Pigeons: A Narrative Fiction

As if she was dreaming, she saw Arthur, so tall and confident in chain and crimson. She missed him fiercely, the security of his embrace, the comfort of his voice, his tender kiss so long not felt. She could not resist running to him, but there was something unusual in her gait. Tears fell so fast she could hardly see. Most importantly, there was something dire that the king needed to know. But it was as if she saw everything through a haze, sluggish and gray as the fog on a winter morning. Everything would be fine if only she could reach them.

The dream turned to nightmare when Arthur aimed his crossbow unswervingly at her. Did she mean so little to him that he'd execute her himself? She tried to call to him, but no words would come. And
Most commoners or peasants could not afford such a luxury, but the marks of a few high ranking commoners came through every once and a while. Still, it was important to know the "who" in order to select the pigeon for "where."

Cyr was amiable, but most still kept him at an arm's distance, his close association with the unclean, but essential, birds making him somewhat undesirable company. Cyr didn't mind, and in fact, it was perfect, having being in a position to control the flow of information.

The influx of letters to the King of Camelot had not slowed, and the urgency of the rider from Clarwick adding to the mix. Except this rider had not come from the direction of Clarwick as had the ones a few days ago, having come from the east instead, and that made Cyr a little wary. He fingered the letters subconsciously—one to the king and one to the knight, Leon—as he discussed with his pigeons which one of them was to make the one hour trip that would otherwise take a horse and rider nearly three days to travel the same distance. The rider heard this conversation before having entrusted many other letters to Cyr over the years but this time stated he'd wait for the birds to set flight due to the urgency of its
Troops estimated around five thousand. Marching northwest between the rivers Lark and Ouse. Four sorcerers aid them, only rumors of Morgana. Will be upon Citadel six days hence. Clarwick to liberate captured citizens. We are yours to command, pledging to aid Your Royal Highness and to protect the realm with our lives.

Your Loyal and Obedient Servant, Sir Kolby Wallace, Knight of Clarwick

This letter troubled him having so much detail about his mistress' ally. It spoke of infiltration or a traitor within. He would scry to her the details after forging a new one to mislead the king, misinformation to keep his gaze on Escetir than on his own. Cyr eyed the other missive, unsure of its importance, then pulled its words from the parchment just the same.

Sir Leon, Longstead raided by Southron Invaders. Erwan killed. Our Lady taken captive. Unable to locate. Warlord Helios and five thousand soldiers en route to Camelot with four sorcerers, perhaps Lady Morgana. Tracking Southrons. Will not rest until my Lady is safe. Inform the King.