The pace Lord Blackthorn set was a fast one. Gryff, who'd grown up riding the rugged mountains around the small village of Penally, was at ease with it and rode along, one hand on the reins and the food bag, the other digging out the apple he'd reclaimed from Aelf on the way to the armory. As for his friend, the Saxon did his best to copy Gryff, almost succeeding until he tried to take a drink from his water bottle. His soft curses drew the attention of those riding closest, and there were laughs as he wiped off the water he'd splashed all over his face.

"Next time, Elf, aim for your mouth, lad!" cackled one of the older men. That brought another laugh, but with it came a stare from Timmons that put a quick end to it.

"We're not off on a picnic, you ninnies! Now be still, or do you want all of Zephyr's men to know exactly where you are?" he hissed. He turned his head forward and Aelf grimaced to Gryff, then shrugged and grinned. They had decided between the two of themselves that Timmons had no other purpose in life at the present other than to make their lives as miserable as possible. They'd most likely get a tongue-lashing on their return to the barracks that night. Gryff shrugged back, then turned back to watch the riders ahead. The sky in front of them was glowing, and for a brief second the Welshman thought they were riding towards the rising sun.

Then he realized the troop was riding north, and what lay ahead was light from a burning village.

"Close up!" came the order from Lt. Marcus.

Steel snickered as swords were drawn from sheaths.

**********

"Bastards!"

They'd ridden another mile, and then Blackthorn had led them off the road and up the crest of a ridge looking down on the village under attack. Several buildings were burning and there was a body lying face down in the field below the ridge, a small herd of milkcows milling about it, some poor younger son caught out defenseless as he was leading the herd to pasture. Aelf's face was red with anger; he'd told Gryff he came from a village himself and no doubt it had suffered at the hands of Talor's mercenaries as well. Gryff gave his friend a grim nod.

"They'll pay, Aelfric. We'll make them pay."

There was no time for any reply. Lord Blackthorn drew his sword, the blue stone set at its pommel giving a flash of blue light. The warriors down in the village all seemed to stand frozen as the light drew their attention to the top of the ridge, then began to draw close and set themselves for the coming reprisal.

The sword flashed down, and Black Watch riders roared down the ridge and across the field, a tide of steel and anger bent on revenge. They formed an arrow's head, the Commander at its head, Marcus and Timmons slightly behind and to either side, ready to guard against any attack from the rear on the half-elf as they advanced. The force of the charge down the slope plus the heavier armor on both horse and riders made the patrol from Camelot a lethal weapon, and as Gryff watched the faces of the enemy grow closer and closer, he saw the fear bloom in them.

"For Camelot!" someone yelled, and then the warriors closed.

Everything happened quickly, yet seemed to move so slowly. There was an impact as Gryff leaned from his saddle and struck down hard at a bearded mercenary who fell from sight with a howl and a spray of blood. There was no time to look back as another foe took the place of the first, a thrust at Gryff's side stopped by the chainmail before that enemy was ridden down beneath the hooves of his horse. Timmon's voice rose above the clamor and the men from Camelot responded and reformed. They wheeled in unison and then rode back at the raiders. Gryff's existence narrowed to the chaos viewed from his helmet, and his sole purpose, survival.

When the end came, the silence seemed unnatural.

*********

"You stayed on!" Gryff laughed, the sound ringing strange in his ears. "You can have the other half of my apple."

Aelf smiled, his face pale. "I did, didn't I?"

Gryff tugged off his gauntlet, pulled the apple from the bag, and tossed it across to his friend. He laughed as Aelf's reach for it over-balanced him in the saddle and watched as the Saxon toppled to the ground. "Get up, Aelf, before Timmons comes along and sees you lazing on the ground."

Aelf didn't move.

"Get up, will you? This isn't funny!" Gryff grabbed the reins of the riderless horse and sighed as he saw Timmons and Marcus riding their way. "Damn it, Aelf!" But there was no sign his friend was going to get up as the two veterans rode up and stopped. The sergeant raised a brow.

"Aelfric fall from his horse again?" Then he stopped, slid from his saddle, and quickly walked over to the fallen soldier.

"My fault, sir, I made the throw too far for him to catch the damn apple."

Timmons said nothing. He crouched next to Aelfric, turning him over and then swore. Aelfric had been sitting at an angle from Gryff, and on the side that had been turned away, there was a gap in the chain mail, broken links driven in by the force of whatever weapon had delivered the blow. Blood was flowing freely from the wound and Gryff leapt from his saddle to help his friend. Timmons felt at Aelf's neck for a pulse, then shook his head.

"No! Check again!" Gryff tried to force Timmon's hand back to do it The older man eluded his hand, then gripped Gryff's arm

"I'm sorry. He's lost a lot of blood. He's gone, Gryffyd."

04/2001


Blood Stones XVIII

It was a long and somber ride back to Camelot.

They had kept Gryff busy helping Marcus assess the damage to the village, questioning the people and making a list of the supplies they might need. The biggest item was seed to replace the supply burned by the raiders. If Spring planting was to be done in time to ensure a good harvest, they'd have to move fast. Marcus promised that wagons would be sent the moment they reached home.

By the time they were done, the Black Watch casualties had been tended to and five bodies lay slung across the backs of their horses, wrapped tightly in the long black cloaks of the Watch. One of the horses was Aelf's, and Gryff silently rode over to take the lead reins. Timmons started to speak, then just nodded to him before wheeling his horse about and riding up to the head of the column with Blackthorn and Marcus. Gryff fell into line with the other men leading the horses of fallen comrades and the ride home began.

Gryff kept thinking about the day he had met the big Saxon on the road to Camelot just after Mid-Winter, both of them intent on becoming members of the Black Watch. Their two peoples were longtime foes, but the struggle to make it through cold and storms to enlist had forced them together, and then made them friends. It didn't seem possible he'd never see that wide grin again as Aelf tried to filch another apple from him. Gryff glanced at the cloth bag still tied to his saddle. He'd mindlessly grabbed the halved apple from the grass where Aelf had fallen; he was not sure why. He wished he'd let Aelf eat it all that morning.

They reached the main gates of Camelot shortly after midday and a shout brought the column of horsemen to a halt. Up ahead Lord Blackthorn was leaning over in the saddle, talking with someone in the uniform of the Archers. The figure standing there pushed red hair back from her eyes and Gryff recognized the Commander's wife.

"Wonder what that's about?" one of the men behind murmured.

"I don't know, " someone answered, "but whatever it is, the Commander isn't happy."

That was borne out when Blackthorn turned, said something to Marcus, and then went off at a gallop as soon as Lady Skye had climbed onto her own horse. Gryff watched them ride off dully for a moment, then an order was shouted, the men began to move forwards, and he rode into Camelot for the last time with Aelfric.

********

They buried the men in the church graveyard after the priest said Mass over them in the chapel. Gryff sat there letting the Latin words wash over him, not really understanding them, once struck by the thought Aelfric would have been astounded over all this fuss for a simple peasant gone for a soldier. He watched as they lowered the simple wooden caskets into the ground, then stood with the others and waited his turn to toss a bit of the dirt into each grave. Then he walked back to the barracks, stretched out on his cot and slept.

"Gryff! Wake up, Gryff!"

There was the familiar tug on the leg and for a brief second he thought it was Aelf and all that had happened had been just a nightmare. But the voice turned out to be Timmons.

"Wake up, Gryff. Come across to the firehall with the rest of us."

"I'd rather not, Sergeant."

"If it were the other way about, you know Aelf would be lifting a tankard in your honor, don't you? You're not the only one who lost a friend this day. Now come along; the others are waiting."

They walked out of the barracks and across to the brightly lit firehall, where the men who had ridden patrol that day and many who hadn't sat around tables at the back of the hall. Someone put an ale in Gryff's hand. Another waved him to an empty chair as Timmons held his tankard and began to speak quietly.

"We lost men today, good men, friends we will all mourn and miss. At times like this, it's hard to understand why such people are taken away from us in battle. So when you wake on the morrow, I want you all to walk outside and look about. See the people of this castle and of this town, and know they died defending those people, and the children of those people".

"Then look inside yourselves, and think of what Camelot stands for in this land: justice, honor, and chivalry. These are the ideals our friends died defending today. Knights are not the only men with Codes of honor. We have ours, and we are willing to die defending it and our land. In the end, while the bards will sing of kings and knights and we are long forgotten, still, in the end, it is all up to us. Five men died today in the trust that their lives had meaning. We will not betray that trust. Camelot will endure." Timmons held his mug high. "Gentlemen, to our friends, and to that trust."

*********

The next day, Gryff rose early and borrowed a shovel from the stables, then set out with it and a cloth sack for a meadow a mile back down the road from Camelot. There he scraped the manure off the blade of the shovel, dug a hole, and then reached for the bag. He drew out the halved apple and looked at it. He wasn't sure this would work, but the core was mostly intact and there were seeds. He dropped it into the hole, adding the manure, and some water from his water bottle before he covered it up. He nodded to himself and headed back to the barracks. Aelf had loved apples; maybe it would make him smile wherever he was now to know there would be an apple tree close to Camelot.

Over the years, Gryffyd planted other apple cores here and there. Not all sprouted trees; Gryff never would have made a good farmer.

But enough of them did, and so did others planted by his children and those who copied him.

Aelf's apples, people called them.

04/2001