Back at the castle the awaiting party had already formed. As the returning heroes turned the final corner the gates to the outer walls of the castle were pushed open, as if opening expectant arms and welcoming them home. They passed beneath the parapet and the crowd broke rushing to get to their loved ones. Arlette and Sebastian ran for Gill, who jumped from his horse and was engulfed by his family. The weight of responsibility that he had been carrying fell from his shoulders as he slumped, weeping into his mother’s arm.
“We did it mother. We did it.”
“Are you alright Gill?” Arlette stepped back so she could check her son for injuries. She spun him around looking for any signs of battle but there were none.
“I am fine mother. They did not get me.”
“He fought gallantly Arlette,” said Olivier.
“And you Olivier, did they hurt you?” Arlette turned to Olivier examining a slice that had been cut from his sleeve, dry blood staining his hand and arm.
“This is nothing Arlette. I will survive.”

Atop the stone steps, the king had not moved from his vantage beneath the castle doors. Slowly he raised his hands, and one-by-one the crowd became silent.
“My friends,” the king addressed the crowd. "Our loved ones have returned. Today is the day that we have rid our land of evil. Today is the day we can begin to live in freedom again.”
The crowd cheered. All were still hugging their loved ones: weeping and clapping.
“Please join me in the great hall. For those who need attention you can seek it there. For those able to celebrate, we shall.”
The king turned and headed into the castle, followed by the surviving kings, knights and their families. Gill took Olivier’s arm.
“Come my friend. We are home now.”
The king led the way to the great hall. Those injured, were laid on beds fashioned from tables covered with blankets pushed against the walls around the hall. Gill had not realised quite how many had returned, and how many were injured. There were at least thirty or forty makeshift beds and within no time each was occupied. Any spare help was rushing to-and-fro fetching water, cleaning wounds, bandaging, tying tourniquets, attaching splints.
The king motioned to Gill to follow him into the side room of the hall where he had been taken after their first night in the castle. The king’s heads of army, Gill’s family and Olivier followed. Once inside Sebastian closed the door. The king walked up to Olivier and took him into his arms.
“You have made me a proud grandfather today Gill. We are all indebted to you.”
“All the men fought valiantly Sire.”
“And you Olivier,” the king turned from Gill. “I did not expect to see you here. I must say I am not surprised and my debt goes to you too, however how did you know? The last I saw you were heading out of the city.”
Until this moment Gill had not thought of this. He had simply expected Olivier to ride with him into battle: but on reflection how had he known? All eyes in the room seemed to be fixed on Olivier, awaiting his response.
“I received notice that Chaval was to attack.” Olivier looked at Gill and then Arlette.
“But when Olivier,” said the king. “When did you receive this notice?”
“It was as I was leaving the city Sire,” Olivier’s eyes were still flicking around the room as if to assess whether he was being believed or not.
“Continue Olivier. I am not angry. I am glad you rode with my men,” said the king.
“As I left the city I noticed a rider Sire. He wore the colours of Chaval. I stopped him from entering the city.
“And?” said the king.
“And I made him tell me for what reason he was entering Avalon.”
“And what did he say Olivier?” asked Gill.
“He told me that he had a message for the son of Citern. I told him that was me, and after persuasion, he told me the message was from Marianne, Chaval’s daughter.” The eyes around the room were still transfixed. “Marianne had sent me a warning that her father was to attack Avalon, and that I should leave.”
“But you didn’t Olivier, you stayed and fought,” said Gill.
“The message also said that she needed to see me. That she had information regarding my friend.”
“I knew it,” Gill shouted. “He is alive. Mother he is still alive.”
“What do you mean Gill?” said Arlette.
“It’s father mother. He is alive.”
“Gill stop. Please stop. Your father is dead. He never returned from Chaval. He would have come and seen me.”
“He never returned mother, but that does not mean he is dead.”
“Gill,” the king interjected. “I searched for him: for months we looked. I had spies placed within the walls of Chaval, but there was never any sign of him. Gill I would know if he was alive.”
“But Chaval said...”
“What do you mean Chaval said?” questioned the king.
“I chased him Sire. He turned and was knocked form his horse,” Gill paused to catch breath. “I was going to bring him back here but he drunk a potion: a potion that killed him. But before he died he told me that he had won. That he had won because he knew where my father was. We need to go and see Marianne.”
The room fell silent, eyes where now flicking from one person to another.
“I will go,” said the king eventually.
“But Sire?” began the General.
“I will go,” repeated the king.
“As will I,” said Gill.
“And I,” added Arlette.
“Arlette, I..." started Olivier.
“Olivier, if there is any chance that Etienne is still alive then I will go.”
“Well I’m definitely going,” replied Olivier.
“A a and me,” said Sebastian.
“We leave right away,” said the king. “My Generals, ready our horses. All of you go back to your rooms. Change if necessary and I will meet you back at the stables. Tell no one of where we are going. It will be dark soon. We shall leave as soon as night has fallen.” Without another word the king turned and walked from the room.
The travelling party neither needed nor wanted to change, but they returned too their chambers on the king’s order. Arlette packed a small valise of her medicines. Gill removed his bloodied tunic, washed, and put on a clean dry one. Olivier went straight to the stables to check on the horses and make sure that enough provisions had been packed. Within no time the sun had fallen and they had reconvened, as the king requested ready to ride for Chaval.
“Sire, before we ride I must say that I think...” said one of the Generals.
“I know what you are about to say,” interrupted the king, "and I do not want to hear another word of it. You are a good man, and I appreciate your protection, but I sent my son to Chaval. It is my fault he is not here with us now, and if there is any chance he may be alive it will be I that will bring him back home again.”
The King mounted his horse, and with a sharp kick, started in the direction of the city gates.
The streets were still busy as they passed through. The mood was one of celebration. People were singing and dancing, and as the king and his entourage passed they clapped and cheered, as if the king were making a victory parade for his people. The city gates opened, and closed again without question. Outside, pyres were still burning on the land, and a dense acrid smoke rolled across the ground, haunting the surroundings. The party moved in silence, purposefully. They didn’t stop all night.
As dawn broke and the party stopped to eat, and allow the horses to drink. Conversation was sporadic. Tiredness, contemplation and confusion had rendered them mute. They remounted and continued. The morning passed. Spring had repainted the landscape. Blossom filled the trees and the river ran with a melancholy ease.
It was late afternoon when they saw Chaval for the first time. It was a small dot on the horizon, but the grey monolith was instantly recognizable. Continuing their silence, ignoring the site with contempt they followed the valley in the direction of the grey city.
The clouds enveloped the sky, blotting the sun as if sensing their mood. Gill noticed Olivier was visibly agitated. His head was flashing from side-to-side, protectively looking from bush to shadow. Gill slowed to be beside his friend, but before he could say a word of comfort behind them Sebastian’s horse bolted, throwing him to the ground. The party stopped and spun around. Thankfully Sebastian sat up and seemed to Gill to be fine. Gill then turned his attention from Sebastian to the bushes that flanked them Gill noticing for the first time what it was that had made the horse bolt. Standing by the track was a woman. Dressed in black, clearly distressed and trembling with fear.
“Marianne,” called Olivier, jumping from his horse and running in the direction of the woman. He took her in his arms and she slumped to the floor. “Are you alright Marianne?”
Olivier carefully laid her on the floor, the rest of the party dismounted and formed and inquisitive circle around them.
“Excuse me Olivier. Let me see her,” said Arlette in a calming, direct tone. Marianne’s eyes were shut and her body limp. Arlette touched her face and neck and then tenderly lifted each eye lid before letting them fall back into their state of sleep. She pressed her head against Marianne’s chest and lifted her hands; checking on both sides. The men looked on quizzically, baffled my Arlette’s ritualistic actions.
“Do not worry Olivier,” Arlette continued. “She is exhausted. She will be fine.”
Arlette took one of her potions from her valise and waved the small bottle under Marianne’s nose. Within moments Marianne stirred and opened her eyes. Lucidly her eyes moved around the overlooking crowd until they fixed on Olivier.
“Olivier, thank god.”
“Do not try to speak Marianne,” said Arlette. “Drink this.”
Arlette had taken another larger bottle from her valise. The liquid inside had the appearance of stagnant pond water, and by Marianne’s reaction when she sipped from it, it did not taste much better.
“This will make you feel better Marianne. Try to swallow.”
Arlette tipped the bottle and it seemed to be pouring colour directly back into Marianne’s cheeks.
“Thank you I am fine,” said Marianne pushing the rest of the bottle away. “Olivier,” Marianne continued, turning her attention, “I did not think you would come. Did my father get to you? Are you alright?”
“He came, but he will not be troubling us anymore,” replied Olivier.
“I am so sorry. I should have said something earlier.”
“I am alright Marianne. You did what you could. But what made you send the message.”
Marianne began to cry.
“He had gone too far Olivier. I am so ashamed. I am so sorry.”
“It is not your fault Marianne,” the king stepped forward. “I am the king of Avalon. Your father has been defeated.”
“He was killed Marianne,” added Olivier. “Your father is dead.”
“My father died a long time ago Olivier. He died the moment he attacked the first city. The moment he banished my brother. The moment he let greed and hate engulf his body. But what of my brother Olivier? Did he die?”
Olivier looked to Gill and back at the weeping woman who lay on the floor.
“He got away Marianne.” Marianne grabbed Olivier’s hand. “I chased him, but he got away.”
“Oh thank you lord.” Marianne looked up to the sky and closed her eyes.
“I will help you find him Marianne. But I have something to ask of you first.”
“Anything Olivier.”
“You asked me to come to you as you had information about my friend. What is that information Marianne?” Marianne turned her head to look around the group and sat up.
“I had to run from Chaval, I had no choice. When my father did not return the city became a mêlée. They broke into the castle; I escaped before it became overthrown. I did not have the opportunity to do what I had planned. I am sorry.”
“What was it Marianne? What had you planned?” said Gill.
“It is your son Sire,” Marianne replied fixing her gaze on the king. “He is still alive. He is in prison in Chaval.”

Marianne led the way to her city. The king had convinced her that on returning to the city with him and the royal party, the people of Chaval would not attack her. They would be returning victorious, emancipating the people of Chaval from the tyranny they had endured. They were free for the first time in their life. It would be time for them to rejoice. He would protect her. The king would explain to them that could now live their lives free of suppression, and that it was not Marianne that inflicted their subordination but her father, and she should not be judged on his evil actions.
“I am indebted to you Sire,” Marianne said to the king as they approached the city. “I return here for you. I will show you where your son is, and you can be together again.”
The approach to the city was in stark contrast to the rolling hills that led the way to Avalon. The gloom and despair that emitted from Chaval seemed to have poisoned the surrounding area. The baron land was flat, its uniformity only broken by shards of stone, breaking the desolate land like fish scales. The horse’s hooves kicked up dust as they approached the city gates with trepidation. The gates were already open, the city had no fear of attack, there was nothing within the walls anyone could possibly want.
“I will lead the way,” said the king. “Please follow in single file behind. I do not want us to be preserved as a bataille. We are visitors to this city. We must respect this fact.”
The party did as was asked. The king followed by the two generals, then Gill, Arlette, Sebastian and finally Olivier and Marianne. Olivier had lifted Marianne onto his horse in order that they both rode in together.
The king passed beneath the parapet, his bay horse and long white robes distinctive against the dark city. It appeared that the city had calmed since Marianne had left. Smoke from smouldering buildings still hung in the air, and went some way to disguise the pungent stench that had previously occupied the air. Marianne pulled herself tighter into Olivier, hiding her face in his chest.
“I never thought I would return here Olivier,” she said.
“Hopefully we will not be here for long,” he replied. “This place makes me feel uneasy.”
The king kept a steady pace, followed metronomically by the rest of the party. The streets were strangely deserted. Gills eyes flicked from door-to-door of the strange ramshackle houses for signs of life. A dirtied face appeared in a window, then another. Gradually the remaining population of city began showing themselves. They stepped from their houses: men, women, children, silently walking from the shadows all torturously malnourished. More faces appeared, the street before the visitors filled, parted only by a track wide enough for the horses to pass. But the townsfolk did not attack, did not even make a sound, just closed in on the party and stared, and then started to kneel. Still silently, with heads bowed, like a wave rippling over the crowd’s head they all knelt. The king kept pace. His eyes fixed on the castle gates. Gill looked at Olivier, who had an arm around the shivering Marianne, and then looked to his mother and Sebastian who simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, obviously as unnerved with the situation as he was. Marianne lifted her head from Olivier.
“You need to tell the king to go into the castle, and I will lead the way from there.”
Olivier relayed the message, and the king continued through the crowd until he reached the castle doors. Gill turned and looked back into the city. The throngs on people who had gathered were still knelt with their heads bowed.
“Sire, are you going to say something to these people. It is not right. They are free. Why are they behaving like this?”
“I will Gill, but the most important thing now is to find your father. I will come back and speak to them, but we must go now.”
The visitors dismounted, and Marianne led the way into castle. The darkness as they entered was palatable, and the emptiness of entrance hall added to their foreboding. Marianne took the lead with a confidence that settled some of Gill’s fears. She removed a lit candle which gave the only low light within the hall and headed into the castle. Olivier stayed by her side followed by Gill, Arlette, Sebastian and the king. One of the generals followed, however the other remained at the castle doors ensuring that they were not followed.
The only noise, steps on stone. Marianne continued deeper and deeper into the castle: along a corridor followed by a staircase which they descended. Another corridor and further steps. The darkness pressed on them, making them hunch as they struggled for the elusive light. Arlette gripped Gill’s hand, her son holding tight for fear of losing his mother. And then they stopped. Marianne turned and looked at the king, her head illuminated by candle as if suspended in the blackness without a body.
“This is the prison,” she said. “I have only been here once before as a child with my brother.” She stepped aside and held the candle to the small wooden door in front of her. It was arched at the top, and sat deep into a thick stone wall. The door was held shut with a large piece of wood placed across it, wedged into supports embedded in the wall. Olivier stood forward and began pulling the locking piece of wood up and out of the way. Even for a man of his strength the support barely moved, Gill stepped forward to help, then the General, and the king. It moved. They heaved and it moved again, eventually breaking free of supports and falling to the floor making an echo which continued along the corridor. The king placed his hand on the door and pushed. As with the supports the door had not been moved in a long time the moss that had grown, and the damp that had set into the wood made opening the door difficult: but with his shoulder the king managed. And they stood. Silence. Each waiting to hear a noise. An indication that there was life within this catacomb. Silence. The king took the candle from Marianne and held it out in front of him in an effort to illuminate the room. A dim glow spread, barely a footstep from the king was complete darkness.
“Etienne,” called Arlette. “Etienne, it is me Arlette. Please say something.”
Still nothing. The king edged further into the room, keeping one hand on the wall in order to keep his bearings. Arlette held on to the king’s robes with one hand and Gill’s hand with the other.
“Sire,” said Arlette. “Please show the light here I have something in my bag that may help.”
The king lowered the candle to Arlette’s valise which she opened and removed a handful of dried leaves. She ripped some cloth from her dress and tied the leaves in it, and laid the ball on the floor. With the candle Arlette lit the ball, and it flamed up warming their faces and spreading light around the room, instantly Gill wished it hadn’t. The site was horrific. Skeletal figures lay chained to the walls, and rats scurried from bone-to-bone picking whatever morsels of meat they could find. Gill could feel Arlette’s grip tighten. The General stepped forward and with his sword pierced the ball in order that it could be held aloft. For the first time the group could see the enormity of the room. It was cavernous. Stone archways broke the solid stone walls, and on each pillar a body was chained. He walked forward waving his sword as much to spread the light as to keep the rats away. The group walked deeper into the room in search of life. Arlette bent down at those bodies which hadn’t decomposed in the hope seeing some movement. She had checked four lifeless bodies when the noise of a chain rattling drew all their attention. The General increased his pace in the direction from which the noise came. The shadows parted, and lay naked in a corner was a man. His hair was long and joined his beard on this thin chest. The infusion of light made him squint and turn his head. His skin was covered with lesions and hung from his body like melted wax. Beside him a mound of moulded kitchen slops moved as rats scattered to avoid the visitors.
“Etienne, is that you?” the king bent down to take a closer look at the man.
“Is it him Sire?” asked Olivier. They waited for a response but nothing. Arlette pushed through the group that stood around the slumped man in order that she could see.
“Etienne?” she asked.
“Ar Ar Arlette,” the man replied.
“Yes Etienne, I’m here, I’m here.” Arlette bent down and took hold of Etienne’s hand. “It’s him. It’s him.”
“Cut him free,” shouted the king, and with a swing Olivier took his sword and broke Etienne’s chain against the wall. Etienne’s arm slumped to the floor. Olivier took his cape and covered his friend. Arlette could not stop stroking his face, repeating ‘it’s him, it’s him’ rocking back-and-forward as she cradled his head in her arms.
“Cut them all free,” shouted the king. The cling of metal on metal filled the room as the General made his way around the wall of the prison breaking the chains of all the prisoners. Most were dead, had been for a long time however there were a few that had survived: had managed to cheat death by eating with the rats, picking on leftovers thrown out by the kitchen.
The group carried the survivors out of the darkness. Their bodies were frail and needed care but it wasn’t long before they could sit up, then talk. Most could not bring themselves to speak of the torture they had endured. Etienne was no different. The king, Olivier, Arlette, Gill, Sebastian would keep a constant vigil by his bedside at the Castle in Avalon. At first he stared blankly back at them as if his body were simply a vessel that his soul had left long ago, but gradually the light returned. It was barely a spark at first, but Arlette recognised it. The lesions healed and his body began to fill again. His strength returned. Soon Etienne could stand. Walk. Arlette would take him in the hot summer afternoons to the dunes that looked out to sea and Etienne would lay watching the seagulls circle overhead and smile. He had found his freedom again, he had learned how to fly.

The End