Chapter 14

Megan walked into the observatory deep in thought. The sight that met her, once she took a moment to take in her surroundings, was bizarre to say the least.

Brun and the other ladies in the keep had set to tearing their petticoats into long, narrow strips. They now sat carefully embroidering small blue Forget-me-nots and four-leaf clovers on the strips of cloth and then carefully setting them aside to take up needle and thread on another.

Megan walked over to the table near the hearth. “Brun, uhhh, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Lady Megan. We are sewing favors to bestow on our brave young men who will ride forth to rescue the Lady Erin from the evil which now holds her and her handmaids, Jenny and Anna. These men ride into certain death. Many will not return, so we seek to let them know that our heart’s and thoughts are with them as they ride into this epic battle.”

“Please, just call me Megan. I can’t get used to this lady stuff. I’m not sure if I understand? What do you mean by favors?”

“Well, Megan,” Brun blushed ever-so-slightly, “we are sewing cloth favors that will be tied to the belt or sword arm of the men to remind them that they have something to live for, something to return home to.”

“I see...” Megan nodded, “Wait...” she yelped and then hurried upstairs to the room where she had spent the night. Finding the dreaded blue gown she had stumbled around in recently, she tore the sash off and hurried back downstairs.

“Brun, I’m not very good at sewing, but could you...” and holding out the sash, Megan started to cry again. “I’m sorry, it’s for Richard...”

“Of course, my lady, of course...” and Brun helped Megan to a corner where she could begin work on her favor.

A dark mood settled over the survivors, waiting at the observatory for the storm to strike. Everyone knew what had to be done, and though brave and true, none of them really looked forward to the fight ahead.

A cold banquet had been hastily assembled to feed the knights and men-at-arms as they prepared themselves and their weapons. Little of the food was eaten. Mostly hasty goodbyes were shared amid the armory the great room had become. Arthur and Emory circulated among the men, giving words of encouragement.

The King broke bread with his remaining ten knights in a short, solemn moment around a table in the center of the room. The babble of conversation quieted as heads were bowed, and the King in turn gently spoke to each man. A bright flicker of red light passed from his hands to the heads of each knight as he touched them at the end of their conversation. Each knight stood a bit taller after the brief contact with the King.

Emory followed the King and pinned a golden dragon brooch on the front of every man’s armor — a symbol that he fought for the Pen Dragon king. Emory paused in front of Gareth, still wearing the blood stained green leather finery that he always wore on the road. Gareth seemed like a mix of sadness and anger. The senior watcher, Morgan, had been a good friend and his loss was particularly hard on Gareth, who had held the older man as he had passed on to a more peaceful place.

“Gareth, I know you seek to avenge Morgan,” Emory whispered as he held his squire in an embrace. “Please know that he thought very highly of you, and spoke of you quite fondly.” Then, with a brief but fierce hug, Emory broke the embrace and stepped over to Richard.

“Richard, lad, I’ve asked you to take on a very dangerous role in the conflict that awaits. Once again, I’ll ask if you are prepared for this mission?” Emory looked Richard squarely in the eyes.