fic: Dragonscape - part 1

[lasermignon]

Dragonscape - part 1
master list


Throughout my years as librarian, I have attempted to catalogue each book that continues to survive Time's callous treatment in this library. There is a long row of annals collecting the various histories of Kings and Pendragons, and even some that try to explain some facets of those dark times visited upon our people before the coming of the very first King, Uthyr. However, I had yet had to encounter one which described life before the Ascension. I was pondering upon the possibility of ever finding such a chronicle, and after I mentioned my lament on the lack of knowledge in this area to my good friend, Gaius Whitedwarf, who is a learned man in the studies of medicine and appreciates the true value of a good book just as I do, and who has also been - through his high skill in eloquent speech - the advisor of the royal family, he offered me a very ancient tome from his own sizeable collection. This tome was written in the language of the Aboriginals and visits upon just this subject. It is my great fortune that during my studies of the books contained by Camelot's library whose guardianship I have assumed many years ago I have become somewhat familiar with this language, which is why I can now attempt a translation of this tome.

Although, dear reader, be warned that the book was written in the tongue of magic, presumably by a Sorcerer, which renders the authenticity and accurateness of these accounts rather suspect. Yet the fact that this is, to date, the only book which references those times, makes it impossible to disregard it as potential source of information on the foremothers and forefathers of our people.

For example, the book makes mention of a ground that curves steadily downwards and downwards, for so long until it curves back into itself - which would be a ridiculous assumption to believe, as every child knows that the land upon which we stand is flat. Just like the fantastic tale of days and nights that are of an equal length, or at least of a predetermined length, and follow upon each other on schedule, without deviation.

There are more believable, although no less strange, allegations in this book, like that the founder of our ancestors' religion was, as peculiar as it may seem to us, a man who, just like our priestesses, had bled for his people (this seems to be a common element in religious origins). Although how a man may accomplish this miracle I cannot even begin to fathom. In contrast, their King was a woman…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Upon waking up from his sleep, Arthur looked out the window of his darkened sleeping chamber, and saw that a new lake had sprung up in the middle of Camelot, splitting the lower town into two unequal halves. Dark water pooled inside the gash like fresh blood welling up in an open wound.

There was a bluish quality to the light, and the sky above Camelot was bedecked with grey. A solemn procession of skirted acolytes tiptoed their way alongside the still lake, shivering even in all their layers. Heading the procession was Morgana, wearing the greens of her office.

Arthur blinked away sleep-crust from the corner of his eyes and made a quick back-count in his head to the last cycle and the cycle before that, and so on, but gave up when he realised he couldn't find a clear point of reference in his recent memories. Time had a habit of getting away from one like him, who did not dedicate his life to keeping count of its ebb and flow. In any case, Morgana's ceremonial dress could have meant only one thing: once again, Celebration day was upon them.

And Celebration day usually meant public appearances, having to listen to his father's speeches while trying not to look bored out of his mind, having to restrain himself from running off on any real or imagined errand only to escape the tedium of the day. At least there would be a feast following the speech, but having just woken up, Arthur had no idea whether that'd be soon or if he would have time to break his fast and then have lunch and then yet enough time to get hungry again beforehand. He could ask the kitchens, he reckoned; Morgana would be far too busy to suffer any pestering from him today. Not to mention, Arthur would rather not have to suffer the moods that took her around the beginning of a new cycle.

Then again, he could just assume it was the morning and he had all day to look into the far more fascinating (and potentially dangerous) case of this newly-appeared lake. If he was lucky, he might just forget that he would be expected to attend the speech and then show up when his body signalled its need for nutrition - the only way of timekeeping to which Arthur felt the need to adhere.

The kitchens were busy when he entered, filled with loud people and various foodstuffs whose origins Arthur was quite happy not to know being prepared for the feast. It was also filled with much yelling, from which Arthur could only glean that cook was angry because her largest pot, which had been kept in the little shed outside, had disappeared overnight. Various kitchen help were being accused of the theft when everyone knew that likely the Great Dragon had taken it - along with the entire shed.

Arthur was not at home in the kitchens. He couldn't tell whether the preparations had just begun or were nearing their end or were just somewhere in-between. He considered asking, but then he thought better of it. Kitchen gossip was more dangerous than any mudflow Camelot had suffered through during Arthur's lifetime: it needed only the smallest nudge to get going, it was vicious, fast running, and got absolutely everywhere. No doubt his father would hear about his inquiries before long and come to the right conclusions.

And then Arthur would find himself presented with a minder - probably Sir Leon. Leon was the worst of the lot because he didn't scold or order Arthur around. Like the terrifying Basset Hound of folktales, which was said to live in bogs and lure grown men into their death, Leon looked at Arthur with those big, sad eyes of his until Arthur felt so guilty he did whatever it was Leon wanted him to do.

Cook took a look at him and promptly sent him out back while she told a kitchen hand to rustle up some breakfast for him. Well, Arthur assumed it'd be breakfast. He sat himself on a convenient tree stump just when the kitchen hand appeared with a platter of cold cuts and a thick slice of dark bread, which he put into Arthur's lap, and a jug of something warm, which was set down next to him on the stump.

There was a clothesline pulled taut between two poles, from which a dozen or so animal carcasses hung. The largest was the size of a two-month old child and the smallest barely bigger than a shoe. They had the skin of a snake and a squished face with a large, bulbous nose. They did not look familiar but it was not uncommon to happen upon a beast whose likes no one had ever seen before, especially right after a Blight. Most of those disappeared soon after. But the last Blight had been more than a tencycle before, so these must have been the ones that proved viable enough to survive on the long run.

"What are those?" Arthur asked, nodding at the carcasses.

"Sir Owen found them with his patrol," the boy told him. "They hunted down as many as they could. It'll be served for the feast."

"They look like scaly rats."

The boy shrugged, apparently unconcerned. Of course, he was just a servant. He wouldn't be the one who had to put that into his mouth - Arthur seriously considered skipping the feast as well as the rest of the ceremony. He hoped the Great Dragon would see fit to have them just disappear.

"They taste like chicken," the boy said, not looking especially convinced of the truth of his own statement, and left in a hurry.

Arthur turned away while he ate, not wanting to spoil his appetite. The meat on his plate had a bluish tinge but tasted good, salty and smoky. The bread was slightly sticky but it was fresh, still warm. Of course, for all Arthur knew, the meat could have come from something like those scaly beasts behind his back. He preferred not to know, which is why he rarely visited the kitchens. But asking a servant to bring him his food, as usual, would have alerted the castle that he was already awake.

After finishing his meal, Arthur set his plate and the jug on his seat to be collected by the servants. He decided to slip out through the back gate and take the long way to the lake. He followed the footpath, which ran in the protection of some fleshy-leafed trees which surrounded the lower town. The thick foliage would shield him from the eyes of the guards who were stationed up on the battlements.

By the time he got out of the castle, the lake's surface had risen, swallowing the main road. Some of the nearby houses were standing in water up to knee-height. The buildings weren't meant to endure wetness. The water turned into a murky yellow liquid, bubbled and frothed like acid where it touched the walls. Small flakes of building material swam around in it like kelp. The houses fully surrounded by water were about to collapse soon. Their occupants were in a hurry to evacuate their valuables; men carried heavy cauldrons filled with small objects while women saved the linen and children ran around with knives in their hands. Others were just standing around, gaping at the spectacle. Arthur was about to yell an order at them to go and help out when Sir Leon arrived with a complement of guards to do just that, and that's when others started helping out as well. Arthur, who had not taken the time to dress in his princely finery after getting up but was dressed in a simple shirt and trews, slipped easily among the crowd and had already gone a few rounds lugging around whatever needed saving before he felt a large hand come down on his shoulder.

"Sire," Sir Leon addressed him quietly, not wanting to draw attention. "Have you not seen the Lady Morgana wearing her greens? Your place today is not here."

"I doubt my father will start celebrating while his people are in danger," Arthur sneered at the idea of abandoning his task. "There's work to be done; the more people, the quicker it will be." No doubt, Sir Leon could see through the flimsy excuse and, while other times accommodating of Arthur's whims, looked as if he would not stand for it today. So before he could employ the dreaded look on him, Arthur quickly gave his promise to appear at the festivities, and then wished to take it back, but by then it was too late.

Sir Leon regarded him with suspicion for a few seconds, but Arthur's regretful wince must have convinced him of his sincerity.

"Now, has Gaius been notified?" Arthur asked, concentrating on the here and now.

Leon nodded towards his left, where on the other side of the lake Arthur saw the familiar white crown of the court physician's head bowed over the surface as he collected a sample in one of his vials. To Gaius's right, several townspeople were dipping buckets into the water while talking amongst each other as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Arthur frowned.

"The people have been told that the lake water might not be safe to drink, have they? They should wait, until Gaius finishes his tests."

"There might not be any lake by the time he does," Leon countered mildly. "They know to wait, but nothing says they cannot collect the water in the meantime."

"Hopefully, they do." Arthur wasn't convinced of it. "Hey, you!" He yelled; his voice carried across the still surface strangely amplified. "No drinking of that water until it's pronounced safe!"

Several people, not just the ones Arthur had yelled at, turned towards him. Upon recognising his face, they bowed in acknowledgement and then scurried out of his sight as fast as they could with the full buckets. Their haste made it look as though they were just humouring Arthur and were intending to guzzle down the entire bucketful as soon as he couldn't see them. Arthur noticed Gaius looking at him with a small, approving smile and felt weirdly embarrassed by the old man's regard, as if he had been caught doing something un-princely.

Some time later, he was caught doing something altogether too princely to his taste; namely standing by his father's side on Camelot's most prominent balcony, decked out in royal finery, while the King made a show of surveying the gathered crowd. Arthur hoped he looked suitably interested in the process, and Uther couldn't tell that he was, instead, trying to get a glimpse of the situation in the lower town.

"When our ancestors came to this land," Uther began his speech, "they thought they had been rescued from a terrible fate by the kindness of strangers. Strangers who had the power to command matter and energy to do their bidding. With the help of their magic, they tamed the Dragons that traverse the infinite black space. But our people were deceived, for the Sorcerers were evil and wanted only more servants, and so began our people's long subjugation."

Arthur had heard the story countless times. He knew it from beginning to end: although the delivery changed subtly with every telling, the gist remained the same: the first King Uther led the people to victory against the aboriginals, the oppressors were killed, and the glorious nation of Camelot was founded. There was another part of the tale, which was not usually told. That, though their ancestors had caught the last Dragonlord and pressed him into service, the Great Dragon had stopped listening and providing for the people. A few generations later, the Dragonlord, too, had escaped - how he had accomplished the escape and where he had gone no one knew.

Arthur realised his father was finally nearing the end of his speech when Morgana elbowed her way none too softly past him, although Arthur had no doubt that from the courtyard she looked the height of elegance. She grimaced at him when some of the greenery attached to her festive dress got caught in Arthur's belt; she was wearing a different skirt now, Arthur noticed, one that was actually one of her regular blues, with leaves masking the colour. Her green skirt had got damaged by the lake water. Arthur had overheard the castle servants discussing a way to remedy it.

The King was reminiscing of long gone times, Morgana was preparing to announce the start of the new cycle, and Arthur was standing idly on display, while behind the gathered crowd the water level was steadily rising.

Uther finished his retelling about how the Sorcerers were driven away and put his hand on Morgana's shoulder to draw her into the focus of attention.

"The Greenwitch has guarded our Time ever since the beginning. This is one of the few traditions that we share with our ancestors' ancestors from before the Ascension. Thus, it is my pleasure to present you the Lady Morgana."

There was a feeble applause, but Morgana didn't seem to be very bothered by the lukewarm welcome. She probably just wanted this day to end, to be able to retire to her chambers and sleep through the next few days.

"Citizens of Camelot," she proclaimed with a smile that belied her paleness. "By the authority vested in me as the High Priestess of Chronometry, I hereby declare the beginning of Camelot's five thousandth cycle."

The King's announcement of the start of the celebrations was interrupted by a rumble from the distance that started low but quickly grew louder. One of the water-damaged houses in the lower town was beginning to collapse. The walls tilted first to the left, then to the right, and then with a mighty groan the house fell. It crashed against the house that stood next to it, which then also began to shake and topple. The surrounding streets were narrow, the houses built almost on top of each other. Within minutes, the entire area was full of crumbling houses, buildings crashing into their neighbours like a great chain of dominos, whipping the lake's water into large, standing wave that travelled slowly up the town, swallowing the buildings higher up which until now had been safe from it.

Arthur was already running through the corridors, leaping down stairs, when he heard the first screams. By the time he reached the courtyard, it was already flooded a good foot high, and the walls of the outbuildings surrounding the castle were already frothing as the thickness of their walls melted away.

People were still yelling, pushing towards safety, but the only safety was in the middle of the courtyard, which was now fully under the water. Arthur himself had waded in, allowing the pressure of the crowd to shepherd him. He stood there, among the townsfolk, when the buildings surrounding the castle began to crumble as well, and remained until the rumble of the last collapsed buildings gave way to stunned silence.

His boots had become heavy and water-lodged and his trousers were now dissolving around his knees. They were not woven from expensive linen like his underclothes, but pressed from pulp, because that way was faster. Flax had to be put into water and left to rot to extract the fibre out of it and make thread, and in Camelot things that were left alone for a long time tended to just disappear.

"Another good set of clothes ruined." Sir Leon commented mildly. He was in a similar state, as were most people standing around in the water.

Surveying the sad state of his garments, Arthur noticed that while the water looked and smelled clean, underneath the surface he could barely see the pale ribbon of his skin below the frayed trouser legs, and just glimpse a darker outline where his boots began. But he could see no farther, nor the bottom of the lake. He was about to mention his discovery to Sir Leon when behind his back, a sudden splatter broke the stillness of the water surface.

"What was that?" a panicked voice asked when the second splash came, this time further away from Arthur.

"There's something in the water!" someone else yelled. The crowd began to mill towards dry land. The water rose and fell in powerful ripples, as if a large body had just passed under the surface - not far from where the crowd had just been standing.

"Everyone, out of the water!" Arthur yelled. "Don't push! Stay calm!"

"Sire!" Sir Leon's fingers wrapped around his arm and tugged. It was time Arthur took his own advice. The water-soaked boots made it hard to wade out, let alone at a run. Arthur almost tripped when he tried to take the first step. Thankfully, the firm grip on his arm prevented that outcome; afterwards, he moved more carefully. But that meant that he wasn't fast enough getting out of the water.

Razor-sharp fangs pierced through the leather of his left boot and yanked at his heel. Arthur yelled in pain as the teeth sank into his flesh, but thankfully, not too deep. When the next jerk came, he managed to lose the boot before the creature could have pulled him down by it, into the unseen shallows.

Sir Leon hauled him up the main stairway. Arthur limped, his foot burning with pain, clouds of red billowed in the dark water behind him. Once on the stairs Arthur turned around, sword in hand, prepared to attack. Ripples, seemingly left by a long, agile body, furrowed the surface in sudden bursts of movement, slashed the black waters, but they calmed after a few, heart-stopping moments. The creature did not show itself.

"Did you see what it was?" Arthur asked, his voice raspy, blood rushing in his ears.

"I couldn't say," Sir Leon said with a throat similarly dry from excitement. "The water was covering it."

"We should have been able to see it." Arthur shook his head, his eyes fixed on the water whose surface had gone entirely still. "It wasn't that deep underwater. At least," Arthur corrected himself, "not if it were normal water."

Sir Leon contemplated Arthur with a troubled look on his face. "So you've noticed it as well. The water was like ink over it. Yet, if I do this," he demonstrated, bending down and letting his cupped palms fill with water, "it looks normal. Smells normal."

Leon lifted the liquid to his face; he refrained from poking his tongue in it. Instead he parted his hands and shook the last dribbles of wetness from his fingers. "I bet those people would have said if it had tasted funny."

Arthur grunted. "There is dark magic at work." At least, his father would certainly think so. "We better inform the King."

He started walking towards the castle in his usual brisk manner, only to falter on the second step, hissing.

"Arthur!" Sir Leon gripped his elbow to support him. "Are you all right?"

Arthur looked down at his heel. In the excitement, he had forgotten about the bite wound. The bleeding wasn't strong; there were several, small scrapes around his ankle but they did not look too deep. The flesh was a little torn up. There might have been some sort of natural poison in the creature's bite because the wounds burned, and not just when he put weight on his foot. But it didn't hurt too much.

"It'll keep," he decided, trying not to wince as he began walking again with a little more care.

"I don’t think it's wise to dismiss an injury like that." Sir Leon patted him on the shoulder (not hard enough to make Arthur lose his precarious balance on his injured foot). "You better visit Gaius right away. I'll notify the King for you." And, quite unfairly, in Arthur's opinion, ran off without waiting for an answer. Arthur had no chance of outlimping him; he had no intention of provoking the King's ire for being late to his own debriefing either. Let Leon handle it, then.

When he reached Gaius, Arthur was glad that he had chosen to be reasonable for once and do as he'd been told. Not because his wound pained him, but because of what he found there. The body of a man lay on the long table, but Arthur couldn't even tell if it was dead or alive. He had seen many strange things in his life but had never encountered anything like this. The body was pale, skin as unnaturally white as though it were covered with flour, except for the blackness of veins underneath the surface. They stood out in stark relief, looking like the vicious roots of a sorcerous plant that was growing in a person from the inside. And then the chest moved, and the man heaved a torturous rattling-wheezing breath which was painful just to listen to. Alive, then. Although for how much longer?

Arthur was jolted out of his shocked staring by a loud bang. The door behind his back slammed against the wall and through it more people poured into the physician's chambers. One of them looked almost as bad as the man on the workbench; the two others were half-carrying, half-dragging him, their faces wild with panic.

"What happened? Why is he like this?" Arthur snapped at the men who were surprised to find the crown prince where they had expected to find the court physician, but only shook their heads in answer.

Arthur only now began to wonder about Gaius's whereabouts. Where was he and why wasn't he when he was needed? The only explanation Arthur could imagine was that he was either with the King or somewhere in the town, tending another medical emergency, and he had no knowledge of the man lying unconscious in his chambers or he would have left someone behind to watch over his patient. But by the time he came back, it might be too late.

Arthur heaved a frustrated sigh and moved to help the two men find a clear surface on which to lay their sick friend. In the end, he pushed together two of the long, thin benches and went to lift the man's legs while the two other held his torso and arms.

"Think back," Arthur ordered, stifling a wince when his wounded heel collided with something lying around on the floor. "What did he do before he got ill? You were with him?"

"Yes, sire."

"There was nothing to do, sire," the other one said, and the first began to nod his head eagerly.

"We were just sitting and talking. And then he suddenly started shaking."

"We asked if he had a cold - from bathing in the new lake, you know."

"But he didn't have a fever, just went pale all of a sudden." They talked rapidly, cutting into each other's words.

"We told him to get some medicine from the physician and decided to accompany him, but by the time we got here, he wasn't able to walk himself."

"Yes, we had to carry him on the last leg."

"How quickly did this happen? Were you idling on your way or did you come in a hurry?" Arthur asked, feeling that he already knew the answer. Whatever this was, it was fast.

With further questioning, he found out that the man, as Arthur had suspected, had indeed drunk from the lake water. But then so had the other two, and they were hale and healthy. Arthur feared that did not mean they would also remain that way.

A scream sounded somewhere within the castle. The winding corridors carried its distorted echoes long after the sound itself had ceased, like the blood curdling wail of some preternatural creature. Soon it was followed by the noises of distant fighting. Arthur burst out the door of the physician's chamber, a heavy fire iron in hand, and ran towards the source of the heavy clangs of metal on stone, the thudding of booted feet and falling bodies, the yells of chaos and panic.

He did not have to search for long, yet he did not get there in time. The fighting was already over, the attacker gone. People were left standing or lying around scattered, still under the influence of the recent scare.

"It's gone, sire," one of the men told him. He was holding a bloody meat cleaver which he might have picked up in the kitchens as they seemed to be coming from that direction. "It came out of the lake, followed us here. We barely escaped."

"It?" Arthur asked, and then, "Where has it gone?"

"Hiding somewhere, through that corridor, there." A woman, an older servant, calmer than most of the others, waved her hand towards the nearest servants' corridor, narrow and badly lit, which, Arthur knew, led straight outside through a short pathway. "It was awfully fast, though," she added. "Unlikely it's still there, sire."

"All right."

Arthur ran his eyes over the group. Some of them were people from the lower town who had no business being in the castle under normal circumstances. There were plans in place for situations as this one, summoning every capable hand to the castle's defence. Women, children and the ill were to seek shelter within its walls where they'd be protected from outside attacks. Arthur was glad someone had remembered even without the alarm. That reminded him. "Bar that corridor, preferably at the entrance. If anyone's injured or ill, take them to the physician's chambers; I'll send Gaius to take care of them soon, understood?"

"Yes, sire," the man with the cleaver replied instantly. Arthur hoped he wouldn't become overconfident from having a weapon in his hand and run into his death. Nothing he could do about it.

"If you meet anyone else, tell them to stay inside the castle and try to drive outside everything that does not look human, and not let them back. And send someone to sound the bells - send a group, not just one man."

They formed two groups before he even finished speaking. Arthur parted from them with a nod and continued running towards the throne room where he hoped to find the King with his advisors.

On his way through the castle, he came across other groups of people. He gave them the same orders. There were just as many who had already taken ill; Arthur found bite wounds similar to his own on all of them. They were lying collapsed on the corridors, their skin covered with the same deathly pallor and the tarlike blackness of the swollen veins trailing underneath. Some were already being helped by others; whenever Arthur found a victim on its own, he yelled for nearby servants but he didn't stop his progress towards the throne room for long.

Whenever he came upon kernels of fighting, he joined in. The attacks were more like skirmishes, usually over by the time he arrived. The creatures did not attack in groups; they hunted alone. They jumped a small party from behind and dragged away one of their numbers before anyone realised there had been an ambush. The knights patrolled the corridors in fours and helped where they could, gathering the injured in the throne room because there were too many of them, and putting the healthy to the task of barring all the exits to keep the creatures outside.

Arthur found his father with Gaius, Leon, and some other knights in the private dining room adjourning the throne room, which was more likely to be used for holding quick consultations than actual meals. There was a map of Camelot, hastily redrawn to reflect the latest changes in the topography, spread out over the top of the dining table. There were red crosses scattered over separate districts of the town; it was not hard to guess what they stood for. He would have expected them to be concentrated around the lake, but that was not the situation. Instead, the map looked like a molten chessboard, with clear and marked areas alternating with no apparent order to them.

"This is Nimueh's doing, no doubt about it," Uther spat in futile rage, his nose wrinkled in exaggerated disgust. "The disease only infects people when it gets into the blood, you said. Most of those who had drunk from the water proved immune; she must have sent the creatures to help it spread."

"There might be other explanations, Sire. We oughtn't to rule them out," Gaius said in a cautious tone.

"What else could it be?" Uther snarled dismissively. "The Dragon is under our control, and the guards hadn't reported a break-in. Or are you suggesting there is some other sorcerer out there who's powerful enough to do this?"

"I don't think even Nimueh has the power to achieve something like this, Sire."

Uther was about to bark another retort, but then he spotted Arthur from the corner of his eye and refocused his attention on the more convenient target.

"Arthur," he called out. His stance and tone radiated tacit disapproval. "Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence."

"I came as fast as I could," Arthur said, stilted, hating to find himself on the defensive every time he talked to his father. "You do know the castle is under attack."

"Precisely why your presence is needed here." Uther finally looked up. His stare was hard, accusing, as though he thought Arthur was the one personally responsible for today's events. In truth, it was the scar above his eye that bothered him now and again; when he was stressed he would get tension headaches, his vision would blur; he had to squint to keep his eyes in focus. It gave him his signature forbidding stare, which he used to its fullest effect. Knowing this, Arthur should be immune to the glares by now, but he still was not.

"I was helping out," Arthur muttered.

"That is not your job; that's what knights are for. If you wanted to help, you ought to have come straight here. This is where you can help."

"Sire, what's that?" Gaius asked, bending down, a supporting hand on his aching waist, to get a god look at Arthur's foot. Under the frayed remnants of his trousers, the skin was white, starting to swell with black veins.

"He got bitten," Sir Leon supplied, his brow furrowed with worry. "Earlier, when the houses started collapsing we had to wade into the lake."

"Gaius has not discovered a cure for the disease yet," Uther said quietly. Arthur knew what that meant. The most important objective was to halt the further spreading of the plague and the only way to do that was to kill the carriers. Healing the sufferers would have to come secondary.

The creatures were too numerous to be dealt with one by one. The only thing powerful enough to eliminate them, as well as the plague, was the Dragon itself. Arthur knew his role and he was going to fulfil it, even if it killed him.

"We'll deal with it later," Arthur decided. "Let's not waste more time."

At the King's gesture, two squires ran into the room with Arthur's armour in hand. They lobbed the gambeson over his head and then fastened on all the little separate pieces of his armour quicker than Arthur could follow. Uther barely waited until the squires finished. He had already been pacing impatiently up and down the chamber, but as soon as most of the armour pieces were in place, he turned on his heel and started down the corridor that led to the dungeons. Arthur motioned to Leon, already in armour, to follow him with the men chosen for the task.

The pauldron over his shoulder was still a little loose; at his movement it skidded down his arm until a small hand straightened it. Arthur swore and forced himself to stand still for the next half minute until everything was fastened to its place, then ran after the knights.

By the time he finally caught up with his father, Arthur was properly annoyed, which was why he didn't bother to keep his opinion to himself. "You needn’t have waited for me, you know. Sir Leon could have taken my place, or any of my knights. I trained them personally."

Uther did not look at him, just continued marching forward, his features set in a hard mask. "You're Arthur Pendragon," he said. He did not attempt to lower his voice. "It's your duty to lead them." His father's expression twitched in a particular manner which indicated that his reason for insisting on Arthur's presence was something he didn't fancy explaining. Probably because it was close to superstition, which in turn was as close to relying on magic as Uther would ever admit to.

As their party passed the guards placed in front of the entrance of the dungeons, the first tolls of Camelot's great bells were sounded. It was a loud noise, meant as a warning to be carried far over the flat planes surrounding the town and out to the distant little farms outside Camelot's borders and tell their occupants to hide, for soon the heavens would open and death would find those who did not heed the warning.

A long stairway encased in a dark passage led from the dungeon entrance to the Crystal Cave. It took a while to walk down them all, not to mention climb back up after they were done, so Gaius was grateful when Arthur tapped him on the shoulder and told him to stay. Gaius was the one who taught Arthur all he knew about the Dragon, and Arthur knew if they had more time, he'd have wanted to be there to observe. But barring an unforeseen event, Arthur was confident his presence was not needed. His knights were trained to execute every routine manoeuvre, even the ones not regularly needed.

After what seemed an interminable trek through darkness, faint light bloomed in the distance, signalling the end of the tunnel. A few more steps down, and Arthur shifted the helmet of his armour over his head to shield his eyes. Myriads of crystals grew out of the cave walls, which reflected and refracted the light until the brightness became blinding. The insides of the cave defied human comprehension. Its measurements, so vast they could not be compared to anything above the surface, played only a small part in this.

The open space within the cave was filled with rivers. They did not flow within riverbeds restricted to the ground, but instead jetted in the middle of the open space, running in all directions, separating and joining in intervening patterns around long, thin crystal needles that reached far into the space. To Arthur, it looked like a large tangle of silvery ribbons, swirling around each other in changeable, twirly loops at the whim of a capricious breeze, or like the complicated network of blood vessels within a large creature's brain, unobstructed from view by the surrounding flesh. Blue arches of lightning jumped between crystal spikes and the many-faceted walls, turning the air prickly and bitter to the taste. It was a sight that was beautiful and terrifying at once.

Here and there, enormous standing crystals which they called the Dragon's teeth bore the sign of the work of previous Pendragons. Bulky scaffoldings surrounded the sparkling monoliths, made of wood bark, ropes, and metal and sturdy, tarred linens, some to prevent light reaching the mineral's insides, others to siphon off the accumulated energy and incapacitate them. None of those had been erected in Arthur's lifetime. Some, he couldn’t even tell what purpose they served.

The group arrived to a ledge, which seemed diminutive, compared to the measurements of the cave, but was still large enough to safely accommodate thirty men. Its surface was dark rock, as if someone had stripped it bare from its crystal covering, with a horn-shaped protrusion on one end which reached above the fathomless depths of the cave. A small flotilla of boats waited at the point of the horn, ready to be boarded. Most of them were only large enough to accommodate three knights in their heavy armour; the larger ones, built to carry scaffolding material to the Dragon's teeth, were no longer in use but were still maintained. Each of the smaller boats had four thin metal prongs strapped to its sides, in lengths varying from two arms' length to three times a man's height.

"While we're waiting for the sign, you can get your men in position," Uther ordered, projecting a calm which Arthur knew to be a front, if only from the King's need to give out pointless orders. This place always made his father nervous.

Arthur stared out into the open space, trying to identify familiar patterns within the complicated maze. The shapes he was searching for looked like loose balls of silver yarn among the sparser webbing of waterways flowing into and out of them, but if one looked closer - and knew what to look for - one could distinguish their individual designs and identify the functions corresponding with them.

He spotted several serviceable nodes, but only three that looked accessible. Fortunately, the one furthest out looked to be semi-permanent, which meant it would take several weeks until it changed into something unrecognisable. It was encased between two flat crystal surfaces - two of the standing giants which looked more like eyeteeth than fangs.

The other two were of the same kind; they were closer but within a constantly changing formation of waterways. Only one of those was essential for the plan, but the fact that either of them might cease to exist - morphed into something else - before they even reached it necessitated sending out teams to both. Arthur would normally lead one of those teams but he made an exception this time. The third node was farthest away and seemed to require a fair bit more complicated manoeuvring to reach. He decided to tackle that one himself and send Leon and Owain to the other two.

The boats were loaded with everything they might need. There were ropes with hooks to be anchored to crystals for holding the boats' position, spare paddles, spare chains, spare armour, barely any place remained for the crew. Each boat carried three knights, one to steer and hold their position once in place, the other two to carry out the assignment. Leather straps fastened to the boards which they attached to the buckles on their armour to keep them from going overboard. Then the knights who stayed behind this time pushed the boats over the ledge one by one.

The drop onto the nearest stream was always the most frightening bit. There were no permanent waterways close to the walls; they were more common in less restricted areas where the Dragon's teeth could grow unrestricted. Thus, the nearest river could be a few arm lengths away, but it could just as well mean a straight five-storey drop. That was, if the drop remained straight, because the longer to go, the more likely for the boat to get pulled sideways upon falling into the gravitational field of a neighbouring stream.

Arthur was in the first boat to be dropped down. Thankfully, they did not encounter such a change of direction, but that did not mean his stomach didn't try to rebel against the fall. The two other knights in his unit were Geraint and Dagonet. Geraint was only a few years older than Arthur, but already seasoned and sure-handed. Dagonet in contrast was young, but he was one of the rare ones who were quite fearless of heights and therefore quick to act when fast action was required while travelling upon dangerous pathways. Arthur envied him that talent; not that he was afraid of heights, but there were still times when he looked down into the cave's depths and got queasy to his stomach.

Once the boats were sitting on the water, carried on by fast-moving currents, their passengers would no longer be subject to being pulled in alternating directions. Although the streams flowed in gut-clenching loops and curls, and their horizon tilted erratically, up stayed up and down stayed down, even if the entire rest of the world seemed to veer around madly. The ledge, a thin black line in the glowing crystal wall, which was the reference point for their return, could one second be seen slantwise over their heads and the next down to their right.

Arthur had been ten when he first saw the Cave. It had been during Leon's trial, after which he would be accepted as a knight, and Arthur's father had allowed him to attend. He remembered watching as the small boat rode a towering loop and being afraid that Leon was going to fall out and die. Later, he learnt that the rivers' flow only seemed to defy gravity from an outside perspective. When one travelled in a boat on a river, there was only ever one direction for "down", and that was under one's feet.

The hardest lesson to learn was to think of the boat as the stationary object and regard everything else apart from the path ahead as unimportant. The way Arthur taught this to his new knights was to blindfold them and sit them in a boat and take them on a ride. When they had their eyes closed, one could barely feel the boat rock, even if the stream on which it rode changed directions abruptly left and right or up and down, or curled into a loop the boat sliding round its circumference in a path dictated by the centrifugal force, because down always remained under the boat's bottom. Then on the way back, Arthur took off the blindfold and told the trainees to focus their eyes on the bow but close them if they start feeling queasy, or try predicting their route over the labyrinth of streams if they feel able. Most of them only learnt the lesson at their own expense, scrubbing vomit from their armour and off the boat's bottom.

The real danger came not from falling out but from falling into a river, because the armour they wore was too heavy to swim in it, so they would inevitably sink to the middle of the flow. If the stream was thin enough, chances were that the force of their fall would drive them out on the other side. But if the fall was short and the river's circumference was wide, the only salvation to hope for was a weighted rope thrown down by one's fellow knights who happened to sit in a boat right above. Drowning in full armour was a nasty way to die.

Arthur was blessed with good orientation skills, an acute sense of direction, and an excellent memory for keeping in mind the ever-changing pathways. He also had practice in navigating the crystal cave's streams, which was why he was the one in the back of the boat, steering and giving the orders. The paddles did not get much use. The currents were strong enough to speed the boat along its way. The paddles were more likely to be used to break the boat's momentum when they had to slow down at a forking, or when it needed to be lifted over to another waterway which flowed near but did not connect to the one they were travelling. The latter was one of the riskier manoeuvres; it required discipline and flawless timing, and while a mistake rarely resulted in death, as another stream would soon break the fall which followed when a boat missed its goal, the loss of time usually meant failure for the entire mission.

Arthur directed his crew through three such lifts and many twisting waterways before reaching the node between the two crystal slabs. They were much larger from close up - it was hard to assess the true size of things within the cave - but this wasn't the first time Arthur was near such a structure. What came as an unwelcome surprise was the actual distance between them. It would require twice the length of the longest prong that the boat carried to bridge it.

The stream here swelled thrice to its former size, which meant its flow slowed and they had more than enough time to prepare for anchoring the boat while drifting through between the crystals.

The first change occurred when the bow slipped between the two crystals. The Crystal Cave's walls started disappearing as though they were losing their substance, smooth planes and sharp edges fading into something darker. Arthur knew it was only an illusion. The walls were still there, intact, cradling Camelot and its people who were relying on them against the brittle, cold nothingness which existed outside the Great Dragon. The glimmer and sparkle of minerals dimmed allowing through a ghostly image of star-dotted darkness. In its middle, an apple-sized blue sun governed its cradle of planets and moons.

Arthur knew the same thing was happening outside the cave. Even if the tolling of the bells had not reached everywhere, the darkening of the skies over Camelot would hopefully deliver their own warning of what was about to come.

Arthur forced his attention back at the mission. He helped untie the ropes but left the task of securing the hooks at their ends to the crystals to Geraint and Dagonet while he searched the silvery maze for the other boats within. Leon's team was almost in position. He couldn't see Owain's crew anywhere near the node they had been aiming for; they were either very late or hopelessly lost.

The cave entrance with the ledge was underneath their boat and a little to the right. Even from this distance, Arthur could tell that it was already empty. The rest of the party had retreated into the safety of the stairway where they were protected by the shielding qualities of the thick rock. The knights out in the boats had to make do with the thin metal layer of their armour.

"How are we going about this?" Geraint's question drew Arthur's attention back to the task at hand, reminding him that they had a bit of a problem. Dagonet was shortening the left side rope to balance out the boat and remained silent. He was better at executing the orders he was given with the utmost precision than making suggestions.

"Untie the other middle-length prong," Arthur said; he was already working on the fastenings of the one on his side. Dagonet, when he was done with his rope, crawled to the front where rarely-needed miscellaneous equipment was packed up in neat bundles to look for a length of chain they could use to connect the two metal rods.

The ubiquitous glimmer, which made seeing clear difficult in the cave, grew suddenly even dimmer as a large shadow swam over the boat. Looking up, Arthur spotted the underside of Avalon, the Lake of the Dead, looming above their heads. It drifted slowly, guided by unseen gravitational forces. It gave the appearance of a large black pearl; its waters dark and still, for which Arthur was thankful. The Lake of the Dead was governed by its own rules; the bodies thrown in it sometimes decayed within minutes - other times, they were preserved. If any of the dead were floating over his head, he didn't want to know.

Arthur was not a regular visitor of the lake; it was the priestesses' office to lay the dead to rest. But now that he thought about it, the water in the lower town had the same opaque quality to it as Avalon's waters. No wonder the disease had spread so fast. And apparently, the dead weren't the only ones inhabiting those waters. Arthur shivered at the thought.

The sounds of a hurried exchange broke him out of his disquieting contemplations. They came from the stairway where the King and his advisors were stationed, and gained an unearthly quality as they were amplified by the complicated, conical shape of the vent which connected the inside of the tunnel with the main cavern.

"Time is of essence, Sire." The voice belonged to Arthur's uncle, Agravaine, who had not been part of the original group of knights escorting the King, so he must have just arrived. It made sense; he must have been the one whom his father had tasked with keeping an eye on the situation above in his absence.

"Arthur," Uther's harried voice followed soon after. "Stop dallying around and order your men to get the job done."

"Yes, father," Arthur muttered to himself, letting his own irritation creep into his tone. It served only for his own amusement, and that of his knights, for the boats' crews had no way to verbally communicate with those in the tunnel. Arthur felt no great need to share his feelings with his father anyhow.

"They are ready to begin," Geraint said, indicating the other boat in position. Arthur waved back to Leon as a signal that they were ready.

Sir Leon's team had the more difficult task of altering the course of the waters that made up that particular node. It was only difficult because there were no large standing crystals shaping the pattern. They had to work against invisible fields, while constantly in motion, because there was nothing to which to anchor the boat.

Instead of the tall metal prongs, Leon had equipped his boat with a thick tube of hollow bark. Two knights would hold one end under the water and direct the other one at a neighbouring waterway, using it like a hose-pipe to create a thin water bridge between the two. Because there were no crystals, these types of patterns were ever-changing and relatively easy to manipulate; after a while, the artificially created bypass would stabilise on its own, and the boat could move on to a different part of the node and repeat the process, thus making changes in the overall design.

It was painstaking work, and required not only patience but also precise knowledge of the results of each change in the overall functioning of the node. While Arthur was in possession of the latter, patience had never been his strong point - as opposed to Sir Leon whom Arthur had once caught participating in a ladies' embroidery session after he had been ordered to stand guard over it as discipline for some minor offence. Just like embroidering, Leon made his current task look easy when it was anything but.

With every new water bridge created, the Dragon's body turned a few degrees towards the blue sun, which was faintly visible behind the half-faded crystal walls. Leon would continue until its weak rays shone directly on the ledge, at right angles with its smooth, black surface. Once there, he would keep on making new pathways to maintain the position for as long as possible. But the longer it took for Arthur to finish his own job, the more unstable the node would became until it collapsed into a maelstrom of exploding water droplets. There was no time to be wasted.

"Get ready," Arthur said.

He lengthened his harness until it enabled him to stand and tugged on his gloves - the only part of his outer covering not made out of metal. He picked up the prongs, which Geraint had connected by a length of chain and then waited until his knights sat down, knives in hand, readying themselves to cut the ropes anchoring the boat on a moment's notice.

Standing up in the boat created a strange sensation. His upper body seemed lighter and his heavy armour, which weighed half as much as Arthur himself, felt like tree bark plastered to his chest and arms, while his legs felt encased in boots of lead. Arthur began to extend the metal rods towards the crystal surfaces. It required almost no physical exertion to raise the heavy prongs; in fact, the higher he lifted them, the less effort it took, as the forces surrounding the crystals caught them in their pull of gravity. It almost took more effort to hold them back from connecting too soon, as the two prongs had to touch the two crystals at the same time.

But that did not happen, for the chain connecting them proved too short.

"Help me, quick," Arthur yelled at Geraint.

Geraint dropped his knife and stood to unhook the chain from the prongs. Dagonet, interrupted in his last check of his armour's fastenings, was already rummaging for a longer one up front.

"No time, Dagonet!"

Arthur thought quickly. He stopped Geraint before he untied the chain from the other prong as well. Instead he moved his arm in tight circles and allowed the links to wrap around his arm.

"What are you doing?" Geraint exclaimed, alarmed and not questioning, as he had already guessed the answer. Arthur knew he was taking a risk; he did not need to be told.

So he ignored the question and instead barked at Geraint and Dagonet who still had not stopped rummaging to sit back in his place and get ready. There was no time to get another chain. He then shifted his grip higher up on the loose prong in his right hand - it was hard; the crystal's pull made it feel as though something was tugging on its far end, so he had to take care not to lose it. He managed to adjust his hold so that it lay straight against his other vambrace.

This was not how things were done - not when one valued one's life. Arthur had been taught better than this. He knew it was too dangerous, knew the smallest mistake could lead to painful death. But there was no time for anything else; Arthur did not even have time to be afraid.

No longer restricted by the chain's length, he widened his reach and pushed the metal against the crystals.

It was instinct that governed him to close his eyes but it was also the most important rule which every knight was taught: you don't keep your eyes open when you connect the crystals.

There was a fraction of a second when he thought he felt the current pass through his body, singeing his nerves and boiling his blood, pulling his muscles into painful, cramping knots. But that was only anticipation and an understanding of the process, for his senses were too slow to assimilate anything past the blinding white flash which burned his retinas even through closed lids. The charge travelled from one prong to the other over the metallic surfaces of his armour. He would have stopped feeling anything, had it gone through his body.

There was a second when everything was still. A terrifying silence set in; the constant sloshing of water against the side of the boat could no longer be heard.

A heartbeat later Arthur was falling.

A harsh, rending noise echoed through the entire cave and then sharp blue light flooded everything. With the light came pain, just as sharp and blinding, like burning needles pressed into his brain. The pain was not his, Arthur knew, but the Dragon's. Arthur turned his head within the helmet, his mind filled with a litany of silent apologies. He hid his sensitive eyes behind metal like a wounded animal trying to huddle into itself to present the smallest possible target. His armour's metal seemed to glow with heat, roasting the skin of his forehead where it was pressed to his helmet, and cooking him in his own sweat.

When the pain was gone, the boat was still falling. It had seemed like ages, but Arthur knew it had probably only lasted as long as one beat of his pulsing heart. He could not catch his breath, because instinct forced his ribs to constrict over his lungs and push out a yell. It was weak and short as he did not have enough air in his lungs for more. His gloved fingers were still painfully curled around the metal rods, the skin of his palm blistering from their heat even though the leather.

And then as suddenly as they came, the light and the heat ceased. The cave sank into pitch-blackness. Arthur knew it only seemed so in contrast to the previous brightness. The boat settled on another stream; little drops of water misted the air - remnants of the waterway Arthur had destroyed.

When he regained his vision, he was sitting in the boat surrounded by the star-studded black velvet of the universe. The cave walls had not yet regained their visibility but the radiation filters, which protected the Dragon's insides from full exposure to the blue sun, had only been down for a few heartbeats after the override Arthur had effected, a secondary node taking over almost instantly.

The Dragon was turning around its axis and as the sun fell behind the maze of streams, something else rose over the horizon in the opposite direction. A gigantic, blue-striped planet surrounded by sparkling rings of white. They looked so delicate it seemed to Arthur he only needed to poke them with a finger and they'd break into millions of diamond facets.

"Sire, what is that?" Geraint asked; his voice rasped like rough skin against fine cloth.

Arthur's glance followed the direction of Geraint's outstretched finger.

"I don't…" But when he looked closer, he thought he saw a glint in the dark. As though obeying his will, the image projected on the cave wall enlarged and settled on a moon which orbited the blue gas giant. An elongated sphere too symmetrical, with a completely smooth surface that lacked the impact craters which left their distinctive mark on other moons' faces, and as it drifted into the shadow of the planet, for the moment before it disappeared, Arthur noticed tiny dots of light over its surface, arranged at each point of a hexagon that looked too regular to be coincidental.

A weak splash came from Arthur's other side. Turning around, he saw Dagonet, head bare and his face pale, as he heaved, emptying his stomach into the starlit waters. Arthur couldn't see his helmet anywhere in the boat. Arthur's eyes sought Geraint's. The older knight shook his head, his face hard with shock, gradually softening with sadness. Neither of them spoke.

The sparkling excess of the cave's insides gradually rematerialised, bathing every surface in light. Arthur's attention was once again drawn to the one spot that remained clothed in darkness: the Lake of the Dead. He thought he glimpsed a face in the water. It must have been just his imagination because the face was much larger than a human's head, probably larger than the boat in which they were sitting, and yet it looked exactly like the face of the sorceress Nimueh; Arthur did not know how he even knew those features, for she had died just before his birth. Enormous eyeballs turned slowly until they were focussed on Arthur, and the corners of the gigantic mouth curved into a mysterious smile.

For a while the lake seemed to be following them on their way back. Hours later, when they had found their way back to the ledge, Dagonet was already dead. The infection on Arthur's foot had healed as though it had never been; a news which Uther greeted with great elation. Leon's crew returned unscathed. The third boat was never seen again.

part 2