Chapter 29—Party Crashers

Arthur smothered a yawn in the sleeve of his tunic. It was the third time in as many minutes that his jaw had cracked open. Lancelot’s jaw stretched in sympathy. They had been trading yawns most of the night. It wasn’t exhaustion that had Arthur yawning, but nerves. While the majority of the ceremonies were complete, there was still the announcement of his betrothal to come. A heavy meal and a surfeit of wine combined with his taut nerves was a recipe bound to have his head slumping to the table, snoring for all to hear. He was grateful for the sharp jabs from Lancelot’s elbow keeping him awake.

Lancelot gave him another not very gentle poke, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You know, Highness, if you stopped dreaming of me at night, you might get some rest.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched with humour. “My dreams are my own. Maybe I will share them with you, one day.”

“Share them with me, now,” said Lancelot. “No one else is listening to our conversation. What were we doing?”

Arthur felt the familiar flush rising up his neck, to heat his cheeks. “No.”

Lancelot ran a hand over his jaw, then laughed “Your cheeks are getting red. Too much wine?”

“Do you want to spend a night in the cells?” Arthur countered, glaring.

“You have stopped yawning,” he observed. “Nothing like a little bit of stimulus to wake you up. Smile, everyone is watching. Besides, your father is about to announce your betrothal.”

Arthur settled back in his chair as his father rose to his feet. Uther held out his hands to silence the buzz of conversation. The minstrels ceased their playing, taking advantage of the pause to drink thirstily from tankards of ale snatched from a wandering server.

Arthur’s eyes slid over the room without making contact with any of the hopeful faces in the crowd. There was only one person that he wanted to find.

Lancelot nudged Arthur and whispered, “Guinevere is at the table to the right, next to the statue of your grandfather.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered in that direction, and there she was. He had not seen her all day with the crush of people and the crowd of well wishers. Guinevere was dressed in light pink silk that hugged her form like a second skin. He could see the rise of her breasts as she breathed. Her long hair was pulled to the top of her head and secured with a bone comb in the shape of a turtle, while a cascade of curls fell to either side, framing her face. Their eyes met. She snapped open a fan and waved it in front of her face, to cool her heated skin.

“She is a beautiful one,” said Lancelot, pitching his voice low, for Arthur’s ears only. The mask of calm on Arthur’s face did not waver, as he focused his attention on the king.

“Lords and ladies, special guests,” said Uther in a booming voice that filled the hall. He held a golden goblet in his right hand, filled with wine that sloshed over the side as he gestured. “There is but one last announcement I wish to make, that will round out the day’s festivities. I know many of you have been anxiously awaiting this announcement. Believe me when I say that the choice was difficult. Creating a permanent bond with the house of Pendragon is not made without sober thought and consideration. It is with great joy that I wish to announce the betrothal of Prince Arthur of Camelot, to the Lady Guinevere of Camiliard.” Uther turned to Guinevere and raised his cup. The people in attendance rose to their feet, lifting their glasses to toast the future bride of their beloved prince. “Lady Guinevere, do you accept this arrangement?”

Arthur’s eyes met Guinevere’s over the swiveling heads of the guests, who were straining to get a glimpse of Guinevere’s reaction. Her father urged her to her feet to stand along side him. Guinevere opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, the hall erupted with screams of pain and cries of terror.

Arthur and Lancelot jumped to their feet as the stained-glass windows of the hall imploded, shattering into lethal shards that rained down on the guests. Arthur’s sword leapt into his hand, but before he could move, Lancelot shoved him aside, placing his body between Arthur and the unknown threat.

“Protect the king!” screamed Arthur, as the head table came to their feet. Sir Gawain and Sir Percival hooked Uther by his elbows and dragged the king away. They sheltered him with their bodies as they pushed him back behind the stone columns.

The scrape of stone on stone overlaid the moans of the wounded, as bony claws gripped the stone ledge of the window opening. A massive head with wicked bony spikes running over the crest of its naked skull, thrust its way into the shattered opening as the skeletal dragon pushed its way into the room. It did not pause, nor care where it placed its feet. Screaming people ran for the exits, scrambling over the bodies of those who had fallen.

Shrieks of pain and the groans of the injured mixed with the scratching click of the dragon’s nails as it stepped fully into the room, head swinging from side to side as it searched the room, until it spied Arthur. With a blast of flame, the dragon launched itself into the air, then dove toward him at break neck speed.

“Arthur!” screamed Lancelot, grabbing him by the shoulder of his tunic and pulling him down beside him. Arthur crouched behind the table with Lancelot, swords wavering. No sword would stop this creature, and they knew it, but they clung to their one weapon. Lancelot’s hand steadied holding his sword at the ready.

The bone dragon landed with a thud on the cold stone floor. Simone’s broad tail swept around in a semicircle, brushing aside all those who thought to defend the prince as though they were straw dummies set up to be knocked down. Arthur’s sword slipped in his sweaty grip. He could think of nothing he could do to defend himself against the beast. All their previous efforts had failed. The hollow eye sockets glinted with the light cast by the wall torches. Empty and uncaring, the voids promised death.

Simone padded closer, bones clicking on stone. When she was within range, she laid down a blast of flame, then extended her front claw. With a quick swipe she grabbed both Arthur and Lancelot in her clawed fist, then turned and launched herself at the open window. Arthur screamed as the bones tightened around his waist. His feet lifted from the floor. He held on to his sword in an iron grip, afraid to drop it in the jostling flight of the dragon. Arrows zipped by his head, bouncing off the rib bones then ricocheted, as ineffective as pebbles tossed at a stone wall. One wing clipped a pitcher of water, which sloshed over a bony finger. The dragon roared as the water sizzled on the bone. It twisted its head to blast a jet of flame at the bubbling surface. The flames blistered Arthur’s face, and he threw up an arm to protect his skin.

Shouts and screams, some of pain and some of anger, followed Arthur as the window neared. His shriek joined theirs as with a surge of power the bone dragon cleared the wall and soared out into the sickening expanse of empty air. Arthur heard a scream to his left and twisted his head to see who else was being carried away. Lancelot dangled by one leg from a single claw, which had pierced his pants. The fabric was stained red. Lancelot clutched the bony appendage, struggling to hang on while the wind whipped their clothing. Somehow, he had managed to sheath his sword, which left both hands free to grasp the claw. As Arthur watched, he saw the cloth rip. Lancelot lurched, scrabbling frantically to crawl up onto the precarious perch.

“Lancelot! Climb!” shouted Arthur, as Lancelot slipped further. The dragon soared out over the roofs of the shops lining the roads of the inner city, then over the gates of the outer wall. Suddenly, she banked to the left and opened the claw from which Lancelot swung. With a flick of its foot, it flung Lancelot away, ever so much like a dog shaking off a fly. Lancelot roared as he fell out of Arthur’s horrified line of site.

“Lancelot!” he screamed, twisting in the grip of the dragon. “Lancelot!” Arthur choked back a sob. His friend was lost. There was no way that Lancelot could survive such a fall. Tears streaked his face, soaking into his tunic. They fell faster than the wind could dry them. He did not care. He’s gone! My God, Lancelot! Lancelot, bravest of the brave, a true knight of the realm, was dead. Never again would he see that twinkle in his grey eyes as he teased Arthur. His grief lodged in his chest like a brick, tightening the muscles and making it difficult to swallow. His chest hurt as his voice grew hoarse from screaming Lancelot’s name, over and over.

The wind carried laughter to his ears. He looked up. The dragon’s eyeless stare met his, mouth gaping open in the dragon equivalent of a grin.

“You will die for all time for this,” Arthur shouted at the dragon, pounding his fist against the claw that held him. “I will take you with me to my grave.”

He heard the dragon’s amused snort as she carried Arthur across the river and out into a sky darkening with the threat of rain. She flew parallel to the advancing storm front, as though racing it to see who would arrive at their destination first. Lightning flashed, followed moments later by the rumble of thunder. Simone eyed the storm, then sped up, to keep just ahead of the sheets of rain falling from the leaden clouds. Their course followed the river, a river he had followed from horseback not that long ago. They were heading for the village of Affalon Ford, back to where it all began, and likely where it would all end, for him. He found that he really didn’t care much. The rawness of the pain of losing Lancelot numbed his interest in his own fate, squashing it beneath his grief.

Lancelot was dead. His one true love was lost to him, forever.