COT

Madness had laid siege to the castle of Camelot and confusion was ruling it. Everybody seemed on his or her feet, trying to be of whatever use in the wake of Prince Rion's coronation. Men were unloading casks of wine from the Mercian trade wagons; sacks of flour were being moved to the castle to make sure the kitchens had everything neccessary for the proper dinner. Countless hunting parties have been permitted to the King's Wood, and there was a promise of a generous prize for the hunting party that would offer the most beautiful stag to King Rion. Serving boys and girls were washing and mending their masters' clothes, who wanted to be dressed in their best for the bitter-sweet occasion. The castle yard was a parade of whickering horses, members of the court giving commands, and guards cursing at everyone who'd come their way.

Good, Yrien thought, observing the scene from the balcony on the third storey. I may be at war, but I don't want to look like a mouse that's going to dig into some hole and hide and wait until the danger is gone. Let them all see I am not afraid. Let them all know I am as much a danger as Arthur. Besides, what sort of war is it? A slow one, at best.

She had recieved a letter bearing Sir Leon's sigil, where her newmade Councilor of War informed her that all the forces King Ryence had left in Brechfa nine days ago would be groupped up at the castle of Chemary, where Sir Leon would add some more men and lead five hundred swords to the castle of Gedref. According to Sir Leon, his host could reach the castle of Gedref in less than four days.

Once the siege is laid, I will have to wait. Fat Sagramore was right. The siege of Gedref can last for years. Portstown can only be taken from the sea, and I have no fleet and do not intend to build one. We shall storm Portstown with the help of Gaheris army, but not before I have Vyda's son and grandson as my honored guests will I permit her army to come from behind the White Mountains. Two thousands swords is a force big enough to tempt Vyda to try and conquer Camelot. Having her son and grandson as my honored guests will cool her temper.

Suddenly, her gaze came across an expensive cart standing in the corner of the yard. It had green curtains. The color of Dindranes.

"Sir Logsheath," she asked the commander of her guards who was accompanying her like shadow these days. "Is it Lady Dindrane's cart that I spot there?"

"Precisely, your grace."

"Does it mean that she is returned to the castle and I have not been notified?"

"Must be so, your grace. Must be she slipped unnoticed in the fuss of the preparation for... for the... coronation, your grace."

Yrien wanted to clutch the old woman's throat and make her beg for mercy. I told her son. I told him his mother had to return at once. Now here she is and they didn't even bother to notify me. I will have their heads!

"Escort me to House Dindrane's chambers, Sir Logsheath," Yrien commanded.

"As my grace commands," the knight bowed down gallantly.

The walk through the corridors was slower this time, for many servants, all playing their part in the preparation for the ceremony, were rushing back and forth. Yrien hated the attitude the Dindranes had shown her so far. She still remembered the way Tawton's nostrills grew wide when he recieved the order to bring his mother back to the castle. Is that a threat?! Yrien's mood was growing darker. Does this Tawton think that he can question my authority because he reached the finals of the King's Tourney? I spit at him and at his tourneys. I have more swords. The Dindranes are nothing. An old family name, the descendants of the druid kings that have no lands, only feather matresses and expensive sleeping furs. It was a mistake to let Anna deal with the druid rebellion.

The serving boy of house Dindrane ran upstairs the instant he spotted Queen Regent and her guard in the hall. He reappeared in a moment, mumbing something about Lady Dindrane expecting her grace in her bedchambers. Expecting? Me? I should be expecting her!

Anna Dindrane's apartments were large and no less lavisn than the chambers destoryed in the Western Tower. She had a privy of her own and a dressing room whose size would suit a young green girl rather than an old short woman with face composed of wrinkles and white hair Anna would try to hide from the sun beneath a number of shawls. Anna also had a balcony of white carved stone which looked off across the Southern Village.

Anna was on the balcony, resting her hands on the carved stone balustrade, peering over the edge. Does she intend to step over the edge? That would a relief for all of us, I am sure.

"Your grace," Anna said, turning to the queen and waving her serving boy off with her hands. Even her hands are wrinkled. "I was horror struck when my son's horseman delivered the news about King Ryence. Let him find his path into the spirit world."

"Let him," Yrien agreed, stepping out on the balcony. Her single look at Sir Logsheath was enough to let the guard know his presence in the room was not required. "My lady, welcome home. The castle has been missing me."

"Mayhaps. But not you. The sooner you rid the court of me, the happier you'll be."

Her openness produced the weirdest effect: Yrien smiled. What is there about this woman? Maybe Ryence was not wrong to use her, after all. However, I'm still to find who used who.

"Ridding the court of you? My lady, I would have never..."

"Tawton told me everything. He described the nature of your visit. My child, how miserably dull you are if you really thought I was plotting something with the druid rebells. Nobody recognized me in their camp, and when I told them who I was, they believed me naught."

"You have been missing for six days. You didn't even send a horseman back and..."

"Haven't it come across your oil-stuffed head that druids were not very fond of letting me send horsemen with messages for the crown?" Anna sniffed.

The idea to throw Anna off the balcony was seducing Yrien even stronger. The world will not miss her.

"My lady, with all due respect for your... age, do not forget that I am Queen Regent of Camelot, and you must show me some respect," Yrien said, feeling foolish at once. A queen who tells her people to treat her with respect has no respect at all.

"Forgive me, queen regent," Anna said with a toothless smile. "I didn't mean to offend you. Shall we go back into my room and discuss the matters of the realm?"

Yrien nodded and watched the old woman put a bottle of wine and a pair of silver cups on the table.

"I could ask for a taster, if you insist," Anna told her. "But I will be drinking from the same bottle."

Yrien considered the opportunity, but her determination to show no trace of cowardice prevailed.

"No need of taster if we drink from the same bottles," she said gently. "However, will my lady please change cups with me?"

Yrien suggested it when Anna was about to sip on the red juicy drink.

"Of course, your grace."

They were seated at the writing table with quills, inkpots and a bowl of peaches, plums and pears. Yrien held the silver cup in her hand and dared not drink, not before she saw Anna taste the wine, too.

"So? What is this druid fuss all about?"

"It is more than fuss, your grace. I shall deliver all the ill news first. To begin with, the river of Albus serves as a magic shield for the druids, whatever the reason. I can't imagine who could have enchanted the whole river, your grace, but it is enchanted."

"Enchanted?" Yrien repeated, remembering the terrifying screams in the Royal Tower the night Uther's ghost came to haunt them.

"Yes. When armed people cross this river, their weapons are destroyed by some magic force and they are left emty-handed. The nature of this force is unknown to me, but it allows the druids to feel relatively safe across the river."

"How many are there?"

"Many enough. A few hundreds. Might be close to thousand, your grace, but counting was useless. They keep arriving. And not just some druids, your grace. They carry blades and other weapons."

"You've just told me..."

"No harm comes to their blades. It must be the work of magic. Their magic, your grace."

"What do they demand?"

"Freedom. They want you to lift the ban on magic in the kingdom. Otherwise they will restore the ancient seat of druid kings in the land of Andor."

Yrien drained the whole cup to feel the sobbering sourness on her tongue. Hundreds. Close to a thousand. Arthur raising banners in the south, hiding behind the thick walls of the castle of Gedref. Druids hiding behind the magic of the river Albus. Vyda Gaheris, who, although having declared fealty to the crown of Camelot, can always side with Arthur and try and destroy Rion. Would it be wise if I abandoned Camelot and declared independency of Midlands and restored the Midlands seat in the castle of Brechfa? Would it be better for Camelot to go back to the era of Five Kingdoms?

Yrien's guesswork told her it would be a folly. Being the Queen of one land with four hostile neighbors would be more dangerous than ruling over one kingdom troubled by riots and rebellions. I shall deal with druids after I deal with Arthur. All in due time.

"If I refuse to lift the ban on magic, they will live in the land of Andor without ever attempting to threaten the crown?" Yrien asked the question without being too optimistic about the answer.

Anna poured some more wine and let the silver cup sway elegantly in her old wrinkled hand.

"The river Albus flows too close to the Mercian road. If the merchants felt the road unsafe, the trade would seize and the kingdom will record great losses. Lord Cynric won't be happy about it. Where is our new lord of Gedref, by the way? I was told he's not in the castle."

"He is not. He is in the castle of Chemary. I recieved a letter from him yesterday. He was on his way to inspect his newly bought castle when..."

"When he suddenly realized the castle had chosen a different lord," Anna finished with poorly masked happiness over Cynric's misfortunes. "How dreadful for our dear Royal Treasurer... Would that we could help him."

She knows. But I will not talk to her about Arthur. It was the trade with Mercia that occupied all her mind. If the trade is stopped and Gedref remains under siege... Our tax reform will collapse.

"These... druids. Do they have a leader?"

"They do. Ruadan. A seasoned warrior who has outlived Uther's raids."

That speaks much about him already. Uther spent many an effort to cleanse the earth off the druids, even their children.

"This Ruadan can't expect me to lift the ban on magic after all that happened to Camelot? The dragon attack cost this city hundreds of lives."

"Ruadan doesn't expect you to lift the ban overnight, your grace. He has a step by step plan. And he asked me to offer the first step to you."

"Which is?"

"A marriage between prince Rion, well, soon to be king Rion, and Lady Morgana of House Gorlois."

The silence was so thin Yrien could hear fractions of people's talking in the Southern Village. Anna's wrinkles didn't form up into a smile. She is serious.

"Lady Morgana? What is this ploy?"

"Lady Morgana has sided with druids. I saw her," Anna nodded disaprovingly.

"But... how? She was kidnapped by the Dark Witch!"

"And the druids saved her. There is little friendship between the druids and the priestesses of the Isle of the Blessed, your grace. Morgana spoke to me. She said she regretted she hadn't killed Uther herself. Ask anybody at court, the fossure in their relationship was for us all to see, but Goddess, who could have known it was that cruel..."

Morgana... Vivienne's daughter. The niece of one of those dragonlords slain at the Battle of Ashes. Should I be surprised she turned out to hate Uther?

"Even if I were to consider this solution," Yrien balked at it. "I can't be marrying the king off to lady Morgana just to water their silly rebellion. Ruadan must have offered something in return."

"Five thousand swords," Anna said, emotionless.

"Five thousand?! That's impossible. Druids can't have such numbers. In no way... How many druids are there in Camelot?"

"It's hard to estimate, your grace. Some speak of fifteen thousand. But you should not forget the druids of Essetir and the druids of Catha. They are joining forces and gold. They are rebuilding the castle of Idirsholas."

The cold stone floor was slipping from beneath her feet. Five thousand swords at Idirsholas. If they are gathered there, they will cut through the north like a knife through hot butter. There are no major holfasts between Idirsholas and Camelot. Idirsholas has long be considered a ruin in a cursed wasteland.

"Will there be a response, your grace? Will I have a message to deliver?"

"I must talk this over with my council first," Yrien said, rising to her feet.

"Of course, your grace."

"I hope you don't miss prince Rion's coronation," Yrien said, considering it to be the highest invitation the old bat deserved.

The coronation time was nearing. Yrien hated herself for spending too much time in Anna Dindrane's company, for she could've used this time to prepare herself for the ceremony. I am to become Queen Regent, after all.

Under no circumstances would she ever tell Rion of the druid rebellion and its scales before the evenfall. The lad's been far too nervous these days, and he is still to discover all the stress from ruling the kingdom. He doesn't look like himself ever since Ryence was... Small wonder. He can't feel safe. There was little attachment between Rion and Ryence, but Ryence was a great model to follow.

"Any troubles reported in the city?" she inquired as Sir Logsheath was accompanying her to her chambers.

"Nothing major, your grace. Some drunkard tried to steal a cask of wine and there happened an amusing love joust in the Lower Town," the guard snorted.

"A love joust? What? Somebody could't share some tavern wench?"

"Almost, your grace. A serving girl named Guinevere."

"What?!" Yrien put on a smile. Her? Why would men be fighting over her? "The physician's apprentice?"

"Aye, your grace. We arrested all of them. Decided it was best to let them spend the night in the cells and to learn some notion of manners..."

"There is no need of that," Yrien said, previewing the Gaius would be at her door any moment, demanding that Gwen were released. "Let the wench go. And bring these men to my chambers. I want to see what sort of men fight over the likes of her."