The Lady of Shalott (Merlin's Legacy)

Still trying to play catch up!!!

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“There’s no sign of him?”

“No, My Lady,” the Guardsman said. “Sir Robin is missing – and so is Excalibur.”

Tiffany felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She’d sent Robin to Londinium, hoping that his commoner birth and his possession of Excalibur would allow him to appeal to the city fathers. Instead, she’d sent him to his…death? No, he couldn’t be dead; her wedding ring was still warm. He wasn't dead…but if they couldn’t find him, he was almost certainly a captive, or trapped. And if he was missing, what had happened to Excalibur?

“You couldn’t get a magician to sense the sword?”

“We tried, once we realised that he was missing,” Cromwell said. The Lord Mayor looked haggard, as if he’d aged a thousand years overnight. Tiffany had once watched a sorcerer lose control of his rejuvenation spells, all his years catching up with him at once. Cromwell was no sorcerer, yet he looked ancient. “The remaining magicians tried to search for him and the sword and drew a blank.”

That wasn't good, Tiffany knew. Magical searches had their limits – they hadn’t for Merlin, a treacherous part of her mind pointed out – but they should have been able to locate Robin, even if he’d been transfigured into a toad or something equally unpleasant. If he couldn’t be found, it meant that he was in the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> – or somewhere warded against magical detection. And either one suggested that he was a prisoner, a captive of the Dark Sorcerers.

She’d taken the time to look up some of the legends surrounding Excalibur, but few of them could be verified. The sword protected its bearer from harm, according to some sources, yet others claimed that it was the jewelled scabbard that came with the sword. King Arthur had once lost the scabbard to a ruthless enemy who had worn it himself and nearly killed the King before Merlin intervened – or so the legends claimed. It was a far cry from the sword making its bearer invincible. But then, no Object of Power, no matter how powerful, could be trusted completely. They tended to have minds of their own.

Smoke was still rising from the ruined parts of the city. Thousands of bodies, often burned beyond recognition, were being pulled out of the wreckage and transported to the mass grave that was being dug for them, outside the city. There would be no time for proper funerals, unless the body was clearly recognisable and the family well-connected. Besides, with so much wild magic running around, there was a distant chance that the bodies would get up again and start attacking the living. Zombies were deadly dangerous – and she wouldn't have been surprised if the Dark Sorcerers had been willing to add raising the dead to their long list of crimes.

The city fathers, those who had survived the battle, looked shocked. She couldn’t blame them; over the years, they had built up a formidable position…but now it had been practically destroyed overnight. The city had depended upon its population to make it work, to serve as one of the foremost production facilities in the Empire, and now half the population had been slaughtered. She wasn't blind to the selective nature of the destruction – which suggested that the Dark Sorcerers had had other motives than simple destruction – and yet, she wondered if they had wrecked the city beyond repair. The destroyed workforce would have to be replenished before the city could start producing again.

A shadow fell over them and hands reached for weapons, before they realised that it was merely a dragon. Tiffany had ordered two entire flocks of dragons to remain near the city, although it was little more than an attempt to reassure people that they hadn’t been forgotten by their protectors. The Dark Sorcerers were unlikely to return to the city in force. They’d be more likely to hit somewhere else, somewhere undefended. With most of the Garrison massed in <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace>, they had a surfeit of possible targets.

“We took no prisoners, My Lady,” Cromwell said, when she asked. Tiffany wasn't surprised. Dark Sorcerers knew better than to let themselves be taken captive – and few would try to capture a monster from the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace>. It was far better to slaughter the creatures before they spread wild magic into human settlements. “They retreated when the dragons arrived, teleporting out before they could be killed.”

Tiffany nodded, bitterly. Only sorcerers could teleport – and there weren’t that many sorcerers in the House of Magus. And they were all occupied with the power struggle to replace the High Magus. The Dark Sorcerers had a powerful advantage…or did they? They could go anywhere that wasn’t shielded by wards…

She put the thought aside for later consideration and turned to the Lord Mayor. “What do you need from Camelot?”

Cromwell answered at once. “Help rebuilding and a tax rebate for the year,” he said, instantly. “We still have most of the money we put aside for a rainy day – but this was a flood. We won’t be able to pay many taxes this year…”

And they might not pay, even if they could. Tiffany scowled. The Empire’s economy was more fragile than it seemed, now that Merlin – the ultimate power in the Empire – was gone. The city’s wealth had been invested in its factories and workforce and now much of that workforce had been destroyed. She frowned, puzzled. If the Dark Sorcerers had wanted to save the factories, they’d still crippled them – and that suggested they hadn’t really understood what they were doing. An aristocrat would think in terms of controlling land, not a workforce. Had Duke Blackrock made a few suggestions to his allies, or was something else going on here?

“We’ll do what we can,” she promised, vaguely. If Londinium didn’t pay its taxes, the Empire would be short on money for the coming year. And that would make it harder to pay all the civil servants who made the Empire work, let alone the Garrison troops and combat magicians who provided the punch when necessary. Combat magicians didn’t work cheap. “Until then…”

She allowed her gaze to wander over the ruined city. It hadn’t taken long for the Dark Sorcerers to smash Londinium beyond easy recovery, less than six hours. Once the word got out – and it was already spreading, she was sure – the panic would begin. Any hope of borrowing city guardsmen to reinforce the forces in <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace> had been destroyed beyond repair. And that might have been the ultimate purpose of the attack…

Tiffany frowned. “Who else is missing?”

Cromwell snorted. “Thousands of people,” he said, sardonically. “We may never know what happened to them.”

She accepted the rebuke without comment. She’d wondered if the Dark Sorcerers had been interested in kidnapping others from the city, but Cromwell was right. With so many bodies burned beyond recognition, or tainted by wild magic, it would be impossible to tell if any had been taken prisoner and marched back to wherever the Dark Sorcerers were using as a base. In fact, the dragon riders that had chased the monsters back to the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> had reported that the nearby boundary lines were on the verge of collapse…and that wild magic seemed to be shimmering past the barrier. What would happen, she asked herself, if the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> started to expand? How much wild magic had Merlin kept penned up in there over the years?

Shaking her head, she tried to concentrate on the city. It wasn't easy. Every time she felt a pulse of heat from her ring, she thought of Robin. Lost, alone…and a captive of the Dark Sorcerers. His body might be returned to her one day, yet she knew what they did to their captives. Robin’s mind might never be his own again. And he would rather die than become a puppet for a dark master…

***​

The destruction stretched as far as the eye could see.

Lucas peered through the carriage’s window as the horses pulled the vehicle through the ruins. His father’s personal guard, wearing the yellow and black uniforms that his great-great-great grandfather had designed, had fanned out around the coach to keep the rabble away from their aristocratic masters. Even so, Lucas saw enough suffering people to last him a lifetime. There were men cradling their dead wives, women wailing for their lost children and sobbing children, too young to understand that their parents wouldn't be coming home. The recovery teams – including a contingent his father had sent down from their lands as a political gesture – were working ceaselessly. He feared that it wouldn't be enough to save much of the population.

“Runaways,” his father growled, when Lucas tried to share his new insight with him. He scowled at his own mistake. His father wouldn't feel any compassion for people who had fled his lands, preferring to seek their own destiny rather than work for him for the rest of their lives, surviving on what little he graciously allowed them to keep. “Don’t waste your time with pity or sympathy. These people are our enemies, men who seek to overturn the order that has governed this land since Merlin created the Empire.”

“Yes, father,” Lucas said. He fought to keep his voice level, but it wasn’t easy. If his father had heard the undertone, he said nothing. It took everything he had to conceal his disgust; luckily, his father wasn’t paying much attention to his son. He was too busy considering how to spin the disaster to his own advantage.

The couch rattled suddenly as a stone bounced off the wooden roof. Lucas reached for his sword instinctively, but there was really no need. The guards yelled and lashed around them with their whips, driving the stone-thrower and his friends away from the vehicle. Lucas had had only a moment to catch the helpless fury in their faces before one of them was knocked to the ground and trampled on by the guards. The remainder made their escape before the guards could catch up with them. He found himself hoping that the stone-thrower survived the experience, but it didn’t seem likely. His father only recruited the most brutal of guards, preferring men of violence to men of thought. They came from peasant families, too hungry to care that they were trained to turn against their own kind, and were hated by their former families. His father had been adroit in ensuring that they had nowhere else to go.

A stench caught his nostrils and he gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve. Outside, the coach was rumbling past the remains of a giant monster, already decaying now that it had been killed by the defenders. Lucas swallowed hard as he caught sight of the claws and scaly legs; even upside down, the giant crab was terrifying. Small parties of men were cutting away at his flesh, trying to cook it and prepare it for the families who’d lost everything. A less desperate crowd would play it safe and refuse to touch the meat, but they were desperate.

He’d never visited the city’s Town Hall before, but he’d seen pictures. It had once been a magnificent structure, remarkable even in a world where magic could shape castles out of cloud, or place them on top of a needle-thin line. Now…it was just a pile of debris, with recovery parties struggling to pull bodies out of the wreckage. He heard a faint sound from his father and looked up, only to see a cold smile flittering across his father’s face. It hadn’t occurred to him that his father would take pleasure in so much devastation, but the Town Hall had been a living symbol of defiance, the pride of a population largely drawn from escaped peasants. And now it was just a pile of rubble.

Lucas looked away, back out of the window. A dragon was sitting on the ground, golden eyes looking around with dull unconcern. Lucas had once met a true dragon – one of the handful of dragon hatchlings that grew into intelligence – and had been struck by the ancient wisdom in the being’s eyes. The dragon in front of him was nothing more than a beast, mastered by its rider. He felt a familiar stirring as he caught sight of the rider – a dark-skinned woman wearing nothing more than a belt – before he pushed it away. Even a spoiled brat knew better than to get between a dragon and its rider.

The coach rattled to a stop in front of an intact building and his father opened the door, allowing one of the guardsmen to help him down onto the ground. Lucas followed a moment later, jumping down neatly while keeping one hand on his sword. Even away from the dead monster, the city still smelled of burning flesh and wood. He wondered how long it would be before the wind blew the stench away.

“Come,” his father said, imperiously. He led the way up a flight of steps and rapped once on the door with his cane. The door opened at once, revealing a maid who dropped a curtsey when she realised who was at the door. His father studied her thoughtfully just long enough to make her uncomfortable, and then introduced himself. “I believe that we’re expected?”

“Yes, My Lord,” she said. She had the manners down pat, Lucas realised. He wondered if she’d grown up on a farm before fleeing to the city. “If you will follow me…”

Inside, the building was remarkably luxurious, if tasteless. Pieces of art were scattered around, chosen more for their cost than for any aesthetic sense. A golden statue of a naked woman turned slightly as they approached, her golden lips curving up into a smile. Magic…or perhaps a clockwork toy. Either was possible in a free city. A small selection of bladed weapons hung on one wall, awaiting the call to action. Absently, he wondered why they hadn’t been drawn when the city was under attack.

The room the maid showed them into was rather more tasteful, although he couldn’t see how it could have been less tasteful. It was both comfortable and formal, with a table for meetings and a set of comfortable chairs for less formal gatherings. Lucas settled down onto one of the chairs and started to relax, before his father glared at him and he stumbled to his feet. There was an unspoken etiquette for such meetings and he'd broken it. He concealed a flush and waited until the inner door slipped open and Lord Randolph stepped into the room.

“I got your message,” he said, once they’d exchanged insincere greetings and enquires after each other’s heath. “I trust you understand that the city is in a terrible mess at the moment?”

Lucas opened his mouth to say something cutting, but closed it again without saying a word. His father was less restrained.

“Nothing should stand in the way of our projects,” he said, firmly. “Are you prepared to launch a challenge against Cromwell and his…Reform Party?”

Lucas blinked, and then understood. His father was a Conservative through and through, a man so conservative that he wouldn't have provided the Conservatives in Parliament with any actual support, let alone backing. In his world, an aristocrat had had sole power within his lands and his will was all that counted. But that wasn't true of the free cities – and it certainly wasn't true of the House of Commons. And the House of Commons had a great deal of power, now that Merlin was gone, to affect taxes and tithes.

The plan was devilishly simple. His father had encouraged the Dark Sorcerers to attack the city, warning them to concentrate their attacks on the poorer sections of the town. They’d slaughtered the people who were most likely to be interested in upsetting the applecart – and vote Reform into power. Thomas Cromwell might not have realised it yet, but his voting base had just been destroyed. Lord Randolph, who was popular with the wealthier magnates and even some of the smaller business owners, would have a chance to unseat him as Lord Mayor. And if that happened, the Speaker’s position in the House of Commons – which belonged, by tradition, to the Lord Mayor of Londinium – would fall into his hands. And that would mean…

Tiffany’s position would become untenable. There was no precedent for replacing a First Councillor, but now…she wouldn't be able to operate. What few powers were vested in the Privy Council wouldn't be enough to save her from being replaced, or superseded if she refused to be replaced. He looked up at his father and felt a flicker of admiration, drowned out by cold horror. His father would take Tiffany’s place and then…give the Empire to the Dark Sorcerers.

“We are already preparing the challenge,” Lord Randolph assured them, as if he could already feel the weight of the gold chain falling around his neck. The Lord Mayor of Londinium wore a golden chain to mark his power, one enchanted by Merlin himself. “At least two of the councillors will need to be replaced – perhaps three if Councillor Dwight doesn’t show himself. That will give us an edge…”

Lucas leaned forward. “How can you be sure?”

His father gave him a single annoyed look. “It’s really very simple,” he said, in the tones one would use to educate a particularly stupid child. “There are twenty-one city councillors. Reform held nine of them; the Conservatives held eight…and the remaining four were independent. Now that two – perhaps three – Councillors will need to be replaced, the Conservatives will be in a position to dominate the council and select the next Lord Mayor.

“Do you understand me, son?”

“Yes, father,” Lucas said, meekly. He thought hard, trying to find a way to block his father’s plan, but he could think of nothing. Even without his father’s open backing – and that would raise doubts even among the most committed Conservatives – the plan would succeed. And what would trying and failing gain him? “I understand perfectly.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Nine<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Pain.

Robin fought his way back to awareness through a sea of pain. He’d thought he’d known what pain was, back when he’d grown up on the farm. Pain was working hard in the fields for little return, or a thrashing from his father for forgetting to milk the family’s cow one morning. And then he’d gone to the Garrison and pain was being forced to train endlessly, with far too little sleep. And then he’d been Squired and discovered that riding after a Knight was painful too.

His entire body seemed to be burning. Flames were crackling over his eyes, working their way into his skin. He could have sworn that he smelt roasting flesh. Desperately, he opened his mouth and tried to scream, but no sound reached his ears. It had to be a nightmare, he told himself, yet he couldn’t wake up. Another flash of pain seemed to resonate through his body and memory returned. The sword, the duel with a sorceress…and then nothing, nothing at all. He probed his memory desperately, but nothing emerged. Was he dead and in Hell?

He heard the sound of terrible laughter echoing from outside and realised what had happened. He wasn't dead, or in Hell; he was a captive of the Dark Sorcerers. The thought galvanised his mind and he started to run through the mental disciplines that had been hammered into his head at the Garrison. Words his teacher had spoken echoed down the years towards him. Your body wanted to heal as much as you wanted it to heal; healing wasn't a contest between a mind and a body. The disciplines helped young Knights handle pain and survive. He concentrated, running through the prayers he could remember, and the burning slowly started to recede.

There were noises outside. His ears were still ringing, but he was sure that he could make out the sounds of stamping feet – and of voices chanting in a language that had been old when the world was young. Carefully, he managed to open his eyes, even though something had held them closed. It took him a long moment to realise that it was crusted blood. Whatever they’d done to him, however long he’d been their captive, it had left him badly injured.

The Dark Sorcerers surrounded him. They were dancing, each one moving to a precise beat that involved stamping down hard, while chanting a ritual aloud. Robin felt cold terror grip his mind for a long moment and forced it away, trying to understand what they were doing. It reminded him of a sword dance, except that the Dark Sorcerers would hardly want to deflect swords from striking the good and godly.

He glanced down at himself and almost swore. His armour was blackened and pitted from the charms they’d unleashed against it. They’d crucified him, although they hadn’t driven nails through his arms, although he couldn’t see that as an encouraging sign. His body was so weak that he couldn’t even begin to break free, at least not yet. He looked around and saw other captives, standing a few meters from the Dark Sorcerers, their eyes dead and cold. They’d been charmed into helpless obedience.

The Garrison had taught Robin how to navigate by the stars. He looked up into the darkness, despite his ringing skull, and tried to locate himself. It took longer than he would have expected to locate the vital stars and deduce that he was somewhere in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on">Caledonia</st1lace>. The Dark Sorcerers would want somewhere with a vast magical aura to hide themselves, which meant the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace>…or Kentigern. It had to be Kentigern. No one, even a power-mad Dark Sorcerer, would stay in the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> for too long.

And he was a prisoner. He knew what they did to their prisoners…

Raw panic, the kind he’d never felt since childhood, threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it down, drawing on his mental link to Excalibur. The sword was nowhere to be seen, but he could still feel the link that had formed the day he’d drawn the enchanted blade for the first time. New strength flowed into his body, only to be drained away seconds later. The Dark Sorcerers had enchanted the cross to ensure that he couldn’t regain his strength.

New faces entered the dance, their faces trapped in a cold bleak helplessness that was worse than anything Robin had ever seen. Their other captives, women and children they’d taken from the city, bound into servitude by powerful spells. As Robin watched, the Dark Sorcerers began to abuse them, forcing them to submit to their rituals. The sense of diseased power flowing around the circle grew stronger, as if the Dark Sorcerers were drawing on the humiliation and fear of their captives. A handful simply dropped dead, pushed beyond endurance or drained of life. They were the lucky ones, Robin knew. The rituals could go on for days.

He wanted to close his eyes as the blood started to flow, each act consecrated to the Darkness. Somehow, he couldn’t look away as captives died, each one followed into the next world by a mocking laugh. Robin started to pray within his mind, clinging to prayers he’d learned as a child. Surely, the Dark Sorcerers were wrong; surely they couldn’t sell other souls to the Darkness. And yet, somehow they were drawing power…

They pushed in around him, suddenly aware that he was awake and watching. Their screams of laughter tore at his ears. He recoiled from their mocking taunts and the sparks of fire that they flicked towards him, before the wave of magic closed in around him. The laughter grew louder until it occupied the entire world…and Robin, mercifully, blacked out.

***​

Excalibur floated on a stone table, its mere presence brightening the room. The few Dark Sorcerers who had seen the glowing blade had recoiled, as if they could hide from its light by covering their eyes. They’d taken the precaution of separating the sword and scabbard, leaving the latter on a second table, but it didn’t seem to dim the brilliant light. The sword seemed bright enough to cut through the very fabric of reality itself.

And that would be among the least of the tales surrounding Excalibur. King Arthur had used it, according to some stories, to cut open a pathway into Avalon when he’d waged war against the Faerie. The Faerie had kidnapped a hundred human children and Arthur had walked into their world, carrying nothing, but Excalibur and his determination to do the right thing. He’d walked out of Avalon, afterwards, with the children and a binding promise that the Faerie would steal no more children while Arthur was alive. Other stories, darker ones, suggested that Arthur had been reshaped by the sword, turned from just another warlord into a man fit to rule the world.

But Arthur had been far from the only one to wield Excalibur. There were stories that told of it passing from hand to hand, each wielder transforming the world before the blade left them and waited for the next person to pick it up and use it – if they were worthy. Alexander the Great had conquered almost the entire known world carrying Excalibur; Cleopatra had passed it on to her Roman lover, Julius Caesar, believing that he could keep her kingdom safe. Caesar had feared the blade and refused to carry it with him, only to meet his death on the Ides of March. And his adopted son, who became the first formal Roman Emperor, recovered the blade and used it to establish his rule, before the sword passed back into history. After Arthur, and Merlin, it had vanished completely, until now.

Maledict studied the sword, silently cursing the blade’s sheer presence. Looking at it through his Sight was impossible for more than a few moments, for the blade shone with power. It was like staring into a light so bright that even the merest glimpse would bring blindness. Even so, he could sense – as the sword pulsed with power – endless waves of power plunging down into infinity, a strata of power beyond any merely human artefact. The team Object of Power hardly seemed to encompass the sword. Like the Holy Grail, long lost since the Fall of Camelot and Arthur’s death, it was a legend given shape and form.

He looked over at one of his followers, a greedy young man with dark tastes and darker ambitions. “Take it,” he ordered. “Pick up the sword.”

A wiser man, even a Dark Sorcerer, would have known better to touch without looking for traps. The young man’s face betrayed his greed as he reached for the sword and clamped his hand around the hilt, moving as if he suspected that someone would snatch it away before it was too late. A blade of such power promised the entire world to its bearer, if the bearer was worthy. The greedy young man – who had been fleeing from the city guardsmen when Maledict encountered him and brought him into his band of followers – was very far from worthy. Scarcely had his hand touched the hilt when the sword blazed with angry power and his entire body burst into flame. He barely even had time to scream.

Maledict watched dispassionately as the remains of his body – little more than ashes – crashed down to the floor. The sword’s power levels had barely flickered, yet it had killed – and very effectively. The dead man had been warded, just as Maledict himself was warded, but it hadn’t been enough to save his life. Maledict had no doubt that the same thing would happen to him if he picked up the sword.

“Fool,” he muttered, as he shaped a thought with his mind. Another of his followers would soon be with him. He stepped away from the sword and noticed, without quite understanding, that there were no traces of dust or ashes on the blade itself. It still glowed with power.

The door opened and an older man stepped into the room. He’d been an enchanter before he’d decided that dark sorcery offered him the chance to wield magic beyond his wildest dreams. Maledict had taught him how to expand his ability to channel magic in exchange for him serving the Dark Sorcerers and their cause. Dawlish was never allowed to leave the base, even to join the more dangerous rituals. He was just too valuable to lose.

“Master,” he said, with a bow. His eyes didn’t meet Maledict’s; they were focused on the sword. “You summoned me?”

Maledict nodded. “You will study this Object of Power,” he said. Enchanters produced Objects of Power, although few could claim to have produced anything as legendary as Excalibur. “You will determine how we can use it for our cause.”

Dawlish looked worried, but then the man always looked worried. “Master, the sword is beyond my comprehension,” he objected. “I couldn’t even begin to study it.”

“Success will bring great rewards,” Maledict informed him. He didn’t bother to point out that the man who learned how to control and tap their prize would have a source of great power under his control. A Dark Sorcerer would have thought of it instinctively. “Failure will bring its own rewards.”

His eyes, glowing red with power, met and held Dawlish’s pale brown eyes. “You may call upon any of the resources on the base,” he said. “If you need material from outside, we will fetch it for you. All you have to do is crack the secrets of a legendry blade.”

He stepped back and motioned to the pile of dust and ashes. “I advise you to be careful,” he added, coldly. “The last person who touched the blade was unworthy and was killed instantly. I do not want that to happen to you.”

Dawlish swallowed. “Yes, Master,” he said. “I will take every precaution.”

Maledict walked out of the chamber and gestured for it to seal itself behind him. If something went badly wrong, there would be tons of stone between Excalibur any anyone else on the base. He doubted that Dawlish would succeed quickly – the older an Object of Power, the more complicated it was – and if the sword did have a mind of its own, it might subvert Dawlish and escape. And if Dawlish did succeed, he’d be tempted to turn the blade’s power against his master.

He walked down the long stone passageways, testing the wards as he moved. He’d dispersed some of his awareness through the underground network and now he reached out with his mind, watching as the final captives were enslaved and put to work for their new masters. It was a promising image of what the world would be like once they’d won, with magicians competing for supremacy while mundane humans served them at their beck and call. And if he gained the power to control Excalibur, he could make that vision come true.

The stench of blood barely slowed him as he walked into the chamber. A handful of slaves were cleaning the room, unable to pay any attention to the Knight hanging from the cross. Maledict barked a command and the slaves fled, terrified for their lives. He closed the door and peered up at Sir Robin. Even stunned, with his mind on the verge of embracing madness, the Knight was a charismatic figure, a rallying point around which opposition to the Dark Sorcerers could form. And now he was Maledict’s captive.

He reached out and gently touched Sir Robin’s forehead, allowing his Sight to probe the Knight’s defences. The armour provided protection against curses and control spells, a network of defences that would render it impossible to reprogram his mind. It would be easy to kill him – like all finely-tuned spells, they could be overwhelmed with enough power – and yet that would be a waste. Sir Robin was far more than just another Knight of the Round Table. He was the husband of Lady Tiffany and the former wielder of Excalibur. How could his capture be turned to best advantage?

Thoughts spun through Maledict’s head as he probed the defences. Unravelling them all would be a complex task, even for his most skilled followers. It would take weeks, at least, before they could reprogram Robin at will. And if they could understand how the spells had been worked into the armour, they’d be able to duplicate them and arm his forces with similar spells. Merlin might have created the first set of spells, but the later sets of armour had been created by enchanters in Camelot. It should be possible to duplicate the spells.

Sir Robin’s eyes shot open. Maledict saw him recoil and smiled, showing the remains of his teeth. The Knight of the Round Table’s eyes filled with hated and rage and he struggled to break through the silver bands holding his arms to the cross, but it was futile. Maledict had designed them to be impossible to escape, even for an Elf. A merely mortal human, even one at the peak of his physical condition, would find escape beyond his ability. He chuckled and watched as the Knight worked his jaws, preparing to spit. The spittle fizzled harmlessly against his wards.

“I trust that you are comfortable, Sir Robin,” he said. His voice no longer sounded human, not now that wild magic had wrecked havoc on his internal organs. He sounded like a man who had smoked tobacco for years, every day. “Welcome to our lair. Would you care for some refreshment?”

Sir Robin glared at him, his gaze unbroken by fear. It would have been good to hear him beg for mercy, but the Knights of the Round Table were renowned for being fearless. Most of the legends surrounding them barely touched on the reality.

“I will accept nothing from you,” he rasped, finally. “Don’t you know what you are doing?”

“I am taking over the world,” Maledict said. It would be good to gloat to a Knight’s face, even if – or because - the Knight was a helpless prisoner. “The Duke thinks that he is using me, but I am using him. He will be surprised when I show him the horrors I will show you. And then the world will be mine, an endless time of death and blood and slaughter, with the boundaries of magic pushed back and…”

“You’ll be destroyed by your own powers a long time before you take over the world,” Sir Robin pointed out. He peered at Maledict, somehow meeting his glowing eyes without fear. “You don’t even look human any more. Your power is burning you up from the inside. The time you have on this world is nearly over and then…”

Maledict slapped him, allowing his anger to take physical form. “You know nothing,” he thundered. “By the time we are finished with you, you will be our puppet! You will go back to Camelot and rape your wife to death, for us! You will take Excalibur and kill all of your friends, for us! You will open up the city’s gates and deliver it to us! You will be the greatest traitor in the history of the Empire!”

Sir Robin snorted. “If you could crack my armour,” he pointed out, “you would have done it by now.”

“It may take a few days to crack through and expose your mind, but we have the time,” Maledict sneered. “And then you will be ours.”

He clapped his hands and three of the slaves arrived, carrying clothes and a hot bowl of water. “Prepare him in the chamber of torture,” he ordered. “Do not release him, if only for a second. Take him down there and prepare him for agony beyond imagination!”

“Oh very droll,” Sir Robin commented. “Did it take you all day to think of those lines?”

Maledict caught his temper before he could blow the Knight into a billion tiny pieces and scatter them over the ruined city. “Laugh all you want to laugh,” he said, coldly. “I will laugh myself when I watch you killing your wife!”

With that, he gestured for the slaves to depart, calmly storing up his hatred and anger. In time, he would have the last laugh – and the entire world on its knees.

 

Chapter Thirty<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Tiffany sat at the back of the House of Commons – a right granted to those on the Privy Council, even though she was the Lady of Shallot – and watched the farce proceed to its inevitable end. Thomas Cromwell, no longer the Lord Mayor of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">London</st1lace></st1:City>, was replaced by Lord Randolph. The factory-owner, with a string of complaints against him longer than Tiffany’s arm, took his place as Speaker, delivering a speech that was sure to grate on the ears of the Reform Party. Lord Randolph had never made any secret of his dislike for Reform – after all, he was quite happy where he was – and now he was Speaker, the Reform Party would find that they had been pushed to one side.

She rubbed her eyes, feeling nothing, apart from a sense of quiet disgust. Robin was missing in action, presumed a prisoner – or dead. Tiffany felt numb every time she considered the possibilities; Robin’s body might never be found, or he would be returned a soulless automaton. Or worse…she knew she should have rallied her supporters and attempted to challenge the new Speaker, but she hadn’t been able to muster the energy. Robin had only been her husband for a week before he’d been taken from her…missing, perhaps a prisoner, perhaps dead. Her ring was still warm…or was she imagining it? The uncertainty gnawed at her far worse than certain knowledge could have done.

Lord Randolph’s long speech was finally coming to an end. The Conservative MPs and those who wanted to toady up to the new Speaker cheered loudly, even though they’d heard a speech that could hardly have been called reassuring. It might as well have been written by one of the Dukes. The Reform MPs muttered darkly to one another, clearly plotting trouble. Lord Randolph would find it hard to control the House of Commons, but the Conservatives could play on that. The next election would be dominated by charges that the Reform MPs had stalled every proposal for reform. Who would be interested in the truth when there was so much mud to throw?

No one tried to stop her, or to speak with her, as she stood up and walked out of the House of Commons. She’d watched every kind of political backstabbing imaginable, back when Merlin had appointed her First Councillor, yet there had been limits. Merlin’s very presence had imposed limits, forcing the MPs to remember that they were there to do a job, not become a power base in their own right. Now…the MPs were finally starting to realise that they had considerable power and influence. And the Speaker would be well-placed to ensure that that power and influence was directed towards the forces of reaction.

She stopped as a messenger appeared in front of her, his face unreadable. He passed her a parchment and vanished again before she had a chance to open it and read it, just in case she decided to blame him for the message. Tiffany read it slowly, and then cursed aloud. The House of Lords were summoning her to an urgent session. It couldn’t be good news. Now that Lord Randolph was Speaker of the House of Commons, and the House of Magus was still fighting over who would be the next High Magus, the Conservatives would be dominant. For all she knew, they wanted to remove her at once…but then, there was no precedent for removing a First Councillor. Perhaps they’d finally worked up the nerve to create a precedent…

The House of Lords had never looked foreboding to her before, but this time she felt almost as if she was walking back into Merlin’s presence. Someone had been busy, organising guards both mundane and magical. Her spine tingled as she felt the presence of something very old and powerful, anchored to the House of Lords and protecting it from all harm. Merlin had always forbidden summoning creatures from the Darkness in Camelot – and no one would have dared try, not with Merlin sitting at the heart of the city – but Merlin was gone. The House of Lords, aware that they were prime targets for the Dark Sorcerers, had summoned a nasty presence and bound it in their defence. In her heart, Tiffany couldn’t blame them. The Dark Sorcerers were no respecters of rank or station.

Two guards, both clearly nervous, greeted her as soon as she entered the building. Calmly, but firmly, they made it clear that they had been ordered to escort her into the chamber. Tiffany knew that she should be angry, yet the numbness gripping her body made it hard to care about the explicit insult to her honour. Did the House of Lords expect that she would produce a wand and start transforming them all into frogs? But then, when Merlin had been her backer, she’d had that power. Now…she was almost powerless, even though she was a trained magician.

She smiled suddenly and walked faster, pulling herself upright. The guards found themselves becoming an escort of honour, rather than an insult to her person. She caught a glimpse of their faces and smiled again, knowing that they’d been outmanoeuvred without ever understanding the rules of the game. Their patron would certainly understand – and be angry. They’d be lucky if they were still guardsmen within the day.

The great stone doors opened as she approached, allowing her to walk right into the House of Lords. As she had expected, the chamber was packed, with Duke Blackrock the only missing person. The heirs of those who had died at the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace> had been allowed to take their seats, ensuring that there was a full house. Duke Valditch stood in the centre of the chamber, clearly serving as the House’s representative and Speaker. Her lips twitched as he caught her eye, his eyes narrowing. He’d probably hoped that she’d roll over and die for him. Instead, she was going to give him a fight…if only she could work up the determination. She hadn’t felt so weak when Merlin had vanished, leaving her trapped at the centre of a crumbling empire.

She dismissed her guards with a wave of her hand – the guards obeyed, despite the glare from their master – and took her seat, below the great golden throne the House of Lords had prepared for Merlin. He’d never sat in it, ever since it had been brought into the city, much to the House’s silent relief. They’d been forced to bow the knee to Merlin, but not all of them had liked him, let alone trusted his legendary temper. Merlin had been no respecter of rank and station either. And, as an all-powerful immortal king, what he said went.

“I come, as you requested,” Tiffany said. Her clear voice rang through the chamber. “I stand before you.”

There was a long silence. “Lady Tiffany of Shallot, this House has summoned you to answer for your conduct,” Duke Valditch said, finally. He sounded strong and confident, yet Tiffany could hear the hints of uncertainty in his voice. He’d probably had a script for the entire encounter, one that Tiffany had already disrupted. “You have shamed yourself and brought shame upon your peers. You have committed a crime against the dignity of the House of Lords.”

Tiffany kept her own face expressionless. Technically, all noblemen were equals, although in reality the senior aristocrats generally ruled the roost with a rod of iron. The Lady of Shallot was hardly a Knight, yet she wasn’t comparable to a Duke. Only Merlin’s backing had made her their superior. It looked as if her time had finally run out.

The House of Lords had never been comfortable with the idea of commoners judging them. They tended to be very quiet about Merlin’s right to judge them, but then anyone who objected too loudly was likely to spend the rest of his life croaking on a lily pad. If a nobleman was forced to face justice, it was a justice delivered by his peers, unless Merlin stepped in and claimed the right to judge him himself. Tiffany had hoped to prevent Duke Blackrock from facing the House of Lords – after all, none of them would be happy about convicting a Duke – and had hoped that Merlin would deal with it. Instead…he’d gone, and the Duke had escaped.

No one had ever defined a crime that could be brought before the House of Lords. In a very real sense, a crime against the House of Lords’ collective dignity – and the dignity of all aristocrats – was whatever the House of Lords said it was. If found guilty, a convict could be stripped of all rank and station, or at the very least permanently excluded from the House of Lords – and the centre of power in the empire. They could convict Tiffany, if they got the votes, for something as mundane as wearing a black dress on a Sunday.

“I have committed no crime,” Tiffany said, calmly. She had a nasty suspicion that she knew where this was going, but she kept it off her face. Let them try to force her out, if they dared. Their actions would be exposed for all to see. “What charges do you wish to bring against me?”

Duke Valditch didn’t hesitate. “You chose to deploy most of the Empire’s military force to <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace>,” he said. “You opened a gap that the Dark Sorcerers exploited by attacking and nearly destroying an entire city. You are not suited to be Lady of Shallot.”

So that was his game, Tiffany realised. There was no precedent for unseating a First Councillor, but if they unseated the Lady of Shallot and passed the title onto Tiffany’s heirs – her cousins, as she had no children – she would have to resign as First Councillor. It was a neat solution to the problem and it was – technically – legal. If they found her incompetent, they’d have the power they needed to force her out of office. And then the position of First Councillor would be up for grabs. She had an idea she knew who considered himself the front runner for the post.

“As precedent states, we may move immediately to a vote,” Duke Valditch said. “I call the question.”

“I object,” Tiffany said. It was neat…and part of her didn’t want to fight, for losing would mean putting down her burden…but she wasn't going to make it that easy. “As the accused, I have the right to spend a month mustering my supporters.”

Duke Valditch gave her a long icy look. “The precedent of Lord Holmes would suggest otherwise,” he said. His legal supporters must have been spending hours coming up with precedents from a thousand years of history, looking for the ones that best suited their needs. “Lord Holmes was charged, tried and convicted within two days.”

Tiffany smiled. Like all upper-class children, she’d had some of the more important precedents drummed into her head by her parents. “Lord Holmes was not a Patriarch and it was unanimously decreed by the House of Lords that his trial should be held at once. Do you wish to seek a vote on the issue?”

There was a long pause. Tiffany watched Duke Valditch closely, gauging his support. If he felt that most of the House of Lords would be behind him, he would probably risk it…but they’d be reluctant to open up a new can of worms. Railroading Tiffany would create a precedent that could be used against them, later. The smart course of action would be to insist on a month, allowing Tiffany time to prepare her defence.

“No,” Duke Valditch said, finally. “However, as the issue at hand is so vital to the security of the empire, we must insist that you step down until the question is resolved.”

“Insist?” Tiffany repeated. She smiled, coldly. “There is no precedent for any nobleman, whatever the charges, standing down until the trial and judgement. Do you wish to call a vote on that, too?”

Duke Valditch looked as if he might be considering it, but the House of Lords would never support such a motion. “Very well,” he said, finally. “Lady Tiffany, it is my duty as Speaker of the House of Lords to inform you that you are called to face a tribunal of your peers, one month from now. Should you be found guilty, you will be stripped of your aristocratic title and banished from the House of Lords.”

There was a rustle as a hundred voices started to talk at once, quietened by the wards in the chamber. Not all of the aristocrats were behind the Duke, then. Quite a few of them were making their displeasure very clear, even though the Duke was a powerful enemy. Several other Dukes looked as if they would rather be anywhere else, even though the House of Lords was the new centre of the empire. Tiffany was tempted to swing around and demand an instant trial, but that would have been impossible. A month…a great deal could happen in a month.

“I understand,” she said, calmly. “I will receive the formal written charges from your office within the day.”

On that note, she turned and walked out of the chamber, daring them to follow her.

***​

When Tiffany was upset, or just wanted a break from the pressures of her office, she walked down to Beneficence and into the library. It was always a calming environment and Lady Aylia was an excellent sounding board, either for her troubles or her ideas. She was working away at one of the desks when Tiffany ended, but she took one look at Tiffany’s face and gestured for one of the brownies to bring her visitor a cup of hot milk.

“Interesting,” she said, when Tiffany had finished explaining. If she hadn’t been so numb, she would probably have been unable to think. It felt like a betrayal of everything the Empire had once stood for, as if the rejection of Merlin’s chosen representative was a rejection of Merlin himself. “Quite a clever political operation, really. I wonder who else he has on his side.”

“Not all of the House of Lords, or he would have forced through a vote today and to hell with precedent,” Tiffany said. She sipped her drink gratefully, looking up at the piles of books and the portrait of John Dee, one of the College’s masters, on the far wall. <st1lace w:st="on">Dee</st1lace> seemed to be smiling at a joke only he understood, for he’d been one of the few to unlock the inner secrets of alchemist magic. There were rumours that his long-lost notes were hidden somewhere within the College, prompting students to search for them every year. “But the timing is suspicious.”

“He laid the groundwork for it before the attack on Londinium,” a new voice said. Tiffany started and almost spilled her milk. “Almost as if he knew that it was going to happen.”

Tiffany turned around, one hand dropping to her wand. A figure was seated at one of the desks, wearing sorcerer’s black. He had an utterly unmemorable face, the kind of face that one could pass on the streets and forget completely a few seconds later. It was a natural glamour, one that was very useful for the Tribunal. They didn’t need magic to hide their presence.

“Sorcerer Black,” she said, standing up and performing a half-curtsy. At least that explained why she hadn’t seen him when she entered. The Tribunal’s master would have concealed himself using spells too subtle for her to detect, particularly when she wasn’t looking for them. “I was hoping that we would get a chance to speak.”

Black nodded, bowing to her in return. “I wished to discuss matters with you in privacy,” he said. “The House of Magus is coming apart at the seams. It will not be long before the magical battles between contestants for the position of High Magus spread out into Camelot itself.”

Tiffany rubbed her tired eyes. “Another problem?” She enquired, archly. “Can’t they see that we’re at war?”

“Magicians – sorcerers in particularly – are known to be power-hungry,” Sorcerer Black reminded her. “They will keep fighting until the new pecking order is established. And then they will start preparing for the day that the pecking order changes again.”

Tiffany nodded, slowly. The last High Magus had been a dangerous man, even his friends and allies had been a little nervous around him. It wasn’t a position where bluff and bluster could prevent challengers from destroying the incumbent; the only way to keep the House of Magus in line was by being the strongest magician and being willing to use the magic if challenged. And unless a magician was clearly stronger, other magicians wouldn't follow him.

“I have a proposal,” Sorcerer Black said. “I would like to throw my own hat into the ring.”

Tiffany frowned, thinking hard. The Tribunal already had too much power, even under Merlin. It had authority to go anywhere and do anything in the quest to destroy dark magic – and yet it had failed; an entire band of Dark Sorcerers had formed, despite the Tribunal. People feared and hated the Tribunal, but once word of its failure got out…

She looked up. The master of the Tribunal would have to be a powerful sorcerer, yet he’d been kept in the shadows by Merlin. For him to come out into the open…the advantages were obvious, but so were the dangers. It would unite the House of Magus, and yet…it would create a new centre of power in Camelot. How long could an organisation that worked in the shadows remain resistant to temptation?

And Sorcerer Black had sought her permission first. That had to mean something.

“A good idea,” she said, finally. “Are you sure that you can win?”

“Of course,” Sorcerer Black assured her. “I never lose.”

Tiffany wondered just how true that was, but then…he was the master of the Tribunal, and he had duelled with Dark Sorcerers in the past. He could make himself the High Magus…and come out of the shadows. And that would have consequences even Merlin would have hesitated to predict.

“Then make it so,” she ordered, finally. She would have to gamble, again. “Good luck.”

“Sorcerers make their own luck,” Sorcerer Black said.

And he vanished in a flash of green light.

 

Chapter Thirty-One<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Are you awake now?” A cruel voice asked. “We need to talk, you and I…”

Robin kept his eyes closed. He’d recovered awareness only a few minutes ago and had wanted to listen, quietly testing his bonds as much as possible. It hardly mattered. Green fire flared through his closed eyelids and he screamed in pain, his eyes jerking open as the curse burned through his soul. A leering face was peering down at him, eyes glowing with the reddened madness of dark sorcery. It burst into cackling laughter as Robin met his eyes, laughter that betrayed more than a hint of madness.

He looked away from the Dark Sorcerer and tried to scope out the room. It was a dark chamber, illuminated only by burning torches set into the stone walls. He wondered why they didn’t use magic to illuminate the room – they couldn’t be afraid of detection, not in the middle of a city wreaked by a demon – but it hardly mattered. It looked as if they were finally going to interrogate him.

It was impossible to tell how long he’d been out of it. An hour, or a day, or a week…or far longer? Magic had been used to preserve people in ice for years, saving them until they were finally defrosted; the Dark Sorcerers might have been able to keep him out of it for years. Only the thought that his knowledge, the only thing they might have wanted from his mind, reassured him. Besides, they hadn’t had time to remove his armour. They wouldn't have left it on him if they’d been able to remove it. The protections spelled into the metal would still hold.

Reluctantly, he looked back at the Dark Sorcerer. The man was clearly heading towards the later stages of dark arts dementia, with his skin starting to show signs of excessive use of magic. His hands kept fidgeting like crazy, with tiny blew sparks flickering in and out of existence. Strange shapes seemed to move under his robes, as if his body was starting to mutate. It struck Robin, as he patiently waited for the next torment, that there really was little difference between someone touched by wild magic and a Dark Sorcerer, except that the Dark Sorcerers had made the decision to accept the price of power.

“You know how the sword works,” the Dark Sorcerer said. His hands seemed to fidget faster. “Tell me how it works or I’ll hurt you.”

Robin snorted. “You’ll never be able to unlock the secrets of the sword,” he said, dryly. A thought struck him. “Or perhaps you could. All you have to do is pick up the sword…”

The Dark Sorcerer lifted his wand and muttered a curse. Green fire flared again and Robin screamed, feeling as if every inch of his body was on fire. The pain seemed endless, just for a second, and then it was gone, leaving him weak and drained. He’d felt pain before, yet this…was something new and terrifying. A Dark Sorcerer had little compunction about inflicting pain on a captive prisoner, but this one was clearly willing to use the darkest of charms, spells that demanded evil intentions from their user. And if he was trying to unlock the secrets bound into the sword, the chances were good that he was desperate by now.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The Dark Sorcerer hissed. His voice no longer sounded human. When he opened his mouth, Robin saw a sickening mass of bleeding gums, with only a handful of teeth. Blood trickled down his chin as he spoke. “The damned blade killed one of my allies.”

“It can only be wielded by the worthy,” Robin said, mockingly. If there was no hope of escape, perhaps he could provoke them into killing him before they managed to remove his armour, or crack his will to resist with torture. “You’re not worthy.”

The Dark Sorcerer, his face contorted with an inhuman fury, lifted his wand again. This time, bright blue fire glowed at the tip, just before he pointed the wand at Robin’s chest and pushed it into the armour place. There was a bright blue glow, and then Robin felt a strange sensation of warmth running through his body. The armour had to be dampening the effects of the curse. There was no time to reflect on the armour as the Dark Sorcerer slowly pulled the tip of his wand up to Robin’s neck and the heat suddenly became agonising as it touched bare flesh. Robin knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the fire was about to burn through his throat…and then the pain faded and was gone.

There was a flash of light and the Dark Sorcerer vanished. Robin blinked in confusion and looked up to see two more robed figures – one definitely female – stepping into the chamber. The leader was peering down at the ground and Robin followed his gaze, puzzled. A small snail sat on the ground, its head retreating into its shell. Before Robin could say anything, the newcomer brought his boot down on the snail and crushed it into a bloody pulp.

Robin felt bile rising in his throat and fought down the urge to vomit. The newcomer had transfigured and then killed the torturer. It didn’t make sense to his confused mind, which was recoiling in horror. There were very old nightmares about how magic could be used to change and then harm a person – and the newcomer had tapped into them all. Robin knew, as he looked back up at him, that he was looking at the leader of the Dark Sorcerers.

He was a tall man, his skin parched and weakened by exposure to dark magic. His eyes glowed with the same eerie redness of the torturer, but he appeared to be far more in control of himself. The dark robes hid everything else from Robin’s sight, yet he moved normally, unlike some of the more warped creatures of dark magic. A long beard that reminded Robin of Merlin hung down from his chin, tainted white by exposure to magic.

“Sir Robin,” he said. His voice was cracked, but far more human. “You are going to tell us everything we want to know.”

“No,” Robin said, flatly. It made sense. Before they warped his mind, they’d want to know everything he knew about Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table. And as Tiffany’s husband, he’d picked up far more about politics and the political situation than any ordinary Knight. They’d find him a rich resource of information, if they managed to break him. “I am not going to tell you anything.”

The Dark Sorcerer seemed to find that funny. “I caught another Knight of the Round Table and brought him here,” he said, dryly. “He swore before the August Personage and all of His Saints that he would not say a single word. And then we burned through his defences and took everything he knew for ourselves.”

His smile widened. “And then we put him on the altar and sacrificed him for power,” he added. “Ah…but you have a much more interesting fate to look forward to…”

Robin sucked in a breath. “You can’t remove my armour, or you would have done it already,” he said. There was no way to know if the sorcerer was telling the truth about capturing and breaking another Knight. It was true that several Knights died every year, but as far as he could recall, all of them had been accounted for. But then, with enough magic, they could probably create a fictitious account of a death that would pass casual examination. “You can’t break me.”

“I am the Sorcerer Maledict,” the sorcerer said. “I can break you. And then you will be ours.”

Before Robin could spit defiance at him, he started to twist his wand. The altar Robin had been tied to shifted, pushing him up into an upright position. The chains on his wrists started to head upwards, pulling him to his feet. A noose fell from above and wrapped around his neck, forcing him to stand on his toes. It was hard to breathe, even standing upright. A fall would condemn him to death by slow suffocation. Maledict walked around, examining the ties, before standing back and treating Robin to a nasty smile. The prisoner was ready to be interrogated.

Robin focused on Maledict, trying to avoid thinking about the coming ordeal. The Dark Sorcerer’s name was unfamiliar, but that was hardly surprising. Sorcerers always took new names when they boosted their magic, knowing that names could be used to target magic against them. The Dark Sorcerer was clearly insane, yet there was a hard edge of rationality guiding him. Robin cursed under his breath. A completely insane Dark Sorcerer could do a hell of a lot of damage, but he could be stopped. One insane enough to develop his power, yet sane enough to play the game carefully, would be much harder to handle. And he’d attacked an entire city, and escaped. For all Robin knew, his forces had won the battle and occupied the city, treating its citizens to a lesson in the true power of dark sorcery.

Maledict lifted his wand and smiled. “You will betray your wife and your entire empire,” he said. “I will know everything you know…”

The pain began a second later. Fire flared though Robin’s body, leaving him screaming and struggling to stand upright. It crossed his mind that he could simply throw himself to the side and choke to death, but suicide was a mortal sin, one that would condemn him to the fires of Hell forever. Maledict altered his wand slightly and the pain intensified, before dropping down to a presence that seemed to grate at the back of Robin’s mind.

“I imagine that they don’t teach you much about the darkest of spells,” Maledict said, almost conversationally. “You may not realise what is burning. I’m setting fire to your very soul. Eventually, if I keep burning away at you, you will become a soulless creature, wandering the night desperately trying to find a new soul. All traces of what makes you the person you are will be gone.”

Robin shivered. There were stories about the soulless, whispered down through the ages. The soulless gave their souls to the demons from Hell, or somehow abandoned them…and were cursed to wander the mortal world for the rest of time. There were legends that said that the zombie plague stole souls as it passed from host to host, yet the truth had been left undiscovered, almost as if the Great Colleges were scared to discover the answer. A soulless person could perform acts that would make a Dark Sorcerer blanch and never know – or care – that it was wrong.

“You can’t do that,” he gasped. His mind knew that his body was unhurt, but his body refused to believe it. The armour wasn't providing enough protection. Or perhaps it would be worse without the armour. “God creates souls…”

Maledict waved his wand and another burst of fire spread through Robin’s body. “One day we shall have enough power to challenge God,” he said, as he cast a second charm. It was normally used for healing, but now all it did was bring him pain. “And then we will see about reshaping the universe to our needs.”

He stepped forward, until his bright red eyes were burning into Robin’s eyes. “Do you want to talk yet?”

Robin had to gasp for breath before he replied. “Go…damn…yourself,” he hissed. He tried to take refuge in memories of Tiffany, but his body’s aches and pains, however phantom they were, kept drawing him back to himself. “I won’t talk…”

The pain seemed to last for hours. Robin found himself driven right to the edge of his endurance. The Dark Sorcerer was a master at using warped healing charms to manipulate a body’s nerves, leaving Robin screaming his agony until his throat felt raw. He almost collapsed five times, only to be caught by magic before he could fall and choke to death. The pain just kept growing worse and worse; there were other Dark Sorcerers in the room now, casting their own charms towards his helpless body.

And then the pain stopped. He opened his eyes, feeling sweat cascading off his forehead and down onto the ground. Maledict was standing in front of him, holding up one scaled hand. It seemed to have been warped by dark magic, because there was a gnarled claw right in front of him. Or perhaps he was seeing things. His tormenters had played with his eyes as well as every other exposed part of his body. If only he’d been weaing a full set of armour.

Maledict pressed his hand into Robin’s head and smiled, muttering an incantion under his breath. Robin felt nothing for a long moment, and then he felt Maledict’s presence in his mind. The sense of violation was so strong that he screamed in helpless rage and lashed out inside his mind. He had the satisfaction of feeling the presence retreat, just for a second, before it came back with far greater force. Maledict was boring his way right into Robin’s mind, hacking through early memories to pull out the latest thoughts. Robin screamed inside his head…

An image drifted to the top of his mind. Tiffany, naked and lovely, sitting above him as they prepared for their wedding night. Her small firm breasts hung down, drawing his eyes helplessly towards them as she planted her hands on his chest and impaled herself on him. He felt a flash of malicious amusement that came from outside him and recoiled in horror. Maledict was studying his memories of their wedding night casually, breaking every taboo surrounding the use of mental magic. Robin felt a flash of pure hatred and fought back savagely, trying to drive Maledict out of his mind…

Someone was beating him, thrashing him with a leather belt. His father had come home from the factory, drunk already and bent on taking it out on his son. The beating only grew more savage as the boy’s mother tried to intervene, only to be shoved away by her drunken husband. Eventually, the boy was allowed to run off and hide in a corner of the hovel, listening to the terrifying sounds from his mother. The adult Robin recoiled from the memory…

It was Maledict’s memory, he realised suddenly, a memory he’d somehow plucked out of the sorcerer’s mind. He felt Maledict’s sudden burst of anger as he realised that Robin had seen some of his memories, and then he was buffeted by another burst of pain. This time, he hung on grimly and was rewarded by a second glimpse into Maledict’s memories. A young man, already learning sorcery from a teacher with dark motives, used the magic to kill his father, literally turning him inside out. The boy had died that day and the Dark Sorcerer had been born.

Maledict’s mind crept through his, trying to pin Robin down. Robin fought back as best as he could, trying to distract the sorcerer, but nothing seemed to work. Cold fingers probed through his mind and everything went dim…

A hand slapped against his face and he realised that his mind had blurred out completely. He felt tired and helpless, yet he hadn’t broken, not yet. And yet, Maledict could simply keep torturing him, day after day until he finally cracked. Cold despair whispered up from the depths of his mind. Surely Tiffany wouldn't expect him to hold out against torture, would she…? Of course she would, he told himself, and forced himself to stand straighter. He’d find the strength to resist somehow…

Maledict turned and stormed out of the chamber, leaving Robin alone to catch his breath. He was mildly surprised that they hadn’t simply continued the torture, but if they’d kept up the pressure his mind might have cracked completely. And it wasn't as if the torture had stopped completely. They’d left him standing upright, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before he cracked. Robin fought to concentrate, despite the headache burning though his mind. He had to get out of the chamber before they came back. And yet it seemed impossible.

He looked up, slowly, and a mad thought began to gestate in his mind. It might well be suicide, but at least it wouldn’t be intentional suicide. They’d chained him to the roof, yet the chains didn’t look very strong. One good pull might bring them down and then he’d be free to move. And if he failed, he’d choke himself to death.

Carefully, he tested the robe wrapped around his neck. It wasn't very strong, but it would be enough to strangle him if he fell over. Before he could think better of it, he grasped the chains in both hands and swung his legs up, yanking down as hard as he could. For an agonising second, it looked as if his gamble had failed…and then the hook in the roof broke free and crashed down, nearly striking his head. Robin crashed to the ground, hoping – praying – that no one had heard the noise. It was the work of a few moments to free his hands. They’d been so confident in the prison cell that they hadn’t even tried to remove the small kit from his armour, including a lockpick.

Robin pulled himself to his feet quickly and headed towards the door. It wouldn’t be long before the sorcerers returned, and by then he had to be a long way away from the cell, far enough so that magic couldn’t track him. And that wouldn’t be easy, but at least he was free. After what he’d already done, escape should be easy. He checked his armour, scowled at the scars, and kept moving.

He was nearly at the door when it sprung open in front of him.

 

I need more free time...still need to catch up! Great so far!!!

 

Chapter Thirty-Two<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The Dark Sorcerer looked almost as surprised as Robin. He was young, clearly too confident in the powers and abilities of his master, not experienced enough to realise that they had limits. Robin threw himself at him before he had a chance to react and bring up his wards, grabbing and twisting his neck as hard as he could. The sorcerer’s neck broke with an audible crack and his body collapsed to the ground.

Robin followed it down, searching the sorcerer’s robes quickly and efficiently for anything that might be useful. His wand had snapped when his body had hit the ground, but Robin was careful not to touch it anyway, just in case. Wizards learned to protect their wands from a very early age and sorcerers tended to follow the same rule. There was a strange gem that his fingers skittered over when he tried to touch it, a handful of gold pieces and a scrap of paper covered in strange symbols. Robin checked the gold pieces and pocketed them, followed by the paper. It might be useful when he got back to Camelot.

Standing up, he dragged the sorcerer’s body out of sight and carefully slipped out into the corridor. A draft of cold air struck him in the face, carrying a smell that Robin was glad he couldn’t identify. Dark Sorcerers, already living on the brink of permanent madness, cared little for their surroundings. They could have brought in slaves to clean the underground chambers, yet they couldn’t even muster the energy to do that! Carefully, he slipped down the corridor, trusting to luck that he wouldn't encounter any wards or supernatural guards. The Dark Sorcerers had had to be confident in their security, or they'd never have left him aware and alone.

He listened carefully as he slipped from shadow to shadow, but heard nothing. The Dark Sorcerers seemed to be sleeping, or perhaps most of them had set out on another attack. The thought of a second burning city spurred him onwards, yet he had no idea which way to go. All the tricks he’d learned at the Garrison for finding his way didn’t seem to work. Thoughtfully, he closed his eyes, instantly feeling the sword’s presence in his mind. Excalibur wasn't far away, but it was calling to him. Somehow, he found that he knew the way to go.

The corridors grew darker and danker as he kept walking. From time to time, he heard strange noises, screams torn from inhuman throats. He heard rustling in the walls that suggested the presence of rats, but rats twisted and mutated by the wild magic running through the ruined city. Once, he saw a shadow walking towards him and braced himself for a fight, only to see the shadow walking right through him and onwards down the corridor. The ghosts of the destroyed city, trapped by the darkest of magic, were unable to find rest. Robin doubted that the Dark Sorcerers cared about their presence in their lair.

He stopped as he saw light spilling from a room ahead and listened carefully, hearing only a rustling sound that sounded as if someone was reading a book. Robin slipped forward and peered into the room, almost exhaling in relief when he realised that the room’s single occupant had her back to him. She was reading her way through a pile of books, each one showing signs of age, making notes on a sheet of paper as she worked. Robin hesitated, unsure of who or what she was, before he saw the dark robe that had been carelessly discarded over a chair. The female Dark Sorcerer, perhaps the one he’d fought before he’d been captured, seemed lost in her work.

Robin would have preferred to take her prisoner and interrogate her, but he knew that it was impossible. A sorcerer knew all kinds of protections, including some that could be triggered by thought alone. Capturing a Dark Sorcerer was never an easy business and always required heavy support from combat magicians. Alone, Robin couldn't do anything other than kill her, or at the very least knock her out. And knocking her out meant that she would recover, perhaps sooner than expected because of her power. He slipped forward, moving as quietly as he could, and slammed his fist down on her head. She gasped and slumped, her lips twitching as if they were trying to form words. Robin studied her for a moment and then punched her right in the throat. She gagged and collapsed on the floor, dead.

Leaving her body to lie there, Robin picked up the book she’d been reading and frowned as he recognised it. The Necronomicon; a compilation of spells to summon demons and creatures from the Great Beyond that had been compiled by the mad Abdul Alhazred from the Fertile Crescent. The book was banned and only a handful of copies were supposed to exist, all under lock and key. He had no idea how the Dark Sorcerers had obtained a copy; after all, people who kept the book without taking through precautions often came to bad ends. The Necronomicon had long been known as a cursed volume. It’s author had vanished mysteriously two years after he had completed the book and no one, not even Merlin, cared to guess what had happened to him.

He checked the other volumes on the shelves and almost swore aloud. Some of the books were even darker than the Necronomicon, including the Book of Pacts that had been written and signed in the sorcerer’s own blood. Dark Sorcerers often made pacts with demons and other diabolical creatures, tapping their power in exchange for sacrifices and souls. There was enough evidence in front of him to ensure that all of the Dark Sorcerers would be executed, if it was ever placed in front of the Tribunal. One volume, written in a long-lost tongue, carried an automatic death sentence for anyone caught possessing it. Merlin had long banned the creation of artificial life and the book, the sole relic to survive the destruction of an illegal ring of sorcerers, explained exactly how to do it.

Robin glanced around, looking for a match, before he thought better of it. The books of dark magic often carried their own protections, ranging from simple charms and glamour spells that allowed them to hide among more innocent books, to hexes and curses that would drastically shorten the life expectancy of anyone who tried to destroy them. It was possible, of course, but it required careful warding and Robin didn’t have the skill to even begin. He’d have to come back with reinforcements and destroy the volumes.


He put the final volume down on the table and dragged the dead body into the next room, searching it after he put her down. There was little useful, apart from a silver knife carved with strange runes. It didn’t feel evil, but that hardly mattered, not when magic was defined as much by intention as anything else. He pocketed the knife – feeling a little less vulnerable as he did so – and glanced into a corner. The objects on the table caught his eye and he headed over to them, peering down at a set of basins. They were filled with human blood.

Robin swore, aloud. Blood magic wasn't exactly illegal – in many ways, it was the easiest form of magic – but it was definitely frowned upon, and rarely discussed by the Great Colleges. A sample of a person’s blood, if that person wasn't warded properly, could be used to curse them, or control them, from a distance. And if someone fell under such a spell, it could be very hard to break it. They’d never know that anything was wrong, even as their minds were altered into servitude. The human mind was extremely good at thinking of ways to justify itself.

There was no way to know who the blood belonged to, or what the Dark Sorcerers had had in mind. Impulsively, Robin picked up a small jug of water and poured it into the blood, before leaving the room as quickly as possible. Blood magic could be disrupted by running water, giving the victims a chance to free themselves, or ask for help. He felt Excalibur in his head, calling him onwards, and he kept moving. There was no more time to waste.

He hid in the shadows as a pair of Dark Sorcerers walked past him, chatting in a language Robin didn’t recognise. They seemed unaware of his presence and he considered leaping out and attacking them, before deciding that it would be futile and result in his immediate death or recapture. The corridors seemed to becoming lighter, even though he could have sworn that he was heading down, deeper into the earth. No amount of study could tell where the light was coming from. It was simply there.

A voice was pleading up ahead of him. Robin hesitated, and then headed up towards the voice, still keeping to the shadows. He peered into a darkened room and saw a naked man lying on a stone altar, frantically pleading for his life. A pair of Dark Sorcerers could be heard chanting incantations over his body, while glancing towards the figures chained to the wall. Robin could guess what was happening. The father would be warped by dark magic and then turned on his family, an act that would please the devil and result in extra power for the Dark Sorcerers. He wanted to step in and save them all, yet he knew that it was impossible. Two alert Dark Sorcerers would be able to kill him before he could kill them.

He slipped back down the corridor, heading towards Excalibur. The sword’s presence was growing stronger, almost overwhelming him. It came as a surprise when he walked right into an open chamber and saw the sword lying on a stone altar. Bowls of blood, like the one he had contaminated, surrounded the hilt, allowing a Dark Sorcerer to pour warm blood over the blade while chanting aloud, a rhyming spell that reminded Robin of an enchanter’s safeguard spell. It struck him that that was exactly what it was; given enough time, the Dark Sorcerers would be able to break Excalibur down into its component spells, and then rewrite it to suit their requirements. They might even be able to duplicate the sword.

And that could not be allowed. Legend claimed that there were three swords from the past, one given to King Arthur, a second tainted by his son and a third lost forever in Avalon. A tainted Excalibur would be a nightmare, even if the Dark Sorcerers couldn’t wield it properly. He stepped forward, but this time he was too late. The Dark Sorcerer made a motion with one hand and Robin froze, his body locked rigid.

“All right,” the Dark Sorcerer said. He sounded confident and he had reason to be, Robin grudgingly conceded. No amount of struggle seemed to unlock the paralysis gripping his body. He couldn’t even blink! “How did you use this sword?”

Robin wouldn’t have answered, even if he could have. One Dark Sorcerer had clearly been unable to unlock the secrets of Excalibur; a second might have more luck, perhaps if he used Robin’s blood to convince the sword that it was in a worthy pair of hands. He groaned inwardly in silent frustration, his mind shaping mental commands to his armour, commands that seemed to have no effect at all. His armour was simply too badly damaged to provide much help, let alone protection.

“And you’re out of your cell,” the Dark Sorcerer said. He touched Robin’s forehead and Robin felt cold icy fingers poking their way into his mind. His defences had been weakened, perhaps lost for good. He’d gambled and failed and now the whole world would pay the price. “How did you get out of your cell?”

Perhaps desperation helped, for Robin cried silently out to Excalibur. The link that had forged the moment he first drew the sword flared to life and Excalibur flew off the table, right through the stunned sorcerer and into Robin’s hand. Instantly, the paralysis was broken. He swept Excalibur around and sliced the sorcerer’s head off before he could summon help, or launch a spell. New strength seemed to flow into his body and he found himself laughing aloud, just before his senses suddenly expanded rapidly. He could feel the Dark Sorcerers in their nest, sense their sudden rage as they discovered that he was not in his cell and had escaped. They’d be coming for him now…

Quickly, he swept the glowing blade through the various piles of magical tools and shattered them, before he started to run. The corridor seemed to be shimmering with new and deadly magic now, but Excalibur cut through them like a knife through butter. They’d know where he was, simply by sensing the destruction of their spells, yet they would have real problems tracking him. Or so he hoped. Excalibur or no Excalibur, he was in no state for a fight. He found a way up towards the surface, a ruined staircase that looked as if its destruction preceded the lost of the city, and ran for his life. Behind him, he could hear screams of outrage from the sorcerers. They wanted his head, preferably not attached to his body,.

Cold air, mercifully clear, struck him in the face as he reached the surface and ran out into the open air. The sight of the city stopped him in his tracks. Dark magic shimmered everywhere, while the signs of the demon’s passage were everywhere, to those with the right eyes. It had torn down entire city blocks and mansions as if it had existed purely to destroy. Parts of the remaining city looked melted, as if they had been exposed to tremendous heat. There was no sign of life, apart from the howls from underground.

Excalibur screamed a warning into his head. Something was materialising, only a few meters from his location. Against his better judgment, Robin turned and peered towards the sight, yet nothing could be seen. He could hear it though, grunting and groaning that had come from no human throat, an evil sound that sent chills down his body. Excalibur allowed him to boost his Sight, yet the creature was still barely visible, a shimmering haze that moved across the ground. He could hear its footsteps, chillingly heavy, as it paced around, trying to pick up the scent. The Dark Sorcerers had summoned a Hellhound out of Hell!

Robin slipped away as quietly as possible, knowing that it would be futile. It was; two minutes later, he heard the sound of the Hellhound bounding towards him. Even though it was effectively invisible, he could still see the signs of its passage, and hear the deep heavy breathing. The heat from its passage warmed the air, yet brought an unpleasant stench of fire and brimstone. Robin jumped, his legs propelled by the sword, as the Hellhound opened its mouth and breathed a wall of hellfire towards him. If it had touched him…but it hadn’t…it had missed.

Cursing, Robin turned and lashed out with Excalibur. There was a terrifying roar as the glowing blade struck something, but the beast refused to be deterred. It struck back with a paw that seemed to be made of solid steel, sending Robin flying head over heels and right into a wall. A second blow sent him flying through the air, crashing down on a pile of rubble. If he hadn’t been holding Excalibur, he would have been killed outright. As it was, he had a chance to look for cover.

There was nothing, apart from a small coppice of dead trees several hundred meters away. None of the buildings would suffice, even if he managed to find one he could barricade against the monster. He might as well invite the Dark Sorcerers to come find him and kill him. Robin ran towards the coppice, hoping that it would provide enough cover to allow him to stab the brute in the guts. Even a Hellhound couldn’t survive having its innards cut out and dashed on the stony ground.

There was a loud howl and the beast came after him. Robin drew on Excalibur to allow him to run faster, yet he was sure that the Hellhound was faster still. He could feel its warmth behind him, smell its disgusting breath as it breathed on the back of his neck. It was toying with him, he realised; it could have had him by now, if it had wanted to kill him outright. The beast knew that he couldn’t escape. Excalibur shimmered reassurance into his head, yet even it seemed stunned. There was no escape.

He reached the edge of the coppice and stared. The dead trees formed an impassable barrier. No wonder the beast had decided to toy with him. It had known that he had no way to escape. He turned and lifted the sword, bracing himself for the final battle. A blast of hellfire would kill him as surely as anyone else, Excalibur or no Excalibur…

Something moved on the edge of the coppice, a form that seemed to shimmer out of one of the dead trees. For a second, Robin was struck dumb by wonderment as the brown girl emerged from nowhere, somehow bringing life back to the tree. She turned and looked at him, giving him a welcoming smile. The dryad winked at him and reached out for his hand. Her hand felt like warm wood. She smelled of forest life, her brown skin infused with an easy sensuality that slipped through all of Robin’s defences. It seemed to him that she was a girl on the verge of womanhood.

***​

The beast howled in rage and opened its jaws, but it was too late. The dryad pulled Robin into the coppice and they vanished together. Nothing, not even a wave of hellfire, could burn through the dead trees.

It settled back and began to pace. It couldn’t imagine how Robin had escaped, or who his strange ally was, but he would have to emerge soon. And when he did, it would be waiting.

 

Comments?

Chapter Twenty-Three<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Robin was struck dumb as soon as he entered the coppice. Kentigern was dead, everyone knew that. The demon’s passing had torn the life from the land. And yet, he was surrounded by green trees and he could hear birds calling out in the distance. The greenery seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, even though the coppice was terrifyingly small. He looked down at the dryad, who winked up at him and started to move from tree to tree, heading further into the forest.

No one had even seen a dryad for centuries, if he recalled correctly. They’d once been nature sprites, inhabiting trees and helping them to grow in exchange for nourishment and shelter, but they’d rarely gotten on with mankind. The dryads were part of the wild magic that had once roamed the land freely, before Merlin had shut it up behind the boundary lines; according to legend, most of the dryads had either died out or walked into Avalon. Few had mourned their departure; like most creatures of wild magic, dryads were capable of helping or harming humans on a whim. Even those towns and villages that had once formed alliances with the dryads had rarely mourned their departure.

The air seemed to sparkle with magic as they walked further into the forest. It felt almost like the Greenwood, except there was no sense of lurking threat, or unseen eyes watching his every move. Robin found himself beginning to relax and caught himself, lifting Excalibur as if he expected an attack at any moment. The dryad looked up at him and giggled, before dancing merrily onto the next tree and merging with it, and then moving onto the next one. The easy sensuality of her passage seemed to mock his paranoia, as if there was no need to fear anything. Thoughtfully, feeling no sense of alarm from the sword, Robin returned it to the scabbard. There was no need to fear danger in the forest.

Ahead of them, the trees suddenly widened and parted, revealing a clearing with a simple house in the centre. Robin scowled, realising that the coppice was far larger on the inside than on the outside. Powerful magic was at work here, and even if it wasn't intentionally malicious, it could still be very dangerous. The house was surrounded by a small garden, smelling of herbs that took him back to the Garrison, where they’d been taught the use of herbs and wildlife in war. This was different; this felt safe, almost welcoming. His hand fell to his side, away from his sword. There was no need to watch for trouble.

The dryad halted at the edge of the clearing, unable to go any further without a tree, and pointed into the garden. Three small figures popped up, all human. Robin smiled in welcome as the young girls approached him, waving cheerfully. They carried themselves with a lack of fear that made him smile. Few common-born children kept the air of carefree play past their fifth year, but these girls were clearly approaching womanhood. They wore short dresses that seemed to call attention to their rude health, not their budding sexuality.

He waved back, fighting down an urge to join them in their play. The garden was affecting him somehow, yet there was no sense of threat or danger. He smiled at the girls as they came up to him, his eyes narrowing as he realised that they came from very different parts of the world. One was from the Far East, with yellow-tinted skin, dark slanted eyes and short dark hair. The second was black, with curly hair and white teeth that flashed out amidst her dark face. And the third...Robin couldn't place her, even though he’d been all over the world as a Knight of the Round Table. She had reddish-brown skin, long dark hair and eyes that seemed to have seen everything, despite her innocence. The sense of magic was growing stronger, surrounding him.

“Come on,” the yellow-skinned girl said. She took his hand, without fear. “Granny wants to see you. She said you’d be coming.”

Robin allowed her to pull him along without resistance, towards the small cottage. Up close, he could see strange shapes flickering over the wood, as if the cottage itself was tainted by magic. He'd heard legends of houses built from dryad wood and of what had happened to the unwary owners when the dryads awoke after their hibernation, but he’d never seen any actual examples. The peasants would have known better, if there were any dryads left in the world. It struck him suddenly that there was more wild magic loose in the world, outside the boundary lines, than Merlin had been willing to admit. What else had the old sorcerer concealed from his loyal followers?

The scent of baking bread hit him as soon as the girl pushed open the door, revealing an older woman bending over a cooking stove. Robin glanced around, but there was still no sign of danger. The cottage was large enough to house all four of the inhabitants in reasonable comfort – indeed, it gave an impression of more wealth than the average peasant could hope to enjoy – and yet they’d have problems when the girls finally matured. If they were human – and he wasn't entirely sure if they were – they’d need to find husbands from the mundane world.

“Welcome, Sir Robin,” the old woman said. She straightened up and turned a gimlet eye on her visitor. Somehow, she looked more aristocratic than the bluest of blue bloods, surrounded by a sense of power that was only heightened by her age and short gray hair. She wasn't the kind of person Robin would want to challenge, even with Excalibur in his hand. He doubted that she would be daunted by the Dark Sorcerers if they came raging into the forest and broke into her house. “I’ve been expecting you.”

She waved one hand at the chair. “Please be seated,” she said, as she turned back to the stove. “I’m thinking that you will be hungry, won’t you? You can join us for lunch.”

“Thank you,” Robin said, puzzled. A Knight of the Round Table could claim food and lodging anywhere, yet he hadn’t even had to claim his rights. And she’d been expecting him...why? And she'd known his name. “How did you know that I’d be coming?”

“I saw it in my soup, that I did,” the old lady said. She grinned at him, daring him to comment. Everyone knew that reading the future was a tricky business – Merlin’s attitude to oracles didn't help – and yet, somehow he believed her. “The chicken bones said that you’d be coming; the vegetables said that you would need sanctuary and food; the herbs and spices said that you’d need help to get home.”

She picked up a bowl of soup from the stove and placed it down on the table. “You’d better get used to calling me Granny, before you ask,” she added. “Most everyone calls me Granny, these days. You wouldn't believe what they called me in the days of yore.”

Robin’s stomach rumbled when he smelled the soup. Granny headed over to the door and shouted for the girls to come in and wash their hands, before she started to ladle the soup out into four bowls. His natural sense of caution was disappearing fast, even though he didn't quite understand what was happening. Granny seemed harmless, but the air was still shimmering with magic, which seemed to be in harmony with the world. The three girls came in and took their places, winking at him when they thought Granny wasn't looking. The look she directed at them suggested that she had eyes in the back of her head.

“You have forgotten,” Granny said, dryly. “All is given freely and without obligation. You’ll recall that later, when She returns to the world.”

Robin frowned. Everyone knew that eating food from Avalon could have unpleasant consequences. Some of the Faerie tricked mortals into eating their food, knowing that it would deliver them into their hands – or trap them within Avalon’s oddly distorted rate of time, leaving them to crumble into dust when they returned to the mortal world. Even the lucky ones could return to a world where everyone they'd known and loved was long dead. And if Granny had felt obliged to give him the ritual permission to eat, what was she?

“Nothing you might expect,” Granny said, as if she’d read his mind. Robin started, guiltily. “But it is well to be careful, young man. You never quite know where you might end up, do you?”

He picked up one of the spoons and started to eat, slowly. The soup tasted heavenly, with just the right blend of chicken and vegetables. He hadn't eaten since he’d been captured – the Dark Sorcerers hadn't bothered to feed him, probably in the hopes that hunger would make it easier to break him – and yet, he would have loved the soup anywhere. It had the simplicity of peasant food combined with the materials available to the nobility. Granny passed him a loaf of bread and he gratefully dipped it in the soup. His stomach demanded more when he’d finished the bowl, but he told it to shut up. Peasants couldn't afford to feed a Knight of the Round Table for long. He’d heard stores of Knights who had, quite literally, eaten their unwilling hosts out of house and home. It was something he was determined never to do himself.

“The dark ones can’t enter here,” Granny said, as Robin pushed his bowl aside. She smiled, as if the thought of the Dark Sorcerers was somehow amusing. “They don’t even know about this place – and if they tried to force their way in, they would be obliterated by the power running through the forest. It would reject the presence of people so contaminated with evil.”

Robin frowned, studying her carefully. Granny was clearly a powerful magician, even though she seemed to work no overt spells. Tiffany was powerful too – and there were more powerful female wizards – but she didn't have the same sense of power surrounding Granny. Wizards had a sense of power, as if their mere presence warped magic around them, but Granny seemed to shimmer along with the magic. He likened it to singing, or humming along with the band. She was something very different to the magicians he knew, even the hedge witches who took care of small villages and hamlets near the Greenwood. Their magic was merely smaller versions of wizardry and sorcery.

“A very long time ago, a man who was only half a man decided that magic had to be bent to his will,” Granny said. The girls looked up, although they looked as if they’d heard the story before. “The land was in tune with magic back then, and humans paid their respects to the powerful elements that walked the land, calling on them for help and blessings in exchange for devotion. They sang songs of power and shifted the land itself, working with the power that flowed through the land to reshape the world. We knew our place in the workings of the all.

“And the King was the heart of the Land. He was part of it, married to it; he was the link between humanity and the forces that were so much more than human. The forces paid homage to the King, for he maintained the connection between humanity and the land. And then the King died and the half-man reshaped the world to his will.”

Robin listened, thinking hard. Merlin had to be the half-man; after all, he was a hybrid, the product of a match between human and the inferno. And if Merlin was the half-man, the King had to be Arthur. He’d been linked to the Land, merely by being its King – and by being the best of humanity.

“We were tricked,” Granny said. Her eyes grew misty for a moment, as she looked into the past. “One of us believed that she was destined to commune with the forces that walked the land, even to the point of having their child, a boy who would grow to unite the land. But there were darker forces that hated the land and wanted to create their own weapon to taint humanity. She gave herself to the ritual and discovered, too late to escape, that she would not be mating with the land. She surrendered herself to the force of ultimate darkness and bore his child.

“And when the half-man declared his war against his father, he reshaped magic to his will. The masculine wizardry would be allowed to flourish; the feminine craft would be destroyed. Many of us were killed in his early days, others forced to flee into Avalon and throw ourselves upon the mercy of the forces that were retreating from the land. He would have destroyed us and them alike if he could, yet the land would not allow such an atrocity. Instead, we were penned up inside the Greenwood and left to fester. He cared nothing for what might be created inside the boundary lines.”

Tiffany would love to hear this, Robin thought, although he wasn't entirely sure that that was true. Everyone knew that wizardry was an organised form of magic – and that sorcery was often disorganised, hence dangerous – and that few women ever became wizards, let alone sorcerers. Could it be that men and women were inclined towards different kinds of magic? Wizardry and sorcery were related – indeed, sorcery was a more intense form of wizardry – but could there be a third type of magic, one that Merlin had suppressed when he came to supreme power?

“Men like to think in terms of dominating the world around them,” Granny said. “They seek control over their surroundings, be it their families or friends or neighbours. A man in control is a happy man; a man without control is one who desires control, whatever the cost. He will seek to control his wife if nothing else, taking his weakness out on her. And the wife can suffer terribly, without being allowed to leave her husband. The Church says that divorce is a sin, without mentioning the far greater sin of beating one’s wife.”

That was true enough, Robin knew. He’d been called upon, often enough, to convince a half-drunk villager that beating his wife was not acceptable behaviour. There had been times when the only way to get the message through skulls thickened by drink had been to beat it out with his fists, hammering it into a man’s head. And the village priests had been little help. Even the decent ones had been reluctant to intervene when a man started to beat his wife.

“Women think in terms of going with the flow,” Granny continued. “They place themselves in tune with the natural world and allow the magic to flow where it will, reshaping themselves to fit the magic. A witch operates in harmony with the world around her, channelling it to help or hinder her friends. Alas, we can fall as far as those who tortured you, but our magic is more subtle. And it can be so much more dangerous.”

Robin ran his hands through his hair. “I understand, I think,” he said, slowly. Tiffany would have understood more, he was sure. But she’d mastered wizardry...there was clearly no rule that said that women couldn't master male-magic, or vice versa. And that meant...he wished, just for a moment, that he was a theoretical magician. One of them might have been able to understand completely, perhaps even draw a unified theory of magic. “Why are you hiding here?”

Granny snorted. “And you think that the half-man would not have had us killed if we had shown ourselves?” She asked, dryly. Robin flushed at the contempt in her tone. “We hid under his overly long and beaky nose and male pride would force him to crush us, no matter what stood in the way. And now he is gone and She is awaking and our time is coming around again.”

She looked up, her grey eyes burning into Robin’s eyes. “And what will your wife do when she discovers that Avalon is stirring and all the creatures that the half-man drove away emerge back into the light?”

Robin shivered. Tiffany had mentioned the possibility, but the Dark Sorcerers had destroyed any hope of a unified response. The civil war brewing within the Empire would make it much harder to prepare for war against the supernatural, if war was even possible. Merlin had been far more powerful than any of the supernatural creatures that had once stalked the land, but Merlin was gone. How could even the unified might of the human race stand against the supernatural?

And then he realised that part of the answer was right in front of him.

“You could come back with me,” he said, seriously. “You could teach your art openly, now that Merlin...”

“Don’t mention his name, not here,” Granny snapped. “You never know Who or What might be listening.”

Robin bowed his head in apology. “You could teach openly,” he said. “You could find other candidates openly...”

“We already find witches,” Granny said. She smirked, as if something had amused her. “Your techniques for hunting rogue magic-users are designed to find those who warp the magic around them. We are effectively invisible to them.”

Her smile darkened. “We can't leave here, not yet,” she added. “But your wife is welcome to come to this place to learn from us, if she wishes.”

She stood up and nodded to the girls, who headed back out into the garden. “My apprentices,” she said. “One day, they will be witches themselves, if we all live that long. The future is indeterminate.”

“We could protect them,” Robin said.

“You might not be able to protect yourselves,” Granny said. “Come on; it's time to get you started on your way home. The Faerie Road isn't far from here. Your enemies won’t know anything about where you’ve gone.”

 

Chapter Thirty-Four<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Robin had expected a Faerie Mound, like the ones near the major cities. Instead, there was nothing more than a path leading away into the forest. Magic crackled around it, somehow in perfect harmony with the land. The barriers between the mortal world and Avalon were thin here, allowing anyone with the power and will to step across the border and into a whole new world. In the distance, the path seemed to fade out into shimmering light.

“The dark forces unleashed here warped the Road,” Granny said. She sounded oddly serious and the three girls, normally bouncing with life, appeared subdued. “It recovered slowly and took on a new form, one that suited our eyes. Your master never tried to recover it.”

“The entire city was abandoned,” Robin said. The Dark Sorcerers wouldn't have risked using the Faerie Road themselves, not when it might have drawn attention to their lair. They could teleport anyway. “Are you sure that you won’t come with me?”

Granny nodded. “Your wife may come to learn from us if she wishes,” she said, firmly. “We will not share ourselves with your people, not when they will find us an abomination.”

Robin would have liked to argue, but he suspected that she was right. The House of Magus would be horrified at the discovery of a second branch of magic – and they were often violently opposed to allowing young women to train in magic. They’d want witchcraft to the catalogued, studied and eventually broken down into its component pieces – and if he understood it correctly, witchcraft couldn't be treated like that. And then there was the very real danger of Dark Sorcerers learning to use and pervert witchcraft for their own purposes.

“I understand,” he said. He bowed to the girls, which made them giggle, and gave Granny a full salute. The elderly lady – and he had no idea just how old she was, although if she lived partly in Avalon she could be nearly a thousand years old – smiled and nodded. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Granny said, dryly. “Just don’t come back.”

Robin nodded and turned, starting to jog down the Faerie Road. He glanced back, a few moments later, but the shimmer had already swallowed them up and they were gone. Looking along the path, he kept running, feeling magic shifting around him. The Faerie Roads led through Avalon to the Mounds Merlin had established when he’d negotiated with the Faerie to create the Faerie Roads, but this Road had been abandoned for years. It might be as safe as any other Road, or it might have been warped beyond all recognition. He kept one hand near his sword as the world seemed to shift in front of him, changing its appearance to suit his perceptions. The forest was closing in...and then it shimmered, to be replaced by walls pressing in around him, forcing him to run straight down the Road.

A chill ran down his spine as the walls took on shape and form. They appeared to have been carved from stone, each block of black material carved with strange and dangerous glyphs in a language that long predated mankind. The walls opened up suddenly, revealing what looked like a Dining Hall, a room with a long set of tables and benches. No fire burned in the grate; the entire room looked as if it had been abandoned centuries ago, yet there was no trace of dust. Robin slowed, but didn't stop. Everyone knew that stepping off a Faerie Road could lead to one being permanently trapped in Avalon, or falling prey to the Faerie. Even Merlin hadn't been able to force them to abandon their traditions; indeed, according to Robin’s tutors, they were their traditions. A person who stepped off the path would be theirs.

The gothic scene shifted as he kept running, revealing a small group of people standing in front of a throne. For a moment, Robin thought that he was looking right into the heart of a Faerie Court, where they aped human manners for incomprehensible reasons of their own, and then he realised that the entire scene was frozen. The people were all carved from stone, perfect representations of human life. Or perhaps they were people, trapped in stone by a deadly enchantment – who knew what had happened to cast them into Faerie? He saw a man wearing a crown seated on the throne, a king from the years before Arthur, his face trapped in an expression of hopeless despair. Robin wanted to reach out and help him, but he knew it was impossible. He couldn't step off the path.

Robin turned his head and kept running, feeling the world shifting around him again, and again. He was running over a bridge over a darkened river, flowing onwards into the darkness. The bridge was terrifyingly thin, almost enough to make him feel dizzy with vertigo. Around him, other pathways wended their way through the chamber, shimmering in and out of existence. Every time he looked away, the scene changed. Desperately, he fixed his eyes on the path and kept running, feeling unseen eyes staring at him with dark intentions. A howling sprang up in the distance, a woman wailing for her demon lover, and he almost stopped. He tried to cover his ears, but the sound somehow penetrated through his hands and into his mind. It was all he could do to keep moving, praying that he could leave it behind.

The bridge seemed to shimmer and he found himself running through a second room of statues. They weren’t human, but angels, their faces either serenely confident or twisted into expressions of shocking hatred. Every time he looked away from one of them, it changed position, moving impossibly quickly in the space of a blink. Robin felt cold terror congealing at the back of his mind, sweat trickling down his armour. He had the feeling that if one of the stone angels touched him, he would never be seen again. Their cold eyes watched him, almost daring him to make eye contact. He looked back at the path and kept running, praying under his breath. At least they couldn't be real angels. No one had seen an angel in the mortal world since Merlin had created the Empire.

A hand grasped at him, seeming to move every time he looked away. Robin found himself glancing from side to side as the unmoving angels pressed closer, every blink allowing them to reach out for him. He shivered at the expressions on their stone faces, masks of hatred and rage that were utterly inhuman. Their teeth looked nastier than anything he'd seen from a vampire, as if they intended to rend his flesh into powder. He twisted as hands appeared out of nowhere, grasping for him, praying that he could escape. And then the world shifted around him and the angels were gone.

He was running through a chamber so massive that he could barely see the far walls. The building, if building it was, seemed to be a skeleton of a building, allowing him to see corridors that moved every time he looked away. For a moment, he saw a dark figure standing on another path, looking back at him. He could see nothing, but a shadow where its face should be, yet he felt as if it were oddly familiar. And then it was gone, leaving him alone. The walls closed in around him and then faded away, transforming the path into a bridge across a sea of stars. Cold brilliant pinpoints of light shone out in the darkness, comforting him even as he recoiled from the sheer immensity of their presence. Each one was a reminder that the universe was so much bigger than humanity, even humans who hads tapped the power of dark sorcery. Ahead of him, he saw an eye opening slowly, revealing that the pathway led right through the eye. There was a second eye inside the first, and then a third...Robin passed through them without touching anything, without even a sense that there had been anything there to touch. The Faerie Roads were only presenting an appearance his mind could comprehend, he knew, and yet...he had the sense that if he’d been able to see it as it truly was, he would have learned far more about the nature of reality than any sorcerer, perhaps even Merlin himself.

The world went dark around him and the path shook, throwing him into the darkness. Robin had only a moment to realise what had happened as the world seemed to explode into a wave of light and sound, and then he hit the ground hard enough to hurt. He pulled himself to his feet, drawing his sword, convinced that he was stranded in Faerie. Perhaps Excalibur could cut him free, even if no mundane weapon could hope to harm the Faerie. Perhaps...

He was standing in the middle of a small grove of trees. It didn't feel like Avalon; instead of magic crackling through the air, there was the sense of a recent rainfall. He stepped forward carefully, sword in hand, until he saw the single statue ahead of him. It was of a tall handsome man, with muscles on his muscles, one of the legendary heroes of the First Golden Age. Robin almost smiled. Sir Kay had been Sir Ector's son and King Arthur’s brother and later seneschal, as well as one of the first Knights of the Round Table. There were hundreds of legends surrounding him, some complaining of his acid tongue and bullying boorish behaviour, but others spoke of his heroism as one of Arthur's premier warriors and most loyal followers. He’d been held up as an example to which all Knights should aspire.

Robin bowed to the statue and walked onwards. Ahead of him, he saw the towers and spires of Camelot. He’d emerged, he realised now, in the Garden of Fallen Knights, where the Knights of the Round Table were laid to rest after they died in the line of duty. One day, if there was a body, Robin himself would be buried within the garden. It wasn't a pleasant thought. Returning Excalibur to its scabbard, he started to run. The Faerie Roads were normally safe, but they’d thrown him off the path and who knew how much time had passed in the mortal world? Tiffany and everyone else he’d ever known might be dust and less than dust by now...

***​

The Dark Sorcerer cowered before Maledict’s burning gaze. He’d been on guard duty when Sir Robin had somehow broken free, killed two of Maledict’s followers and recovered his sword, before running off and vanishing within the city. It was tempting to believe that Robin had fallen into one of the pools of dark magic and been killed or transfigured beyond recognition, but it would have been foolish to rely on it. Robin had had the most powerful weapon in the mortal world in his hands, a sword that could have steered him away from the most dangerous parts of the city. He might well be halfway to the nearest settlement by now – and a simple communications magician would be able to send a message to Camelot, bringing the Knights of the Round Table and the Tribunal’s darker servants down on their heads.

Faye watched expressionlessly as Maledict raged at his victim. The guard had been monitoring the wards that allowed the Dark Sorcerers to control a fearsome array of creatures they’d summoned from the Darkness. The hellhounds should have been able to catch and kill any mortal pray, even one armed with such a powerful sword. Instead, Sir Robin had just...vanished. Faye had heard hundreds of tales about the Knights of the Round Table, yet she’d never been very impressed with any of them. And yet, now, all those tales seemed believable. How had the Knight even managed to escape in the first place?

“Your incompetence could have cost us everything,” Maledict snarled. Raw magic flashed around his hands, as if it was yearning to be unleashed and deliver a punishment that would live in infamy. Maledict was not known for rewarding failure; Faye had seen him destroy a man's mind for the crime of failing him, or warping and transforming another failure into a monster that lived in constant pain, yet could never die. “Where did the Knight of the Round Table go?”

Faye listened to the man’s story, silently anticipating his punishment. He’d been mentally linked with one of the hellhounds, yet how could Sir Robin have vanished into a tiny coppice of dead trees. Faye herself had examined the coppice and had been puzzled, cursing the magic that flowed through the entire city. The same cloud of magic that had turned the ruined city into an ideal base for the Dark Sorcerers made it hard for them to track down their missing prisoner. It was very tempting to believe that he’d been lost in one of the pools of magic, yet they couldn't assume it. The city would have to be abandoned.

Maledict’s ranting finally came to an end. Lifting his hand as the sorcerer cowered, he cast a spell that sent shivers down Faye’s spine. The victim twitched helplessly, his entire body suddenly bending backwards – the sound of cracking bones was terrifyingly loud – and shattering into a fleshy mass. Faye watched as blood started to spill out of the bag of flesh and powdered bones that was all that was left of the failure. A handful of the younger Dark Sorcerers looked away, terrified of their master, but the others watched, seemingly dispassionately. They all knew that a show of weakness could have disastrous consequences.

“Begin evacuating everything we have to the fallback base,” Maledict ordered, his words tainted with power. Faye shook her head to clear it of the sudden urge to do exactly as he ordered, knowing that he was using magic to compel them. “Take the remaining prisoners to the altar and sacrifice them – there’s no time to have any more fun with them.”

Faye sensed some discontent, but no one was foolish enough to protest out loud. They’d all joined the Dark Sorcerers because they wanted power, yet some of them had very basic needs and desires. The women they’d kidnapped and bound to helpless servitude had pleased them, but now they’d have to be abandoned. Faye, who lacked such weaknesses herself, was rather amused at their thoughts. Their base weaknesses would bring them down; at base, there was only power and the will to seize it. She looked up at her master and smiled to herself. After this blow to his power, perhaps there would be a chance to remove Maledict completely...

“I will take five of us to the nearest settlement and lay waste to it,” Maledict continued. Faye nodded, realising that her master wasn't that far gone, not yet. If Sir Robin was making his way to the nearest settlement, they could ensure that all he would find would be ruins and a slaughtered population. “The rest of you will complete the evacuation of the base, understand?”

Faye made quick to bow her head in submission, along with the others. Maledict hadn't told them their ultimate destination, aware that what they didn't know they couldn't tell. They’d chosen the city because it could hide them, yet now...did they really need to hide? She considered the thought as she hurried to do her master’s bidding; were they powerful enough to come out into the open and dare the forces of law and order to stop them? It was tempting...but she knew that there was no point in risking everything. The longer they remained undefeated, the greater the instability tearing the Empire apart. And then it would be theirs...

***​

The village of Erskine lay on the banks of the River Clyde, upstream from Kentigern. It had once been a fairly prosperous town, but the magic unleashed at Kentigern had had a baleful effect on the entire region, with mutated fish appearing in the river and strange sightings terrifying the locals at night. Most of them had moved away, leaving only a relative handful of hardy souls within thirty miles of Kentigern. It did have some advantages – there were few tax collectors daring enough to try to collect taxes from the area – but it wasn't enough to convince much of the population to remain.

Maledict materialised in the centre of the village, wand already raised and ready. He spoke a curse as soon as the village shimmered into existence and the headman’s house exploded into fire and light. The communications magician was dead before he realised that the village was under attack. Maledict’s followers rapidly tore apart the remainder of the village, slaughtering everyone who showed their faces and burning every building, even the ones made of resistant stone. Flames spread rapidly, directed into the fields where they consumed the crops and a handful of villagers hiding amongst their livelihood. There was no time for sadism, or for sacrifice, and part of his soul mourned the waste. The rest of him was intent on destruction before they had to retreat.

Losing Sir Robin – and Excalibur – had been a blow. There was no point in trying to avoid it, even though his pride made it hard to admit failure. If the Knight made it back to Camelot, they’d lose their lair as well. Maledict had planned to evacuate quickly when Merlin had been alive, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to hold Merlin off when he came to destroy then, but now...he’d thought that they were invincible. It was intolerable!

His lips twitched, humourlessly. The fallback lair wasn't intended as anything other than a temporary place to regroup – there was a far better place to go. And it was somewhere that the forces of law and order, even the Tribunal, would never expect. Duke Valditch was in for a nasty surprise...

Laughing, he teleported back to the lair. There was much work to do.

 

Chapter Thirty-Five<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The Arena was little more than a large glass dome, its structure reinforced by every spell known to the House of Magus and powered by a natural wellspring of magic in Camelot. Powerful forces, even those that verged on the demonic, could be unleashed within the dome, without creating any threat to the rest of the city. Tiffany watched from the spectator’s booth as the contestants for the position of High Magus filed into the dome, their faces grim and determined. They all knew that the winner would enjoy undreamt-of power and status as the High Magus – the losers, if they were lucky, would merely be publicly defeated. The unlucky ones would be dead, or worse than dead.

Each of the contestants had been assigned a position, allowing random match-ups until only one emerged as the winner. Tiffany watched, as dispassionately as she could, as the first duels were fought. Two of the contestants were not only powerful magicians and sorcerers, but also intent on imposing a magical hegemony over the world. They believed that only those with magic had the right to rule – as Merlin had ruled – and that his departure meant that another magician could step forward to take his mantle. That wouldn't have gone down well with either of the other two Houses of Parliament, but powerful sorcerers wouldn't have cared much for the opinions of mundane humans, no matter how much blue blood flowed through their veins. She silently prayed for their defeat, wishing that there had been a way to rig the contests in her favour. Merlin, who had created the original Arena, had foreclosed that possibility. No contestant could enter while under a jinx, or drugged, or anything else that might interfere with his ability to work magic. And none of them would have agreed to take a fall for the good of the Empire. They would all put themselves first.

The first duel was spectacular. Both sorcerers threw raw magic at each other, their minds shaping it into deadly forms and spells. They seemed evenly matched until one of them suddenly lost control of his powers, unleashing wild magic on himself. His body warped and mutated until it was a monstrous shambling form, easily dispatched by his relieved opponent. Tiffany concealed a smile, knowing that the winner had drained himself before facing his second opponent, without any time to recover. The High Magus had to be someone capable of facing down more than one or two opponents at once. The next sorcerer dispatched him quickly and brutally.

Sorcerer Black seemed to be just as capable as she had expected – but then, Merlin wouldn't have appointed a weakling to run the Tribunal. He fought with a cold calm precision that suggested both knowledge and skill – and the firm grasp on his own sanity that separated a sorcerer from a dark sorcerer. His first opponent was dispatched quickly, the second took longer, long enough that Tiffany began to worry. The Sorcerer Boyd had long been known as a magical supremacist, with a reputation that made the Duke of Tara look calm and polite. His reputation had protected him from many duels outside the Arena, but now he had to fight, without protection. Sorcerer Black disposed of him eventually, leaving him a crippled mass on the Arena ground.

Tiffany’s eyes narrowed as the final duel began. There was no official way of determining just how strong any given magician actually was, but sorcerers generally took care of it themselves. They always contested against each other, intent on proving themselves the best, even when more restrained personalities would have cooperated instead. And yet Sorcerer Black had been a relative unknown until after Merlin’s departure, a man who had never stepped into the House of Magus. Why had he hidden himself? Fear of Merlin – or something else? Why would a spymaster come into the light?

She was suddenly aware of a pulse of heat from her wedding ring. It had stayed warm, giving her what reassurance she could that her husband was alive, yet she had been able to learn nothing else. The magical spells developed for surveillance, normally capable of locating anyone who didn’t have access to concealing spells and the power to make them work, had been unable to locate Sir Robin. She had feared the worst, but now…she looked up, realising that the small crowd that had gathered to watch the duels was scattering. A bloodstained figure was making its way across the ground towards her. It was Robin!

Tiffany forgot the dignity that her mother had drummed into her and ran to him, taking him in her arms and holding him tightly. His face was bruised and his armour was covered in blood, staining her dress, but she didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her, both of them lost in the moment. Just to have him back…somehow, it boosted her confidence, even knowing that the House of Lords was trying to impeach her. Let them try to impeach her now.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Robin said, as they drew apart slightly. “I was held up…”

Tiffany had to laugh. “And where have you been?”

There was an apologetic cough behind her. “My Lady, pardon the intrusion, but who is this?”

Tiffany turned, frowning. Sorcerer Black stood there, one hand on his wand. Two combat magicians had followed him, both clearly intent on proving their loyalty to the new High Magus. She frowned, opening her mouth to demand to know what he meant, when Robin stepped past her. His hand dropped to the sword at his belt and half-drew the glowing blade from its scabbard.

“I still hold Excalibur,” he said, calmly. “I am not under their control.”

“That has to be determined,” Sorcerer Black said. Tiffany scowled at him, wanting to protest that she knew her husband – and Excalibur – but he was right. Robin had been a captive of the Dark Sorcerers and they had clearly tortured him. They might have broken his will to resist and then enchanted him, turning him into a weapon they could use against Camelot. “I need to run a few tests, now.”

There was no give in his voice at all. “Do them,” Tiffany said, firmly. What if Robin was under their control? She would have to give the order to kill him, if he couldn’t be freed from their enchantments. And the Dark Sorcerers were very skilled at bending others to their will. “Run the tests here and now.”

Sorcerer Black looked reluctant – there was a growing audience of dignities, keen to see if Robin was free of outside control – but nodded. Drawing his wand, he first tested Excalibur to check that it truly was the legendary sword, and then turned to Robin himself. Tiffany felt a whole series of spells crawling over Robin’s body, each one repelled by his armour. She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Her husband had come back to her, intact in body and soul. How many other wives could say the same?

“There doesn’t seem to be any controlling spells placed on him,” Sorcerer Black said, finally. He looked oddly reluctant to say anything else, but pressed ahead anyway. “His armour is intact, yet it also appears to have been badly pressed. I don’t know if it can regenerate from such a beating.”

“It should be able to,” Robin said. Tiffany could hear the concern in his voice. The Knights of the Round Table were linked to their armour when they were knighted and never lost the connection, until the day they died. Robin could never be given a second set of armour – if it was even possible to produce new armour without Merlin’s spells. Merlin had created the original set of spells and no one, as far as she knew, had duplicated his work. “I’m not dead, after all.”

“Nor are you their slave,” Sorcerer Black said, formally. “Welcome home, Sir Robin.”

“Thank you,” Robin said. He winked at Tiffany, who had grasped his hand as soon as the sorcerers had cleared Robin. “It’s great to be back.”

Tiffany summoned a messenger and started to speak rapidly. “Summon the Privy Council to meet in thirty minutes,” she ordered. That would give Robin long enough to wash and undergo a quick visit to the Healers, before they faced the Privy Council. “Tell them…”

“Tell them that we know where the Dark Sorcerers are,” Robin said, flatly. “And tell them that if we move quickly, we can get the bastards before they escape.”

***​

Robin had always disliked visits to the Healers, even though he’d never met a Healer who was unworthy of the title. Indeed, there was something about the nature of healing magic – and the oaths sworn by Healers when they started their apprenticeships – that prevented them from ever harming a living being. Some of them were even vegetations, restricting themselves to fruits and nuts that had fallen from the trees and landed on the ground. It was something he'd never been able to understand – he was partial to well-done steaks himself – but it was part of their magic. They couldn’t change without surrendering their powers.

The woman poked and prodded at him, once he’d stripped and ordered the armour to retract into bracelets on his arms. He hadn’t realised just how badly he hurt until she’d started to examine him, but the torture spells had left his skin feeling as if he’d been beaten heavily, without leaving actual physical evidence. It was a neat system, he acknowledged, if as evil as Hell. He would like to have met the person who had devised the spells before slicing him in half and condemning him to the fires. As long as the victim’s heart didn’t give out, the Dark Sorcerers could inflict as much suffering as they liked, without a care in the world.

“Not too badly damaged,” the Healer said, finally. She passed Robin a glass of purple liquid and stood over him threateningly until he finally swallowed about half the grass. It tasted as if something had crawled inside the bottle and died there, which wasn't too unlikely. Many of the charms and potions used by Healers had sickening origins. Robin knew girls who refused to take potion to help soothe their menstrual cramps because they knew what went into the medicine. “You’re a bit sensitive to magic and that will probably fade away in the next few weeks, but no other damage.”

Robin nodded, slowly. Tiffany’s hand seemed to sparkle with magic and touching her felt…strange, oddly tingly. The new High Magus seemed to glow with power, as if he was almost as powerful and capable as Merlin himself. There were people who were allergic to magic, who couldn’t endure its presence, forcing them to live very isolated lives. The thought of leaving Tiffany was intolerable.

“That’s good to hear,” Tiffany said. She watched with amusement as Robin dressed. He’d tried to protest, but she’d insisted on sending a page to their rooms to collect a tunic and belt for her husband, rather than allowing him to wear the outfit he’d worn while in captivity. She wanted to burn his old outfit, pointing out that it was ruined beyond repair. “Coming?”

She led him through the Keep’s corridors and passageways, allowing everyone to see that he – and Excalibur – was back. From what she’d said, in the two days he’d been missing, the entire city had been mourning his loss – or, rather, they’d been mourning Excalibur’s loss. The sword, a weapon out of legend, had become a powerful symbol in its own right and the thought of it falling into the hands of the Dark Sorcerers was horrifying. Robin touched the blade, feeling the sword’s flickering presence in his hand, and smiled. It was definitely good to be home – and as soon as they could find some privacy, he would show he just how much he’d missed her.

Tiffany winked at him – clearly having similar thoughts herself – and opened a door, leading him into the War Room. It had changed a bit since Robin had last been in the room, with paper maps of the entire world scattered over the table and a small force of communications magicians sitting in one corner, ready to send messages to their counterparts across the world. The Privy Council rose to their feet as they entered, Robin returning the salutes of the Major General and the Baron. Even the new High Magus, who looked rather like the cat who had swallowed the canary, was pleased to see him. Robin wondered how long that would last.

He strode to the table and placed his hands on it. “They’re at Kentigern,” he said, firmly. He’d seen the stars; he knew where he’d been. “They were using the wild magic unleashed in the city to camouflage their presence.”

“That makes sense,” Sorcerer Black said. The new High Magus studied the table, thoughtfully. “We’ve always been reluctant to send patrols through the ruined city – they must have picked up on our reluctance and decided that they could conceal themselves there.”

He frowned. “It isn’t an easy place to approach,” he added. “There’s no <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:Street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Faerie Road</st1:address></st1:Street> for forty miles and…”

That wasn't true, Robin knew, but it would be a betrayal of confidence to reveal the existence of Granny’s little coven. Besides, they didn’t need the <st1:Street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Faerie Road</st1:address></st1:Street>. “We need to teleport a strike force into the city,” he said. “Every moment we delay gives them a chance to get out and cover their tracks.”

“Opening a teleport gateway – or even direct teleporting – into the city would be impossible,” Sorcerer Black said, flatly. “Only a Dark Sorcerer could accept the risk of interference from the wild magic so casually. We would need to teleport to here” – he tapped a location on one of the maps – “and advance on foot from there. It would give them time to know that we’re on our way…”

“Maybe they don’t have many defences,” the Major General said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t wards be detectable at a distance? It would give their game away…”

“A passive ward might pass unnoticed,” Sorcerer Black said. He looked up and smiled a surprisingly confident smile. “I’ll put together a strike force from the Tribunal – combat magicians and sorcerers, men trained to face Dark Sorcerers in their own element. We’ll open up a gateway, sneak into the city and launch an attack. If we’re really lucky, we might even be able to set up our own anti-teleport defences and prevent them from escaping.”

And prevent us from retreating, Robin thought, coldly. It wasn't a bad idea – teleporting gave the Dark Sorcerers a significant advantage – but it would also trap them…and they knew that they would receive no mercy from the forces of law and order. They’d live long enough to be interrogated, their defences broken down and their minds ransacked for useful information, and then they would be executed. It would force them to fight like trapped rats in a sack.

“I’m coming with you,” Robin said, firmly. “I’d also like to take a handful of other Knights, armed with magical weapons. We cannot afford any mistakes on this mission…”

Sorcerer Black eyed him, unpleasantly. “They’d just get in the way,” he said. “We cannot afford to have mundane humans caught in a magical crossfire.”

The entire world was caught in a magical crossfire, Robin knew, but he wasn't about to point that out. “I have Excalibur,” he said, touching the blade’s hilt. “I don’t think that anyone can dismiss Excalibur as useless.”

“I suppose not,” Sorcerer Black said, reluctantly. “However, we need to be careful. Dark Sorcerers are formidable enemies and we need to trap them before they can escape, or we will have to find them again and again.”

“Excalibur can hide its presence,” Robin assured him. “And we will be very careful.”

He could sense the sorcerer’s irritation, but they didn’t have time to scrabble over precedence or jurisdiction. The Tribunal wanted to capture the Dark Sorcerers themselves, without help, yet Robin had seen enough to convince him that this particular bunch of Dark Sorcerers was far more powerful than anyone had yet realised. What they’d done to Londinium might be nothing, compared to what they would be ultimately able to do. Without Merlin, there would be no limits on their ambition – or their lust for power.

“I have a question,” Sorcerer Black said. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“I had some help,” Robin said, and touched Excalibur. Let them draw what conclusions they liked from his actions. Besides, for all he knew, the sword could help him to teleport.

“We need to act fast,” Tiffany said, her voice calling attention back to her position at the head of the table. “This may be our one chance to deal with them all in a single stroke.”

“Maybe not,” Robin said. “They mentioned a Duke. It could be that their next base is in <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace>.”

“And everyone is reluctant to release any forces to help us deal with Duke Blackrock,” Tiffany said. She shook her head, long strands of red hair cascading down her back. “Anyone who has any combat power wants to keep it, after what happened to Londinium.”

Robin frowned, thoughtfully. A plan was forming at the back of his mind. Perhaps they could deal with Duke Blackrock without a full-scale invasion of <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace>. And if he was working with the Dark Sorcerers, knocking the Duke out of play would impede their plans…

“On the other hand, a victory – even driving them back into hiding – would work in our favour,” Lord Chancellor Rupert pointed out. “And if we appeared to be winning, the Lords and Commons would be more willing to support us.”

“If,” Tiffany said. Robin glanced at her, sharply. There was something in her voice…something bad. What had happened since he’d been captured, only two days ago? “We cannot afford to keep reacting to the enemy’s movements my friends. We have to take the initiative ourselves and strike hard.”

On that note, the meeting ended.

 

Another great chapter Chris.

 

Chapter Thirty-Six<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Don’t you dare get lost again,” Tiffany said, thirty minutes later. Her warm breath felt soothing against his skin. He didn't want to let go of her. “Come back to me; do you understand?”

“Yes,” Robin promised. He gave her one last tight hug and kiss, and then stepped back from her. “I understand…”

The chanting in the background rose to a crescendo and the teleport gate shimmered into existence. It was a square of light, set against the darkened stone of Beneficence, the only place in Camelot where a teleport gate could be opened. Robin felt a chill crawling down his spine as he peered into the light, seeing things that were not and never had been, reminding him of his run down the defunct Faerie Road. There were echoes of nightmares within the void…

A loud crack echoed through the chamber and the gate stabilised, becoming a doorway into an abandoned town near Kentigern. Robin hefted Excalibur, drawing what reassurance he could from the blade, and stepped forward. There was no sense of transition as he passed through the gate, but the cool air struck him at once as he appeared in the town. Over the years, it had decayed and become host to all kinds of supernatural wildlife, yet nothing appeared to be dangerous. He lifted the sword and draw on its power, enhancing his senses as best as he could. There was still no sense of danger.

“Come on in,” he said, sticking his head back through the teleport gate. “The water’s fine.”

The Tribunal’s sorcerers, men dressed in black robes with grim expressions, as if they’d talked to God and didn’t like the answers, marched forwards and into the abandoned town. They held their wands at the ready as they spread out, casting subtle spells to scan for any dangerous presences or wards that might alert the Dark Sorcerers to their arrival, but found nothing. A team of investigative magicians followed, with four Knights of the Round Table bringing up the rear. Each one carried a magical weapon; the Spear of Judgement, the Spear of Destiny, the Silver Bow and the Bloodstained Blade. The latter had always given Robin the creeps, even though it wasn't, strictly speaking, an evil weapon. He had always had the impression that the weapon was just biding its time.

“Close the gateway,” Sorcerer Black ordered. It flicked and vanished, stranding them without a line of easy retreat. Not that Robin disagreed; if the gateway had remained open, the Dark Sorcerers would have had a way into Beneficence itself. “I’ll take point; everyone else, stay behind me.”

Robin concealed a smile as the small party began to walk towards Kentigern, cloaked with a handful of concealing spells. Sorcerer Black kept his wand out and at the ready, watching for any wards that might reveal their presence, or magical traps that would weaken them before they reached the enemy lair. Robin kept one hand on his sword, allowing it to enhance his Sight. Wild magic shimmered over the land, tainted with the darkness of the pit, but there seemed to be nothing aimed specifically at intruders.

It was a sobering thought. The Dark Sorcerers had chosen their base well, knowing that few people would dare to enter a city that had been destroyed by wild magic. It was a far superior base to the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace>, even though Kentigern had been touched by darkest magic; there were few truly dangerous creatures in the city, at least not to a magician. He looked up at the abandoned buildings and shivered, feeling the cold air blowing across the town. One day, if the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> started to expand, all of humanity’s towns and cities might look the same.

Something crashed in the distance and he jumped, half-drawing his sword before he realised that there was nothing to fear. The wind had blown something loose and it had fallen, crashing into the ground. His eyes moved from building to building, seeking a threat and finding nothing, yet he was starting to feel as if he were being watched. A sense of vague unease was creeping over him, weakening his will to carry on. He touched the hilt of his sword and felt another wave of reassurance. There was truly nothing to fear.

“A deterrent spell,” Sorcerer Black said, with satisfaction. He sounded pleased with himself, although Robin wondered why he hadn’t detected it earlier. “They blended it in with the wild magic, using it to encourage people to stay out of the city. We’ll just have to push onwards, I’m afraid.”

Robin scowled at his back as the sorcerer kept moving, pushing against the psychic pressure as if he were walking into a strong headwind. The sense of unease kept growing stronger as they walked westwards, into the outskirts of Kentigern itself, but nothing else materialised to stop them. He glanced back at the rest of the party and allowed himself a moment of relief. Tribunal-trained combat magicians and Knights of the Round Table might never have been friends, but that worked in their favour. Both sides were so determined not to show weakness in front of the other that they just kept going, pushing against the growing aversion field.

Sorcerer Black stopped and held up a hand. “A warning ward,” he said, by way of explanation. Robin opened his Sight and saw the invisible line, shimmering in the air and waiting for someone foolish enough to cross it. Beyond it, he could see a network of invisible defences, ranging from mild hexes to change spells and jinxes. Anyone who walked through the ward without preparing themselves would discover – too late – that they had been turned into a caterpillar, if not something even more unpleasant. “It’s going to have to come down.”

Robin sighed and settled down to wait as the sorcerers went to work. Tiny, but complex magic flared over their hands as they started to dismantle the ward, careful to avoid alerting its creators. Anyone capable of producing a stable ward would know to create a mental link that would alert them if anything happened to take down the ward, which meant that a single slip would alert the Dark Sorcerers that their base was under attack.

“Need to be careful here,” Sorcerer Black muttered. “I can get us through the warning ward, but they’ve pegged half of the ambushes to pools of wild magic and I can’t dispel them. Don’t put a foot wrong…”

The ward shimmered into visibility briefly and then vanished. Robin drew on his Sight and the entire world seemed to take on an eerie colouration, showing him the invisible traps waiting for anyone pushy enough to force their way through the aversion ward. Sorcerer Black led the way forward, very carefully. Robin followed him, feeling a cold chill running down his spine as he saw some of the nastier ambush spells. One of them would direct the full force of a pool of wild magic onto anyone unlucky enough to trigger it, transmuting them beyond recognition. He remembered Thorn, the once-human creature he had encountered in the <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Greenwood</st1lace></st1:City>, and shivered again. Anyone who survived the touch of wild magic would no longer be human, nor would they be welcome in the human world. And if the <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Greenwood</st1lace></st1:City> was expanding…

He pushed the thought aside as they approached the next network of traps, an invisible spider’s web just waiting for someone to stumble into it and trap themselves. Sorcerer Black dispelled a handful of the spells, clearing a path through the ruined city and up towards the coppice Robin remembered, but the rest had to be avoided. It struck Robin that anyone watching them without the Sight would be completely confused, wondering why a bunch of grown men were wending their way through the ruined city. They wouldn't be able to see the invisible death traps waiting for an unwary victim.

The coppice of dead wood didn’t glow when he peered at it through his Sight. Indeed, there seemed to be no trace of magic there at all. If Robin hadn’t found help there, and a quick way to return home, he would have doubted his own story. He hoped that Granny and her young apprentices had found their way to safety, or that they would be safe inside the coppice…if the Dark Sorcerers had remained behind to await the raid. They might not believe that Robin had made it home so quickly…he suspected that they would decide to evacuate and flee, unless they believed that they were now so powerful that they could come out into the open…

He heard a noise up ahead and whipped out his sword. Excalibur glowed as he held it up at the ready, hearing the sound of heavy breathing coming closer. It sounded like a huge invisible dog; even with Excalibur boosting his sight, he could barely see the hellhound as it opened its jaws and made to catch him between its teeth. The rest of the team scattered as Robin jumped forward and slashed at the hellhound, slicing through its inhumanly-warm skin. There was no howl of rage or pain from the beast; it simply twisted and nearly snapped Robin out of the air with its jaws. The colossal mouth hung open and it breathed a stream of hellfire towards the sorcerers, who warded themselves just in time. Robin nipped forward and sliced off the brute’s front paw, but they grew back again a second later. The hellhound wasn't even remotely linked to the mundane world. It had been created in the fires of hell and empowered by a Dark Sorcerer’s will. For a moment, it was completely visible – glowing eyes promising a horrific death for the puny humans in its path – and then it was invisible again, even hiding from Excalibur. Robin could hear its movements and he jumped just in time. A moment later, it knocked one of the other Knights over backwards and tore through his armour as if it were nothing stronger than paper.

Robin howled in pain and lunged forward, glowing blade extended out in front of him. The beast couldn’t turn swiftly enough to stop him and he rammed his sword into its guts, tearing into its burning flesh. And yet the beast survived; Robin hacked and hacked, yet it always rebuilt itself. Another wave of hellfire almost killed him; hellfire burned the soul, not the physical body. Enough hellfire could kill anyone.

“Over here,” Sorcerer Black shouted. Robin glanced at him, saw what he had in mind, and leapt backwards. The maddened hellhound came after him, clearly hurting even though the cuts Robin had inflicted had closed almost at once. Robin ran through the drawn circle on the ground and jumped out of the trap. The hellhound crashed into an invisible wall. It shimmered into visibility, confused and puzzled, and then it glared at the sorcerer with unlimited malice. Robin wouldn’t have cared to be on the receiving end of that stare.

If Sorcerer Black was bothered, he showed no sign of it. “Caught you,” he said, using his wand to complete the circle he’d drawn on the ground. The mystic symbols he’d drawn would trap the beast in the circle, at least until a team of sorcerers could tame it or banish it back to hell. “It will be stuck there forever, at least until some idiot breaks the circle.”

Robin nodded. Anyone could free a demon from a bottle, or a summoning circle, simply by breaking the barrier. There were stories about people who’d done that and few of them ended very well. Sometimes, the demon could be tricked back into confinement, but more often the unlucky person would be killed and the demon would go on a rampage, at least until it was sucked back to hell.

“Come on,” he said. “That won’t be the only unpleasant surprise around here.”

He took one last look at the coppice and led the way down to the tunnel entrance. According to the old plans he’d had a chance to study, while Sorcerer Black had been assembling his team, the Dark Sorcerers had built their lair in a series of underground catacombs that had once held wine, shipped in from all over the empire. It had suited them admirably, providing them with a safe hiding place and plenty of rock to serve as a barrier to magical probes. Now…the hidden entrance lay open, inviting them to enter the caves. He hefted Excalibur and allowed the sword’s glow to illuminate the tunnel. Nothing rose to bar their way.

“Be very careful,” Sorcerer Black said, as they slipped into the complex. Darkened tunnels greeted them, the lights he recalled seeing had been removed. The sorcerers muttered spells and created light-globes of their own, illuminating the chamber ahead of them. Robin swore aloud as his eyes took in the sight; hundreds of dead bodies, dumped on the ground. Men, women and children, scarred by torture, their faces rent by terror…they had died in screaming agony, just to feed their captors insatiable demand for power. He saw a young girl who bore more than a passing resemblance to Tiffany and swore silently that the Dark Sorcerers would be held accountable for their crimes, but it seemed futile. The Dark Sorcerers were long gone.

“They’re moving,” Sir Peter said. The Knight of the Round Table stepped forward. “They’re moving…”

Robin opened his mouth to protect, but the words died in his throat. The corpses were staggering to their feet, pale hands reaching out towards the newcomers. He swore aloud as he realised what the Dark Sorcerers had created and unleashed. It had been years since the last zombie plague, but the human race had never forgotten what a handful of zombies had done in the <st1lace w:st="on">Fertile Crescent</st1lace>. Thousands of humans had been killed, only to rise again as soulless monsters, bent on killing their fellow humans to add to their numbers. In the end, they had all been destroyed, but the price had been horrific. A moaning sound rose from zombie throats as they staggered forward, breaking the spell of horror that had held Robin frozen, unable to move.

Excalibur shone like the sun and the zombies recoiled. Unsure of what he was doing, or why, Robin stepped forward and allowed the golden glow to shimmer out ahead of him, covering the zombies in golden light. The heat rose sharply and the zombies flared to dust, melting away under Excalibur’s pitiless fire. Robin felt himself pulled forward and pushed his legs into action, even as he was recalling Merlin’s words. Excalibur, like all magical weapons, had a mind of its own. There would come a time when the sword chose to move on to the next wielder, leaving Robin as…merely human.

“They’re dust,” Sorcerer Black said. For once, he sounded awed. “All of the spells and traps within this complex have been destroyed.”

Robin looked down at Excalibur, surprised. He hadn’t realised that the sword could do that, but then he’d been thinking of it as a sword, rather than a living being with a mind of its own. Excalibur hummed in his hand, as if it was quietly laughing at him, before he returned it to its scabbard. The lights the sorcerers had created spread out, illuminating the complex. There were no more dead bodies to be seen.

“They’re gone,” Sorcerer Black said, disgustedly. “Very well; we will pair up and investigate the complex, and then call for a forensic examination to see if they’ve left any clues. Sir Robin, you’re with me.”

Robin nodded and allowed Sorcerer Black to lead him through the complex, back to the library he’d seen. It didn’t surprise him to discover that it had been emptied, with the books torn from the shelves and transported elsewhere. Some of those books had been very rare – and dangerous, just what a Dark Sorcerer, who might be self-taught, would need. If they could be recovered…but they hadn’t been left behind. The reports from the other searchers suggested that the Dark Sorcerers had evacuated in good order, killing their captives and taking everything they might still be able to use.

“Nothing,” Sorcerer Black said, after they’d completed their search of the complex. A forensic sorcerer might be able to turn up something, but Robin wasn't hopeful. The Dark Sorcerers had swept the complex with dark magic before they left, creating a haze that would interfere with any sensitive trying to locate their position. “They could be anywhere in the world by now.”

“Maybe,” Robin said. He actually had a fair idea as to where the Dark Sorcerers had gone, although there was only one way to find out. The sword was still glowing in his mind – and with it, he was sure he could hunt down the remaining Dark Sorcerers. “I think I know where to find them.”

“Good for you,” Sorcerer Black said, crossly. Robin was puzzled at his attitude, until he remembered that Sorcerer Black, the new High Magus, had needed a success to cement his hold on the title. And even if Robin was right, it was a job for the Knights of the Round Table, not the Tribunal. “I’ll open a gateway outside and get the next team in to sweep the ruins. The rest of us can go home and prepare for their next attack.”

Robin didn’t bother to argue. Instead, he walked back out behind the sorcerer and glanced towards the coppice. It was still a frozen mass of dead trees, and yet he was sure, just for a second, that he could see something moving within the trees. The hellhound roared, distracting everyone from the coppice, and Robin smiled. Granny had invited Tiffany to visit her, after all. Perhaps there would be some answers then.

“I hope you’re right,” Sorcerer Black said, as they opened the gateway. “If you’re wrong…where the hell are they?”

“They ran from us,” Robin said, ducking the question. “I find that encouraging, don’t you?”

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Lucas yawned and tried to hide it.

His father, seated regally on his throne, gave him a sharp look and Lucas flushed. The monthly meeting with his father’s subjects – or, rather, the peasant headmen who were loyal to his father personally – was always tedious, if only because very few peasants would dare to tell the Duke to his face that he was doing a bad job. Mostly, they spent hours flattering their lord and master and bare minutes petitioning him for boons or remittances. His father taxed them mercilessly, using taxation as both a rod to beat them and a reward for good service. An exception from yearly taxation could make the difference between a reasonably comfortable existence – at least for peasants – and being thrown into the poorhouse.

The peasants themselves kept their faces impassive, but who cared what peasants thought, anyway? They were the ones who stayed loyal when the more ambitious fled to the free cities, braving the dangers of being branded runaways in the hopes of gaining a little more freedom. Their hard-worn faces, and hard-worn clothes, only managed to convey an impression of dirt and squalor. They had little hope of receiving anything from his father unless his father was in a good mood. Even their chastity of their daughters belonged to their lord.

Deliberately, he allowed his eyes to wander to the cluster of womenfolk at the rear of the room. As peasant custom dictated, they had brought their wives and some of their prettier daughters, but the women were expected to be seen and not heard. One girl, who would have been pretty if she cleaned herself up a little, returned Lucas’s stare with interest, a silent invitation to a brief tryst – or even a long-term affair. No one would seriously expect him to marry such a girl, even if he got her with child, but even a brief period as the Heir’s mistress could bring her vast rewards, at least for peasants. It was whispered that peasant women were willing to do anything and perform every possible sexual act, no matter how degrading, in exchange for a regular stipend. Lucas was tempted, despite the horrors that lurked in his mind every time he closed his eyes, and yet…a second girl seemed much more tempting. She had lowered her eyes in an attempt to remain demure, as custom demanded, but she was very tense. Her father had probably brought her in the hopes that she would catch the lord’s eye. It only proved what Lucas had been told since he’d been old enough to walk. Without their lords and masters, the peasants would slip back into sloth, idleness and sin.

He concealed a second yawn with an effort, listening as the peasants fawned over his father. The father of the second girl – he was sure he saw a resemblance – was currently telling his father how great he was, in great and florid detail. God alone knew what he wanted, but Lucas hoped that he’d get to the point sometime within the next few hours. Maybe he hoped that he could trade his daughter’s virtue for better treatment or some other reward – or perhaps he was just hoping to interest the Duke, in the hopes of calling in the favour later in life. Lucas rolled his eyes and settled back on his chair, one hand dropping to caress the hilt of his sword. Ever since they’d visited the ruined city, he’d carried a sword with him at all times. It made him feel safer.

A thunderous crash from the gatehouse brought him to his feet, along with his father. Something was very badly wrong, and yet there had been no alert. The peasant women began to scatter, their sheep-like attitude driving them to panic, rather than trying to do anything to escape. But then, no one raised peasant women to think for themselves. The male peasants seemed caught between remaining on their knees, as was custom when they faced the Duke, or getting to their feet themselves. It might not have mattered; peasants were only permitted clubs and bows as weapons, and they certainly hadn’t been allowed to bring them to the meeting. They might have decided to use their weapons on the Duke.

Lucas started forward as a second crash, followed by a scream, echoed through the castle. Magic – or explosives; either one could have produced that sound. The castle was under attack, but by whom? He drew his sword, thinking hard; the commoners, intent on revenge for the destruction of a free city, or the Tribunal, coming to punish his father for allying with the Dark Sorcerers. Or, perhaps, the Dark Sorcerers themselves, driven by their madness into lashing out at their ally? There was no way to know until the enemy showed itself.

A line of guardsmen ran into the room, weapons in hand. The magicians his father kept on retainer hadn’t showed themselves, even though they should have been in the room within seconds. Lucas wondered suddenly if one of them was behind the chaos, just as a dull rumbling shook the castle and sent several of the peasants crashing to their knees. Their womenfolk huddled together in one corner as footsteps, loud enough to shake the entire building, echoed down the corridor, advancing towards the chamber. Lucas felt sweat forming on his hands and he wiped them frantically on his trousers, wishing that he'd thought to wear a suit of armour. The golden threaded shirt and trousers he wore might look spectacular, but they would provide absolutely no protection at all. He glanced over at his father and blinked in surprise. His father had his impassive gaze on, watching the closed door as if nothing could surprise him, even the sudden arrival of the Tribunal.

The door crashed open and Lucas winced. A figure stood there, face hidden behind a cowl that cast an uncanny shadow inside the hood. Two red points of light floated within the shadow; Lucas had an uneasy feeling that they were eyes. Gasps and screams echoed around the chamber as the figure stepped forward, raw power bleeding from every pore. There was no mistaking the appearance of someone almost consumed by their own magic, a Dark Sorcerer. Half the guardsmen retreated to the rear of the room; the remainder stepped forward, some of them shaking so badly that they were more dangerous to their companions than to the intruder. They formed a line between the Duke and the newcomer, who seemed amused at their puny weapons. There was still no sign of the Duke’s magicians.

In one short motion, the intruder threw off his hood. The face below was barely human, with so much raw power burning through it that Lucas was convinced that he could see the skull through nearly translucent flesh. It was a sickening sight, enough to make a pair of guardsmen stagger backwards, suddenly afraid of the consequences of brandishing edged weapons in front of a sorcerer. A sorcerer worthy of the name – even a mere magician – would know protections that would laugh at any mundane blade. The Duke showed no sign of fear, but then Lucas knew that his father could face his own execution without revealing a hint of his emotions. For his own part…he wanted to run.

Cold terror trickled down the back of his spine as the intruder smiled, a horrific curving of the lips that suggested outright madness. He would have run if he could, but his legs seemed heavy and immobile. The rational part of his mind pointed out that they were caught in a glamour, a spell enhancing the effect of the sorcerer’s appearance, yet he couldn’t break the spell. All the protections he had been given, as his father’s son, seemed worthless. The spell was simply too subtle to be deflected easily, even by another magician.

“Your Grace,” the sorcerer said. His voice was cracked, with more than a hint of absolute insanity lurking behind his words. It was a terrifying sound, as if he was about to burst out into maniacal laughter, or start using his magic on his terrified audience. “Is this how you normally greet your allies?”

He gestured and the remaining guardsmen, the ones brave enough to hold their ground, burst into flame. Lucas shouted in horror, unheard in the din, as their bodies were consumed by uncanny fires, the stench of burning flesh blowing right into his face. The peasant women were screaming constantly, the men retreating rapidly or dropping to their knees and prostrating themselves in front of the sorcerer. Lucas stumbled backwards, almost tripping over as his legs started to work again, not quite daring to flee. The guards at the rear of the room watched their comrades dying, horror etched over their pale faces. Several of them were being noisily sick.

“Any man is a fool who gives his loyalty to Dukes when a sorcerer stands near,” the Dark Sorcerer said. He fixed his uncanny red eyes on Lucas’s father. “We require the use of your castle as a base of operations.”

Lucas’s father kept his voice calm and composed, somehow. Lucas had no idea how he did it, not with those red eyes boring down into him. If Lucas had been on the receiving end, he wouldn't have dared to argue, or even to raise his voice, not when the Dark Sorcerer could kill him as easily as he had the guardsmen. Somehow, he was sure that all the protections he’d been given were about as much use as his tunic and shirt.

“You coming here was never part of the deal,” Lucas’s father said. There were some gasps from the remaining peasants, shocked at hearing that their lord and master had concluded an agreement with the Dark Sorcerers, the enemies of everyone. The ones who remembered the abandoned village – and how Dark Sorcerers had slaughtered everyone present to fuel their dark rituals – would be horrified. “By coming here, you place us all in jeopardy.”

“I am altering the deal,” the Dark Sorcerer said, flatly. “Someone betrayed us to the hated Tribunal. Someone close to you, perhaps; you may have believed that you no longer needed us, and so we could be disposed of without fear.” His cold eyes bored into Lucas’s father’s eyes. “Did you betray us?”

“If I had revealed that I was working with you,” Lucas’s father pointed out evenly, “my head would have been cut off by the Tribunal. They would not forgive me, even if I surrendered you and your men to their justice. I would merely be the next one to be arrested.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then the Dark Sorcerer nodded. “In order that you do not betray us, we will be staying here,” he said. “Your castle is already in our hands. We require your cooperation and your servitude. Should you fail to serve us properly, we will destroy your mind and turn your body into a puppet.”

“You would be welcome here,” Lucas heard his father say. For the first time, he heard a harsh edge in his father’s words. Having the Dark Sorcerers under his roof only heightened the chances of discovery, which would bring the Tribunal down on their heads. And now there was a new High Magus, there would no longer be a distracting power struggle within the House of Magus. “You will need to remain out of sight…”

“We do not trust you,” the Dark Sorcerer informed him. “The security of your castle is in our hands and it will remain so until the end of the war.” The inhuman face twisted into a sneer. “You will be in no danger of discovery. The secret will not be allowed to slip out.”

He gestured at the peasants and they stumbled forwards, pulled by invisible leashes. Lucas watched in horror as they dropped to their knees in front of the Dark Sorcerer, who placed his hand on their foreheads and bound them to him, using a very dangerous spell to turn them into his loyal servants. A moment later, it was the turn of the guards. Resistance was futile; a guard who tried to run was casually incinerated, his remains deposited on the floor. In the end, only Lucas and his father remained immune to their power.

It made sense, he told himself frantically, trying to convince himself that he wouldn’t end up like the poor wretches who were now kneeling in front of the sorcerer, begging for an order that they could obey. There was something helpless and suffering inside their eyes; he met the eyes of the pretty girl he’d seen earlier and shuddered at what he saw in her dark eyes. They wouldn't want to convert the nobility. It would set off alarms the moment his father walked into the House of Lords. It makes sense that they wouldn't try to control us.

“I trust that we understand one another,” the sorcerer said. He grinned at Lucas, a expression that chilled him to the bone. “Fail us and you will die, horribly. You are ours now.”

He nodded to Lucas, who found his legs turning of their own volition and marching him out of the chamber. Behind him, he heard screams from human throats, but the strange compulsion wouldn't let him go until he was back in his rooms, trapped. They were both trapped – and so was his sister. His father’s scheming had finally gone too far.

***​

The kneeling peasant girl offered her throat for the knife, her body obeying his commands even as her soul struggled to free itself – but it was impossible. Maledict drew the knife across her pretty throat and watched as she collapsed, blood pooling around her body. The surge of dark energy from the sacrifice flowed into him and he laughed, his senses expanding to the point where he could sense the other Dark Sorcerers within the castle. They owned it now, whatever the Duke might think – and he could never betray them, even without being compelled into obedience. After making his deal with Maledict and his followers, admitting the truth would be signing his own death warrant. He would just have to pray that Maledict didn’t intend to keep him under permanent control…

Chuckling, Maledict stepped away from the body and summoned Faye. They had a battle to plan, the next – perhaps the decisive – encounter with the remains of Merlin’s lapdogs. And then the world would be his.

***​

“You must be out of your mind,” Tiffany said. “Do you seriously expect to get away with it?”

Robin considered, and then nodded. They lay together on her bed, naked and holding each other after their passion had been spent. Idly, he allowed his fingers to trace the curve of her breast, enjoying the feel of it against his skin. He’d been celibate until marriage – Knights of the Round Table always were – and now he found it hard to let go of her. She seemed to have the same problem; after all, like most noblewomen, she’d been a virgin until her wedding night. The only problem they’d had was that he’d had to take the sword to bed with him, and she’d taken her wand.

“I don’t think that we can deal with <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace> any other way,” Robin said. “If the Dark Sorcerers are there, the Garrison will be in real trouble if they try to advance against the Duke’s fortifications. Even if they don’t take an active hand in the fighting, we can’t afford heavy losses…”

“I can’t afford to lose you,” Tiffany said. Her green eyes flashed fire. “Do you have a desire to get yourself killed? This is suicide!”

Robin touched the sword where it lay, on the edge of the bed. After discovering how it could be used against the zombies, he’d experimented a little, trying to discover what else the sword could do. Merlin had said that Excalibur was far more than just a sword; Robin was finally, he suspected, starting to understand what the old sorcerer had meant. The blade seemed to have nearly limitless power. No wonder it was feared by Elves and Faerie. It would be able to end their immortal lives.

“There isn’t anyone else who can go,” Robin said, seriously. “No one else has Excalibur, or the magic needed to slip into the castle without being detected. And once I get inside, I should be able to find my way to the Duke without serious problems…Excalibur will help. And then…”

“And then you’ll kill him,” Tiffany said. “Have you considered killing his wife and daughter as well?”

“His wife…does she deserve to die?” Robin asked. Lady Blackrock had defended her husband, but that was a wifely duty. “And his daughter certainly doesn’t deserve to die.”

Tiffany’s eyes softened. “Poor kid,” she said. “Do you think…?”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought was sickening, yet it was alarmingly possible. If Duke Blackrock had molested young peasant children, why not molest his own daughter? But then, his daughter could have complained to Camelot, even to Merlin himself. It would have been an insane risk, and yet…the Duke might well be insane now, even if he had merely been perverted when he’d been arrested. Robin would not have put anything past Duke Blackrock.

“I’ll take her out of the castle if I can,” Robin promised. “If not…I’ll deal with her somehow, I swear.”

“You’re insane,” Tiffany said. She rolled over on top of him, one hand slipping down to his manhood. “You’re trusting everything to Excalibur and a dragon.”

Robin felt himself stiffen as she grasped his penis and slowly started to caress it. “It’s not quite suicide,” he said, seriously. “And if we don’t deal with <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace> now, the dark Sorcerers will have a chance to regroup. We have to hit them now.”

Tiffany’s hand stopped moving. “And what if the Dark Sorcerers are there?”

“I’ll think of something,” Robin assured her. He lifted his lips to meet hers. “I have a very cunning plan.”

She slipped herself onto him, impaling herself on him…and then there was no more time for anything, but passion.

 

Hey Chris, Finally started and caught up on the reading. This story is allot darker than the others but the plot is developing nicely. Keep up the good work.

Jason

 

Chapter Thirty-Eight<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

From high overhead, <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace> was a darkened landmass, illuminated only by a handful of fires in the larger villages. The darkness was so absolute away from the villages that Robin felt a chill peering down into the shadows, the chill that humanity had felt in the years before Merlin, when dark forces had ruled the night and inhuman creatures had dominated the world. All the old tales of gods, nature sprites and monsters echoed through his head, a reminder that Merlin’s reign had been a golden age for humanity. And if the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> began to expand, now that the boundary lines were falling apart, the dark days might be back. He clutched the sword in one hand, feeling a wave of reassurance and power. The evil days might come soon, but there would be an end.

The dragon’s wings beat silently against the air, heading towards the heart of Tara – and Castle Blackrock. Tara was a richly magical land, with hundreds of tiny spots of <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> inhabited by leprechauns and centaurs, and dragons weren't uncommon in the skies. Anywhere else, outside the northern lands where the dragons dwelled, a dragon’s presence would be cause for alarm, but not on <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace>. He smiled at the thought as he peered down into the darkness. They wouldn’t think that anyone would be insane enough to try what he was planning, even if they did wield one of the most powerful weapons in all of existence. Surprise – and sheer incomprehension – would be his weapons. And after everything that had happened recently, from the vast destruction the Dark Sorcerers had unleashed to his own captivity, it felt so good to be taking the offensive.

He touched the sword’s blade again and brought up his Sight. <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace> was glowing with thin blue lines of wild magic, shimmering at the edge of his awareness, barely hemmed in by the flickering boundary lines. Beyond them, there were a handful of wards raised by hedge witches and village magicians, trying to keep out the darkness that threatened their land. Robin couldn’t tell if they were aware of the threat of an advancing army or if they sensed the growing threat from the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace>. Those who lived close to the outposts of wild magic, and the gateway to Avalon, would be the first to feel it as the seasons changed and wild magic started to spread upon the land once again.

In the distance, Castle Blackrock was a dark forbidding presence, glowing with magic. Duke Blackrock had been lucky in his choice of ancestors, because they’d built the castle in a very good defensive position. They’d even recruited one of the giants of old to help with the building, before they’d all been driven into the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace> or slaughtered by Merlin and the early Knights of the Round Table. The blue glow of magic showed that they’d built the castle on top of a magical wellspring, the very heart of magic in the land. And if they’d truly wanted to make the castle invincible, they could have done so. Instead…they’d missed a single dimension.

Eleanor looked back at him as a single flicker of moonlight broke through the clouds, the light flickering oddly off her bare breasts. Robin had to force himself to look away as she spoke, knowing that her dragon would react badly to even the slightest hint of intimacy between them. Dragon riders, always female, bonded so closely with their dragons that even friendship was hard and romance was impossible.

“We’ll be overhead in a minute,” she said. “Are you still sure you want to go ahead with this crazy plan?”

Robin looked back towards Castle Blackrock and nodded. Truthfully, the plan had seemed a great deal cleverer when he’d devised it while talking to Tiffany. Now, faced with actually carrying it out, he wanted to do something a little less challenging. Fighting a team of Dark Sorcerers stark naked, perhaps. It could hardly be more dangerous, even with Excalibur at his side.

“Yes,” he said, flatly. The Castle was growing nearer now as the dragon altered course. Down below, in the darkness, they would barely see the creature – and they wouldn't dare try to attack it. A full-grown dragon was not only more intelligent than a human, but often more powerful than anything below a sorcerer. Irritating one did nothing good for one’s life expectancy. By the time they realised that they’d made a mistake, it would be far too late. “Give me a shove when it’s time to go.”

He swung his legs over the dragon’s side and teetered on the brink of vertigo. Below him was nothing, but the ground – hundreds of meters below. He felt nervous, staring down at the abyss, even as he clutched the pack he’d been given by the wizards he’d enlisted to help with his plan. They swore blind that it should work, but none of them were coming with him. For some reason, there had been a shortage of volunteers. The dragon twitched and he felt himself slipping towards the brink, before he caught himself. The castle was much closer now, illuminated only by a pair of torches on the roof. That was a bad element of the design, Robin thought, with something very much like a sneer. The guards on the battlements would have almost no night vision.

“Go,” Eleanor said.

Robin felt her hand shoving him and then he plummeted towards the ground. The dragon was lost in the darkness instantly and the castle rose up to meet him with terrifying speed. He felt a hot trickle running down his legs as impact seemed imminent – and even Excalibur’s scabbard couldn’t protect him from that – before there was a powerful jerk and his fall slowed, sharply. The cloth blanket the wizards had sworn would break his fall had billowed out above him, saving him from certain death. Robin cursed as strong winds blew at him, perhaps part of the castle’s own defences, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought that he was going to miss the castle altogether. And then he was down on the battlements, the cloth billowing down on top of him. It was suddenly very heavy and throwing it off took more time than he had hoped.

He drew Excalibur as he heard the sounds of running footsteps. He’d been careful not to make a noise, but there had been a noise as the cloth settled to the ground. The sword’s glow illuminated the battlements, revealing two guards in armour, both trying desperately to cover their eyes. Despite their torches, they were unable to look away from the light and see into the darkness. Their night vision had been utterly destroyed. Some of the Knights would have said that it was dishonourable, but Robin leapt forward anyway and bisected both of the guards, watching their bodies crashing to the ground in front of him. There was no time to waste. The chances were good that the guards had already sounded the alarm.

The Tribunal had presented him with a chart of the castle, one that had clearly been produced by someone who had spent a great deal of time in Castle Blackrock. Robin had demanded to know why, if the Tribunal had had such access, they hadn’t reported the Duke’s taste for immature children to Merlin earlier, only to be reminded that the Tribunal was strictly concerned with matters involving dark magic. Tiffany’s response to that had been explosive, but Robin suspected that Sorcerer Black had been telling the truth. The Tribunal was a bureaucracy and bureaucratic organisations tended to follow the letter of the law, rather than considering its underlying intentions. Or perhaps they’d had blackmail in mind…

Robin pushed aside his doubts as he slipped through the gate. No one was running up the stairs towards him, which he chose to interpret as a good sign. On the other hand, the stairway was so narrow that any defenders might feel that they could afford to block him in the claustrophobic passageway, forcing him to fight at a disadvantage. Excalibur helped his night vision, allowing him to run down the stairs without fear of falling. There was a single guard at the bottom, looking up in surprise. Robin killed him before he had a chance to sound the alarm.

Glancing around, he fitted his location to the map he’d memorised and started to run, using his thoughts to reshape his armour around him. Anyone looking at him from a distance would think they were looking at one of the Duke’s men, wearing the ugly armour and badly-tailored uniforms he’d designed for them. If he encountered someone who knew all the guards by sight, he would be in trouble, but he had a feeling that the Duke – like most of the upper classes – wouldn't pay attention to any of the hired help. They existed to take his money and do the dirty work for him, nothing else. The thought that they might have thoughts and feelings – and lives – of their own would be alien to him. Or so Robin hoped. If the Duke had been working to earn the loyalty of his men, they would fight for him all the harder.

The passageways became more ornate as he headed further down into the castle. Castle Blackrock was more than just the Duke’s residence; it was his administrative centre as well. Robin had considered expanding the mission to attacking the Duke’s loyal followers – who were controlled by spells, just to make sure they stayed loyal – but that would have been too dangerous. Excalibur was powerful, and Robin now had an idea how to use that power, yet it didn’t make him invincible. And every time he drew the blade, he risked having it detected by a magician working for the Duke.

He stopped and slipped into a shadow as three maids came around the corner. They looked tired, rather than happy, barely exchanging more than one or two words with each other. One of them limped badly, suggesting that she’d been beaten, something that wasn't uncommon in the noblest houses. Robin felt a cold flash of anger as he watched the girl disappearing down the corridor, wondering what her crime had been. Perhaps she’d been caught stealing food…or perhaps she had refused an advance from the Duke or one of his followers. She looked a little too old for the Duke, but there was no way to know for sure.

Excalibur hummed suddenly in his hand as he approached a wooden door. There was an invisible presence in the air, shimmering in the air. Two glowing red eyes appeared out of nowhere, fixed upon his face. The demon knew him for who he was, yet before it could scream a warning Robin brought up Excalibur. There was a brilliant flash of light and the demon vanished, heading back to Hell. Robin cursed under his breath as he slashed through the lock on the door and kicked it open. The magicians in the castle would definitely have noticed that their demon had been kicked back to where it had come from, years ago. There was suddenly no time to lose.

Inside, there was a pack of ten guards, sitting around and chatting idly. They clearly hadn’t been expecting an attack without some warning, but the demon would have dealt with most of the possible threats. A sorcerer could have banished the demon, yet there would have been some warning…Robin pushed the thought aside and ran forward, Excalibur flaring in his hand. He killed the first two guards before they had a chance to draw their own weapons and cut down the third before he could get his sword out of the scabbard. The Duke’s hired killers weren't used to fighting someone who could fight back.

Excalibur seemed to merge into him as the remaining guards lunged forward. They were one…moving and lashing out with inhuman speed. The guards were doing the only thing that would give them half a chance, part of his mind noted absently, but it wouldn't save them. Excalibur sliced through their blades as if they didn’t even exist, cutting effortlessly through skin and bone. They died, one by one, unable to believe what had come for them. And Robin came back to himself, standing awash in a nightmare of blood and death.

He ran for the inner door and into the Duke’s private chambers. They were as luxurious as they’d been led to expect, decorated with gold and artworks from all over the Empire and crammed with expensive wines and snacks. Some of the artworks were officially forbidden, he noted absently, even to someone like the Duke. The artwork from the Serpent Empire, detailing mass sacrifices that had powered the magician-priests of their bloodthirsty gods, could be used by Dark Sorcerers – for all he knew, that was where the Duke had gotten his ideas about allying with the forces of darkness.

The next door crashed down in front of him and he found himself in the Duke’s bedroom. He was stumbling to his feet, desperately trying to recover a pistol from a hidden compartment near the bed, kicking away the small girl who lay beside him. Red hot rage flared up in Robin as he saw the wounds on the girl’s body and he lunged forward, Excalibur shining like the son. The Duke could barely stutter two words out before Robin sliced through his skull and executed him. His body burst into flame – the girl stumbled away, desperately trying to flee – and fell onto the bed. A moment later, the fire started to spread.

“No,” a voice said, from behind him. Robin spun around to see Lady Blackrock. The Duke’s wife had one hand at her throat, staring at the remains of her husband. His body was getting a foretaste of Hell…and his soul had long departed. “You can’t…I surrender!”

Robin wasn't listening. A woman of her status would have been believed, if she had spoken out against her husband. She could have had him executed before he killed any more children after raping them, but she’d said nothing. She’d probably even helped him to find his victims. The rage overpowered him and Lady Blackrock dropped dead, next to her husband. Robin snarled and fought down the rest of the rage. His fury demanded that he slaughter the entire population of the castle, but he knew how impossible that was, now that the enemy were alerted.

The girl was crying, staring at him; she was unsure if he was a saviour or just another monster. Robin held out a hand to her and she came to him tentatively, clearly expecting a blow, or worse. He picked her up and carried her into the next set of rooms, whispering for her to be quiet. They didn’t have much time. He kicked down a second set of doors and found himself in a small nursery. The Lady Gwendolyn, Heir to the Duchy of Tara, stumbled awake, staring at him. She was only thirteen years old, older than her father’s pet. Robin reminded himself that there was no evidence that the young Lady – Duchess now, he supposed – knew anything about her father’s crimes, but the urge to simply end her life was almost overwhelming. Only his training – and the honour of the Knights of the Round Table – kept him from slicing through her nightgown and cutting her in half.

“Come with me,” Robin snapped. He was prepared to knock the girl out if necessary, but she came to him anyway, her eyes blinking away sleep. “I’m taking you out of here.”

He picked up the Duke’s plaything and led the way out of the corridor. Gwendolyn looked hesitant, and then followed, as slowly as she could. Robin turned and glared at him and she instantly moved faster, clearly stalling as long as she dared. There was a shout in the distance and a line of armed men ran towards him, escorted by a pair of combat magicians. After the Dark Sorcerers, the combat magicians were easy pray for Excalibur; Robin ran forward, sliced his way through the stunned guards, and slaughtered both of the magicians. The remaining guards turned to run, realising what they were facing, but Robin showed them no mercy. It was impossible to hold back the bloodlust, not now he’d seen what these men served. Had any of them offered their preteen daughters to the Duke, hoping to curry his favour?

Both girls were screaming as Robin came back to them and dragged them both along the corridor and down the great central staircase. The fire that had started in the Duke’s chamber was spreading and a number of servants were attempting to fight the fire, but they all stopped when they saw Robin. A handful saw his face and tried to run; others, bound by their loyalty spells, threw themselves on him, hoping to drag him down by sheer numbers. At least their spells denied them weapons, thankfully; even so, he had to hack too many of them down in order to escape. The girls were screaming constantly now; too stunned to do anything else, but obey. He dragged them out to the stables and pulled out a horse. The Duke’s personal horse, a magnificent chestnuts stallion, whinnied unpleasantly when he pulled him out, but a sharp glare brought it to its senses. Mounting the girls in front of him, he jumped up behind them and slapped the horse’s rump. It started to gallop towards the gates…

Robin lifted Excalibur, shaped a thought with his mind, and snapped the blade down. A flash of energy exploded from the sword and struck the gate, knocking it open and scattering the guards. He dug in his boots and the horse sped up, galloping over the drawbridge and down the long road to where the dragon would have landed, waiting for him. <st1lace w:st="on">Tara</st1lace> would wake up to discover that her Duke was dead and his Heir was a prisoner in Camelot. And Tiffany, with the Duchess before her majority and a prisoner, would be able to appoint a regent of her choice.

One thought bothered him as the horse carried him further into the darkness. He’d expected to encounter the Dark Sorcerers again, but there had been no sign of them. And the magic wards he'd faced, even the demon, were the work of magicians…

So where, he asked himself, were the Dark Sorcerers?

 

Chapter Thirty-Nine<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The Master of Beneficence College – or the Mistress, as it was currently – lived in a suite of rooms that wouldn't have shamed a Duke. Now, every tabletop was covered in books, while tiny pocket dimensions held a collection of thousands of older books, each one belonging to the current Mistress. Lady Aylia had been reading books since she was three and collecting them since she was four, books focused on magic, myth and the history of the times before the Pendragon Empire. Some of the books were officially forbidden, although the laws hadn't been openly enforced for generations, but, as always, the aristocracy was an exception to certain basic laws. Aylia had come to believe, over the years, that Merlin had deliberately encouraged rebellious personalities to develop, using them to keep his empire running. And besides, if he had known about his impending departure, he might have wanted some of the pre-empire knowledge available to his successors.

It was an attitude that puzzled Aylia, although she was more than familiar with male pride and the effect it could have on their behaviour. Her father had married the wrong woman and was totally unable to admit it to himself, while he supported his wife in every one of her decisions about their two daughters. Aylia had been unable to tolerate the thought of a life as nothing more than a brainless decorative ornament and so she had rebelled, first into books, then into Beneficence as one of the few female students and finally onto the Privy Council itself. It still amused her, whenever she bothered to think about it, that her mother still thought that her daughter had abandoned her, even though she was more important – socially – than almost anyone else below a Duke. The Privy Council was the ultimate achievement, all the more so because membership depended on impressing Merlin, not through birth or some ridiculous feat of arms.

She shrugged and turned the page. Many of the books on magic collected at the college were aging – and so tinted with magic that they were impossible to copy, even by using a scribe to copy it physically. Aylia had had a team of wizards working on copying some of the books safely, but the results hadn’t been particularly encouraging. Their copies tended to speak of magical spells in the most vague and imprecise terms, a necessary safety precaution that made actual learning very difficult. It was sobering to remember that even reading the yellowing volume in her hands – without taking proper precautions – could have disastrous effects on the reader.

The book, written prior to Merlin by a monk, talked about contact with the Faerie and the lesser creatures of Avalon. Back then, according to the writer, humanity had merely been one part of a vast interconnected network of debts and obligations – and very much the least of the figures on the network. The night had never belonged to humanity and wise humans had paid tribute to the things that went bump in the night, fearing what they would do if angered. Children had been stolen and replaced by changelings, adults had been cursed or transformed by exposure to their magic and entire villages had been obliterated for a petty offence. The Fair Folk demanded respect from those they saw as lesser beings and didn't hesitate to punish those who were insufficiently respectful. They demanded praise in florid terms that would make a Duke – or one of the Eastern Mandarins – blush.

She made a series of notes on one of her notepads, frowning. The reports were clear; the boundary lines were falling and, in some cases, had already collapsed. For a while, the creatures in the Greenwood wouldn't realise what had happened, or remain there out of habit, like a creature in the zoo still pacing behind bars that had long since been removed. And then they would come spilling out of Avalon into lands they had lost when Merlin had created the boundary lines, driving the humans in front of them back into lands that had been human before Merlin. There were few reliable reports from so long ago, but according to the book very few patches of land had been purely human – and they were worthless. The coming storm would be the worst that the human race had ever experienced.

Impatiently, unsure of what had disturbed her, she put the book down and muttered a charm over its faded cover, sealing it until she returned. Pulling herself to her feet, she strode over to the statue of Merlin in the centre of the room and gazed down upon it, shaking her head. Had Merlin been too proud to admit that he wasn't truly immortal, after all? Or had he simply decided to leave the empire to stand or fall on its own? And yet...he could have taken any number of simple steps to ensure a stable transition to a new form of authority, without leaving the Houses of Parliament to scrabble for supremacy and the Dark Sorcerers to run riot. Why had he simply abandoned them to their fate?

Angrily, she strode over to the mirror and glared at her own image. Long brown hair framed a heart-shaped face, with overly-large brown eyes and a cute little nose. She had hated her appearance as a child, for first she’d been plain and then alarmingly attractive to the young trainee wizards who made up most of the student body, but now...she felt just right. The last Master of Beneficence College had been old, with a long white beard and a habit of laughing at jokes no one else found funny, yet she had never felt as if she had stolen his place. But then, magic was based on confidence as much as anything else and her certainty that she could do the job had helped to ensure that she received the position. And Merlin’s rule had been absolute back then. No one had dared offer more than a handful of objections, few based on anything other than sexism...

And yet, something was wrong. She turned her head from side to side, trying to understand the faint unease at the back of her mind. It might have been because of the subject matter, because of the impending invasion from the Greenwood, or because of something else. Beneficence College was nearly a thousand years old. Over the years, magic had seeped into its very soul, creating a building that was far more than the sum of its parts. It was alive, in a sense, and the Master of the College was linked to its being. And the faint sense of unease was emanating from the College, a building that had seen hundreds of thousands of wizards in training – and hundreds of them die in the course of their studies. Even Merlin’s departure hadn't left the College in such a state of unease.

Something was definitely very wrong.

***​

From the outside, the walls surrounding Beneficence were surprisingly low, considering the importance of the building. But then, the walls had never been the main defence for a college of magic. The wards that flickered across the grounds between the walls and the college itself were the true defence, ones built up over the years by the Masters of Beneficence Collage. They couldn't beat Merlin’s wards for sheer power, but they were the subtlest wards in the mundane world. Students of Beneficence, once graduated, were free to return at any time they pleased, to add to their learning or merely to visit friends among the teaching staff. Other visitors would be gently pressed towards the reception building, where the staff would meet them and welcome them, if they were truly welcome. Espionage was rife among magic-users and other Colleges had been known to try to slip spies into the college. And Dark Sorcerers, or people with bad intentions, were kept out. Only Merlin could have torn down the walls.

Faye braced herself and walked forward, feeling the wards pressing down around her, the inhuman intelligences peering into her mind. If they knew what she had become...but no, they recognised her as a former student. Carefully, she glanced back at the line of Dark Sorcerers following her and led the way towards the building itself. It had taken hours to gather a number of young wizards in training from the pubs in Camelot, risking discovery by the thousands of Guardsmen in the city, but it had been surprisingly easy. Or perhaps it was understandable. Camelot, under Merlin’s rule, had been the safest city in the Empire. The authorities wouldn't quite have realised, even after what had happened to Londinium, that that no longer held true. And the young students they’d kidnapped had provided just enough of a glamour to fool the wards – or so she hoped. Failure would mean almost certain death.

She felt an odd twinge as they processed across the lawn, unsure – for once – if power was worth so much. The students of Beneficence had treated her badly, but the College itself had done her no harm. And it had provided a basic background in magic theory that most of the other Dark Sorcerers lacked, something that had given her an advantage when it came to channelling the vast magical power unleashed by dark sorcery. She almost hesitated, but stopped, knowing that showing weakness now would be fatal. The power she would achieve, even as the second among the Dark Sorcerers, was worth any risk. She would finally be able to punish those who had mocked her and told her to get back to the kitchen, where any properly brought up young woman from the lower classes should stay. The dream kept her going as they made it through the remaining wards and reached one of the many side doors.

The only time the great gates of Beneficence were opened was when new students were allowed to enter the building for the first time, or when they left after graduating. Normally, students and masters alike used the side doors, which remained open morning, noon and night. She was lost, for a second, in memory, remembering a sour-faced teacher who had guarded one of the doors, sardonically handing out detentions and canings to students who crept back in, somewhat the worse for drink. The only way to avoid him had been to climb over the walls and then up the side of the building, onto a second-floor balcony. It had provided the kind of challenge that the senior wizards approved of, believing that if a drunken wizard could still climb while under the influence of drink, it would help teach them how to control their powers – and not to become drunk on their own power, like the Dark Sorcerers.

Now...she pressed against the door and it opened, with a creaking sound she well remembered from the past. The ghosts of the past seemed to push in around her as she stepped forward, into the college itself, feeling the wards shimmering around her. Young wizards, without any real ability to control their powers, often lost control; the wards prevented them from doing any real damage to the college or most of their fellow students. And now...a looming form appeared out of the darkness.

“Report to the Mistress in the morning...”

The voice broke off as Faye cast a silencing spell, stunning the master before he could say anything else. He clearly hadn't been expecting trouble, or all hell would have broken loose. Faye watched him fall to the ground, and then beckoned the other Dark Sorcerers into the building. They’d all been briefed on the inside of the building – Beneficence, unlike other magical colleges, wasn't given to rearranging its innards at will – and they knew where to go. She led a small team up towards the domain of the masters and mistresses, feeling the wards flickering into life around her. They had sensed the spell she had cast...but would they know that she wasn't a student? She had used a student-level spell...

Every young student they encountered was rapidly stunned, before they could sound the alarm. Faye could sense the wards becoming more and more agitated, as they had when students from the upper classes had started to launch attacks on students from the lower classes – and the lower classes had fought back. The then-Master had lost his position over that crisis, or so she had been led to believe. Beneficence was the foremost magical school in the world. Merlin himself had intervened to ensure that the Master was replaced, for failure on such a scale could not be tolerated. Her lips quirked, briefly. He hadn't bothered to intervene when Faye had been bullied and hounded out of the college.

The students bunked in tiny dorms, ten to a room. Unsurprisingly, the senior students and the masters all had far more luxurious quarters. They were guarded by wards to prevent the students from breaking in and playing tricks on their superiors – and her glamour wouldn't take them any further. She looked up at her master and nodded. He cast a spell that slammed into the wards, overpowering them with terrifying speed. Hundreds of men, women and children had died, sacrificed to provide the power for the spell. Even operating in a tame duchy, they had risked discovery by abducting so many people, but the effort had not been in vain. The wards collapsed and the Dark Sorcerers charged forward.

***​

The wards fell apart and Aylia, mentally linked to the wards, staggered and almost fell to the ground. She’d sensed the stunning spells, but she hadn’t realised that they weren't the work of students, not until it had been too late. How had the Dark Sorcerers even tricked the wards in the first place It should have been impossible – but they had access to more raw power than anyone short of Merlin himself. And yet, they hadn’t overpowered the defences, they’d tricked them. It should have been impossible.

A deafening crash echoed through the building, a crash that suggested that the attackers had abandoned the subtle approach and simply decided to punch through the remaining wards. Aylia stumbled again as more wards shattered, one hand pressing against the floor to steady herself. She’d never felt the wards falling all at once, eve during the handful of emergency drills. It took everything she had to reach out to reconnect to the few remaining wards, yet they were breaking as well – shattering under the impact of pure raw power. Nothing like that had ever happened since the Serpent Wars. Only one thing could produce that much power...

She knew she should run, but her legs felt weak and unsteady. Somehow, she pulled herself to her feet, drawing her wand from the sleeve of her robes. And yet, she felt completely drained of magic, as if the aftershock from the collapse of the wards had robbed her of her powers. The reserves she had built up over the years were gone, utterly gone. That too should have been impossible.

The doorway burst in and two figures stood there, their faces hidden behind dark cloaks. Not that she needed to cloaks to tell that they were Dark Sorcerers; they were glowing with power, and madness. She tried to lift her wand, yet it felt suddenly too heavy to move. The Dark Sorcerer in the lead cast a lazy spell and her arms and legs snapped together, sending her crashing to the floor. It was easy to counter the charm they’d used, but somehow she couldn't shape the thought it required. Her magic seemed to have completely deserted her.

“She’s the Mistress,” one of the Dark Sorcerers confirmed. Aylia would have blinked in surprise if she had been able to move, for the voice was unquestionably female. A female Dark Sorcerer? Sir Robin had reported encountering one, yet Aylia hadn't been entirely sure that she believed him. Female magicians were rare enough, and Dark Sorcerers lived constantly on the edge. They would hardly tolerate a woman...and yet they had. “You need to deal with her, now.”

The second Dark Sorcerer moved forward, long clawed hands – warped by magic – emerging from the darkness of his robes. Aylia would have cringed back if she could, or tried to shape a spell that would kill them both, but she was defenceless. She felt cold fingers touching her forehead...and then she mentally recoiled as she felt violating fingers probing their way into her mind. Such arts were forbidden, with very good reasons. Her few remaining drops of power were drained into the Dark Sorcerer’s vast reserves...and then she was completely helpless. She almost blanked out, barely aware of hands tying her hands behind her back, or of being dragged out into the great hall of Beneficence. An hour ago, she had been the Mistress of the College – and one of the most powerful people in the world. Now...she was nothing more than a helpless prisoner, a hostage.

***​

One by one, the masters and students of Beneficence College were dragged from their dorms and dumped into the great hall. They looked stunned; none of them had ever expected an attack right at the heart of Camelot itself. The sheer shock would paralyse any response from the defenders of the city. They’d see the sun rising over an occupied college...and that was just the beginning of the plan.

Maledict chuckled to himself as he reached the heights of the towers and stared down at Camelot itself. Once, it had been beyond his reach, but now...there was nothing outside his reach. His grasp would encompass the city itself, and then the world...and then do what thou wilt would be the whole of the law. The sun was starting to rise in the distance, shedding light over the gleaming towers of spires of the city. How long would it be, he asked himself, before they realised what had happened? And how long would it be before they realised that there was no way to dislodge him and his followers from Beneficence?

And then what would they do?

 

Chapter Forty<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Lady Tiffany, Lady Tiffany!”

Tiffany started awake, one hand reaching for her wand. She’d served Merlin long enough to know that frantic alarm calls in the middle of the night – or even close to dawn – invariably meant trouble. And with Merlin gone, the trouble could be anything from another attack by the Dark Sorcerers to an all-out invasion from the Greenwood – and Avalon. She gripped her wand with one hand and used the other to rub the sleep from her eyes, pulling herself upright. The frantic face of her chambermaid was staring back at her. No one else, apart from Robin, had any access to her private chambers.

“There’s been an attack,” the chambermaid gasped. She was middle-aged and plump, a legacy from her processor as First Councillor. Tiffany had grown to appreciate the woman, both for her skill at cooking and for her occasionally very insightful nuggets of wisdom. Besides, she had no need to hire someone merely for their looks, as many other Councillors had been known to do. “They attacked the College itself!”

Tiffany opened her mind. Instantly, she felt the shock and horror – and tendrils of dark magic – flaring through the city. There was only one College in Camelot itself, an obvious target for the Dark Sorcerers. She cursed her own oversight even as she staggered to her feet, heedless of her nakedness, and grabbed the robe her chambermaid held out to her. The Dark Sorcerers were attacking Beneficence itself! Tiffany had been a student there and she still maintained a link to the College; she could feel the violation deep within her soul. The Dark Sorcerers had stuck at the very heart of wizardry, of organised magic. It shouldn’t have surprised her, not really. Wizardry was about organising magic, about making the most of what fate had given a wizard while sorcery was about expanding power. The two only coexisted because Merlin had kept even the legitimate sorcerers in line. And even then there had been some nasty incidents...she pushed that train of thought aside and started for the window, buckling her belt around her. There was no time to worry about scandalising the remainder of the population.

Outside, the sun was rising over a city at war. Smoke and flames could be seen in the direction of Beneficence, alarmingly close to the Keep. It dawned on her that if the Dark Sorcerers wanted to make a sally into the Keep, they could eliminate the political leaders and civil servants who were holding the empire together, creating chaos. They’d be able to take control, after a brutal civil war between Lords and Commons, with almost no opposition. She could see fleeing students and servants in the streets, and see soldiers running from the Garrison towards Beneficence, sealing off the area. Tiffany knew better than to think that they could deter the invaders for long. Only magic could take on magic.

She strode out of her chambers and down into the Castellan’s rooms. The crusty old man had already been woken by the servants and was cursing at everyone, trying to understand what was going on. He gaped at Tiffany in her nightgown and shut up, clearly unsure of what to say. He’d lived though five First Councillors and they had all been male. And he’d never married. At one point, Tiffany had thought that that was rather unusual, but she’d later come to realise that he was literally bound to the Keep itself.

“The Dark Sorcerers are in Beneficence,” she said flatly, cursing their failure of imagination. Camelot had been immune to attack since Merlin had established the empire; the last attack had been carried out over a thousand years ago, by forces led by Arthur’s bastard son. If they’d realised the danger, if they’d thought to have evacuation plans...and where could they go, anyway? Every possible destination was highly political...only Camelot had been above the silent, but deadly power struggle between the Lords and the Commons. “I want you to roust everyone out of bed, and get them down to the barracks on the east side of them. Leave only a very basic staff here and send messengers to the clerks. They are to head to the old school and wait for us there.”

The Castellan looked as if he wanted to say something, but Tiffany overrode him. “Send a team of callers running through the streets, ordering everyone to stay well away from Beneficence,” she added. “The magicians in the city are to assemble at the House of Magus; everyone else is to evacuate the area around the College. Get the Lords and Commons heading away from Camelot...”

She finished issuing orders and strode off, confident that her orders would be obeyed. Merlin had once told her that in a crisis, people tended to follow the voice of authority – the voice of someone who sounded as if they knew what they were doing. And as long as they listened to Tiffany, they would believe that she knew what she was doing. She smiled as she walked into the Privy Chamber, wishing that she knew what she was doing. If they’d been willing to consider the possibility of Camelot itself being attacked, they might have had better plans to deal with the crisis.

As she had expected, the Privy Council was already assembling in the war room. Messengers were running in and out of the chamber, rapidly building up a picture of what was going on along the far wall. Someone had shown a remarkable degree of initiative for a clerk and stuck a map of the city on the wall, with a red splodge covering Beneficence. Someone else had been industriously marking the various guard posts that were being positioned around the College, even though they would be worse than useless if the Dark Sorcerers decided to sally out. They could use mind-twisting spells and set the men at one another’s throats.

“Report,” she ordered. None of them, even Sorcerer Black, looked calm, or confident. They’d been badly shocked by the attack, even though they should have expected it. Tiffany vowed to herself, silently, that they would never underestimate the Dark Sorcerers again. “What the hell is going on?”

It was Major General Sir Valiant, Commander of the hastily-established Camelot City Guard, who answered. He looked as if he had aged overnight; the Garrison had normally provided what little security and policing Camelot required, but Merlin had been the ultimate guarantee of their safety. And with so many noble armies and city guardsmen in Camelot, the whole city had become a powder keg, ready to blow.

“They’ve taken the College,” he said, flatly. His voice was bitter, uneven. “The first we heard of it was when our combat magicians sensed dark magic being used in Beneficence – too late to do any good. We recovered a number of students who managed to flee the building in time, but by then they’d taken full control. They have snipers up on the walls, blasting away at anyone who shows his face. They’re damn” – the word slipped out without apology – “versatile, tapping into all kinds of magical levels. I don’t dare let them see anyone, even a combat magician.”

Tiffany nodded. Like all of the magical colleges, Beneficence’s wards had been designed to keep magic in as well as out – and the college’s own wards had helped to shield the Dark Sorcerers from detection until it had been far too late. The wards had been impregnable – no, everyone had known that they’d been impregnable, but enough raw power could take down any ward, even one raised by the most knowledgeable wizards in the world. Merlin would have been able to do it, but he’d been a human hybrid. Were the Dark Sorcerers getting closer to his level?

Sorcerer Black looked just as tired. “We need to dislodge them, quickly,” he said. “There are...books in Beneficence that they cannot be allowed to steal. The student textbooks alone would allow them to fill in the gaps in their knowledge. If they managed to get some of the truly dangerous books...”

He didn't have to elaborate. Tiffany had been at Beneficence herself, first as a student and then as Merlin’s First Councillor. There were books that talked about summoning demons from the Unholy Trinity, the three most powerful demons who could never be summoned and never signed pacts – unless approached in precisely the right manner. There were books that explored the forbidden levels of miscegenation, of blending human blood with that of the supernatural, and using it to produce an entire army. Some books discussed the forbidden rites of the magician-priests of the Serpent Empire; others talked about the bloodstained rites of the Thugs, who had terrorised Hindi until they had been put down by the Knights of the Round Table. There were keys to pacts with the Faerie, and the other creatures of Avalon; words that could be used to control angels and elemental creatures, the personifications of universal constants. And some of the books had secrets so dark that no one, apart from Merlin, had ever dared to read them, let alone try the spells. The Dark Sorcerers might not have known it, but they’d captured a treasure trove of knowledge.

The Major General glared at him. “And what do you propose we do?” He demanded. “We could throw an entire army into the building and they’d wipe it out, instantly.”

“And they have hostages,” Lord Chancellor Rupert pointed out. “Everyone in the building, apparently. If we launch an attack, they may be killed in the crossfire...”

“Or slaughtered by the Dark Sorcerers,” Tiffany said, flatly. There were rites in the forbidden tomes...if they had read some of them, they could use a mass sacrifice to make themselves effectively invincible. She cursed her own weakness – Lady Aylia had been her friend – and then gathered herself. It was time to start making the hard decisions. “Can you shield an attacking force?”

“I believe so,” Sorcerer Black said. He looked up at her, suddenly. “Where is Sir Robin and his trusty blade?”

Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t told anyone who didn't need to know about the plan, or the fact that Robin had set off to single-handedly assassinate the Duke of Tara. And if she had known that Camelot was going to be attacked, she would never have sent him away from the city. Did the sorcerer keep a magical eye on them, or had he merely noticed Robin’s absence and drawn the correct conclusion?

“He should be on his way back,” she said, finally. It was true enough, although there was no way of knowing if he’d succeeded or not until he returned. Eleanor had her own orders. If Robin didn't show up on time, she was to fly back at once and report to Camelot. “But we don't have time to wait for him.”

Sorcerer Black nodded. “I’ll assemble the House of Magus – every one of them that can be relied upon,” he said. “We will shield the garrison while the soldiers and combat magicians retake the college. I think that that is all we can do.”

***​

Maledict spoke the final word and the gateway snapped into existence. Normally, it would be impossible to open a gateway inside the college, but with the wards so badly damaged it was easy enough to use the raw power of dark sorcery to open the link. He nodded to the teams of bewitched students – none of them had been able to defend themselves from his spells – and they started hauling the vast collection of books from the library through the gateway. By the time they retreated from the college – Maledict would have liked to hold it forever, but that might be impossible – they would have the true wealth of the college at their disposal. And the secrets in those tomes would inaugurate a whole new age of magic upon the world.

He strode back towards the Great Hall and peered inside. The tutors were still lying on the floor, unable to escape their bonds – or the network of spells he’d created to keep them still and helpless. He caught the eye of the college’s mistress and smiled at the helpless rage written all over her face. She’d had to watch as he’d systematically raped the minds of many of her younger students, while a handful of the older ones had been sacrificed to restore the power they’d expended in taking the building. Not that their fates would be anything so easy; they’d be slowly drained of all of their knowledge, and then killed – and by then they would be begging for death.

Chuckling, he walked up the stairs towards the battlements. His hatred and anger grew the more he saw of the college. The opulence given to those born to the right bloodline, or the willingness to bow the knee to Merlin and his lapdogs – it had never been offered to him. His old self would have sold his soul for such wealth and luxury, yet no one had seen his promise – or cared enough to make the offer. Instead...he’d gained power as a Dark Sorcerer and he'd brought the entire empire to its knees. He would rule over a kingdom of dark magic...

He pushed the thought aside as he stepped out into the fresh air. He’d left a handful of sorcerers on the roof, trusting them to snipe at anything that moved with their magic. They had quite extraordinary range and could dominate half the city, frightening people into remaining in their homes or trying to flee. A handful of frogs, far below, showed the dangers of flight. They’d been prosperous merchants and their families before they'd been seen running for their lives. Now...they’d be lucky if they managed to survive, let alone be restored to human form.

“They’re shielding their soldiers, master,” one of the dark sorcerers said. “I think they’re preparing to rush us.”

Maledict smiled. It was the obvious tactic – and also a complete disaster waiting to happen. There was far too much open ground between the walls of the college and Beneficence itself, ground he’d already had his followers start preparing for the coming attack. And even if their combat magicians managed to counter those spells, what would they do when the Dark Sorcerers started blasting them from high above?

He relaxed as the minutes ticked by, peering through his Sight. And yet, he almost didn't see it when the attack began. A faint haze, almost invisible even to his Sight, was slowly advancing towards the west of the college. And it was about to step on the grass...

His lips tightened into a cold smile. Back in his hometown, the nobility had had signs warning the commoners to keep off their grass. And now the soldiers of the Garrison were about to find out why.

***​

Private Luis was shaking in his shoes as the force advanced under cover from the combat magicians – and trying very hard to hide it. He knew just how dangerous magic could be, just from watching the duels between magicians and sorcerers who wanted to become the next High Magus. The Garrison had walked very quietly near magicians, knowing that even the promise of retribution from Merlin was no consolation to someone who crossed the wrong magician. Magic-users had a nasty sense of humour and the power to punish those they felt had offended them. He knew someone who had been a man before he’d been transformed into a woman for sneering at the wrong sorcerer – and no one had been able, or willing, to turn him back into a man.

The grass smelt funny as they approached, but there was no time to hesitate. If they reached the walls, they’d been told, they would be able to scramble up them and hit the Dark Sorcerers before they could react – if everything went according to plan. Somehow, Luis suspected that everything wouldn't go to plan; even in the Garrison, there were officers more intent on looking good than caring about the lives of their men. The leading man put one foot on the grass, and then another. And then all hell broke loose.

To Luis’s eyes, the grass suddenly came to life and reared up in front of them. He saw teeth, formed from stones, glittering in the sunlight as the grassy monster roared towards them. The ground under his feet quaked and he found himself falling over backwards, hitting the ground hard enough to hurt. But he'd been on the grass, he thought numbly, and then the grass rose up around him. There was a sudden flicker of light through the air and the haze the combat magicians had been projecting was torn away, leaving them revealed to the world. He saw a figure standing on the battlements, waving a finger down towards the remaining advance...and then the world went away in the flash of blinding green light.

***​

Tiffany watched in horror as the assault plan came apart. Two hundred magicians and over a thousand soldiers had been committed to the assault, but somehow the Dark Sorcerers had seen through the haze. Even the most powerful combat magicians couldn't hold them back for long, not even long enough to retreat. Bodies were stacked up like cordwood, torn apart by the monsters the Dark Sorcerers had created or simply shredded by their own magic. The remaining survivors managed to retreat, some badly wounded. As far as she could tell, none of the Dark Sorcerers had even been threatened, let alone killed.

And they held Beneficence. They could destroy the remains of the government...

For the first time in her life, even after the terrible moments when she’d realised that Merlin was gone and the Iron Palace was crashing down without his will holding it up, she felt despair. The Empire was finished. Everything Merlin had built would become the plaything of the Dark Sorcerers. Merlin’s golden age was over.

And so was she.

 

Chapter Forty-One<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“What the hell?”

Robin saw the smoke rising from Camelot as the dragon started to descend towards the Keep. Camelot, like all cities, had thousands of stoves burning wood and coal, but this was different. A great plume of black smoke was rising from the Iron Triangle and his Sight revealed flashes of dark magic infesting the city, terrorising the population. The streets seemed almost deserted; as he peered down towards the College, he could see bodies lying on the ground. There seemed to be only a handful of defenders left alive.

“Get us down, quickly,” he ordered. He touched Excalibur’s hilt, drawing energy from the sword. Assassinating Duke Blackrock and his wife – and kidnapping his daughter – had left him tired, but if the Dark Sorcerers were attacking Camelot…it crossed his mind that they could be flying right into a trap, but Tiffany was down there somewhere. He wasn't going to abandon her, even if he had to fight his way through the entire force of Dark Sorcerers. “Now, damn it!”

The dragon swooped low over the city and descended to the ground in front of the Houses of Parliament. Robin could smell smoke – and blood – in the air as the dragon slowed to a hover, mighty wings beating the air, and slowly landed on the ground. A handful of soldiers appeared from out of nowhere, swords, spears and rifles at the ready, before they recognised him and started to cheer. Robin, on impulse, drew Excalibur and held the glowing sword aloft, even though he was worried at how dependent they’d become on the legendary weapon. He had a hunch – which the sword would neither confirm nor deny – that Excalibur’s powers had their limits…and so did its willingness to help. They would have to stand on their own two feet before they were worthy of taking Merlin’s place.

He slid off the dragon and bade Eleanor wait for him, with the two girls, before he strode over to the soldiers, who were keeping a respectful distance from the dragon. The leader – a sergeant, wearing badges that didn’t match his men’s badges – rapidly briefed him on what was going on; the city had been attacked and the Dark Sorcerers were holding Beneficence College, along with hundreds of hostages. An unknown number of guardsmen and combat magicians had been slaughtered in a futile attempt to retake the building. And now the entire city was slowly being evacuated.

“Take me to the First Councillor,” Robin ordered, finally. He had to see Tiffany – and if she was one of the hostages, nothing would stop him from cutting his way through the defences and to her side. “Leave the dragon here; Eleanor can take care of the guards.”

The Keep seemed undamaged, but the soldiers and combat magicians gathered near the vast blocky building were careful to keep out of direct line of sight from the occupied college. Robin, who had had to take down rogue magical snipers in his time, understood perfectly. A single sniper could dominate the entire city, at least until a team of wizards could deal with him – either directly or though shielding guardsmen who would kill the sniper before he could take them out. The Privy Council had ordered the evacuation of the building, as Robin had expected, but they’d refused to evacuate themselves. Robin wasn't sure if that was sound politics or foolish bravado; the Keep was heavily warded against attack, yet that had also been true of Beneficence.

Excalibur glowed in his hand as they entered the building and walked down deserted corridors. The whole scene reminded him alarmingly of the abandoned buildings in Kentigern, deserted for hundreds of years and tainted by dark sorcery and wild magic. If half of the stories of what was stored in Beneficence were true, the Dark Sorcerers would be able to make what had happened to Kentigern look no more significant than a minor bruise. He shivered at the thought; given enough time, they could unleash demons that would ransack the entire world – and without Merlin, they might never be banished back to Hell. Even Excalibur had its limits…

Tiffany was seated with Major General Valiant and Sorcerer Black when he entered – and she looked crushed. Robin felt his heart go out to her, even as she came to her feet and ran towards him, nearly impaling herself on Excalibur as she grabbed him and held him tightly. The other two were more restrained in their greetings, although they seemed more relieved to see Excalibur than Robin himself. Without the Armoury, there were only a handful of magical weapons in the city – and none of them could match Excalibur. Merlin had always kept the most dangerous ones safely locked up, and now they were gone.

“Duke Blackrock and his wife are dead,” Robin said, once he could breathe again. It was odd how his armour reacted to her touch, almost allowing her to hug him to death. “His daughter is outside, a prisoner. What happened here?”

Tiffany explained, quickly and concisely. Much of it Robin already knew, but some of the details, including the identities of some of the hostages, were new to him. The loss of the College’s teachers was alarming, if only because they would have intimate knowledge of most of the newly-graduated wizards and sorcerers. In the wrong hands, that kind of knowledge could prove immensely destructive. And the attack the Tribunal and the Garrison had launched to attempt to recover the College had been a complete disaster. Hundreds of soldiers and combat magicians had been slaughtered.

Robin looked over at Sorcerer Black when Tiffany had finished. “Could you teleport me in there?”

The sorcerer looked thoughtful for a long moment. “It would be chancy,” he admitted, finally. “They took down all the protective wards, but if they think to re-establish them…”

“They won’t,” Robin said, confidently. The Dark Sorcerers used teleport spells to escape when they were cornered and unless they believed they could hold Beneficence indefinitely, they wouldn't risk cutting off their own line of retreat. Perhaps it was possible to selectively block teleport spells, but no Dark Sorcerer Robin had ever encountered would risk his life to test the theory. It would cost him his life if it failed. “And once I’m inside…”

He brandished Excalibur. “I’ll get to their leaders, free the hostages and slaughter the bastards,” he said. Much of his confidence was pretence, but they needed to see him confident. Tiffany was on the verge of collapse and none of the others were much better. “And then we can recover all the books and documents at leisure.”

“I hate to rain on your parade,” Sorcerer Black said, “but they will have sensed your return to Camelot. They will certainly have sensed Excalibur. As soon as you materialise inside the building, they will turn it against you…and that sword doesn’t make you invincible. They captured you before; this time, they will simply kill you out of hand.”

“True,” Robin agreed. A plan was slowly unfolding itself in his mind. “Could you and your fellow magicians create a false impression of Excalibur’s whereabouts?”

Sorcerer Black stroked his chin, thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said, carefully. “If we were to combine it with a masking spell, they’d pick up bits and pieces and think that we were trying to hide the sword’s exact position. But that won’t work as long as Excalibur itself is nearby. They won’t be fooled if they see the sword in two places at the same time…”

“I put Excalibur in a pocket dimension,” Robin said. He couldn’t create one – that required a wizard with proper training – but he could open one, if he was given the correct words of power. “They don’t sense the blade until I produce it from the pocket dimension…”

“And if they catch you without it in your hand, they will kill you,” Tiffany protested. Robin could see her working up to forbidding the entire scheme, but there really was no other choice, short of using the dragons to burn the College to the ground. And even then the Dark Sorcerers could teleport away. “Robin, my love, you can’t…”

“There’s no other choice,” Robin said. He tapped his armour, feeling the crest that had been burnt into the armour when he’d been knighted. A Knight of the Round Table would go anywhere, bear any burden and face any foe, to protect the population of the empire. As long as it wasn't quite suicide – and even if it was, if there was a reasonable chance of success – a Knight went in. “I could not love thee half so much, if I did not love honour more…”

“I’ll go make the preparations,” Sorcerer Black said, hastily. Robin realised that he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a lover’s quarrel. That was…odd; no matter how much he considered it, he couldn’t see the Master of the Tribunal’s decision to enter the limelight as anything, but a very bad sign. “We’ll have the fake sword prepared for activation within an hour…”

“There is another possibility,” Major General Valiant said, reluctantly. “You could release the loyal sorcerers from the Laws of Magus…”

“No,” Tiffany said, flatly. The more power a sorcerer channelled, the greater the chance of madness – or dark sorcery. Releasing the sorcerers from the bonds of Merlin’s Laws of Magus would turn the loyal sorcerers into maddened enemies of order, even those who had no intention of ever becoming Dark Sorcerers. And that didn’t include the demons they might call up and release from Hell, or any number of other dark acts they might commit in their madness. “I will not countenance that; not now, not ever.”

“Besides,” Sorcerer Black said, too quickly. “Who could we sacrifice?”

Robin knew the answer the Dark Sorcerers would give – and even many of the nobles. There were thousands of commoners in Camelot…and all of them were regarded as worthless by most of their lords and masters. It was easy to imagine some of the Dukes deciding to slaughter peasants in their thousands just to boost their power…and Dark Sorcerers, intent on gaining as much power as they could as quickly as possible, wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice entire towns, even cities. The horrors of the Serpent Wars had never been forgotten. They provided a warning of what the world might look like, if the Dark Sorcerers reigned supreme.

The two left the chamber quickly, leaving Robin and Tiffany alone. “I don’t want you to risk it,” Tiffany admitted. Robin held her, feeling her shaking against him. She’d survived the attack on their wedding day and even the destruction inflicted on an innocent city, but something had drained the life out of her. Perhaps it was the fall of Beneficence, her former school, or the capture of one of her best friends. Or perhaps she’d finally reached the end of her tether. “I…”

Robin pulled her close to him, kissing her tears away. “I will come back to you,” he promised, although he wasn't sure if it was a promise he could keep. The Dark Sorcerers might deflect the teleport spell, or they might do something far worse…and they might recover Excalibur. Robin had no doubt that they would never be able to unlock the secrets within the sword, but Excalibur in enemy hands would be a shattering boost for their morale. “You promised me a long honeymoon somewhere warm.”

Tiffany giggled, despite her tears. They’d planned on a honeymoon, but that had been before Merlin had departed and they’d found themselves coping with crisis after crisis. She'd told him that she intended to take him to Shallot and introduce him to her family, but they hadn’t even had the time to do that. And neither of them believed that they would have a chance to relax in the very near future, or even for a very long time.

Her red hair smelled so sweet that he didn’t want to let go of her, but there was no choice. “I’ll come back,” he promised, and tried not to think about the odds. Excalibur was a constant presence at his side, but without it…he reminded himself firmly that he’d escaped the Dark Sorcerers without Excalibur, recovering the sword before they could damage it beyond repair. “And then…I want to take you somewhere.”

He briefly explained about Granny and her offer to teach Tiffany what she knew. Robin had been in two minds about mentioning her at all, but Tiffany had a right to know – and besides, she had a much better nose for political intrigue. Witchcraft had been banned by Merlin, yet Tiffany would know if there was a good reason behind the ban, or if Merlin was so intent on introducing wizardry that he’d banned all other forms of magic and never rescinded the ban.

“We can go together,” Tiffany said, finally. She gave him one final hug and then let go of him, turning away so that he would not see her tears. “Now go – and may God be with you.”

***​

A cold air was blowing through the city, tainted by the omnipresent mixture of smoke and blood, when Robin stepped out of the Keep and walked over to the House of Magus. A number of the most powerful magicians in the world, excepting those who practiced dark sorcery, were gathered on the lawn, building a doll in armour. Sorcerer Black held up a black blade from an enchanter’s shop and nodded to him, waving Robin over to stand beside him.

“I’ll open the pocket dimension and anchor it to you,” he promised, as a pair of enchanters went to work on the black sword. It looked to have been made out of coal, reminding Robin of the Dread Diamond Blade of Shetland, a story he’d been told in his youth. The blade had made its wieldier invincible until it had been struck with an almighty burst of lightning and turned to coal. “And then we will create the false sword…”

Robin held up Excalibur and, at his command, let the sword fall out of the world. The pocket dimensions had always given him headaches – it looked as if the sword had fallen into nothingness - but this one seemed to be perfect. Sorcerer Black attached it to a talisman and passed it to Robin, which he hung around his neck. It would serve as the key for unlocking the pocket dimension and freeing Excalibur from imprisonment. And the moment he opened the dimension, they’d know that he was inside the building. And then all hell would break loose.

“We think we can put you into the underground basement,” Sorcerer Black said. A team of sorcerers were already chanting the preliminary spells. Robin would have all the protections they could weave into the spell, but he knew that they might be futile. If the Dark Sorcerers had set up wards…there was no way to know. Anyone who tried to peer at Beneficence though Sight found that it was impossible, like staring into a blinding light. “After that…you’ll be on your own.”

“I understand,” Robin said. He’d gone into Castle Blackrock alone, after all…but then, he had had Excalibur with him. This would be different. “Once you sense me unleashing the sword, hit the building with everything you have. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Of course,” Sorcerer Black agreed. He tapped Robin lightly on the shoulder, an odd parody of the greeting mounting knights exchanged while on horseback. “Are you ready?”

Robin nodded. A moment later, the sorcerers started to chant loudly…and the world faded away into green light. For a horrifying second, perhaps not even that, Robin felt suspended within the teleport, as if the spell had ground to a halt, leaving him trapped as less than a ghost. And then the world seemed to slam back into existence around him and he found himself in the basement, staggering as if he'd been punched in the belly. He swallowed hard to keep down the bile threatening to rise up and spew out of his mouth, feeling the room shifting around him. Slowly, alarmingly slowly, it started to calm down.

He bit down a curse as he steadied himself, and then reached into his belt and removed two pistols. They both held a mixture of silver and iron bullets, half blessed and half cursed. He’d used them for hunting rogue werewolves and vampires in the past, but now they could suffice against Dark Sorcerers, provided that he caught them unawares. If they had no time to protect themselves, he might be able to kill them without drawing Excalibur. He touched the talisman and started to creep towards the door, allowing his armour to boost his strength and steady him. No Knight liked to depend upon the charms woven into the armour, but he had no choice.

The basement door was locked, unsurprisingly, but Robin picked it with relative ease. When it clicked open, the metal seemed to flow like water and formed a face, a grinning demon with very sharp teeth. It stared at him for a moment as Robin prepared to jump backwards, before it melted completely away and ran down the door and pooled on the floor. Robin realised slowly that the door must have had a protective sprite, but the sprite’s bonds had almost been broken when Beneficence’s wards had gone down. And now it was free, probably winging its way back to the Darkness. A demon would have run amok before it escaped or was banished back to Hell.

He stepped out into the corridor and froze as he saw a small group of students walking towards him. Their eyes were dull and lifeless and they marched as if they were under someone else’s control. He braced himself for a fight, but they walked past him without reacting to him at all. Control spells had their limits, he reminded himself, and whoever had enthralled them hadn’t had time to program them properly. Silently vowing that he would do whatever it took to stop the madness, he started to walk up towards the stairs...and stopped.

Something was brewing in the air, something nasty. He could feel it, something looming right on the edge of his perception…something very unpleasant. And the stench reminded him of Kentigern…

Cursing, Robin began to run. Whatever they were doing up there – and he had a pretty shrewd idea - he had to stop it quickly, before time ran out for good. And all of Camelot was at stake.

 

Afternoon Chris. Enjoying the read. You always keep is suspenseful.

Jason

 

Chapter Forty-Two<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“On your feet, bitch.”

Aylia could barely move. One of the Dark Sorcerers – thankfully not one of her enslaved students – reached out and impatiently pulled her to her feet. She tried to shape a thought in her mind that should have turned him into a toad, but the spells binding her and her powers held firm. They’d been designed for sorcerers with more raw power than they knew how to deal with and Aylia, for all of her knowledge and skill, was no sorcerer. The network of spells held her firmly in her place.

The Dark Sorcerer caught her arm and manhandled her along the corridors that, a day before, she’d ruled. Bloodstains were everywhere, marking where her students had fallen – or had been killed, merely for the hell of it. The shimmer of magic that had once been an omnipresent part of the building was gone. She would have cried, if she had dared to show weakness. The legacy of nearly a thousand years of research into wizardry – the safe way to learn magic – was gone. He bustled her into the library and she stopped, almost stumbling over when she saw the desecration. Thousands of common books, mass-produced by the printing presses developed by the free cities, had been ruthlessly dumped on the floor, while the rare and valuable books were transported through a gateway by enslaved students. She started to struggle against her bonds, rage giving her a strength beyond anything she’d felt as a free woman, but it was of no avail. Her captor jammed a wand into her back and her entire body convulsed with pain. It took everything she had to keep a scream from escaping her mouth.

“Take her through,” another Dark Sorcerer ordered. Aylia felt cold horror as she saw his face, warped and twisted by dark magic. The flesh was literally burning off his skull, threatening to turn him into a lich, a dead body animated by a sorcerer’s will. There were tales about such creatures in the past, sorcerers who had survived both the ravages of sorcery and the madness it brought in its wake, only to become less than human, creatures of pure power. A lich could be extremely dangerous if it had a will of its own, rather than a zombie. But then, a zombie horde would be just as dangerous, given the opportunity.

She was surprised by how calm and analytical she felt, even though her world had turned upside down. The disfigured Dark Sorcerer saw her looking at him and stared back, red light shining deep within his eyes. She wasn’t even sure if he had eyes any longer, as if nothing more than raw magic allowed him to see. And if he was that far gone, there would never be any hope of reasoning with him. He would have to be destroyed, yet with such an infusion of magic, very little could hope to destroy him.

It was tempting to open her mouth, to try to challenge him and provoke him into a magical act that might destroy what little was left of his physical existence, but she didn’t quite dare. Part of her believed that she might still survive, that she might find a way to escape, even though her magic was blocked and her hands were tied so tightly that her wrists had gone numb. Her captor pushed her forward, into the shimmering curtain of light, and Beneficence vanished behind her. They’d kidnapped her from her College. There truly was nothing sacred left in the world.

She opened her eyes, unaware that she’d closed them, and saw a grey stone chamber – and a handful of her former subordinates. They were tied and bound, just like her; their shocked faces showing her their shame and horror at having been captured so easily. Aylia couldn’t understand, at first, why the Dark Sorcerers had bothered to take so many; she could be ransomed, as could some of the other aristocratic teachers, but the common-born would bring them no ransom. And then it struck her. Few Dark Sorcerers had any formal training; after all, one of the benefits of formal training was that it discouraged young wizards from trying to become sorcerers, certainly by any of the rather unsafe methods used by the Dark Sorcerers. Surely, any Dark Sorcerer, looking at the opportunities opened up by Merlin’s departure, would want to complete their magical education…

…And Aylia and her staff had been training young wizards for decades.

If she could have killed herself, she would have done. But the spells binding her also prevented her from shaping the thought that would kill her. All wizards learned how to destroy themselves, if only to prevent magical disasters that would destroy their lives, yet the knowledge was of no avail. She could not escape into death…and she knew that, given time, the Dark Sorcerers would make slaves out of them all. And then the enemies of all of civilisation would become vastly more dangerous.

She thought desperately, calling upon all of her reserves of knowledge, but there seemed to be no escape. There was no hope at all.

***​

Maledict cocked his head as he sensed, for the first time since the raid had begun, the presence of Excalibur. There was no hiding such an Object of Power – and, after he’d had the blade in his presence, there was no mistaking it for anything else. He couldn't imagine why they’d not used the blade in their first attack on Beneficence, but it hardly mattered. Perhaps they’d had to wake the cursed Knight of the Round Table from sleep. The thought amused him and he cackled, ignoring the looks from the handful of remaining college staff. They were too late. Excalibur would hardly matter.

He reached out with his mind and sensed the bottomless reserves of power they’d collected. They’d separated the older students from the younger ones – the innocent souls from those who might have made questionable bargains in their time – and sacrificed the younger ones to gain power. Now, they had enough power to perform almost any rite. He’d issued the orders to begin preparations as soon as the building itself was in their hands and Faye, loyal Faye, had completed her work. The time was almost right.

Maledict turned and walked through the bloodstained corridors, enjoying the vision of wreaked hallways and shattered artworks, all built on the sweat of the lower orders. A handful of Dark Sorcerers were amusing themselves with the handful of female students, draining their powers and ravishing their minds; he allowed them to do it, knowing that permitting such acts bound them all the more closely to himself. They would never be accepted by the remains of Merlin’s government, not any longer. There would be no place to hide if they betrayed him…

He allowed his mind to roam, caressing the ball of power they held securely within their wards. To touch it too closely would be like flying straight into the sun; the burst of uncontrolled magic would shatter anyone who dared to tap it without proper precautions. The thought made him smile, coldly. Faye’s basic grounding in magical theory had allowed her to teach him how to channel such power, even though it had to be at one remove. And now her usefulness had come to an end. Her former tutors would be much more helpful – and, controlled as they were, they could never pose a threat to him.

Maledict had no doubt that Faye had realised the truth, the truth that he had only grasped dimly in the days following the death of the High Magus. An ambitious person – and all sorcerers were ambitious and power-hungry – would see the opportunity to overthrow her master without needing to match his power, if she understood what she was doing. No, her presence was a risk he no longer needed to tolerate. He could only remain in control by cowing the other Dark Sorcerers and he could only do that by being unquestionably the most powerful of them all.

The chamber he stepped into had once taught the basics of magical duelling and had crawled with spells intended to ensure the safety of the students. It was a dark dank room, without any chairs or tables, merely a single restraining circle drawn on the floor. The only light came from a globe Faye had summoned and cast into the air, shedding an eerie flickering light over the entire scene. Faye herself was standing near the circle, half-covered in blood. She’d used a mixture of Dragon’s Blood – one of the most powerfully magical substances known to man – and her own blood to construct the spell. She hadn’t realised – yet – that she would be honoured by the chance to grasp and control more power than any sorcerer could hope to control…and by the time she realised the truth, it would be far too late.

Faye dropped to her knees as she saw him approach. He wasn't fooled by her submission; he could see, he was sure, the calculation hidden behind her expressionless face. And who could blame her for wanting to overthrow him? He studied her scarred face and gnarled hands and wondered, absently, if there was any way to avoid the damage, both morally and physically, that dark sorcery inflicted on the human body and soul. It had been a long time since he’d been interested in taking a woman for himself, even though he could have used his powers to bend any woman to his will. Part of him missed the sexual impulse; part of him knew that sex, no matter how warped the desire and submissive the woman, was no match for the attraction of raw power.

“Master,” she said. He could hear…something in her voice, a sense that she might finally have enough power to overthrow him. She’d constructed far more incriminate wards around herself than any other Dark Sorcerer, even the handful of others who had some formal training. “The circle is complete.”

Maledict smiled. “You have done well,” he said. Raw power crackled around his fingertips as he touched her forehead, feeling her wards resisting his touch. He half-expected her to strike then, but she didn’t move, even though his fingers were touching her bare flesh. It would have been easy to crush her in that moment, yet he held himself back. There was a further pleasure to come. “You will have the honour of beginning the rite.”

Faye stared at him, utterly surprised. She had no doubt assumed that Maledict, no fool, would refuse to allow anyone else the chance to channel the power. After all, if someone did master the vast store of power, it could swat Maledict like a bug.

“Master,” she said, finally. “I am honoured…”

Maledict stepped back from her and smiled again. “You may begin the rite,” he informed her. “The time is right.”

He cast his awareness out again, seeing through the crumbling walls of Beneficence and out into the surrounding streets. The forces of Merlin’s government, what was left of them, were gathering, preparing to attempt to evict the Dark Sorcerers from the College. He could sense Excalibur – and a handful of other Objects of Power – being arrayed against him, with hundreds of sorcerers and wizards adding their power to the preparations. They had dragons flying nearby, twisting through the air as they awaited the command to unleash their hellish breath upon the enemy. This time, there would be no mistakes.

Except one, he thought, and cackled. They were far too late.

He summoned one of his enslaved students – a young boy who had dared to raise his wand against a Dark Sorcerer and had been horrifically disfigured for his pains – and sent him to tell the others to step through the gateway and escape. There was so much dark sorcery running through the building that even the most subtle of wizards, peering through their Sight, would be unable to discern that most of their intended prey had already fled. Their morale would crash in the wake of this latest catastrophe – and his final parting shot, the destruction of the heart of Merlin’s government.

Faye was standing in the circle, having divested herself of all clothing. There was great symbolism in nakedness, Maledict knew; there would be nothing standing between her and the power – and the network of wards she’d constructed to channel the power to its intended target. Her body was scarred by her pursuit of power – and scars inflicted by her tormentors, long before she’d fled the building she was about to destroy – but she held herself proudly, refusing to show weakness. It would have been a fatal mistake.

And all of the Dark Sorcerers, save two, were gone.

“Begin,” he ordered.

Faye dropped to her knees, spreading her thighs wide. She placed her hands behind her neck, offering herself in a gesture of primal submission. The Darkness would be pleased. Slowly, she began to chant, each Word of Power echoing on the air. Maledict sensed a dull rumbling in the distance as the power started shimmering out into the Darkness, shaping a single all-consuming thought. A summons…

He stepped backwards as space and time began to distort around her. Something – Someone – had heard. And He was coming. His presence was already pressing against the mortal world, his voice whispering words in a long-forgotten tongue as He emerged from the Darkness into the fragile mortal world. Maledict laughed as he felt the entity’s presence pressing down on him. The last time such an entity had been summoned, a city had died. Now…how many would die before it was banished back to the Darkness?

“Stop!”

Maledict turned to see a Knight of the Round Table, wearing that hated armour, standing on the other side of the chamber. The Knight’s face was hidden behind the white-gold helm, but he was mortally certain that it was the same Knight who he’d captured, only to have escape and reveal the location of his lair to the forces of law and order. He drew a set of pistols and levelled them at Faye, yet it was far too late.

“Stop now,” the Knight bellowed. His voice sounded puny in the chamber, drowned out by the whispering of the dread entity. It was moving closer; soon, even the mundane population would be able to sense it. Everyone with even the slightest hint of magical ability for miles around would already know what was going on. “Stop or I fire!”

Maledict produced his wand and laughed aloud. “It’s too late, Sir Robin,” he said. Magic amplified his voice, echoing out in the chamber. “Run away, Sir Robin; run away!”

And he laughed.

***​

Robin ignored the Dark Sorcerer as best as he could, trying to level his pistols at the naked women in the circle. The entire room was glowing, illuminated by a blinding light that seemed to come from nowhere. If the woman could hear him, she gave no sign; her eyes were tightly closed against something only she could see. It wouldn’t be long, he realised numbly, before the presence manifested and everyone could behind it in all its dark and terrifying glory. What had the Dark Sorcerers summoned up from the Darkness?

He levelled his pistols, squinting against the blinding light, and opened fire. The weapons clicked uselessly, before falling to dust. Robin realised, as he grabbed the talisman and tried to open the pocket dimension, that whatever was slowly materialising around them was already affecting events in the mundane mortal world. The pocket dimension was still there, yet it refused to open. Excalibur was beyond his reach.

Robin produced one of his charmed daggers and looked up for the Dark Sorcerer who led the pack, but he was gone. The sense of power was growing ever stronger, ever darker; it wouldn't be long now. He threw one of the daggers right at the woman, but it couldn’t cross the circle, for all the charms and runes he’d carved into it when it had been produced at the Garrison. With an almighty effort, he stepped forward and froze. No matter how much he tried to move his body, it just refused to advance any further. He couldn’t move…

And then it was far too late.

***​

He’d tricked her, Faye realised. Her master had decided to dispose of her. The power she’d unleashed was flaring around her, infusing itself into her very soul. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly closed, fearing what she would see if she opened them, even as she desperately prayed to a God she’d refused to worship. Shaking, feeling the entity’s touch prowling through her mind, she tried to stop the ritual. It didn’t work. Something was so deeply infused into her, now, that she was nothing more than its puppet. Her body did as it was commanded by the will of her new master.

She could hear words, right on the edge of comprehension, as she lifted her voice in the final chant. Nothing she did worked. Her body had become completely divorced from her mind. Oddly, she felt her fear ebbing away. The power grew stronger and…

Faye’s eyes snapped open. There was a moment when she stared right at the entity – no, it was all around her, consuming her – and then her eyeballs burst in their sockets. Red pain ran down her nerves and into her mind, leaving her sanity burnt away, followed rapidly by her soul. The last thing she heard was an awful voice, thundering all around her.

“FREE,” it thundered. It hammered into what was left of her mind, the words reshaping reality to its will. She was nothing compared to its sheer immensity and power, just a moth flying through the flame. The entire building was shaking around her, or so she thought. It was so hard to think as the last of her awareness ebbed away into nothingness. The voice mocked her and taunted her, thanking her even as it damned her to eternal fire. “FREE AT LAST!”

And then there was nothing. Nothing at all.