"Yeah? So?"
"So ... in his final battle Arthur lost because he was poisoned by an adder."
"Merlin, you can't be serious. You mean by a snake, right? Not by a person who adds."
"What can I say? Obviously Morgan decided to implement a little poetic justice."
"You mean Modred," Percy said.
"No. Modred's personality has been supplanted, locked away somewhere deep within him.
Modred couldn't hypnotize you like that. Modred wouldn't be out there fighting like that. That cloud of hatred, that essence of Morgan that escaped me, has found a host in the body of Modred. Make no mistake, for things are not as they seem." Merlin leaned forward. "Arthur's battling Morgan Le Fey out there. And he's dying while he's doing it."
Arthur's right arm was starting to feel heavy. Lifting Ex-calibur became more and more of a burden. His legs were like two lead weights. Each blow from Modred's sword felt stronger than the one before. And then Arthur stumbled, falling back on one knee. Modred came in fast, swinging hard, and his sword sheered Arthur's shield in two. Quickly Arthur dropped the crumbling remains of his shield, gripped Ex-calibur with both hands, and using it as a crutch, drew himself to his feet. He swung Excalibur back and around with all the force he could muster. Modred parried the blow with his sword and it glanced off and struck Modred's shield, which shattered. Modred tossed it aside, gripping his sword with two hands as well.
They stood there facing each other, a moment frozen from time.
Modred feinted to the left, then brought his sword swinging in low to the right. Arthur tried to block the blow and failed. Modred's sword bit deep into Arthur's ribs. Arthur moaned and went down to one knee, and Modred stepped back, his blade tinted red. Gasping, Arthur clutched at the wound, his face deathly white beneath his helmet.
Instead of pressing the attack, Modred stood there, admiring the damage. "How does it feel, Arthur?" he crowed. "How does it feel to take the pain instead of inflicting it for once?"
Gasping for breath, Arthur looked up. His voice was a harsh whisper as he said, "Morgan?"
"My, we are the perceptive one. Gaze on the face of the one who hates you beyond death itself." Modred yanked off his helmet, and it was Modred's face underneath, but the eyes, the expression, was that of Morgan Le Fey.
"And I wonder," Modred continued, "if you've figured this out. I wonder if you've realized that you've been poisoned."
Arthur grunted, the blood in his veins turning to fire. "Now that you mention it, I do feel a little off."
"You're going to die, Arthur. The only question is whether it's going to be from the blade or from the blood."
Modred gripped his sword firmly and swung at Arthur's head.
Arthur blocked it.
Modred was visibly surprised. "I didn't think you had enough strength left in you for that."
"You'll find I'm full of surprises," said Arthur, a grim smile on his lips. And he rose. Slowly, agonizingly, he got to his feet, holding onto his sword. Holding on to his life, not allowing the release of either. His mouth curled back in a sneer. "You're pathetic. You couldn't even beat me fairly, you had to try and poison me. Well it didn't work."
"I-I saw you drink the poison," stammered Modred.
"Perhaps you did," Arthur said. "And perhaps I switched the mugs." And without giving Modred a chance to think, Arthur attacked.
Merlin watched in shock as Gwen said, "Do something!"
"I don't know what," said Merlin. "And I couldn't anyway. This is Arthur's battle. He wouldn't forgive me if I interfered in something as personal as this."
"Forgive you!" she shrieked. "He's going to die!"
"You haven't known him for as long as I have," said Merlin.
Arthur pressed the attack. He did not allow himself to feel the pain. He refused to acknowledge that his arms were dead weight, that Excalibur had become unwieldly. He refused to acknowledge that he was dying. He drove Modred back, back. The great sword Excalibur came faster instead of slower. The speed of Arthur's blows increased. The crowd went wild as Modred retreated farther and farther before Arthur's savage onslaught. Blood pumped furiously from Arthur's wound. The left side of Arthur's surcoat was stained red. And Arthur grew stronger.
"It's impossible!" screamed Modred.
"This is all impossible!" said Arthur. "We all are! And you'll never defeat me, Morgan. Even if you kill me, you'll never defeat me."
They spun in a semicircle and Modred squinted.
"Now what did I tell you about the sun?" said Arthur, and brought Excalibur down with every bit of strength he had left.
Modred's sword went flying from his hand.
The crowd went wild.
Modred made a desperate grab for his sword as Arthur swung Excalibur around. Modred dodged, and the weight of Excalibur pulled Arthur to the ground. He lay there, gasping, clutching at his wound. Under his helmet his features were twisted in pain. The poison running through his system, weighted down by his armor, his wound an agonizing pain in his side, Arthur could not rise.
Modred stood there for a moment, unable to believe his good fortune. "You . . . you lied to me! You did drink the poison. You are dying!" He laughed Morgan's laugh. "This is turning into a good day after all."
He turned to where his sword had fallen.
Groucho was holding it. Chico was standing next to him.
Their expressions were unreadable.
Slowly Groucho advanced on Modred. He held the sword with the same ease that he held knives. Slowly Modred started to back up. "Give ... give that back to me, you hairy goon."
Chico darted around to the side. Modred didn't take his eyes off Groucho, and seconds later could retreat no farther because Chico was directly behind him. Before he could move, Chico had pinned his arms behind him.
"What are you doing?" bleated Modred. "What are you doing? Get off me!" He struggled in Chico's grip but was unable to break free.
Still Groucho said nothing as he walked right up to the terrified Modred. He brought the sword right up to Modred's throat and then, with a quick motion, wrapped one arm around Modred's head while Chico kept Modred's arms pinned back.
And the soul of Morgan Le Fey screamed, "No! I can't die again! Not againV And with a scream of horror she leaped free of her host body.
And it was Moe Dredd who now screamed "No! Don't! D- "
Groucho dropped the sword and began rapping his knuckles repeatedly and furiously on Modred's skull. "Noogies!" he shouted. Chico laughed joyously.
A black cloud leaped skyward, and from across the field Merlin worked a spell of containment. This time he was fast enough off the mark, and a ball of energy formed around the pure hate that made up the remains of Morgan Le Fey. It enveloped her completely, and then in a bright flash was gone.
' 'What was that?" asked Percy.
"I transported her," replied Merlin. "She's back at my sanctum. And there she'll stay until I have time to attend to her. Right now I have something more pressing."
He was leaping out of the box, but Gwen was already out and halfway across the field. The crowd's cheering had been reduced to a confused buzz of conversation, because of the strange black cloud, the flash of light that made it disappear, and because Arthur was lying there, and boy, it sure looked like he was bleeding to death. It had to be part of the act, didn't it? But it seemed kind of tasteless....
Modred blinked furiously. "Noogies?"
"Don't'cha remember us, man?" said Chico excitedly. "Remember the old days, the three of us? Chico, Groucho, and you, Harpo. We were a team, man. Don't you remember?"
"The sixties," said Groucho helpfully. "Remember the sixties?"
"Vaguely," said Moe, still trying to shake off the abrupt departure of Morgan. "I was doing some real weird shit back then . . . wait." He looked at them and frowned. And then he said,