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The borderline was easy to pass. Arthur had thought that it would be a tiresome process, considering the enmity between Nemeton and Nemeth. However, Lady Pellinore's seals served them well, and Arthur saw Sir Illorn pass a fat purse to the chief of Nemeth Border Watch. Far be it from me to judge.

The morning was damp and chilly, and the sky was crowded with huge clouds that looked like castles to him, but his heart was ablaze. Merlin is alive and fine. He is accompanied by Lancelot. Lancelot is not the best of men, but he can fight. I taught him myself. He is traveling to Perilous Lands, he will be in the presence of sorcery, but Merlin has magic. He told me he found a way to solve the riddle.

Their ride resumed, and Arthur felt like a prince again - in the company of trusted guards and loyal servants, the men to lead him through the perils of his quest. However, his quest seemed to have run out of perils, much to Arthur's pleasure. He had never been the first one to surrender to fright, but his bravery required a foe Arthur could comprehend, a foe he could defeat with sword and shield. Neither a lamia nor the keeper of some gates was that kind of foe. There's small wit in fighting magic with swords.

Ryence, the self-styled king of Camelot, did not have magic, and Arthur thanked the goddess for that. Father has suffered so many attacks from warlocks and witches who wanted to avenge him for the Purge that it seems almost a miracle that he eventually fell victim to the cowardice of a feeble warlord whose glory is a dust of the past. Had the kingdom fallen to some sorcerer or sorceress...

Ryence was the kind of foe Arthur could imagine at the battle field. He will never grant me the pleasure of a single combat, though. Why would he? He has hosts in the castles of Brechfa, Chemary and Woodspeak. He has hundred and forty-four villages that recognize his power. Not to mention the bigger towns. By all the laws of warcraft, he's bound to win.

Arthur meant to defy the laws of warcraft, and he believed in his odds. Ryence may have hundreds of villages, but he can raise no army that would storm the castle of Gedref. It's a castle on the rock islands in the sea. It can withstand any siege. Arthur also remembered Goeffrey's stories about Portstown, the city by the castle of Gedref. It lay a bit far from the castle, Geoffrey would say, in the place where the rocky shore would descend into the level of the sea and become more gentle and allow the port to be constructed. There were, and a ring of thick walls protected Portstown from three sides. The fourth side was guarded by the sea. Portstown fears no siege, for it can always get food with the help of merchants. If Modron brings his father's banners to Portstown before Ryence sends his army, there would be no way for Ryence's army to storm the walls.

The prospects were a bit too hopeful, and Arthur couldn't let go of his fair share of doubts. Even if Modron brings Nemeton men to Portstown before Ryence brings his army, what will it mean for me? Who will I be? I will be a rebel against the crown. Seated in the comfortable throne room of the castle of Gedref, yes, but no more than a rebel. The only city at my command will be besieged. And if I dare open the gates and take the men to the open field, Ryence will destroy me with his vast numbers.

Arthur needed allies, he desperately needed lords or ladies with the numbers that could match Ryence's. It was indeed natural to turn to the Westerners for help, considering his father's aunt was the Lady of Daobeth. But Vyda was a terrible crone, with the hatred of magic that could rival that of Uther Pendragon. And greedy past the point of sanity. I remember once she was trying to persuade father to give the castle of Asgorath and all its territories to her younger son Nentres. Father reminded her that Morgana was the closest relative to old Catigern, and his rightful heir.

Even without Asgorath, the territory of Daobeth could be a priceless ally. Located to the west of the White Mountains, it had thirty-seven villages, five towns and one castle, if Geoffrey's records could be trusted. Were Daobeth to join the rebellion against Ryence, the new king would be facing a grim picture of his own future. Daobeth was safely guarded by the White Mountains, and had only to guard the passes to make sure Ryence doesn't invade the west. Three passes were there, but only one fit for an army: the Pass of Camlann. The other two were too dangerous for the soldiers to cross. Landshire is rocks without roads where horses would break their legs. Denaria is swamps where horses would drown.

Now that Merlin meant more to him than the whole kingdom probably did, Arthur knew he would not be able to turn to Vyda Gaheris for help. If she ever learns I am aided by a sorcerer, the whole West will demand my head. There were other options, though, and Arthur meant to use them. Hateful as the relationship between Nemeton and Nemeth were, Arthur had seen enough to understand their trade was far past the tremulous superstitions and quarrels of the past. If King Rodor wants the trade to avoid suffering, he will assist me and support my cause. He's too wise to watch Nemeton and Gedref set the whole south on fire of the revolt. Besides, Camelot treaty with Nemeth expires in three years. If Rodor's wise, he will face no hard choice.

The south was to his taste. The sun broke through clouds and the broad wheat fields were sodden with yellow light. Fallow grasslands were seen, too, and meadows with flowers, and countless villages on their way as the road was leading south in a stubborn and straightline fashion.

"They often get two or even three harvests a year in Nemeth, my lord," Sir Illorn told him. "They have fruits that never grow in Camelot. Peaches big as fists, plums as sweet as a maiden’s kiss and grapes sour as wine."

Lord Cynric was fond of Nemeth wine, Arthur remembered, and half the court would keep an expensive bottle of purple glass to be opened on special occasion only. Morgana once made a jape about wine. "What good is it to be the sovereign of Camelot and all its lands and territories, if there is not a single place with decent wine?" "Do you propose invading Nemeth, Morgana?" Uther smiled at her.

He always treated her as his daughter, even though she was not more than a ward to him, kept at court for the single purpose. She was the heir of Asgorath and was meant to be married off to someone rich and influential. Asgorath is the Pearl of the West. It has more than fifty villages, ten towns and two castles. If Morgana were to inherit such wealth, Uther would not have let her go without a husband to match the splendor of Asgorath. I must find her and tell her she will never be persecuted because of her magic. Where do I look for her, though?

Arthur's party spent another night in a large inn at a rich town of mostly stone buildings. It was located at the crossroad of the Nemeton road which ran south and the Londinium road which ran east. Arthur didn't refuse his dinner this time; his mood had been made brighter by a brief encounter with Merlin in the dreamworld. Would that I could make it last longer... Arthur accepted Sir Illorn's invitation to join his guards for dinner, and was happy to listen to their stories, to learn where they had come from, in what woods they had hunted and what creatures they had seen in the dark forests.

When most of the guards went to their beds, Sir Illorn took some time to share his bits of advice with Arthur.

"Nemeth is a land that had known as little piece as Camelot had, my lord. King Rodor is old and enjoys the company of unworthy kings. Alined the Trickster of Deorham is his western neighbor. A coward, but a dangerous one, if you ask me. He funds the Pirate Companies that would attack Nemeth Fleet and ports unless King Rodor pays him generous sums. And if Rodor dares threaten King Alined with war, King Odin the Unruly will come to Alined's rescue."

Odin. A flash of remorse and a ghost of his first murder were brought out by the strong southern wine.

"Deorham could've been a prosperous land, my lord. It's the only kingdom with access both, to the Sea of Mora and to the Merchant's Bay. Nemeth's ports are all on the shore of the Sea of Mora, and Odin's kingdom is too far west. But Alined's kingdom suffers because of the king corruted by his own weaknesses."

Will I be the king to avoid corruption by my own weaknesses?

“So when you talk to Rodor, my lord, make some promised. Promise to solve his problem with King Alined. Your father looked like he’d put an end to Alined with the Treaty of Five Kings. See that you finish what Uther had started.”

Arthur frowned. He didn’t like to think of his father after talking to his ghost. Even if the ghost was just a show put by the Keeper of the Gates to the Spirit World, the words Uther spoke hurt like hell.

The third day of their ride proceeded under the tender sunshine and the forget-me-not blue sky, and the countless inspections by Nemeth guards and patrol parties, who would always treat twenty-five riders with caution and mistrust until presented with Lady Pellinore's letters.

To Arthur, the southern grasslands, fields and meadows seemed a little dull. Camelot, encircled by forests, by King's Wood and Darkling Wood, had an air of enigma about it, while the vast plains of Nemeth provided a view at everything that lady leagues ahead. When the brown walls behind green groves appeared on the horizon, Sir Illorn announced:

"Lodyn, the capital of Nemeth. The Garden city."

The western sky was pale-pink near the horizon, and sea-blue high above when Arthur's party approached massive high walls of Lodyn.

"Where's the castle?" Arthur asked Sir Illorn, puzzled. The walls were not so high that they could shield a castle from the curious eye.

"Lodyn has no castle. It's a city, my lord. It has two rings of walls."

"Where does king reside then?"

"Why, in his palace."

Palace? Folly. A city without a castle is a vulnerable place. Walls can be stormed. Walls can be destroyed with the help of trebuchets. Castle is a fortress. Small wonder Rodor can't declare war on King Alined of Deorham. It would take a decent army of five thousand men to sack Lodyn.

Arthur and his party were immediately spotted at the Gates of Dawn.

"If King Rodor has good guards and patrols, he must've learnt of our visit already. However, he doesn't know we bring Arthur Pendragon to his gates."

They were let behind city walls quickly, escaping the long wait in an exhausting line of visitors that were hoping to make it to the city by sunset. Nothing of what Arthur saw in the beginning distinguished Lydon from the cities he had visited so far. The streets had more order to them than the cobwebs of Mountville, as many shops as there were in Stoneroad, and craftsmen quarters as numerous as in the Southern Village of Camelot. The most notables difference originated in roofing: it was mostly done in tiles, and the houses were built of stones.

"They don't permit wooden buildings, my lord. Summers are hot in Nemeth, and were the fire to start in a city with wooden houses..."

I know. I've seen the fire of the Lower Town after Dragon's attack.

When they entered the Rose Gate in the second wall ring, Arthur understood why Lydon was called the Garden City. What he saw was the greatest beauty and the biggest folly he could ever imagine. Arthur knew that most of his father's councilors would call this a terrible waste of space, and Arthur would not argue with them. Behind the second wall ring, the streets were planned in a different fashion. The buildings were sparse and tall, and great pieces of land between buildings were filled with gardens, groves, courtyards and fountains. Some of them looked so exquisite and lavish Arthur could not believe they were located just the way they were, with any person allowed to walk these gardens freely. Why are the statues at the fountains not stolen? Who does this wealth belong to?

The king's palace, although never a proper castle, did tower above the rest of the city. It had thick brick walls no less than ten feet high, and when Arthur's party reached the stone bridge that led to the entrance of the enormous gatehouse, they had already been expected by no less than fifty guards from the king's watch.

"Sir Illorn," a lithe and fit man with soft brown hair rode to meet them from the gatehouse. "On behalf of King Rodor of Nememth, allow me to welcome you and your party to our kingdom." His horse stopped not far from Sir Illorn. "We have received news of your coming. Unfortunately, the hour's late for King Rodor's audience, but you are welcome to spend the night in the house of honorable guests. I do need to remind you that you can't ride past this gatehouse armed. My name is Willant."

"Disarm yourselves," Sir Illorn ordered to his guards. "I thank you for your greetings, Sir Willant."

Arthur heard the guards dismount and unfasten their sword belts. Much as he disliked the lack of a sword on his belt, he understood no king would ever allow a party of twenty-five armed guards into his palace. In the meanwhile, Sir Illorn approached Sir Willant and asked Arthur to come forward.

"I know the hour indeed might be late for King Rodor's audience, but I have reasons to believe his majesty will reconsider once he learns we've brought Arthur of House Pendragon to his city."

"Is that a jape, Sir?" Willant's eyes were bright with insolence. "Pendragons are dead."

Sir Illorn fished Lady Pellinore's letter out of his pocket and handed it to the royal guard, who broke the seal and studies the long lines; the more he read, the more his eyebrows resembled bows. He was frowning by the time he got to the end of the letter and eyed Arthur suspiciously.

"Arthur Pendragon?"

"So it is, Sir," Arthur knew there had to be a shade of arrogance to his tone to make him sound like a prince. A prince without a crown. Styled as king by Merlin. Goddess, I can't believe I've got this far.

"Follow me, then," Willant said, doubts still easy to read on his young face.

The thick walls of King Rodor's palace were covered with ivy on the inner side. They were riding through extensive gardens with cherry trees, stone vases, marble statues and long and colorful flowerbeds. In the center of the garden there was a massive pool with lilies and a statue of a stag in its center.

Arthur and Sir Illorn were allowed into the large hall with a high dome that glowed with gold, where six guards in brown cloaks met them.

"The prince is to proceed alone, I'm afraid," Willant told Sir Illorn.

"Of course," Arthur nodded and followed the guards.

They led him out of the hall into yet another garden, the one that belonged with the inner courtyard of the palace. King Rodor was a tall thin man with purple-grey hair and heavy wrinkles on his cheeks. He was talking to someone who looked like his councilor, a powdered and primped fat man in lilac robes, accompanied by two guards. The King himself wore a green cloak edged in gold satin when he noticed the six guards escort someone into the garden and stopped by a statue of a young boy chaining a dragon.

"Your grace," Arthur said, bowing down his head. I can't bend the knee for formally, I'm myself a king.

King Rodor was speechless and looked at his powdered councilor for some explanation, but the man looked as lost as the king himself.

"Arthur!" he mouthed in disbelief, looking as though he was about to faint. "Arthur!"

"Your grace, I thank you for the audience," Arthur said. "Your kindness means a lot to me and it shall never pass unnoticed."

"But Arthur, you... We heard... There is new king in Camelot now!" Rodor said, as though he hoped his words would turn Arthur into a mirage in the desert.

"Usurper. Ryence of House Gingawaine. He poisoned my father and tried to kill me. He succeeded in first and failed in second, as you can see."

"The gods be good," Rodor whispered and trailed off to the marble bench by the statue.

Suddenly, the king clapped his hands and his councilor and all the guards except for the two behind his back fled the garden.

The garden was full of bird's songs and thin shadows as the embers of pink sunset were burning out. Half the moon was already seen, yellow as cheese in the deep blue of the sky. Arthur followed King Rodor, but dared not take a seat or display any signs of exhaustion. I must look as though everything is happening the way I planned.

"Your grace, it pains me to come to your palace so late and with such... disturbing news. However, Nemeth has a border with the Kingdom of Camelot, and as the rightful king of Camelot, I thought it was my duty to personally inform you."

"Inform me of what?"

"Ryence had taken the throne by murdering our rightful king, my father. Do not believe a word he has written to you. He only conrtols the Midlands, the castle of Camelot, Ascetir and the Mercian road. Both, the West and the South defy him. I command the castle of Nemeton and the castle of Gedref, both of the castles have raised banners," Arthur hated to lie, but he had a strong sense he had to lie.

"Arthur, this is... May the gods be with us, Arthur, this means war. You came to inform me of war?"

"Of that, your grace. There will be Camelot civil war, fought close to your norhtern borders. But this war will be more than just the civil war in Camelot. We know that my father had certain... obligations, according to the treaty signed between you and Uther seventeen years ago. Ryence is not the king of man to stay true to his word, not the king to be trusted. Your grace, in the dire hour of Nemeth, seventeen years ago, my father came to your rescue and helped you defeat King Quilhelm of Essetir. Now, I ask you to do the same and I promise, I will stick to my father’s course regarding King Alined and..."

"Father!"

Arthur turned to the loud shout in the garden and saw a figure running to them through lawns, a slender girl with pale skin and thick softly curling black hair. She looked young as she jumped over one of the empty benches, but there was already something womanly about her figure. She was dressed in what appeared to be some hunting jacket and had a knife belt around her waist. She is comely.

"Father!" she landed on King Rodor's bench and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "I've missed you! You won't believe what happened, father, I've chased a stag, but that son of a bitch was a tough one, and he ran away into the forests of Nemeton where I couldn't... or, who's that?" she asked, her eyes lingering on Arthur and curiosity sparkling in them.

King Rodor coughed uncomfortably.

"Mithian, I've told you many times, you mustn't take your hunting parties that far north and... How many times will you learn to guard your tongue in the presence of our court? A proper princess..."

"Wears beautiful gowns and farts with rosewater fragrance, I know father," she laughed, making King Rodor's face turn red and Arthur chuckle. "Now whom do we have here?"

"Mithian, this is Arthur of House Pendragon, son of late Uther Pendragon."

Mithian responded with a smile and a pleasant laughter.

"Of course, father. And next time I go hunting, I'm like to find some of Ashkanar's eggs. Seriously, who is this?"

"My lady," Arthur smiled. "I am indeed Arthur Pendragon."

It took Mithian a moment to realize, most probably from her father's perplexed look, that Rodor wasn't japing.

"But you... but he is... Father, I don't understand!" Mithian shook her head. "If he is Arthur Pendragon, then how comes Camelot has a different king?"

Would that we knew, princess. Would that we knew.