The night, as ever, began drawing in and he had to start making his way back. His mother would worry if he was back after dark and although Gill felt he was old enough to look after himself, and his family, his mother had enough to worry about without him adding to it. His mother’s fretting had increased to almost unbearable levels recently with the rumours that had started to fill the marketplace where his mother had her stool. On her stool, as well as her jewelry and ointments, she also sold embroidered purses, wall hangings, tapestries and clothes, just about anything that could be sewn, stitched and decorated with beads and shells. She had a real talent and when she wasn’t on the stool she would be making things to cure all manner of ailments, from stomach pains to fevers. She would also get some money from repairing garments or decorations for the affluent people that lived within the castle walls. The stool gave her very little due to the lack of people with money within the city, however it did give her enough to buy some of the independence that her soul so craved. She was thought of so highly that a few times a year even the castle would come to her to repair curtains or clothes: this gave her extra money and extreme pride. The marketplace also provided her with all the city’s gossip. Although she would refrain from involving herself it was hard not listen to the soldiers and staff from the castle telling news of the dangers that Avalon was facing.
Recently she had heard from one of the king’s ladies in waiting whom she was repairing a dress for, that the king was becoming more and more frail. He was no longer able to get out of bed, and they were worried that he might not have long to live. Age, worry and the loss of his wife and only son had taken their toll. Arlette knew the king, she had never met him but Etienne, his son, Gill’s father, often spoke about him when he was alive, in those special nights that they spent together, those precious memories that she had kept locked away for fifteen years. Hidden away to protect her lost love. She knew that the king was staying alive for one reason only, to protect his people. To give them a safe place to live and the security that he had promised his wife on her deathbed. He had kept his promise but now he was getting to a point where he could protect them no longer. After Etienne’s disappearance the king had sent his knights to find him. The rumours around the marketplace, which Arlette listened to intently for news of her love, told stories of Etienne never actually reaching Chaval. Arlette never believed this, she had seen Etienne on the morning he left. She knew from looking into his eyes the determination that he had to seek counsel with Chaval. There was no way that he would not have got to see Chaval on that day. However after the Knights of Avalon reached Chaval it was said that they were greeted at the gates of Chaval by his guards pleading ignorance to Etienne or his friend Olivier ever arriving. The knights searched all surrounding area for five days but there were no signs of either Etienne or Olivier, and they returned to Avalon to tell the king the unspeakable news. It was at this point that the king ordered the gates to be locked, and he has not been seen by the town’s folk since.

“Will he not just die,” the King of Chaval said as he sipped a goblet of wine, droplets  spilling from the cup and running from the corner of his mouth, like the blood of a wolf’s kill. “I have waited fifteen years for this man to die and still he persists in getting in the way of me completing my conquest.”
“I have reliable information that your wait will not be long Sire,” replied the Bishop of Cheval. The Bishop was tall and lean, his scarlet cloak and black cap immaculately presented. His face was as pallid as the king’s, the only colouring a black sculptured beard  underlining secular smile.
“Is my army ready?” said the king.
“They are Sire. On your command we will move for Avalon.”
“Good,” replied the king. “Avalon will not know what has hit them. We will rip the city from the ground by its roots. I want every last person who dares to stand in my way killed.

The King of Avalon lay in his chambers; he had not risen from his bed now for six weeks. His curtains were pulled close; his eyes no longer able to take the light. The food that had been brought for him was still untouched on the plate to his side. The king rang the bell that stood on the table beside his bed to get attention from his nurse. Even this small movement took all the effort he could muster, just to stretch his weak arm and pick up a small bell sent shots of pain through his body. “Sire how can I help?”
The king cleared his throat and took as deep breath as possible in order to speak the first words he had for many days. “Please get me my Captain.” His voice a whisper, but the nurse heard his request. She ran from the room and told a guard who had kept constant  vigil at the king’s door to quickly find the head of the army. It didn’t take long for the guard to find him, and soon the king’s closest friend and deputy was at his bedside.
“What is it Sire?” asked the Captain as he knelt in front of his monarch and friend.
“I am dying Nicolas.” The king coughed and his friend passed him a drink of water in a vane attempt to suppress his obvious anguish. “I am not long for this world.”
“Please do not speak like this Sire. You are a strong man, I know you can overcome this.”
“Nicolas,” continued the king in a whisper taking his friends hand in his. It was not the same strong hands the king used to posses, they were now withered and hung from his wrist without strength or form like a loose white glove. “You have been my friend and counsel for many years now, and I thank you for everything you have done for me.”
“Of course Sire, I feel I have not done enough.”
“You have my friend.”
“It has been. It is a honour Sire,” Nicolas corrected himself. “What can I do, how can I help?” Nicolas had slowly watched his king, and oldest friend give up on this world, and the suffering he was experiencing greatly affected him.
“I fear for my city, and my people Nicolas,” continued the king. “The walls have been fortified, and an army trained, but without a leader I fear of attack. My only heir was taken from me. I know of other Kingdoms that left without their natural leaders have been taken by leeches feeding their incessant greed. This cannot happen to my city, the land of my forefathers. My last request of you my dear friend is to find Avalon a new leader.”
“How Sire, how will I know who should lead us?” but before Nicolas had finished asking his question the king rolled over and fell back to sleep again.