Selene

Chapter Fifty-Six

"Myrddin!" He shouted, stepping over fallen enemy and brethren soldiers on the battlefield. "Myrddin!"

Snort.

Amidst the slain bodies of horses and knights, a riderless Frisian with the royal crest across its shoulder grazed almost directly on top of a young man in royal robes. A crown and strange metallic hat lay in the mud beside him.

Abel, The old celt stumbled forward. "Get off!" He shouted, chasing the animal away. It struck at him, but changed its mind and shied a second later. "Back you worthless beast! Abel!"

Liam rushed to his nephew... and stopped short.

"Nooo, Abel."

That weathered old Celts eyes welled up with tears when they saw the gaping hole that went right in his nephew. He fell to his knees, picking Myrddin's limp, mud-spattered blood-dried body up to hug him.

"You stupid lad. You brave, loyal, stupid lad." He whispered, letting the tears fall. His hand cradled Myrddin's head, fingers caught up in his dark, mud-caked hair

... Liam drew a startled breath.

Myrddin... he was still warm.

Gently he rested the young man back down and felt for a pulse.

Faint. Flitting. But there. Oh so stubbornly there.

"Ha," Liam sniffed, stunned. "A sword straight through and you're still sucking air? I guess that proves it boy, you really are a Dur. Oi!"

The Old Celt jumped to his feet, waving to get someone's attention. "HELP! I need help over here!"

Merdraut's ears perked forward as he chewed his cud. The suctioning sound of boots in the mud caught Liam's ear a second too late.

"AHH!" He cried out as from behind someone pulled his arm out of its' sling! He inhaled sharply as the attacker kept it in the same painful position and pressed a blade into his back.

"I knew someone would eventually come looking for the 'king'," The calm voice patronized. "But to be honest, I was hoping for Artorījos so I could finish what I started. Oh well, life is cruel, isn't it? I'll have to settle with leaving with my own head instead."

"Justinian you- Ahh!"

The commander jerked his arm.

The Captain strummed his fingers nervously, waiting at a table. Water and wine both awaited whoever sat down opposite of him.

Two big Vikings stood silent on each side of him; one with a hook for a hand and peg for a leg, the other a bit taller, with blue tattoos on his chin. And beside them, to his bitter fury were Justin and Pallus, on the backs of Lightsprinters. The creatures snarled savagely, eyeing him and pawing the ground.

A shadow sped across the table. The man swallowed.

Wind rushed forward knocking the empty wooden cups down. Black wings eased into a landing and four scaly paws touched down. As the wings folded, the dragon's hazel green eyes honed in on the Captain. He held the table in a death grip as the fury laid it's ears back and barred its teeth.

The rider hopped down, letting his metal leg spark against stone as he did so. He walked up the steps to the table.

"Chief Haddock, I presume?" The humble Captain asked with a nervous tick.

"Where's Justinian?" The Viking glanced around warily.

"I am here on his behalf to discuss the terms of surrender." He held up the ring.