The Knights with No Lords
Chapter 16 – Another Vision
By Rock Kitaro
Exasperated breaths passed through her lips like bursts of steam. She was shivering but she wasn’t cold. She was sweltering but not hot. Morgan’s entire body was soaked from head to toe, her gown drenched, her hair wet and melded to her flesh. She tossed and turned, gripping at the bear fur spread over her bed. She drained with each exhale, getting weaker and faint. As if her very soul was evaporating from her body and her heart could barely take it.
“Please. Not another vision.”
“I can’t take it!”
Her whimpers were soft and barely perceptible. The orange glow from a single lit candle revealed beads of sweat trickling from her forehead. Her chest fluctuated as she struggled to breathe. Her thighs tightened as her knees came together and curled in a fetal position. Her grimace displayed unimaginable torment as her eyes clamped shut with harsh guttural groans.
Morgan was indeed having another vision. Again, it was of Gawain. He was sleeping. Not the Gawain of now, but a slightly younger version of him with shorter brown locks and less muscle tone. He was sleeping bare-chested on a bed of hay in the horses stable, his sheathed katana, propped up against the waist-high door of the stall. And lingering by this stall was Isolde in the middle of the night, staring at him like a thirsty survivor coming upon an oasis in the desert.
“No! Please don’t! Don’t!” Morgan anguished in her sleep.
Isolde removed her pearl white night gown one shoulder strap at a time until the garment slid from her slender body like a sleeve of silk. A creak emanated from the rusty hinges as Isolde open the stall and caught the katana before it could fall. Resting the katana softly in the hay, Isolde lowered to her knees and crawled over Gawain until her knees were on both sides of his hips. Straddling him like a horse, an anticipating Isolde placed her hands over Gawain’s stomach and chest as one would a finely polished shield. Then, just as Gawain opened his weary eyes, Isolde brought the heat of her bosom down upon his.
Gawain gasped. Isolde’s lips caught the end of that suction. Gawain grabbed her by the shoulders but Isolde hooked his arms. She was older than him by three years. Their naked bodies rolled and grappled as Gawain struggled to break free, but Isolde was an anaconda and her hold was airtight.
When he rolled on top of her, Isolde clasped her wrists behind his back and wrapped her legs around his hips. She thrust her tongue onto his and sucked in as their shoulders fastened and became one. The sensation, the heat of stimulation, and the explosion of hormones corroded Gawain’s resistance. Once his toes curled, he was lost. He submitted. The pleasure pulled him in. Gawain thrust himself, grinding into her, slowly at first before a hard ride developed.
Morgan flung the sheets off of her bed. She rolled onto her back and raised her knees. With bated breath, her hands slowly slithered their way from her belly to the smooth groove between her legs.
“No. Stop…” she gasped with agony.
Isolde wrestled to mount Gawain. Her head cocked back. Her legs and the muscles in her core did all of the work. From there, all Morgan could see were flashes of fornication. Morgan cringed as her hips moved up and down the same way she saw in the vision. Her chest fluttered with an intense anxiety until tears trickled down her cheek.
“No!” Morgan cried. “Please stop!”
As badly as she wanted to wake up, she couldn’t. She was spellbound in this sadistic trance, watching as Isolde’s long golden hair whipped to and fro, as her mouth gaped open in ecstatic pleasure. Each time Isolde exhaled bursting with delight, Morgan exhaled bursting in pain like a woman in childbirth. When Isolde’s nose furled with electricity tingling through her thighs, Morgan’s teeth clenched as if she was just prodded by a burning hot poker.
This horrific experience continued for what seemed like an hour until finally, Isolde threw her head back and released an elated exclamation of glee. All the muscles in her golden body relaxed and melted onto Gawain. Resting her chin on Gawain’s sweaty shoulders, Isolde’s blue eyes looked forward as if she was staring directly at Morgan.
Then…Isolde smiled, the same devious smile from the dance hall.
Morgan’s traumatized eyes shot open as the candlelight blew out. She was paralyzed, frozen in sheer terror. And as soon as she regained her senses…
The siren of Morgan’s scream blared and permeated through the entire palace louder than the roar from a canon. Every soul in Tintagel heard the piercing scream as if Morgan was right there in bed next to them. It was a frightening display of her raw untapped power. No one knew what was going on and Sir Ekner, one of the oldest knights in the kingdom, nearly suffered from a stroke. There was great panic and confusion. She kept screaming. It didn’t stop. Over and over again like an alarm of extreme urgency.
Gawain was one of the first to wake up in full alert. Agravain was in the bed next to his. Gaheris was missing but it wasn’t difficult to guess where he was sleeping. In unison, Gawain and Agravain jumped out of bed, grabbed their weapons, and darted into the hallway. As doors banged open with disoriented residents demanding to know the commotion, the brothers were sprinting barefoot and bare-chested down the cold stony corridors.
The Duchess Igraine was first to Morgan’s chamber with Sir Cador right behind her. Cador carried a torch in one hand, a sword in the other.
“Morgana?!” Igraine called out.
She barged into the room and dashed to her daughter’s bed. It appeared empty save for a dark puddle of sweat in the middle of the bed. The sisters, Morgaus and Elaine entered next.
“What happened?” Morgaus shouted.
“Good heavens!” Sir Cador uttered.
An appalled Cador was holding a torch over the dresser. There, he found Morgan, naked and curled between the corner of the dresser and the wall beneath the windowsill. She was trembling as she was just pulled from a frozen lake. The tears persisted and when he reached for her, she recoiled violently, backing into the dresser and causing trinkets to fall to the floor.
“Oh my god! Morgana, who did this to you?” Igraine shrieked.
“What’s the meaning of this?” a knight shouted from the hallway.
“OUT! EVERYONE STAY OUT!” Sir Cador shouted, referring to the men.
“Constantine! Fetch the captain and a physician. Seal the exits. Let no one in or out!” Cador ordered.
“Yes, father!” Constantine nodded before running off.
Almost in coordinated fashion, Elaine quickly retrieved a black embroidered cloak from the dresser. Morgaus snatched it and wrapped it around Morgan while Igraine dried Morgan’s wet hair with a cloth. They hugged and massaged Morgan with the utmost attention given to a newborn child. They begged to know what happened, but all that came was a flood of tears and mortified mumblings. It was a pitiful sight that moved Elaine to weeping and prompted Morgaus to leave the room and close the door behind her. The pain of seeing her baby sister in such a state was too great.
The hallway outside Morgan’s chambers was congested with congregated residents in their nightgowns and tunics. Kings Lot and Mark were amongst them and even the hardened Tristan seemed empathetic. All they knew was that according to Constantine, Morgan appeared molested. When Lot asked his wife for verification, Morgaus responded with sorrow, planting her face into Lot’s chest.
“Should we be concerned?”
All eyes turned to a troubled Queen Iseult. She was standing in a thick green and brown robe, surrounded by five of her elite guards, which included Sir Maven and Algayre. All of them seemed more nervous than sympathetic.
“Ah. I am deeply sorry for this inconvenience. I assure you, this is highly unusual,” King Mark said as he approached with open arms.
“That was some scream,” Algayre said in his raspy voice. “Is the girl alright?”
“We’re looking into it,” Sir Cador said as he exited the room. “Rest assured, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Whatever the cause, I’d like to know. This disturbance is very displeasing,” said Queen Iseult.
“Your grace, I assure you…” King Mark was interrupted by the arrival of two young men barging through the circle.
Gawain and Agravain were dripping with sweat. Sir Cador tried to stop Gawain from going any further but Gawain was half out of his mind. Surprising everyone, he shoved Cador out of the way and stormed into Morgan’s chamber with Agravain right behind him.
“Morgan! Morgan, what happened?” Gawain asked as Agravain’s vigilant eyes scanned the room for the enemy.
The Duchess Igraine was holding Morgan like a puppy. Both were sitting on the edge of the bed surrounded by Elaine and the distraught ladies-in-waiting. At the sound of Gawain’s voice, Morgan instantly became taken by an immense fear that almost caused her to fall off of her mother’s lap. Igraine struggled to hold on as a convulsing Morgan stared at him with this intense dread.
Gawain recognized that look. It reminded him of Elsiandra, the red headed mage he tried to save before Algayre stoned her. He was frozen in place. There were five sets of eyes on him but in that moment, Gawain felt alone in a dark empty room with no one but Morgan staring him as if he was the executioner coming to take her to the gallows. It was a rotten feeling that wrenched at his soul. Each sob he heard was like a punch in the gut. So badly, he wanted rip out his still-beating heart just to prove she had nothing to fear.
Gawain took a single step forward and as soon as he did…
“NOOO! GET OUT! GET HIM OUT! MOTHER PLEASE! GET HIM AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST GO! JUST GO AWAY!!!”
Morgan screamed in a fit of hysteria. Everyone looked as Gawain as if he was the culprit and Gawain was utterly dumbfounded. Elaine approached and put a hand on his broad shoulders, giving him a soft pat on the cheek before ushering him out the door. Agravain followed. Once the boys were out, Elaine closed the door and locked it.
“What happened?” Morgaus asked in a sullen whisper.
“I honestly don’t know,” Gawain answered, still shaken in disbelief.
“Gawain was with me when we heard the screams.” Agravain attested.
“Hey! What happened?” Gaheris asked, just now showing up.
While everyone was in their nightwear or bare-chested, they cast judgment on Gaheris who was fully clothed, still wearing the same attire from the night before. Sir Cador ordered the captain of the nightwatch to patrol the wing and stationed two guards outside of Morgan’s room. Again, King Mark apologized and encouraged the queen that all was or would be well.
As the congregation began to disperse, Gawain stood where he was in the center of the hallway, feeling guilty for any and everything. Constantine put a hand on his shoulder, reminding him that Morgan was crazy, but Gawain wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He made that clear with those hawk eyes that prompted Constantine throw his hands up in submission. Constantine and Gaheris made their exit while Gawain and Agravain remained with the two guards outside Morgan’s door.
“Brother,” Agravain uttered. “We can’t stay here. Too cold. We’ll get sick without clothes.”
“Damn it! What do I have to do?” Gawain said, clenching his fists.
“What do you mean?” Agravain uttered.
Gawain gasped. He noticed Algayre was still present, standing under one of the wall-mounted torches.
“Shall we remove him?” one of the guards asked Gawain.
“Remove me, he says. Don’t make me laugh. I hate laughter.” Algayre said with a creepy smile.
Agravain was about to approach with sword in hand before Gawain stopped him. Gawain simply shook his head no at Algayre.
“Not this one,” Gawain warned him.
Algayre’s head tilted to the side, bending at such an acute angle that it looked as if he was about to break his own neck. “We shall see…” He hissed before fading into the shadows.
A single hooded horseman galloped hard across the moor in the dead of the night. Morholt the Destroyer was riding south of Tintagel, nearing the sound of rolling waves until his horse reached wet sand. Dismounting, this enormous rider, cloaked in gray rags from head to toe, retrieved a wooden torch and set it ablaze. He held it high and waved it like a flag bearer.
It was a signal.
The two Hibernian war ships that accompanied Queen Iseult were supposed to be anchored near Tintagel’s Port of Talons. However, under the veil of darkness, the ships had drifted south and sailed closer to the vacant beach. Each ship carried over a hundred of Iseult’s most ruthless warriors. In less than an hour 260 men had come ashore in rowboats. Morholt supervised the operation.
A Celtic warrior tapped Morholt on his shoulder and pointed up to a steep bluff five hundred meters south from their position. There, at the top of the bluff was a young squire. He was seventeen-years-old, the same as Gawain. He had seen the flicker of light in the darkness and was drawn to it like a moth.
Morholt handed the torch to the Celtic warrior and walked in the sinking sand back to his horse. He picked up a long curved battle-ax weighing over 300lbs with his fingertips and removed his hood.
He turned and faced the curious young spy. Trepidation set in as the squire immediately recognized the horseshoe shaped Omega sign burned into Morholt’s face. He quickly turned his horse to flee.
Morholt gave a hard thrust, letting the smooth five-foot shaft of his destructive weapon slide until the end of it reached his fingertips. Lunging all the way back, Morholt flicked the ax high into the air, hearing it whirl, watching it twirl like a violent boomerang that glistened just once from the torchlight.
Morholt didn’t need to see if it hit his target. He and every other Hibernian on the beach heard the hard whacking thud and the desperate neighs of a toppling horse. The Celtic warrior set off to fetch the ax while Morholt covered up and doused the torch.