Knights of Old Orders

Part Two: The Dragon Mistress

the 52nd tale of agc

written and created by Mark Bousquet

2201 APRIL

LONDON, ENGLAND – THE PENTHOUSE OF WILHEMENA FROST

There was a stirring deep within the White Queen of the Hellfire Club.

Wilhemena Frost watched, breathless, humbled, awed, as Lockheed, the great purple dragon circled the skies over London. It was beyond all beauty, beyond all power. It was the most terrifying and graceful beast she had ever laid eyes upon. She watched as the dragon flapped its large wings slowly, its tail trailing behind it, ready to lash out. Smoke billowed from its nostrils, and Frost prayed to the beast to unleash the fire it held within.

Burn it all, Frost prayed, yearning for the touch of fire.

LONDON, ENGLAND – THE STREETS

"Grimm, what do we do?" Crawler yelled to her companion as the streets exploded in rage and fear. There were cries of the devil, cries for Arthur, pleadings with God to come and save them.

Grimm reached a hand out to grab Crawler’s arm, and pulled her to the doorway of a church.

Mary Wagner flinched, "Grimm, you’re hurting me!"

The orange-rock skinned man turned to her then, and his blue eyes softened. "Sorry," he mumbled, letting her arm go.

"Tell me you have seen that dragon before," Mary implored.

Grimm shook his head, "Never. I-aaaarrghhhhhh!"

Mary leapt back, horrified, as Grimm’s body was bathed in a deep crimson light. She turned to find the source of Ben’s agony, and her voice barely escaped her throat. "The Scarlet Witch!"

In days and years to come, Mary Wagner would never be able to come to grips with what she did next. Not because she thought of the safety of the Catholic church, and suddenly found herself inside some grand cathedral, but because when her friend needed her, she had run away.

But now, in the moment, Crawler looked around and thought of what she had learned of her family’s legacy. Teleporters. She had not gone far. Outside, she could still hear the screaming of crowds lost to fear, and a great shadow passed over her. The dragon. Running for the door, Mary emerged back into the sun long enough to see Grimm’s body, trapped in bonds of magical energy born on the backs of a pack of silver, doglike beasts.

"They are warwolves," a voice said in her ear. "And the five women around your friend? The sect of the Scarlet Witch."

Crawler turned, saw a knight of blue and grey standing beside her. The man’s voice was aged and rough, and yet … sad. "Oh Wanda," the Black Knight whispered, "what do these women do in your name? By God, Agatha, I will make you pay for the horror you commit in the name of a good woman."

"They are a cult of demon sorceresses, are they not?" Mary asked, finding comfort in this man’s presence.

"They are, but come inside so that we may talk," the Knight said, shutting the door behind them. "Your friend has some time left before they burn him at the stake." He removed his helmet and Mary saw kind eyes behind a face aged by war. She guessed his age to be near sixty, but his movements were of a younger man. His dark blue eyes took her in as he leaned against a grand stone column. "My name is Dane Whitman. And you," he said, noting the fur, "are a Wagner. Or, at least, Wagnerian blood runs in your veins."

"I am," Mary nodded, feeling she could tell this man anything. "Mary Wagner. How did you know?"

"I knew the first in your line. Not well," he smiled thinly, "but enough to know he was a good man."

"You knew … him?’ Mary asked, unsettled. "But this curse has run through our family for over 200 years."

"More or less," the Knight answered, face tight. "But I would call it a blessing, and not a curse."

"How so?"

"Because you can make the world a better place," Dane said solemnly.

"But … they hate me, fear me, out there."

Dane placed a hand on her shoulder. "Some always will. It is the way of things. It sucks."

Mary’s eyes blinked. "Those are to be words of comfort?"

"Hell," Dane said, shrugging, "speeches aren’t my thing. Want a speech, talk to Cap. I can only offer the truth the way I know how. It sucks. All of this sacrifice," he looked down to his blade. "It sucks. It’s not fair. But it is the way of things. Better you and me with the fate of the world in our hands than someone else, right?"

"The fate of the world?" Mary asked, her eyes looking to the cathedral’s ceiling. "You mean, the dragon?"

Dane let a bemused smile come to his face, "The dragon? Him?" he pointed up. "Hell, he’s the least of our worries."

"You will slay him?" Mary asked, feeling a bit foolish.

"Slay Lockheed?" Dane laughed. "By myself? Have you seen the size of him? You’ve read too many fairy tales. We need to find his mistress. That is how we shall end this threat. Slaying Lockheed is … a last resort. Dragons, when they lose their mistress, lose touch with the side of them that knows Reason. Without a mistress … they turn fully to the side of the Beast."

"How do you know this?" Mary asked, taking a step backwards in body and forward in soul.

"Avalon," Dane said, turning to look into the distance. "The Lady of the Lake has kept me there, outside of the mortal realm, teaching me in the Old Ways."

"The … Old Ways?"

"When the realm of magic was in closer alignment with the realm of man," Dane explained patiently. England, in times lost, was the nexus point for this convergence. Magic, in all the world, is still strongest here. Always has been. Beyond the borders of this kingdom, it is English lands, too, that hold the strongest Wellsprings to the magic source: Canada, Australia, India."

"The United American States?"

"Only the pacific north and New England," Dane said patiently. "This is not to say there isn’t magic elsewhere, only where access is most easily accessed. Why do think England is cloaked in clouds? It is here that the Lady of the Lake’s powers are greatest."

"She … did this?"

"Aye," the Black Knight nodded. "This is the charge I have been given in my return, to help the Lady find the strength to enlargen our cloud and seek greater protection for all the Earth." He looked at her, his eyes growing hard and sorrowful. "Will you join me? I could … use your help."

Mary’s mind was uneasy, thought, I think I would follow you anywhere, Dane Whitman, but her voice was calm, "First we need to rescue Grimm."

Dane placed his helmet on, nodded. "Let’s go."

AVALON

The Lady of the Lake bathed the young, troubled prophet, Nathaniel Grey, in the holy waters of Avalon Lake. He had cried himself dry, but still his body was wracked with sobs.

"I feel, Lady," he shook, "as if I am of different minds, all fighting for the same place inside my head."

"You have become undone in time, Nathaniel," the Lady answered softly. "The world of your origin, the so-called Age of Apocalypse, has fallen to Thanos. It no longer exists. When this happens to an entire plane of existence, any of that world who were elsewhere, lose the link that keeps them grounded. If you are lucky, and someplace far across the Everything, this broken link is nothing but the pain of memories. In the most tragic cases, of which you are an example, the mind splinters. The only way to erase your pain, I am afraid, is in death."

"But I am the X-Man," he said, crying. "I am the Daredevil. I am touched by the hand of the Creator. I am nothing."

"You were once a powerful mutant, Nathaniel, this is true, but as you grew older your powers became too much for your body to contain," the Lady explained. "You fell in love with an assassin named Elektra. Or in lust, perhaps, would be a better phrasing." *

* AGC 24

"Yes," Nathaniel Grey sobbed. "She … did things to me that I … that I …"

"That you decided not to reject," the Lady said, her kind voice growing a bit darker. "Even though you knew her to be a resurrected slave of Mephisto, in a scheme to steal the soul of a good, kind man named Matthew."

"Daredevil," Grey’s voice choked on the word.

"For the touch of that woman, you allowed yourself to be used, and Matthew died, though his soul, thankfully, found peace among the Clouds. Your weakness allowed that death to take place."

"It did," Nathaniel sobbed. "But I tried, I tried to make it up-"

"Only because your powers were now gone, expunged from the shell that could no longer contain it," the Lady admonished. "Having nothing else, you put on the costume of the man whose death you were responsible for, and began to walk the night."

"I did," he cried. "I wanted to make things right!"

"Was that it?" the Lady asked, stepping back. "Or was it that you knew that Elektra loved the man called Daredevil, and hoped, in taking his place, she would again come to you."

"And she did!" Grey screamed.

"And used you all over again."

Nathaniel began to beat the water with his hands, "My mind hurts so much, lady! Make it stop! Please make it stop!"

"You were given a great power, and you misused it."

Like a child, Nathaniel jumped and screamed in the Lake, "Make my mind better! I want it all to stop!"

"You desire peace?"

"Yes!"

"Then come to me," she said, her arms open.

Slouching over, Nathaniel walked to the Lady of the Lake, his eyes red from the sobbing. He closed his eyes, opening his arms for the embrace.

He never saw the sword pierce his skin through his shoulder blade, and imbed itself in his heart.

Aghast, he fell back, his hands gripping the sword that would not come free. "Lady," he choked, before falling into the water, his body sucked deep to the bottom.

The Lady of the Lake stood in place for long moments, tears streaking her soft, white cheeks. "The only way to erase your pain, I’m afraid, is death. In better days, Nathaniel, I could, perhaps, have cured you, pieced your mind back together. But now…" She let her voice trail off, as her eyes looked out to the world, seeing it in its entirety. Magic was leaving the world, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

The man who stabbed Nathaniel reached down into the waters, and pulled the blade free. "It could not be helped, milady."

"I suppose not, young Braddock," the Lady nodded. "The revelation in the scrying waters that von Doom has returned has heightened our mission. Go back into your world, Arthur Braddock, and give these people hope. They are in need of a hero. England must never fall. Find the ancient texts that grant greater access to the Wellsprings of Magic, so that we may dislocate England from the rest of this miserable planet." A tear fell from her eyes, down into her lake. "If Dane Whitman should seek to stop you, Arthur, and he will when he learns of my ruse, use him for all he is worth, and then …"

"Understood," Arthur Braddock nodded, then offered the Lady the shining sword he held in his hands. "Milady, your sword."

The Lady of the Lake turned her back to him. "Take it and go forth. Excalibur is now yours."

LONDON, ENGLAND – WEMBLEY STADIUM

Dane Whitman thought of the Coliseum as they walked through the crowded stadium. Around him, people moved, jostled, cried for blood to be spilled. Walking out into the open air, they could see three bodies strapped to wooden crosses, held in check by the magic of the druids of the Scarlet Witch.

There were, perhaps, twenty-thousand people already gathered. More pouring in around them.

On the far right of the crucifixes, Grimm’s body waited for the burning. "Who are the other two?" the Black Knight asked.

Crawler shook her head, "I do not know. I have not been in England long."

Dane nodded, bit his tongue. This wasn’t the time to let a sharp remark slip out. "Twenty priests," he said to her instead.

"Guards?" Mary asked, looking around.

"None visible," he shook his head. "But then, they do not have much to fear from this crowd. They are, after all, giving them what they want."

Below them, on the muddy interior field, a female priest was shouting. "People of England, we present to you, demonspawn!"

"Burn them!

"Burn the heathens!"

"Send them back to Hell!"

Dane sighed, looking around. "What is it?" Mary asked. "This," Dane pointed in a wide arc. "No matter the age, no matter the society, there are always those who seek to drown their soil with the blood of those they fear. And all in the name of God."

May nodded, "We were taught, in the convent, of the Crusades-"

"A word of caution, Miss Wagner," the Black Knight said, looking at her with suddenly dark eyes. "Do not talk to me of the Crusades. Now," he said, turning away, "let us go rescue some ‘demonspawn’."

THE FIELD OF WEMBLEY STADIUM

Grimm had long since ceased his struggling with the bonds. He would not be able to break free of them as the situation stood now. There were five druids around each of them, each casting a spell, holding them in place. No, he had realized, struggle was no use. Best to save strength and wait for an opening.

He looked to his left, to find his fellow captives. The one in the middle was called Vitesse, a speedster. French-Chinese, female, short dark hair, late-twenties, purple and white costume. Sexiest voice he had ever heard, and all she had done was order coffee, double-strength, from Chef. That was six months ago – he lived with that voice in his dreams every night since.

The one furthest from him was a fellow American. Some dumb kid in a brown and yellow costume. Vitesse’s sidekick. Called himself … what was it … Wheatfield? No. Heartland. Even trapped within a magical sphere, about to be torched to death, Grimm rolled his eyes. Heartland. Probably didn’t even have to shave.

OUTSIDE WEMBLEY STADIUM

There was a stirring in the air, and the people that had been hurrying to get in to see the executions now turned and waited, expectantly.

"What is it?" a farmer whispered aloud.

"Don’t know," a blacksmith shook his head.

"But I can feel … something," a prostitute said. "Some kind of-" Her words stuck in her throat, and the world seemed to pause.

There was a distant rumbling of hooves, growing louder. The voices began again, the whispers of the name they had prayed for, hoped for, never thought they would see. There was a slow rise in the road, which quickly dropped away on the other side.

Someone hushed the crowd, and then he came back to them. Sitting atop a beautiful white steed, dressed in an armor, the Union Jack upon his chest and helmet, the red-and-white flag of England on his shield, eyes locked forward.

"Arthur!" someone yelled.

Pulling in his shield to hide his smile, Arthur Braddock spurred his horse forward. He didn’t even have to show them Excalibur.

THE FIELD OF WEMBLEY STADIUM

The Black Knight moved through the crowd, not bothering to politely ask anyone to move. His right hand was at his left side, gripping the handle of the Ebony Blade. The head druid, a female priest that looked of the Fey line, watched him come, smiling.

‘Hold your yearnings,’ Dane prayed to his tainted, cursed blade, as it cried out for blood. ‘A few moments more and you shall have all that you can hand-‘

Something hit Dane in the back and he fell to the ground with a thud. Looking up, he saw a knight on a white horse ride past as all the noise in the crowd seemed to be sucked out in one collective gasp.

And then Dane did likewise as he saw the knight pull Excalibur from his sheath and hold it aloft. The world itself, it seemed, stopped.

Behind him, where he had left Mary, the young mutant saw the sword and felt God’s grace pass through her for the first time in many, many years.

Joining those around her, she dropped to her knees and gave thanks in prayer.

THE PENTHOUSE OF WILHEMENA FROST

"Madam, there is a disturbance at the Stadium."

Wilhemena Frost turned from her gazing at the purple dragon, still circling above the city, to view the entrance of the young and beautiful Penelope DaCosta, a Brazlian mutant who, before the clouds came, was a heroine by the name of Reignfire.

"You did not knock, my dear," the White Queen replied with a measured anger in her voice.

Penelope gave a slight bow, "Forgive me, oh great and powerful mistress of the Hellfire Club," she mocked. "Would thoust like to spank me in punishment?"

"You play with words, Reignfire, that hold a consequence you would not pay."

"Wouldn’t I?" she smiled.

"You speak of the Hellfire Club as if it existed," Frost folded her arms across her sharp, tight business suit. "But since you are not a member of such a club, there is no way for you to know if it existed."

In reply, Penelope let her arms move outward. Her eyes locked on Frost’s, a black energy began to boil from her skin, covering her in it’s pitch black form. "I am made of Hellfire, Frost. Let me in. It is my birthright."

"Why?"

"I seek power."

"Silly child," Frost smiled, taking a step closer. "What do I have to benefit?"

"I have power to give," she stared at Frost with hot eyes. "You know this is true. What’s more … I would give you anything to join."

"Anything?" Frost felt a thrill of excitement run through her.

"Do you know what I was doing the night the Earth disappeared, Ms. Frost?" Penelope powered down, reverting to human form. "Fighting the demon hordes of Belasco. He … desired me," she shivered. "There were ten of them, and they all fell before me. But the fight had taken much out of me. When his last demon arrived, a brutish monstrosity named S’ym, I was no match for him. He beat me severely, and as he grabbed me by the hair, and began to pull me away, everything blinked out of, and then back into, existence. S’ym was gone."

"My dear," Frost let a wry grin play across her perfect skin. "You are aware that the Hellfire Club has rather, close, arrangements with certain demons."

Penelope took a step forward, getting directly in the White Queen’s face. "You keep several in the dungeons as slaves. They wanted power over me, Frost. That will never happen. Never. If I am of the Hellfire Club," her eyes glanced to a series of ancient texts on Frost’s bookshelf," they cannot touch me. It is I who will hold power over them."

"And how do you know this?" Frost asked, intrigued.

"Because your White Knight will tell a woman anything while she is-"

Frost put up her hand to stop DaCosta. "That is quite enough." She let her eyes take in Penelope’s eyes, measuring the younger woman. "Two tasks. Complete them, and you shall have a place at the table."

"Name them."

"First, bring me something of value. What that is, I leave to your discretion. Consider it a test of intelligence."

"And second?"

"Bring me the head of the White Knight."

Penelope’s eyes flashed, "You would seek his death for what he has done?"

Wilhemena placed her hands on Penelope’s face. "The Hellfire Club is not a game. The Queen is not disobeyed." She leaned in, kissing Penelope on the cheek, then whispered in her ear, "Besides, young DaCosta, there is only one seat currently open, that of the White King. I do not think you will fit that seat. But if another position was to suddenly open …"

"Understood, my Queen," Penelope whispered in response.

THE FIELD OF WEMBLEY STADIUM

The Black Knight was the only person in 25,000 standing.

Before him, eight members of the sect of the Scarlet Witch lay slain; the rest had fled once Excalibur arrived. Behind him, two costumed heroes, a woman and a man, huddled together on the ground, gasping for air, making certain each was okay. It was the concern of teammates, not of lovers. They thanked him for cutting them down, as Grimm knelt by, attending to them, pretending not to be hurt himself.

And standing on a platform that the Scarlet Witch had used to spread their hate, Arthur Braddock, cloaked in armor similar to that of his ancestor Brian, Captain Britain, held Excalibur aloft and led the stadium in prayer.

"What his deal?" Grimm asked, raising himself to his feet, nodding to Arthur. "Why’s everyone kneeling."

Dane nodded to the sword. "Excalibur. It appears that the Lady of the Lake has given England it’s hero, after all." He shook his head, thinking, ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

"So," Ben scratched his head, "is that King Arthur?"

"It is Arthur Braddock," he explained. "I have met him several times. He is … not a bad man."

"But?"

"But he believes in legends, Grimm," Dane said somberly, "more than the responsibility that comes with them. The Braddocks have long held that the blood of Arthur runs through their veins."

"Does it?" Grimm asked, skeptical.

"Quiet," Dane hushed Grimm, turning his attention to the words of Arthur Braddock.

"-one great evil in the land!" Braddock shouted, and slowly pointed Excalibur skyward. "You have my word, England. I will slay the dragon!"

The stadium erupted in wild applause.

"I’ve got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach," Grimm said in a low voice. "And for once I don’t think it’s Chef’s cooking."

Dane didn’t answer, his eyes skyward, watching Lockheed circle lower and lower, his circles growing shorter and shorter.

"God’s Grace, Lockheed," Dane whispered, "where is your mistress? Where the hell is Illyana Rasputin?"

Knights of Old Orders to be continued…

It is the way of things. It sucks.

YGGDRASIL

Comments c/o bousquet22@earthlink.net

For a subscription to AGC, send an email to me and I'll add you to the agcverse mailing list at yahoogroups. You will receive every issue of AGC and TALES of AGC as soon as they are ready for print.

I’d like to thank all of you who have written in with your comments on AGC 50. They are much appreciated. A sampling of them follows:

Mark,

for the most part, I wanted to just say words ain't enough.

And they aren't. But some parts are worth attempts.

Mar-Vell as Arthur.

One of the most accurate Cap portrayals I've ever seen.

The betrayal of Thanos

And, of course, the return of the Big D. I don't know if it was intentional, but you had me expecting Immortus from Cable's visit to Chronopolis onwards...

Just incredible, sir. I salute you.

***
Tom Lynch

I thank you for this story, and for those that came before.

Stephen Crosby

Hello Mark,

Well you can read my praise over in the mv1talk list but I wanted to e-mail you personally as I really did enjoy that issue. What I enjoyed most was you theories on the nature of life and all the "stuff". I think it's good for authors to view on their opinion on these topics and not many do for fear of been bashed to death by extremists! Really, I do enjoy reading about other peoples views on the "stuff". On a similar note, have you read Phillip Pullman's Dark Matters Trilogy. They deal with the "stuff" and it's a coincidence really that at the same time I was reading AGC 50 I was reading his second volume!

Well I'm straying. Back to specific issue points. One, Doom's return. Thinking about it, it works. Doom is the greatest villain I think and he does suit well with the whole Order side of the coin. I know you can write him well so I look forward to that and it makes a change from fighting Thanos! Next point Ben-Vell, I'm so glad he "fufilled his destiny" especially after the tough time he's had the last couple of issues! I'm really looking forward to the new Eshir and Ben-Vell dynamic!

K'Zan as Galactus's new herald. I am very curious indeed! I like what you've done with Steve. I was actually thinking he was going to get Asgard's throne! BTW, very obvious Brono was going to abdicate, but no that it was going to Bill! And Luna choosing Brono as the Messiah, WAS unexpected!

Balder dying, was dropping jaw throughout scene! Ikaris' betrayal, cool!

You also dealt with Cable well and it's good he actually didn't kill anyone! Ultron 12 I actually felt sorry for!

Well I'm looking forward to new issues! Thats all I can say really!

Domixt

PS What's happened to Hercules, Canticle and Father Christmas. I've lost track of them!

That's it for now. More next month as comments continue to roll in over issue 50. Also, hopefully, some mail on AGC 51 & 52, as well. Thanks for reading, all.

NEXT ISSUE: Knights of Old Orders, Part Three: The White King

-- Mark Bousquet …

Northern Bear Productions

24 November 2002