver, Mordant's army turned to fight. Richard's forward company of horse soldiers found itself suddenly enveloped by the enemy. They'd been led neatly into an ambush! Mordant's reserve forces, which were lying in wait for them, streamed in from all sides in wave after wave.

Richard cut and slashed automatically at anything that came within proximity of his sword. Nightwing reared and kicked, lashing out at any enemy who dared approach from the ground. Richard caught a glimpse of Roy aiming and firing his twin crossbows faster than Richard thought humanly possible. Roy suddenly disappeared in the swarm of battle. Before long, Richard felt a protective presence next to him. Lord Wayne had somehow worked his way to fight alongside his adopted son. The Dark Knight and his squire, Robin, battled side-by-side against the forces of evil once more.

Next, Richard saw Wallace on the ground; his charger grievously wounded. He was holding off two of the enemy single-handedly. Saber in one hand, dirk in the other, Wallace fought his two opponents in tandem, thrusting and parrying at one, then the other. Richard quickly fought his way over to Wallace. However, by the time he arrived, Wallace had already downed his two opponents and was facing off with another.

Richard shook his head relieved, and decided to concentrate on his own battles. He heard Princess Donna call over the fray, "*Roy*! Behind you!" Richard turned in time to see Roy unhorsed by several of the hordes. Apparently, the young archer's crossbows had jammed at almost the same instant and he was caught off guard. Richard quickly maneuvered Nightwing to help his friend. He needn't have bothered . . . again.

Princess Donna rode out of the dust and confusion of battle like a fearsome guardian angel, brandishing her sword and shield, and savagely fought off the foul scum who had overtaken Roy. Smiling through her battle helm, she reached down and gave the young knight-errant a hand up. Gratefully, Roy settled in behind her. To Richard's overprotective eyes, Roy also appeared to be holding onto his cousin a bit *too* tightly.

To the dismay of Sir Oliver and Sir Barry, their Royal Majesties, whom they were each sworn to protect as their champions, kept engaging the enemy in personal combat, taking unnecessary risks with their own safety. After cutting off yet another attack from behind on the King, Oliver had to admit that the Amazon-bred Queen Diana was the superior warrior; however, as King Orrin returned the favor by downing an enemy who was about skewer him, Oliver quickly added that Orrin was a formidable fighter as well.

Prince Garth distinguished himself throughout the day as he led his eponymous archers and fusiliers to victory after victory on the battlefield. The Welch soldiers, led by the Crown Prince, were seemingly everywhere that long afternoon, cutting through the enemy's heavy defenses by firing volley after deadly volley of deadly arrows. Once their supply of arrows was expended, they ran headlong into the fray and fought hand-to-hand . . .

. . . The fierce battle lasted through the late afternoon. Richard lost track of time; as the day progressed, a vague sense of increasing alarm overtook him. Barbara and the children . . . he had to get to them!

Richard looked around through the swarms of fighting men and screaming horses. The sun was beating down on them mercilessly . . . the incessant dust obscured all but a few feet around him. Spotting a small knoll at the perimeter of the battle, Richard spurred Nightwing towards it. When he reached it, he surveyed the battle from his elevated position. The fighting continued with no signs of abatement.

The carnage had to end . . . now! Clutching the Emerald Eye in his hands, Richard began to utter words which sprang forth from the depths of his very soul, words he did not know, yet had known all his life: "In brightest day, in blackest night . . . "

As he whispered the Creed of the Emerald Guardians, the sounds of battle began to retreat into the dim recesses of his mind. He felt the emerald mantle encompass him . . . build . . . grow . . . expand . . . then touch Orrin's forces, encircling them in a protective green energy shield . . . Finally, the Emerald Warrior released the energies that powered the very sun on the abominations that Mordant's necromancy had conjured. The sorcerer's Dark Legions, creatures that by right belonged only in shadows, were struck down repeatedly, relentlessly by the cleansing light of unsullied truth.

To the amazement of Orrin's armies, the enemy fell before them. Not slowly, or one by one, but all at once. A bright flash of emerald energy flared momentarily, leaving them all temporarily blinded. When they were finally able to see again, they were greeted by an awesome sight: Mordant's legions had been reverted to the very dust from whence they'd come.

As the emerald shroud slowly dissipated around them, the armies of daylight looked upon the small knoll where sat a lone warrior upon his dark charger. Quietly at first, then with increasing volume, the battlefield resounded with the loud cheers of thousands of throats raised in triumph. However, the Emerald Warrior's shoulders weighed heavily still, for his task was far from over.

It was time to ride into the Heart of Darkness . . .

Chapter Twelve

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