Chapter 8

It can be said that stormy weather is the sign of an ill omen. Rain emblemizes the sorrow of tears as they pelt the earth like mallets. The lightning symbolizes the sudden flash of terror, followed by the boom of thunder that symbolizes cries of regret. Such weather acts as the opening of the curtain for a terrible tragedy, and such is the case of the weather on this particular day. Thunder and lightning crackled along the sky over a dense wood sitting at the foot of massive mountain, where nestled within a near unnavigable forest maze was a massive manor. From within the ghostly villa, a number of sounds could be heard, the loudest of which being several voices hollering out with songs of victory. Inside of the manor and in a large dining hall could be found a rowdy crowd of men. They were drinking from large mugs and singing as loudly and as off key as they could, and some were even fighting. Several more were making suggestive looks at the frightened maids that were busily going to and fro refilling their mugs and ultimately trying to avoid eye contact. Sitting above them all in a throne of oak was perhaps the wildest of them all. He was a massive brute of unquestionable strength dressed from head to toe in black bear skin that was parted at his chest, revealing a large tattoo of a wolf's head. His hair was also an oily shade of black, and it ran down past his shoulders. He also possessed a dark complexion and short black beard. He was a monster of a man, and he simply devoured the scene before him with his blood red eyes. He was Averil the Wild, and he and his band were untouchable. Placing his powerful palms upon the rests of his throne, he arose, and immediately a hush fell amongst his men as they looked to him.

"My loyal friends!" he called out with a loud voice. "Let us take this time to slow down and recount our most recent conquests. In this very week alone, we have taken three villages…"

There was a loud cheer.

"…burned down four farms…"

An even larger cheer erupted from the men.

"…acquired quite a few lovely ladies…"

There was a chorus of whistles this time, causing many of the women present to shiver.

"…and, best of all, we have done it all without so much as a challenge from the so called king of England!"

This time, the men cut loose with a grand cheer.

"So, by all means my dear followers." he threw out his arms. "EAT, DRINK, AND BE MERRY! WE ARE UNTOUCHABLE! HAR HAR HAR!"

"HUZZAH! HUZZAH!"

Averil took a seat in his thrown once again, taking a freshly poured mug from a nearby maid and gulped it down in one swig.

"Ah! 'Tis the good life. I swear that absolutely nothing could go wrong now. Or my name isn't Averil the Wild."

Suddenly, the doors of the great hall suddenly flew open as a ghastly wind blew out all of the torches. The singing and shouting suddenly stopped, and all eyes were glued to the doorway. Standing there was a lone, small figure. Whoever or whatever it was, it was dressed in a black cloak that covered their entire body. The only part of them that was visible was their chin, a very pale protrusion. The figure strode into the room with clear confidence, and it would occasionally toss glances from beneath its hood to the nearby men. It stopped when it had brushed past one of the maids, whom was cowering on the floor with a tablecloth clutched tightly in her fist. The figure lifted their face, and the woman could now see the face of a fourteen-year-old girl.

"Get on your feet! Show some decorum!"

The woman immediately snapped to her feet, even straightening her spine. Though carrying the voice of a child, she wielded the authority of a monster. Those dark brown eyes of hers were nothing more than two voids of evil and darkness. To put it in a word, she was frightening. The girl continued down the massive dining hall until she was standing before Averil, whom seemed more annoyed than threatened. He sat lazily upon his throne, his mug halfway empty, and he fixed the figure with an easy look.

"Morgan Le Fay, what an unexpected surprise! What brings our resident dark sorcerous amongst us?"

The girl, Morgan, removed her hood, and she bore a hard gaze upon Averil. It seemed she was upset, which did not bode well for those in the room.

"It is not pleasure that brings me here, Averil." she said, spitting out the last word with spite. "I would like start with a reminder of how none of what you see before you would be yours if not for my power."

Averil rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, I would be nothing without your magic. You created this manor house, and even the inescapable maze through which only me and my men can navigate. Your magic is a blessing upon us all."

"Then by all means, explain something to me." Morgan said. She slowly strode closer to Averil, and she looked him dead in the eye. "Why is it that I am always giving, giving, and giving, but you never fulfill your end of the bargain?"

"Now wait just one blasted minute!" Averil bellowed as he erupted from his throne, his mug clattering to the floor as its contents splattered in all directions. "I have always done as you asked. I've burned farms, terrorized villages, and spread fear in the hearts of man. What more could you possibly want?!"

Morgan scoffed.

"You know exactly what I want, and, a few days ago, two of your men had a chance to fulfill my darkest dream only to fail. Miserably!"

This seemed to settle Averil's temper, and he fixed the young girl with a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

Morgan turned her back to Averil, and she studied the crowd of men that littered the room like cockroaches. She extended her hand and pointed a finger, and she fanned out as though looking for someone.

"Two of your incompetent excuses for minions encountered England's king, the greatest of all prizes. However, rather than dealing the final blow and ending his breathe, the cowardly insects turned and fled."

Her finger at last landed on two of Averil's men, and their comrades immediately moved aside, further exposing them. Averil narrowed his gaze, and he motioned them closer. The two men exchanged glances, and they slowly made their way to the front. Though looked as though they were about to attend their own funeral.

"Duncan, Cale," Averil began as he seated himself again. "Would you care to explain these accusations Morgan has placed upon you?"

The one on the left with a bald head sporting a red welt, Duncan, was sweating heavily as her nervously wrung his hands together.

"Well, A-averil, s-s-sir," he stammered, "A-ah can't say I know what she m-m-means. W-we just interrupted some picnickers the other day is all. R-r-right, Cale?"

The one on the right, Cale the flagbearer, was at first shaking his head, but a quick jab from Duncan's elbow quickly set him straight.

"R-r-right. We don't know nuthin'!"

Morgan didn't look convinced. She slowly approached the two men, which produced a rather absurd scene: two massive men of great strength and vulgarity cowering like frightened kittens in the presence of one small girl. When she was no further than a whisper's length from them, she fixed them both with a neutral expression. She took a moment to revel in their shivering fright. Strip away a man's ability to intimidate, and they are nothing more than frightened sheep. She loved it.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate men?" she asked. Her tone was low and even, but it had the effect of a cobra's rattle. "Vile and arrogant creatures, they are. They believe that might is the only way to get things done, and with such tiny minds they are incapable of thinking otherwise."

She strode just a half inch closer with her eyes locked on Cole, causing him to bite his lower lip while his eyes went bloodshot.

"Such terrible, selfish creatures, men are, but there are times that they can be useful and even, to certain degrees, forgiven for their idiotic tendencies. But do you know what kind of man I cannot forgive?"

She was now standing toe to toe with Cole, looking him dead in the eyes. She took the man gently by the front of his tunic, and she pulled him closely, putting her mouth to his ear.

"I really, really hate men that lie to my face."

That did it. Cole screamed out in abject horror, and he backpedaled away from the demon woman.

"His name was Arthur! He claimed he was the king!"

The room fell silent, and now all eyes were on him. Cole placed a hand over his mouth. What had he done?

Morgan smiled in spite of herself, and she strode back over to Averil, now standing at his side. The large man now wore a bloodthirsty look.

"Duncan, Cole, do you care to elaborate on what happened the other day?"

Duncan was shooting his companion with a furious look, but he did his best to compose himself before their leader.

"Aye sir, it be true. We jist didn't want to offend ye, is why we didn't say before."

"Offend me?"

"Aye, sir. We said it was a picnic, but it was actually a hunting party. Big group. Several hundreds of men armed to the teeth and hunting wild boars. Boars the size of stallions. One beaned me hard on the head, ya see, and that's why I got this awful shiner. Thought I was gonna die, I did. Cole here saved my life. Took on the king himself, he did. He was as big as three…no! Five men! Fought him to a bloody stand still! But then the coward turned this all powerful sorcerer on us. Blasted us with lightning from the sky. There was nothing we could do, so we ran. That's what happened."

He looked at Averil and Morgan hopefully, but he was disappointed to see that they looked more annoyed than impressed. Averil was sitting with his head prompted on his hand, and Morgan wore a disproving frown. The two exchanged glances, and then they shook their heads.

"I may not have been there," Averil began. "but even I can tell that was one whopper of a lie."

"Indeed." Morgan hissed in agreement.

Both Cole and Duncan seemed to deflate, their secret exposed. This time, it was Cole's turn to give an explanation.

"It was just four of them: two boys, a girl, and an old man. One of the boys and the old man had walked off for some reason, so we decided to attack. While Duncan was fighting the other boy, I grabbed the girl. I figured she would make a good scullery maid, ya see. However, the other boy had stolen Duncan's horse and chased after me. He somehow knocked me down, and I dropped the girl. The boy then claimed he was the king, but I just laughed in his face. That is when the old man attacked. That part of Duncan's story is true; he was a sorcerer. I didn't think we would get away with our lives. But that is the real story. I still don't think he was the king, much too scrawny and didn't even have a beard yet, but the sorcerer was definitely the real deal."

When he finished, Averil looked to Morgan.

"How about that one? Was that believable?"

The girl nodded.

"Yes, that one sounds more accurate." She sighed. "Blasted Merlin. I knew he was going to be a pain."

"So is that good enough?" Cale asked, and Morgan looked at him quizzically. "You said it yourself. If a man has a good enough excuse, they can actually be forgiven. So, we're forgiven, right?"

Both he and Duncan sunk to their knees, and they were looking as pitiful as possible. Morgan hummed thoughtfully, and she placed a hand to her chin as she thought hard.

"I did say that, didn't I?" She said, and both Cale and Duncan looked hopeful.

"Unfortunately, this is not one of those times."

Both men's eyes grew wide with abject terror. They immediately scrambled to their feet and began to run for the door as fast as their legs could carry them. Morgan did not move from her spot, and she tossed back her hood. Her eyes blazed with a supernatural light, and she extended her hand and pointed her finger. It should also be said that she was smirking with a devilish grin.

"IHiggitus, figgutus, MARLYBONE!

Transform these worthless savages into solid STONE!/i"

Duncan and Cale were almost to the door, and Duncan even had his hand extended towards the door. Suddenly, they both froze where they stood. Before the entire crowd's eyes, their bodies grew stiff and began to turn grey. Within moments, two statues now stood where two human beings used to be. The room was silent, the entire congregation stunned by Morgan's horrible spell. Even Averil was awestruck, and his face sagged into a disappointed look.

"Oh, come now, Morgan. Was that really necessary? I'll admit Duncan and Cale weren't the sharpest among my men, but even they didn't deserve such a fate."

The girl spun on her heel, and she flashed the man a sour look.

"Don't start with me, Averil! They failed to do what I asked, and therefore they had to pay!"

She turned back to the congregation.

"And let that be a lesson to the lot of you! I alone am the only reason you have not been captured, killed, or otherwise! To fail me will result not only in the loss of that protection, but I will unleash a fury far greater than any inferior man could! Am I clear?!"

There was a collective nod amongst the group, and even a few whimpers amongst the masses. Satisfied, Morgan turned back to Averil with her expression unchanged.

"The same goes for you, Averil. Don't forget that everything you have is because of my generosity, and everything I have given," she placed a hand over Averil's, "I can just as easily take it away."

Averil felt his hand slowly beginning to itch. He looked down, and his eyes bulged as he saw thick black hair begin to sprout where Morgan had her hand placed. Averil immediately pulled away from her, the hair receding the instant they were separated. He scowled at the girl and bared his teeth, snarling savagely.

"Just what is it you want, you miserable little wretch?!"

Morgan scoffed, and she went nose to nose with Averil. "I've told you enough times that I shouldn't have to repeat myself. I want the king dead, and you are going to help me do it!"

Averil snorted. "Oh, really. And just how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that? Even if the king is a boy like they said, Uther's castle in London is a fortress. Not even my lot is stupid enough to invade it in broad daylight."

Morgan backed away from him, and he could see that she was now smirking again.

"Oh, feeble minded man. Once again, it is obvious which of us is the superior one. The plan is already in motion even as we speak. You see, in three days it will be the king's birthday. I want you and a battalion of your best men to meet me on the outskirts of the city, and there you will learn my intentions. No sooner, no later."

With that, she turned and started to walk away, the men giving her the wide birth of a leper. She paused at the door, and she tossed one final hateful look towards Averil, her eyes aglow with magic.

"I expect results this time, Averil, and I mean results that matter. Failure will mean consequences, and I believe you know what I mean."

With that, Morgan made her way out the door and was gone. Even with her ghastly presence gone, there was an air of menace still prevailing throughout the dining hall, and it left the men in a quivering silence. As for Averil himself, silent fury had overtaken him. He despised that girl with his every fiber of his entire being. The fact that she could waltz in her, berate him in front of his men, turn two of his own into statues, and threaten him without so much as a single challenge was enough to throw him into a frenzy. Never the less, he knew better than to allow himself to be rattled. He had an appearance to maintain. A maid timidly presented another mug for him, which he snatched away, swigged down in one large gulp, belched loudly, and then tossed the mug aside. He then rose to his feet and cleared his throat.

"My fine fellows!" He boomed, and his men looked to him. "In three days, we will make history as the greatest men of Britain's history. In three days, we will storm the castle of London town, and we will raze it and slaughter any that oppose us. Today, we have the forest! In three days, we will have London! So, until the time has come, EAT, DRINK, AND PREPARE FOR VICTORY!"

His speech seemed to have the right effect, and within moments they were eating and drinking once again. It had been like the evil woman had never been there, or so Averil had wished. He didn't know what Morgan had in mind for him or his men, but he knew one thing: he was going to hate it, no matter how much fun he was going to have.