Alone and above everyone, Arthur removed a small black sphere from underneath his cloak. He accessed the device and peered at the tiny screen set into one of the hexagonals. Excalibur, as his overflight had indicated, was moving ever closer. He had not even considered simply landing and taking the sword from whoever had it. That was not what he had been programmed to do. There was more to be donethan simply recovering Excalibur — there was also the issue of the Grail’s location. And sooner or later, someone from Aspasia’s side would show up.
Merlin was covered with a layer of dust over a smattering of mud. He was hungry and tired and the wonderful sword, so light when he first drew it from the crystal stone, had become a wearisome burden wrapped in a threadbare blanket and held close to his chest with both arms.
He cleared a rise in the road and saw two things at the same time. The ocean in the far distance and, perched on the rocky crags overlooking the ocean, the stone walls and tower of Tintagel Castle. From the top of the tower a guidon flapped in the stiff offshore breeze. It was red with a mighty dragon emblazoned on it.
Activity closer by caught Merlin’s attention. A troop of armored knights was galloping up the road toward him. Merlin stepped to the side to let them pass, but the man in the lead, clad in shining armor, reined in his horse and halted, peering down at Merlin through narrow slits in his helmet. The knight slowly raised his visor, revealing cold blue eyes.
“You are the one who brings the sword.”
It was not a question. Merlin went to one knee and offered up Excalibur. Surely such a knight who knew he was coming and about the sword was the one. “My king.”
“I am Arthur,” the knight said as he got off his horse. He took the offering, tossing aside the blanket. With one smooth movement he drew Excalibur. He leaned forward and placed the blade against Merlin’s neck. “Where is the Grail?”
Merlin swallowed hard, feeling the cool metal against his skin. “It is safe, my lord.”
“Where is the Grail?”
Merlin stared up into the knight’s eyes and saw no compassion or humanity. With a rush of despair he knew he’d made a mistake. He closed his eyes for several seconds, thinking furiously. Then he looked up at the king. “My name is Merlin. I have hidden the Grail and only I know where it is. If you want me to serve you, and someday learn of the Grail’s location, you will let me live. I have given you the sword. Give me my life. I will serve you well.”
Arthur did not immediately remove the sword. “You will take me to the Grail later?” he finally asked.
“Yes, my king.”
Arthur pulled back Excalibur.
Merlin slowly got to his feet. “We can build a great kingdom together, my king.”
“We will have to,” Arthur said. He looked at Merlin. “For they are coming to take it.”
A chill ran down Merlin’s spine and he realized he had walked into something much, much larger than himself.
XVII
It was a mild winter, for which Donnchadh and Gwalcmai were grateful, as they spent most of it traveling. I For the first couple of months they found no sign of the absent Watcher, the Grail, or Excalibur. Upon one occasion they were accosted by bandits, and Gwalcmai, in the course of dispatching the ignorant souls, suffered a wound serious enough to warrant a return to Stonehenge and regeneration of a new body for his personality and memories to be implanted into. That caused a delay of another couple of months.
Thus it was early summer before they began to search to the west, tracking down rumors of a powerful king who wielded a magical sword. They traveled along the southern coast of England and were in a small fishing village having a meal in the local inn when they heard something that caught their attention.
“This bloody bastard crucifies people. Not in the way those Christians have their cross, but on an X — two poles stuck into the ground and crossing each other.”
The speaker was a man dressed in the garb of one who made his living from the sea. His audience was the bored woman, old beyond her years, who ran the inn.
“Who is this you speak of?” Gwalcmai brusquely demanded, swinging around on his stool and facing the speaker.
The man was startled at this abrupt response to his comment. Donnchadh moved between the two and placed a piece of silver on the wood plank table in front of the man. “We’d like to know more about this,” she said in a low voice.
The silver was already in the man’s pocket. He looked at the two of them. “I just came from across the channel. This man, he’s raising an army there. Word is he’s going to cross the channel this summer and invade.”
“His name?” Donnchadh asked.
“He calls himself Mordred.”
“Have you seen him?” she pressed.
“I didn’t want to see him,” the man said. “I seen what he done to folks that opposed him. As I was telling the keep, here. Crucifies them. And not with nails but with wet leather. Who ever heard of that? It dries and squeezes the life out of the poor fellows.”
“This Mordred is local?” Gwalcmai demanded.
The fisherman shook his head. “No. That’s not what they say. He’s got this group of warriors with him — they do whatever he says without question. He’s recruiting local knights to fight with him. To come over here and invade. Those who oppose him, he crucifies.”
Gwalcmai ran a hand over the stubble on his chin as he contemplated this information.
“Like flies to manure,” Donnchadh muttered, which earned her surprised looks from both her husband and the fisherman. “You said this Mordred will be coming over the channel with his army in late summer?”
“He’d have to — to beat the fall storms,” the man said.
Donnchadh threw another piece of silver down and indicated for Gwalcmai to follow her outside. They exited the tavern into a light downpour, another typical day in England.
“Who the hell is this Mordred?” Gwalcmai asked as he pulled up his hood.
“Most likely a Shadow,” Donnchadh said.
“Then who is this Arthur who has the sword? The Watcher?”
Donnchadh shook her head. “I’d say another Shadow. One Aspasia’s, one Artad’s. They’re not breaking the truce outright, but they are looking after their interests, and it is in their interest to make sure the Grail and Excalibur are under control.”
“Which is which?”
Donnchadh shrugged. “Does it matter?” She tapped Gwalcmai on the chest. “You go to Arthur. Join his force. I’ll cross the channel and look up this Mordred.”
“He’s crucifying people,” Gwalcmai noted.
“Yes, but every war leader needs a seer. A sorceress at their side.”
Gwalcmai was clearly not happy with the plan, but he didn’t voice it. “Just be very careful. We’ve had some good memories on this trip and I wouldn’t want to have to tell your clone all about them.”
“You will see my power,” Aspasia’s Shadow, now known Y as Mordred, yelled out.
He was standing on a pile of rocks, looking down at the gathering of local and banished English knights that his Guides had bribed, cajoled, or threatened into being there. The knights were in a large semicircle around the rock pile, with a blazing bonfire between them and Mordred.
“You.” Mordred pointed at one of the Guides. “Go into the fire.”
A ripple of unease passed through the knights at this strange command. The Guide didn’t hesitate for a moment. He walked forward into the fire. Hair burst into flame, skin was scorched, yet the Guide stood ramrod straight, without any utterance of pain. The smell of burning flesh crept outward without even a breeze to clear the air. Several men, hardened knights, went to their knees gagging and vomiting.