Elven spells blasted through the air, or detonated in the crush of bodies, but mostly there was only room for one-on-one combat, man against elf, cold steel versus enchanted blades, one implacable force slamming up against another. But one figure stood out for me, walking untouched amidst the chaos, ignored by the elves, disdained by the knights. Jerusalem Stark, looking every bit as haunted and driven as he had in the portrait gallery, striding purposefully through the battle-field as though it weren’t there. And perhaps for him, it wasn’t. He didn’t care about any of it. He was looking right at me, coming straight for me, for what I had that he wanted. I met his gaze across the crowded hall and drew Excalibur. His step didn’t even hesitate as he saw the blade’s golden light. He kept on coming, and I went forward to meet him. Not for glory, or even for justice, but because some things just need to be done.
I plunged into the battle with Sir Gareth at my side, but Stark and I only had eyes for each other. If an elf got in my way, or a knight got in his, we both cut them down and kept going. Our speed increased as we drew nearer, until finally we were running through the crowd, opening up a way through the crush through sheer force of will. Until, finally, we slammed together, swords hammering against each other, driven with all our strength and all our fury. His blade didn’t shatter when Excalibur met it, but he couldn’t meet my attack either. I pressed forward, beating his sword aside with Excalibur, and he fell back, step by controlled step. I kept hammering away at him, and he kept retreating, but I couldn’t force my way past his defence. I rained blow after blow on him, and he parried and turned and let himself be driven back, on his own terms. The London Knights had trained him well. Against the most powerful sword in the world, he was holding his own. He couldn’t stand against Excalibur for long, and both of us knew it, but he only had to get lucky once.
I did try my very best to kill him, there in that hall, but he was an amazing swordsman and a canny warrior. Excalibur made me a great fighter, but he already was one. I had power, but he had experience. I could drive him back, but I couldn’t reach him. And even as I was fighting, striking at him with all my strength and Excalibur’s speed, I still couldn’t help noticing something else. Something that quickly seemed more important than striking down one sad, embittered soul. So I stepped suddenly forward, slammed his sword aside, and shoved two extended fingers into his eyes. He cried out and fell backwards, lashing blindly back and forth with his sword, as tears streamed down his cheeks from screwed-shut eyes. He really should have worn a helmet.
I left him staggering blindly, and went to see what was happening in the middle of the hall. Some elves tried to stop me, and Excalibur cut them down with almost contemptuous ease. Ahead of me, surrounded by protective rings of heavily armed elves, kept separate from the main battle, three elf sorcerers were killing one of their own. He stood tall and proud as they cut him to pieces, not raising one pale hand to defend himself. Golden blood flooded down his naked, mutilated body, until he couldn’t stand any more, and collapsed. The sorcerers crowded in round him as he hit the floor, tearing him limb from limb, carving him up like a side of beef. And then they took the pieces, and began to build something with them.
By the time I hit the first protective wall, I’d worked it out. The sorcerer elves were making a hellgate out of a willing victim. A willing suicide could produce a hellgate so powerful it would be almost impossible to close. Powered by necromancy and a suicide’s will, the hellgate would suck every living thing in Castle Inconnu down into the agonies of the Pit.
I hit the elves before me with Excalibur, and they didn’t stand a chance. Their swords shattered against my golden blade, and their spelled armour couldn’t protect them. I was moving impossibly fast now, the strength in my arms Excalibur’s strength, and nothing could stand against me. I cut the elves down and threw myself against the next protective wall. Meat cleaved and blood flew, and bodies fell to every side; and still the elves fought to stand between me and the hellgate. They knew they were going to die, and they didn’t care. They only had to hold me off long enough, and the hellgate would destroy the London Knights forever. Powerful energies were already forming, pulsing in the air. Something really bad was struggling to manifest, something cold and terrible and malignant.
I slammed right through the elves and threw myself at the sorcerers. I cut them down with swift, vicious blows, and they died, still trying to finish their work. The thing they’d built from the dead parts of their willing victim was already glowing and steaming. I kicked the assemblage apart, stamping on bones and grinding flesh underfoot, and the last of the life went out of it.
I looked up to find I was alone, cut off from the knights, with elves on every side. They advanced on me with glowing swords and axes, smiling awful smiles. They were wary of Excalibur, edging forward a step at a time, darting back if I brought the sword to bear on them, while others darted in. I kept circling, lashing out with my sword, looking for a way out; but everywhere I looked, cold elven eyes looked back. They had me. I could hear knights calling out to me; they’d seen what was happening, and they were coming. But they knew, and I knew; they wouldn’t get to me in time. Excalibur made me strong, but it didn’t make me invincible. It could protect me from an exploding soulbomb, but not a stab in the back from an enchanted sword.
I’d always known this warrior crap would get me killed.
I took a firm grip on Excalibur and smiled at the elf faces before me. There was something in that smile that gave them pause, but only for a moment.
They all pressed forward at once, dozens of swords thrusting towards me; and I raised my gift and found Excalibur. Not the sword; but what it really was. It wasn’t like talking with another person or even some kind of being; but there was communication. Excalibur was an extension of Gaea, her will made manifest in the world of men. And for a moment, she bestowed her grace upon me. Instead of the sword urging me on, I took control, and Excalibur blazed up, filling the whole hall with its glorious golden light. The sword had always blazed supernaturally brightly, but this was more, this was the essence of light itself, the light that first blazed across the universe when a great Voice said, Let there be light.
The elves screamed, in pain and horror and thwarted rage, and fell back, unable to face the terrible energies radiating from Excalibur. They turned and ran, shoving and scrambling and fighting each other, in their desperate need to escape a light they simply could not bear. The London Knights, dazed and awed by the light, let them go. In a few moments the hall was half-empty, knight after knight lowering his sword and looking round and wondering what the hell had happened. Excalibur’s light snapped off, and I shut down my gift and studied the blade thoughtfully. The Puck had been right. It’s not what you think it is. And it never was.
Sir Gareth came over to stand beside me and clap me on the shoulder. “Well done, John Taylor! Always knew you had it in you. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea,” I said. “Really.”
There were dead and injured knights lying the whole length of the hall. Other knights were helping where they could. I saw Sir Roland kneel beside one still form in shattered armour, and Sir Gareth and I went over to join him. Sir Roland had taken off his helmet, and his bare face looked shocked, as though he’d been hit. He’d removed the helmet from the dead knight before him; and in death Sir Percifal looked even older. Certainly far too old to be fighting on a battle-field.