“Elves in the castle?” Sir Gareth was abruptly himself again. “John and I will be with you as soon as we can, Roland. Get the knights moving and organised; put up a wall between the invaders and our families; give them time to get to the safety of the Redoubt. Stop them with cold steel and pile their bodies high.” He looked at me, and suddenly he was grinning, his face full of the joy of battle. “Stark is here for you, John. He wants the sword you carry. Will you fight alongside us?”
“Of course,” I said. “Never could stand elves.”
“Good man. Roland, see that our families are safe. And if worst comes to worst, see they have a dead man’s switch so they can take the enemy with them.”
“Of course,” said Sir Roland. And his face disappeared from the portrait.
“Was that last bit really necessary?” I said.
“Yes. You know what elves do to women and children. Death would be a kindness.”
I nodded. I knew. “You should never have kept your families here in the castle.”
“We thought they were safe here, where we could protect them! No-one’s ever got past our defences before! Never! No-one ever anticipated elves inside the castle. Let’s go.”
“Sir Roland jumped pretty fast there, when you gave him orders,” I said. “Are you in charge here, or something?”
“Something,” said Sir Gareth. “You didn’t think they’d leave you with just anyone, did you?”
We sprinted back through the stone corridors, and I had to work hard to keep up with Sir Gareth. Even though he was wearing full plate armour, and all I had was my trench coat, he still led all the way. Because he was a trained warrior, in the peak of condition; and I wasn’t. But I pounded grimly along after him, and all too soon we heard the sounds of fighting up ahead. We rounded a sudden corner, charged into one of the great open halls, and found it full to bursting with elves and knights in their armour.
Sir Gareth plunged straight in, sword in hand, but I made myself hang back in the archway, so I could study the situation. Excalibur was burning on my back, urging me on, but I’d had enough of that. I wasn’t a warrior or a hero, and acting like one would get me killed. If I was going to take on an army of elves, it wouldn’t be by running straight at them. I’d do it my own way.
Elves in glowing armour, in vivid shades of gold and crimson and emerald, brandishing shimmering swords and glowing axes, went head to head with London Knights in cold steel armour with solid, deadly blades. The elves leapt and pirouetted, dancing through the chaos with deadly grace, supernaturally quick and vicious, impossibly light on their feet; and the knights stamped and spun, meeting the elves’ speed with the practiced skill that comes from years of training. Most of the action was simply too fast to follow, as elf and man slammed together, blades flashing and blood spurting. The air was full of the sound of blade clashing against blade, or clanging against armour, and over all, shrieks and howls and war cries, exclamations of pain and rage and hate.
Given the sheer number fighting in the hall, hardly any were dead yet. The elves’ enchanted armour turned aside most sword blows while the knights’ armour had its own protection, enough to stand against glowing elf blades. Both sides had to search for weak spots and brief openings; joints in the armour, exposed throats, or the eyeholes in a helm. Blood spurted here and there, and I saw one knight crash to the floor. Immediately, half a dozen elves were stooping over him, stabbing down again and again. Two more knights rushed forward to protect their fallen friend, standing proud and powerful over him, beating aside the elves’ blades with sharp precision. The elves danced and leapt round them, horribly graceful, laughing lightly.
Sir Gareth was right there in the thick of it, swinging his long sword with both hands, roaring harsh guttural war cries as he struck down one elf after another. They were quick, and they were elegant, but he was an unstoppable force, moving always forward, throwing elves back through main strength. An elf leaned right over to cut at the back of his knee, but somehow Sir Gareth turned at the very last moment to block the elf’s sword with his own. He stabbed the elf in the groin, the tip of his blade finding a brief opening in the glowing armour; and golden blood flowed down the elf’s thigh. He fell to one knee, and Sir Gareth brought his sword sweeping round in a long arc that cut right through the elf’s neck. The head in its glowing helmet tumbled free, golden blood fountaining from the neck stump; and Sir Gareth didn’t even wait to see the body fall before moving on to the next.
I stood in the open archway, watching it all, and knew that none of my little tricks and lateral thinking would work here. I could stay back and let the two forces fight it out amongst themselves. But I couldn’t do that. Excalibur made this my business, my problem, and besides, I really don’t like elves. In any battle, if you want to know who the good guys are, look to see which side has the elves. And then join the other one. The elves are the enemies of humanity because they chose to be. So I took a deep breath, did my best to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, drew Excalibur, and went forward into battle.
Calling myself an idiot every step of the way.
The moment I drew Excalibur, everything changed. Its golden glow leapt forth, illuminating the entire hall; and both sides sent up a great cry, as though its very existence validated their being there. The elves all turned to look in my direction and surged forward, aimed right at me. They were singing now, a sweetly inhuman sound that hurt my ears. The London Knights moved quickly to stop them, putting their steel and themselves between the elves and Excalibur, and the man who bore it. And I moved forward, swinging the great golden blade before me as though it were weightless, an unfamiliar exhilaration filling my heart. I might never be a knight, but I had met both Merlin and Arthur, and at that moment it felt like I had both their blessings.
An elf reared up before me in shimmering silver armour, his blade glowing bright as the sun. I cut him down with a single stroke, Excalibur shearing through his enchanted armour as though it weren’t even there. The blade sank deep into his chest. I jerked it out again, and golden blood flew on the air. The elf fell away, and I moved on. I didn’t have skill or grace; Excalibur was unstoppable. I stabbed and hacked and cut, and elves died at my hand, and it felt good, so good. I was grinning broadly now, shouting and laughing as I cut my way through the elves, like a gardener through tall weeds.
That wasn’t like me, and I knew it even then, but I wasn’t in charge any more. The sword was. It knew what it was doing; I was only along for the ride. I swung the sword with a speed and a skill that weren’t mine, killing elves. Excalibur was in its element, come home again, to do what it was made to do.
I ran an elf through, the sword punching through his breast-plate and out his back. Golden blood streamed down the armour, but the elf didn’t even cry out. He stood his ground and tried to force himself forward, along the blade, so he could get his hands on me. I stared impassively into his contorted face and hauled the sword out of his body in one brutal movement. He cried out then, and I cut his exposed throat. And then I continued the movement, spinning round to block the attack of an elf moving in on my blind side. I hadn’t known he was there, but the sword had. The new elf stabbed at me, but I blocked his blade with Excalibur, and the glowing elven sword shattered into a dozen pieces. And while the elf hesitated, startled, I cut him down and moved on to my next victim. I wasn’t even breathing hard.
And then I stopped, and looked round me, because suddenly there were no more elves. They were all dead, lying scattered and still across the wide and bloody marble floor. The London Knights sent up a great cry of triumph, punching the air with their raised blood-stained blades, then they turned to me and cried out their praises. I nodded. It didn’t feel like I’d done anything. I looked round for Sir Gareth; but he was already racing through the archway and back down the corridor, idly flicking drops of golden blood from his blade. I went after him. He was thinking of the women and children hidden in the Redoubt; and so was I.