“Yes?”
“The king desires your advice.”
Gawain walked over to the tent and entered. He could feel Merlin’s eyes upon him. “My lord,” he said to Arthur.
“What would you recommend for the battle plan?” Arthur asked without any preamble.
Gawain glanced at the other knights. They had no clue who Arthur was. Gawain also realized that, given the imprinting on Arthur, that Artad must be a good leader, one who was willing to consult his subordinates before battle.
“You have probably been advised to advance around the swamp, anchoring one flank on it,” Gawain said.
Arthur nodded, his cold blue eyes on Gawain, waiting.
“I recommend something different. I say we approach the enemy’s camp through the swamp. Mordred has gathered many knights from across the channel — heavily armored, more so than we are. The swamp will negate their advantage.”
Arthur stared at Gawain for several moments, and then nodded. “That is what we will do.”
Gawain had not added his real reason for choosing the swamp. The terrain would break up the forces on both sides and in the confusion he hoped to be able to finish off not only Mordred but Arthur too. And, most importantly, Merlin’s hidden lair lay somewhere inside the swamp.
The group broke up for the evening and Gawain followed Merlin out of the tent.
He grabbed the sorcerer’s arm. “There will be much death tomorrow. Every single one rests on your shoulders.”
Merlin faced him with haunted eyes. “I did not know.”
“You know now. Where is the Grail?”
“Hidden in cave not far from here.”
“You need to recover it this evening.”
“And then?
“We will know the next step when we know how the battle turns.”
Mordred did not consult anyone about his battle plans. He had shed more blood on this planet than any creature that walked it. He had little respect for human generals; and for Artad’s Shadow, who called himself King Arthur, he had only disdain. He could just imagine things in his opponent’s camp if the Shadow held true to the form of the imprinting. Talking, asking opinions about strategy. Mordred shook his head. He’d — well, not he, but Aspasia — had seen Artad do the same when they had served together.
He lifted a finger and one of his Guides came forward, going to one knee, waiting for orders.
“Take three of your kind with you,” Mordred ordered. “Go near the camp of the enemy. Watch for the one called Merlin. Follow him wherever he goes.”
The Guide did not need to acknowledge the order verbally. Obedience was implicit.
Merlin paused, sensing the presence of others in the swamp. A half dozen figures loomed out of the blackness, garbed in dark robes. He drew his dagger, knowing as he did so that the gesture was futile against such numbers. The individual in the lead of the group lifted up an empty hand, palm out first, then turning it so that Merlin could see the ring that adorned one finger.
“Watchers,” Merlin breathed with relief.
The man nodded. “We are here to help you. We were summoned.”
“Come with me.”
The group headed deeper into the swamp, unaware that they were being followed.
The false dawn that precedes the real one tinged the sky. Gawain stared across the field toward the dark trees that marked the edge of the swamp. The air was full of the sound of men in armor moving into position. A slight breeze came from the direction of the swamp, bringing with it the odor of decay.
Gawain shivered.
XX
Merlin covered the dead Watcher’s face with a piece of cloth, not able to bear the grimace of pain frozen on it and the eyes that seemed to be accusing the sorcerer. He looked up at the remaining Watchers, half of them wounded in the ambush.
The Grail had been taken by the attackers. Mordred’s men.
He had failed.
True dawn came with the sun. Gawain made sure he was close to Arthur as the king’s forces moved into the swamp. The terrain was not practical for deployment on horses, so they were left at the edge. Water rose up to Gawain’s midcalf as they advanced. As he had predicted, the swamp made moving as a single unit impossible. The king’s army was broken into smaller and smaller segments the further they went into the dense vegetation. Visibility was limited to ten or fifteen meters.
The sound of metal on metal echoed through the swamp from the right. Gawain drew his sword and kept his eye on the king as they continued to move forward toward the enemy.
Morgana saw the Guides arrive at Mordred’s tent with an object covered in a white wrap and she knew immediately what it was — there was no mistaking the outline under the cloth. Gawain was supposed to have retrieved the Grail from Merlin — obviously that plan had failed.
Two Guides remained on guard at the entrance to the tent as Mordred exited. There was already the sound of battle coming out of the swamp — Mordred had sent a skirmish line into it just before dawn.
Morgana decided to follow Mordred, since she didn’t expect the Grail to be moved anytime soon. She headed west and was soon swallowed up in the dense vegetation.
Gawain ducked under the swinging ax and drove the point of his sword into the man’s stomach with such force that the man was lifted off his feet for a moment. Twisting the handle, Gawain finished gutting the man, and then pulled the sword out, letting the unarmored peasant collapse to the ground.
So far all they had encountered were these peasants, who had obviously been given weapons and sent forward to die. A crude but effective way to further disrupt the advance of Arthur’s army. A pair of knights came lumbering toward Gawain, blue scarves tied around their right upper arms, indicating they were Mordred’s men.
With his shield, Gawain parried the strike from the man on the left and with his sword blocked the thrust from the one on the right. The force of the simultaneous blows staggered Gawain back a step, water splashing around his legs. He made an instant decision and charged, shield out, toward the man on the left, bowling him over, then spinning toward the other, sword blocking the blow that came toward him. With one foot on the chest of the man he had knocked over, pinninghim down in combination with the heavy armor, Gawain battled the second knight as the first one slowly drowned.
Gawain easily blocked the knight’s attack and battered the man with blows on his helmet until one blow knocked him unconscious. The second knight toppled over into the shallow water, to drown alongside the first.
Gawain looked up and realized that he had lost contact with Arthur during the engagement. He could hear the sound of heavy fighting all around. Cursing, Gawain splashed forward, in the direction he had last seen Arthur heading.
The Ones Who Wait carried the wounded Airlia back into the lake, toward the underwater entrance to their lair. While the top part of the base had been destroyed so many years ago when the Talons took out the array, the bottom half had remained intact. As water filled the center of the crater the survivors built a lock into a severed tunnel that had led to the top of the mountain. It was a most effective way to keep the entrance to their base concealed. They dived down with the Airlia, entered the lock, shut the hatch behind them, waited for the water to be pumped out, and then opened the hatch at their feet.
Once they were inside they made their way north along a cross corridor, carrying the Airlia with them. Hidden in a chamber carved out in the rim of the cavern was a bouncer— a craft able to tap into and magnify the Earth’s magnetic field as a source of propulsion. The Ones Who Wait and the Airlia got inside the craft and a camouflaged door slid open.
The bouncer lifted up and, once clear of the hangar, headed to the north.