Chapter Seven

"Missing! What do you *mean* my Barbara is missing?" Gordon shouted. Wayne returned Gordon's glare steadily.

"Exactly what I said, Captain Gordon. Lady Barbara has not been seen by any of the household staff since mid-morn today. When is the last time you spoke with her?"

"A little before mid-morn," Gordon answered, shaking his head. "I was too busy to notice the exact angle of the sun. She approached me with this nonsense about accompanying us into battle. I told her to run along, and help Alfred set up the hospital."

Wayne's attention pricked suddenly when Gordon mentioned that Barbara wanted to join the frontline troops.

"Captain, I do not wish to cause undue alarm, but if Lady Barbara's intention was to join the troop, it's possible that she might have found a way to succeed." Gordon shook his head, not understanding.

"The household staff who saw her this morning, said that she was in the corridor immediately outside Richard's apartments. They didn't think anything of it at the time, but they said that she was busy dusting the portraits in the hallway."

Gordon shrugged his shoulders. "So? Barbara is not adverse to doing common household chores."

"No, but those portraits were dusted just yesterday." Gordon's eyes widened. "Furthermore, Alfred went into Richard's chambers to see if there was any equipment or clothing that Richard could use while he's on campaign. Alfred had intended on packing some to send him when the castle garrison departs. There were several items of clothing missing . . . Items that Alfred *knows* Richard didn't take with him, because Alfred helped him pack earlier!"

Gordon felt his shoulders sagging.

"Lord Wayne, you don't think that Barbara might've left already? Dressed in men's clothing?"

"I'm only saying that it is a distinct possibility," Wayne replied.

****

As King Orrin's forces moved north, the remainder of Castle Wayne's garrison prepared rapidly for deployment. Captain Gordon recruited every able-bodied man in the district capable of wielding a weapon. Volunteers from throughout the area were reporting hourly. Lord Wayne was a popular master who oversaw his keep both fairly and compassionately. There was many a family who had managed to make it through hard times because he always evenly distributed food and other necessary items during times of need.

Refugees were streaming through the castle gates in increasing numbers. Most stopped just long enough to rest and beg for supplies before they continued on their journey south to the Capital City of Metropolis. Many had abandoned their homes with little more than their clothes on their backs. They told tales of the wholesale slaughter of entire villages, of burning, and pillaging. However, the worst tales involved the disappearances of the children. Stories were being circulated like wildfire of children being rounded up like cattle and being taken for whatever evil necromancy Mordant had devised.

Furthermore, word had spread of the razing of Graetheson lands. Young Sir Richard was extremely popular amongst the locals; he was openly friendly, and many were the times that he had personally helped out in the fields during haying season. And even though he could have his pick of any young maiden in the district, he never forced his attentions on any of them, much to the maids' chagrin but to their parents' gratitude. He was a true gentleman, who treated all with equal dignity . . .

"We ride day after the morrow before first light," Wayne said. He and Selina stood outside on his balcony under a canopy of stars. "I'm leading the advance party . . . archers, foot soldiers, mounted knights . . . the remainder of the garrison. Captain Gordon will follow with the rear echelon in another two days. He hates it, of course, but I need someone strong enough to control all of the noncombatants who will be accompanying us."

"Noncombatants?" Selina asked.

"Aye, Lady," Wayne said sighing. "Unfortunately, a full-scale war cannot be fought with only trumpets and swords. For every soldier I have in battle, my marshals estimate at least four noncombatants are required to support his every need: blacksmiths, cooks, physicians, priests . . . the list is endless. Also, the new recruits need to be trained in a very short period. Gordon is the only person in whom I would entrust the lives of so many farmers and tradesmen. He will ensure that each man is given the ability to survive at least the first few minutes of battle. After that, it's up to God and each man's own desire to live to see the next sunrise!"

He paused, smiling. "Gordon will lead his raw troops a bit slower in order to train them as they march. I envy them not. He is as enraged as a mountain lion in not accompanying the lead party! I'm afraid that he will definitely make his feelings known to our new soldiers during their training sessions!"

Selina's eyes smiled at the image of Gordon terrorizing the trainees. Then changing the conversation, she asked worriedly, "Any news of the Lady Barbara?" Wayne shook his head. His hands grasped the balcony's railing. Selina saw his shoulder muscles bunching under his brocaded overcoat. Wayne stared out upon the dark waters of the North Sea for so long that Selina wondered if he'd dismissed her. Finally, he spoke in his normal low tones without turning.

"I've known Captain Gordon all of my life. He was my father's best friend . . . they served under King Orrin's father together during that trouble with the Normans at Hastings. He was the younger son of a younger son; therefore, he stood to not inherit any of his family's holdings, except for a very old, very proud name. He swore his fealty to my father, and when I became Lord Wayne, he swore fealty to me. I in turn promised him and his a home for perpetuity on Wayne holdings."

Wayne turned to face Selina, an excited look on his face.

"Richard and I found a small enclosed valley not a half day's ride from here . . . with the prettiest fresh water stream running through it . . . It has this tiny water fall that empties into a small pond, which we can stock of course." He paused embarrassed. "I'm sorry; forgive me, Lady. I ramble."

"No, please," she protested. "Tell me more!" Wayne's eyes smiled at her.

"Gordon will never retire of his own accord, but Richard and I figured that if I present the lands to him this midsummer, as a token of my gratitude for loyal service and friendship, that perhaps we can entice the old codger to finally hang up his spurs. I can offer the services of my master architect and master builder to help him erect a suitable home. My intention was to make him feel guilty that Barbara didn't have a home of her own . . . I'm afraid that Richard has put a slight damper on *that* excuse!"

"Oh, Bruce, I was so happy for the both of them. They looked so ecstatic the morn Richard rode off. Of course, they were saddened that he was leaving, but they seemed so much in love! What a well-made match!"

"Aye, and I'm afraid that neither Gordon nor I can take credit for it. I have always thought of them as brother and sister. So has Gordon. I had worried that Richard would have to go to the Royal Court in Metropolis in order to find a suitable match, but we had our own home grown one all along. We just had to wait for the two parties in question to grow up sufficiently to stop seeing each other as annoying siblings."

Selina laughed quietly at this last.

"I sent a messenger on along to Richard to give him the news of her disappearance, he added. "I asked him to keep an eye out for her. I can do naught else. Her personal mount is still in the stable where she'd just bedded him down. Her clothing has been left untouched. We aren't missing any horses . . . there is nothing that can provide a clue as to which direction she might have gone. If I didn't know better, Lady, I'd swear that Barbara Gordon has fallen off the face of the earth!"

"My lord, you don't think that perhaps she might have met up with some sort of foul play? I mean, perhaps she *did* intend to join the troop on its march to battle, but what is to say that she succeeded? We are in agreement that she and Richard are a well-made match. What if she has been taken in order to gain influence over Richard?" Bruce stared at her long and hard.

"What if, indeed?"

****

"We would never arrive in time to reinforce King Orrin even *if* we deployed today!" Sir Clark Kent was a busy man and he did not have the time to bandy words with Wallace. He had to ready the garrison and the good citizens of Metropolis to defend the Capital City. The adopted son of the younger son of the Duke of Kent, Clark was Orrin's premier Field Marshal and one of the finest generals on the staff.

The story went that Sir Jonathon Kent and his lovely wife, Lady Martha, who had been childless for over fifteen years of marriage, discovered a baby left in a picnic basket one morning. The cries of the helpless babe pierced Lady Martha's heart, and by the time she'd lifted the child into her arms, she was won over. When the baby grasped Sir Jonathon's index finger with his tiny hand, the grizzled soldier's heart also melted.

Clark's military training started early. By the time he was one and twenty he had gained the reputation of being not only a fierce and honorable warrior, but also a brilliant strategist whose leadership inspired his soldiers to victory after victory. Unfortunately, his military mind was currently stumped.

Wallace looked outraged at Clark's reply to his message from their Majesties.

"If only we could fly," Clark sighed. "But we might as well wish for the moon!"

"We do not have time for idle speculation, Sir Clark," Wallace said in anger. "We need to start preparations for an immediate troop movement to the north. My best friends, my uncle . . . *our* king and queen are all depending on us! We cannot let them face Mordant without their full forces!"

"And what if we left in the next ten minutes? What good would we accomplish? We would be leading the entire garrison to their deaths!" Clark shook his head. "Nay, Sir Wallace . . . as much as it pains me to say this, we must prepare to defend the city. Otherwise, all will be lost."

Wallace looked at Clark stunned by what he had said. Was he right? Did they indeed have no choice? Did he ride this distance just to end up abandoning his loved ones? He thought of his Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris. They'd raised him since he was a mere lad. He barely remembered his own parents, but he'd never missed them. He couldn't have wished for a kinder, more loving mother and father than his aunt and uncle. And was this how he was paying them back for their many kindnesses?

No! He would not abandon the battle! He would not abandon his friends and family! There had to be a way . . . something they were overlooking!

"But wait!" Wallace suddenly exclaimed. "Sir Clark, what you just said about flying . . !" 

Clark shook his head impatiently. "What of it? We cannot fly . . ."

"Perhaps not, Sir Clark," Wallace replied. "But then again, perhaps we can!" He looked at Clark with hope dawning in his eyes. "Let us away. I have an idea."

"What? What idea do you have, Sir Wallace?" Clark asked as they rushed out of his headquarters.

"Wings, Sir Clark . . . Wings."

****

Barbara felt herself being roughly pulled and pushed in different directions. She was blindfolded and gagged; she'd been turned round so many times that her sense of direction had been completely thrown off. Furthermore, her captors never said anything, so she'd no idea if either Rapier or Bess were still there. She heard doors being opened and slammed shut behind her; keys turning, doors unlocking, bolts being thrown back and replaced.

Finally, her bound hands were untied, and she was shoved unceremoniously into a room. She immediately heard the bolt being thrown in place. Barbara spun around, removing the blindfold and gag, and then stopped. Her mouth hung open in shock.

She was a small cell, about twenty feet by fifteen feet, which was already occupied with approximately ten children. They stared at each other in mutual astonishment. Barbara noted that they ran in age from about three to twelve, but couldn't be certain. A small child, hardly more than a toddler, was huddled in an older girl's arms, his thumb in his mouth. To Barbara's amazement he suddenly held his chubby arms out to her asking to be picked up.

Barbara immediately bent down and lifted him into her arms. He threw his arms around her neck and planted a big, wet kiss on her ear. Barbara laughed softly. He generously offered her his thumb. Barbara graciously turned down the offer with a slight shake of her head and a gentle smile.

"And what might your name be, cherub?" she asked.

"Timmy."

"Well, Timmy, I'm honored to make your acquaintance. How old are you, Timmy?" she asked.

Timmy seriously considered the question, then solemnly held out one finger. On further thought, he added a second.

"Two years old?" Barbara said. "My, you're almost old enough to become a page in your master's household!" Timmy smiled brightly, then quite unselfconsciously settled his head on Barbara's shoulder and went promptly to sleep. "I never suspected it could be this simple," she said bemusedly to no one in particular.

"It normally isn't, milady." Barbara looked over to where the older girl still sat in the corner on the filthy matting that covered the stone floor. Barbara walked over to her and slowly sat down next to her. "But the wee one is such an angelic babe. I've known him since he was born." She looked sadly away. "Master and Mistress Drake were . . . " she couldn't finish. "I haven't had the heart to tell him, poor babe. I'm not certain he'd understand anyway."

"What happened?" Barbara asked. "Why are all of you children here? I don't understand. Where are we?"

"As to why we're here . . . only time will tell. As to where we are . . . we are in Hell, milady, in what was once Melrose Abbey. And as to what happened..." the girl's eyes reflected the horrors that she'd witnessed. "Our homes were burned and pillaged by the Dark Legions. As the sun was going down . . . as the men were just returning home from a full day's toil in the fields . . . our small farming village was suddenly overrun by . . . creatures who by right should dwell only in nightmares!"

She turned a tear-streaked face to Barbara.

"But they're *real* lady! The hobgoblins that exist only in stories meant to frighten children . . . they exist in this realm!" She broke down and sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes. When it finally passed, she continued quietly.

"I'd walked over to the Drakes' cottage to borrow a small measure of flour from the Mistress. She was a kind lady and a goodly neighbor, always ready to share with those who had less. I'd watched young Timmy for her many a time when she had to help Master Drake in the fields."

She paused; the haunted look returned.

"She told me to help myself; so, I went down to the larder. I knew where the flour was kept as I'd been there oftentimes for the same reason. Timmy begged me to take him down with me, so I picked him up and we both went down. The attack on the village happened while we were in the larder. Mistress Drake called to me to stay put, then shut the trapdoor. I managed to keep Timmy quiet for several hours. Poor babe was terribly frightened; so was I."

She stopped and breathed a deep sigh.

"Finally, I could stand it no longer, so I took a chance and emerged to investigate. They were swarming all over the village, Lady! It was as if Cerberus himself had thrown open the gates of Hell! Needless to say, we were captured and placed in a compound with other children . . . Children from the surrounding valleys and canyons. Most I didn't know; some I'd met only briefly during market day. There were many more of us when we were first thrown in here . . . each day a few have been taken away. We've never seen them again. I've been praying that they take Timmy and me together . . . I could not bear it knowing that he'd been left alone. But now that you're here, lady . . . the wee one seems taken by you; perhaps you could watch o'er him should I be taken?" 

The girl looked away, then began crying again. Barbara didn't know what to say that could be comforting. The young girl tried to talk through her sobs, however.

"The other members of our village . . . the adults, young maidens and young men . . . my mother and father, Timmy's parents . . . everyone was put to the sword. Then their lifeless bodies and the entire village were put to the torch." She looked up at Barbara. Her sad eyes full of despair. "I know not why they were killed while we were allowed to live. But I'm sure that this oversight will soon be corrected."

Barbara listened stunned by the poor girl's tale.

"I cannot begin to imagine a more horrific nightmare than what you've lived through, child."  She suddenly remembered her manners. "Forgive me! I do not even know your name. I'm Barbara Gordon, daughter of Captain Sir James Gordon, Captain of the Guard at Castle Wayne."

"I am honored, Lady Barbara. I am Meghan MacLeod. My father was one of the last of our clan. Since the Mage Wars, the MacLeods have been few in number, and fewer still with each passing generation that disappears into the distaff line. I was an only child . . . my sole male cousin was killed along with the adults. I am afraid that I may now truly be the last of the proud Clan MacLeod."

Meghan paused and looked curiously at Barbara. "I don't understand why any of us are here, of course, but I know that most of us came from the Trossachs, the foothills that border the Caledonian Lowlands from the Highlands and thus the Wastelands further to the north. If you are of Clan Gordon, you are not a Highlander. Why have you been brought here?"

Barbara shook her head and looked away.

"That, Meghan is an excellent question, one whose answer I sorely fear."

****

"There you are, Sir Clark," Wallace said pointing, "your wings!" Clark looked out upon the royal fleet lying proudly at anchor in Metropolis Harbor. "We load the garrison . . . lock, stock, and horses . . . and *sail* north. The last I heard, our fleet had some of the fastest sailing vessels on the high seas!"

Clark looked out upon the corsairs, frigates, cruisers, brigantines, and destroyers. The Royal Fleet's finest ships of the line: the _Prince of Wales_, the _Yorktown_, the _Gotham Town_, and the Royal Flagship, _ HMS Manhunter_ . . . there were many more . . . proud names from the Kingdom of Avalon's long, august history. Clark stood on the busy loading dock surveying the endless activity and nodded thoughtfully.

The famous White Cliffs overlooking the harbor stood as a silent sentinel to Avalon's maritime history. When Wallace first caught sight of them, he stood awestruck before their unsullied beauty. If anything symbolized the inner purity of Avalon's soul it was the very foundation of immaculate whiteness upon which the country was built. 

Clark turned to Wallace a smile touching his clear blue eyes. The wind ruffled his dark hair, whipping a forelock that refused to remain in place across his brow. His red cape with his family's proud crest in the form of a stylized "S" billowed in the crisp sea breeze. The words "For Truth and Justice" were embroidered in a half-circle above the "S."

"Sir Wallace, any time you're ready to leave the service of Lord Wayne and join a real fighting outfit, you're welcome on my staff. I'll assemble the Admiralty within the candlemark . . . I'm about to commandeer Lord Admiral Sir John Jones' Navy. The old blowhard will wail and moan, but in end he'll love the thought of sailing into battle! Good work, lad. You've done your family proud today!"

Wallace felt himself grow an inch taller under the glowing praise. No wonder Sir Clark was so beloved by his soldiers. He just inspired pride in each of them and a fierce desire to do their best for him. Uncle Barry told him of the man's immense gift to radiate confidence and hope. Wallace had not fully understood what his uncle meant until this moment.

"We sail north, lad. I hope you brought your sea legs with you." Clark gave a hearty laugh, and slapping Wallace between the shoulders, urged him to follow him. "Come, let us find that old sea pirate and tell him he's about to earn his wages."

Chapter Eight

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