The Lady of Shalott (Merlin's Legacy)

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

The wave of demonic power sent Tiffany falling to her knees. All around her, everyone with the slightest hint of magical sensitivity was staggering backwards, recoiling from the sheer intensity of the demon’s presence. She could hear its words echoing through her head, each thought laden with chilling malice and an evil that was shockingly primal in its intensity. The demon was the worst that could exist on the mortal plane, she realised; it was pure evil. Perhaps it didn’t have free will as humans understood the term – although the fallen angels who had been thrown down from Heaven had chosen to follow Lucifer in his bid for supreme power – but that hardly mattered. Its mere presence was immensely destructive.

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Beneficence</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">College</st1laceType></st1lace> started to warp, twisting out of shape, as the demon’s power grew stronger. It was pushing the mortal world aside so it could manifest fully, placing immense stress on reality. There was a thunderous crash as part of the College, unable to take the stress, simply exploded, sending debris crashing down all over the city. On any other day, it would have been a disaster beyond imagining, but now…it was only the beginning. The sense of raw power heightened as the demon’s influence continued to spread, and finally slipped into manifestation. Tiffany felt sheer terror, rooting her to the spot; if she had been able to move, she would have fled. Her legs refused to obey her increasingly frantic commands to flee. The demon terrified her at a very basic level. Nothing human could hope to destroy it.

The demon slowly began to manifest, towering up above where the College had once stood. It’s mere presence distorted reality; Tiffany saw the remains of the College distorting around the demon’s feet, as if it was somehow more real than mortal flesh and blood. It seemed to be thousands of miles high, yet she could see it in terrifying detail. The demon was imprinting itself on the surrounding world. Her mouth fell open, but words refused to form. Every spell, ward and charm she’d been taught fled from her mind.

It was huge, bright red in colour, with dark hair covering its groin. A dark beard framed its face, with hellish rotting teeth and flames licking around its mouth. Bright yellow eyes, a sickly hue, seemed to shine from high above, allowing it to peer deep into her soul. She met its eyes for a split-second and almost vomited as her mind touched the sheer evil that pervaded the demon. It lifted its massive arms – which ended in claws – to the sky, and then bent down to peer at the humans. A giant might have peered with such apparent curiosity, but even the legendary Two Stone Giants of Tara could never have displayed the chilling indifferent menace of the demon. No, Tiffany realised; it wasn't indifferent. This was a creature that delighted in death and suffering, in making the human race pay for its sins. It had never been an angel, even before the Fall of Lucifer. It was a creature of pure evil.

Tiffany found that she could move again, as if she had somehow grown accustomed to the demon’s presence. Direct contact with a demon in its native form – insofar as the term had any meaning – would literally destroy her mind, yet the demon was manifesting in a form human minds could accept, if not comprehend. It suggested to her that the powers of evil were still under some form of restraint, but she couldn’t understand what might be holding back the demon from simply wishing them all out of existence. And then it struck her. The demon would never be satisfied simply by destroying them all. It wanted them to suffer, to know that there was no hope – to despair. Oddly, the thought gave her courage. If it needed them to despair, it was very far from all-powerful…

The demon opened its mouth. A hellish stench of fire and brimstone billowed out across the city, causing thousands of people to choke and gasp for fresh air. Tiffany murmured a charm that should have protected her from the demon’s vile breath, but the charm was almost completely ineffective. The demon’s eyes crossed the city, its amused mental chuckle – echoing in her mind – showed its contempt. There were over ten thousand armed men – city guardsmen, aristocratic soldiers and Garrison troopers – and nearly a thousand sorcerers and wizards…and Tiffany knew with a sick certainty that they wouldn't be enough. The entire force would be able to do little more than delay the demon, perhaps annoy it. They couldn’t hope to stop it indefinitely.

Its eyes met those of the dragons, orbiting the edge of the city. The dragons yelped and several of them turned to flee, panicking so much that their riders were thrown off their backs and sent tumbling down to the ground, far below. None of them survived their fall. Tiffany had never seen anything frighten a dragon before and she would have been grateful not to discover that something, anything, could force a dragon to flee. Merlin’s sole control of dragon-riders had been one of his advantages when he’d been establishing his empire; dragons were powerful in their own right, and twinned with a skilful rider they could decide the course of entire battles. Now…they fled the battlefield, before the fight had even begun.

The demon laughed aloud and casually swept out a hand. It crashed through a set of aristocratic mansions, smashing the buildings as if they had been made of paper. Tiffany heard the twang as archers unleashed their arrows – and shots as riflemen opened fire – but the demon seemed unperturbed by the attack. If anything, it was amused; it seemed to be growing bigger, even though she could see no sign of increased mass. It bent down to peer at the archers and whisper words that sounded like breaking glass, or breaking hearts. The archers caught fire and burned to death in seconds, the sounds of their dying magnified until they echoed over the entire city.

Sorcerer Black had somehow managed to find his feet and was bellowing orders to his subordinates – and every other sorcerer in the vicinity. Right now, Tiffany would have thanked the Dark Sorcerers if they had joined the defence, although she knew that that would never happen. Or perhaps they would have changed their tune if they’d come face to face with a creature from the hellfire. She gladly added what was left of her magic to the shimmering banishment ward Sorcerer Black was trying desperately to form – for once, all of the sorcerers were cooperating, without trying to jostle for position – but she knew that it wouldn't be enough. The demon laughed and stared at the ward as it shimmered into existence and it shattered, leaving the magicians drained. A handful collapsed on the ground, rolling about in agony as their magic failed and old age finally caught up with them. Tiffany saw one young sorcerer, a handsome young man who had set hearts a-fluttering at Court, age within seconds, all of his years catching up with him at once. By the time he finally expired, he looked older than Merlin, old enough to be her great-grandfather.

The demon lashed out again. This time, its hand swept through the ranks of massed soldiers, slaughtering them with random strokes that were somehow more terrifying than direct malice. Hundreds of soldiers caught fire as they touched its hand, their burning bodies tossed through the air to come down all over the city. Merlin had protected his city from fire, Tiffany remembered numbly; now, fire was a very real threat. What remained of the population might be burned out of house and home. Hundreds of soldiers were still trying to fight, but others were fleeing, their minds destroyed from being so close to the demon. Others were trying to pray aloud, only to discover that the words seemed to mean nothing to the monster. It held out one long hand and a bolt of shimmering blue lightning cracked down and struck the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Stave</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Church</st1laceType></st1lace>. The church caught fire and rapidly turned into a towering inferno. No one seemed to escape before the roof fell in, killing anyone who remained within the building.

Flames spread up as the demon slowly started to move. Almost absently, it kicked out and an aristocratic mansion – one belonging to the Duke of Tara, now abandoned – was smashed, as casually as a child might destroy a sandcastle. Another building followed, and then another, the demon stamping down with casual brutality. Tiffany found her eyes following the monster as it swept up a dozen men and women and held them high, before dropping them into its gaping mouth. She heard their screams before they died, crushed by its huge teeth. There were stories about a Knight of the Round Table who had been swallowed by a giant, only to cut his way out of the giant’s stomach. Somehow, she doubted that anyone would be able to free themselves from the demon. For all she knew, the demon had trapped them, body and soul.

She touched her wedding ring, suddenly aware that it was still warm. The demon had mesmerised her so strongly that she hadn’t even thought of Robin, and Excalibur. If there was any weapon on Earth that could challenge the demon, it was Excalibur – and yet, where was Robin? Had he been trapped within the rubble…or had he been sucked into Hell?

Oh Robin, she thought, focusing all of her remaining power on the ring, where are you?

***​

Robin had the unpleasant sensation that he’d blacked out without quite realising that anything had happened. His entire body hurt and his awareness of where he was seemed to have been shattered. There had been a ritual…and the female dark Sorcerer had died and…memory returned and he remembered the roof caving in on him as he struggled to free Excalibur from the pocket dimension. And then he’d blacked out.

He opened his eyes and he would have sworn, if he’d had the energy. The roof had definitely caved in and he was trapped, barely able to move. His armour had protected him from the worst of it, yet moving was a struggle. He pulled himself forward, only to grunt in pain as the wreckage shifted and pressed down on his back, trapping him under the ruins. Cursing, he fought to free even one hand, far too aware of mocking laughter echoing through his mind. He’d been trained to recognise an outside intrusion into his mind back at the Garrison and he had no difficulty in recognising a mental broadcast, but it was astonishingly powerful. The demon the Dark Sorcerers had been summoning had broken free.

The thought galvanised him and he struggled forward, making it nearly half a metre before the rubble shifted and trapped him again. It felt as if an elephant was sitting on his back, pressing him down as firmly as a man might step on a crab, trapping it. If there was anyone else in the wreckage, he couldn’t see them, let alone hear them. The laughter drowned out anything as mundane as human voices. He slowly became aware that the wreckage was moving, as if something impossibly huge was stamping the ground, high above him. It didn’t take much imagination to realise that the demon had manifested as a giant, just as it had done once before. The Dark Sorcerers had drawn inspiration from what had happened up north.

He swallowed a curse and reached for the talisman. It fought him as if it were a thing alive, twisting and somehow defying his every attempt to touch it. Slowly, he realised that the demon’s presence had distorted local reality to the point where the link to the pocket dimension had been twisted, yet he was aware of Excalibur’s energy reaching out to him. Magic had never been his strong point, but he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, feeling blue fire flickering around his hand. He heard a roar of pure rage in the distance, audible even through the piles of rubble, and then Excalibur was in his hand. The sword glowed with energy, so brightly that Robin had to look away, and then the world went white around him. When it cleared, he was standing in front of the Houses of Parliament, staring up at the demon.

The sight should have shocked him senseless, just long enough to be lethal. Instead, he felt the energy from the sword flowing into him, joining at a very primal level. Even sex, with its sense of drawing closer and closer to Tiffany as he pressed into her, didn’t compete; they were one being! The demon howled and lashed out with its claws, but Robin was already gone. He leapt into the air and reached the roof of the House of Magus, before he leapt again, slashing out at the demon’s face. It recoiled back and made to slap him away, as a man might slap at a particularly bothersome fly, but it was too late. Robin landed casually and spun around the face the demon. Its face contorted with an eerily inhuman rage and it blew a great cloud of fire at him. Flames flashed through the surrounding buildings, sending them toppling down in sheets of fire, but Robin was unscathed. If anything, Excalibur seemed to grow stronger from the flames.

He ran forwards as the demon slammed a fist down beside him and slashed out at its wrists. The demon howled in pain as Excalibur sliced into whatever it had that passed for flesh, but it didn’t seem to be weakened. Brilliant red fire flared up around the cuts, the raw energy of Hell itself leaking into the air. Robin felt the infernal magic twisting the air around him and knew that, whatever happened, Camelot would have to be abandoned. The demon’s presence was blighting the land, its magic field causing unpredictable transformations in both humans and animals. He saw a soldier warped beyond recognition in a split-second, but there was no time to go to him and help – and nothing he could have done in any case. Excalibur kept him focused on the demon. It was the only way to save something of the country, if not the world.

The demon advanced on him, massive feet shaking the ground with every step. Robin held his ground as the demon advanced, right up until the moment it tried to stamp on him with staggering force. He dodged at the last second, watching with sudden amusement as the demon’s foot crashed down into the underground cellars below one of the ducal mansions. The scent of fine wines and expensive foodstuffs rose up for a long tantalising second, before the demon’s mere presence started to curdle the food, flames licking through the remains of the building. Robin leapt and slashed out at the demon’s ankle, feeling Excalibur twisting its very nature to strike deep into the heart of the demon’s true body. The demon staggered, howling in pain and rage; it leapt up, only to tumble backwards and come crashing down on another set of buildings. Robin recoiled as more flames roared through the city, before Excalibur drove him forwards. The demon was vulnerable now, as vulnerable as it would ever be.

Yellow eyes, glowing with sickly malice, met him as he ran towards the creature’s head. Raw power, the kind of magic that even Dark Sorcerers could only dream of possessing, roared around him as the demon struggled to exert its will. If he hadn’t been holding Excalibur, it would have killed him outright, or inflicted upon him a fate worse than death. Even so, the magic tore at the surrounding buildings, warping them and transforming them into monsters that sought to block his path. Flames flared up around the demon; Robin was sure that he could see faces in the flames, looking back at him in silent pleading. The demon was old and powerful, older than mankind; how long had it been collecting souls? What had it offered, Robin wondered, to tempt so many people into trading the one thing that inviolably belonged to them?

Excalibur flared with power as he leapt – not at the demon’s head, but at its heart. Somehow – and Robin wasn’t quite sure how – he was able to see the demon’s true nature, the network of raw power that the demon had shaped into a form suitable for an incursion into the mortal realm. It was far stronger than anything he’d seen constructed by mortal magicians, yet it had a weakness. The demon could never be destroyed – after all, it was nothing apart from pure evil – but it could be banished back to Hell. If one had the right weapon…

Desperately, Robin slashed down at the demon’s heart. A part of his mind noted absently that the demon hadn’t bothered to manifest genitals – it was a sexless creature, when all was said and done – before Excalibur sliced into the demon’s chest. It howled again, a wail that seemed to go on and on without an end, until suddenly it was gone. The entire body snapped out of existence, leaving Robin tumbling to the ground. Excalibur’s power vanished from the merge in the same instant; Robin caught hold of the scabbard desperately, drawing on its legendary power to heal himself as he struck the ground. It shouldn’t have worked, but God smiled and he survived, barely. There was a long second of pain and then he staggered to his feet, returning Excalibur to its scabbard. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the blade looked dimmer…

“My God,” he breathed. The demon might be gone, but flames were still cascading through the city. And there was no reason why the Dark Sorcerers couldn’t repeat the ritual. Tiffany was somewhere nearby, but where? “What do we do now?”

 

Comments?

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

“Impressive, would you not say?”

Maledict rubbed his hands together, indulging a kind of childish glee. Duke Rufus Valditch seemed much less amused. But then, the Duke’s opinions hardly mattered any longer. Maledict didn’t need controlling spells to keep the Duke in line, not when exposure would utterly destroy him and his entire family. The Duke had nowhere to go, so he collaborated with the Dark Sorcerers, no doubt telling himself that he was in control and he could end the alliance at any point. Watching him crawl left Maledict filled with an eerie inhuman glee; this was true power. The Duke, almost the physical representation of the social stratification that had left Maledict poor and friendless, was little more than his slave.

The massive pile of books lay open in front of them. Maledict had jumped from book to book, skimming through them quickly to gain an idea of their contents. Some had been mistakes, or copies of common books; others were so rare and old that they were written in languages that hadn’t been spoken on Earth for thousands of years. The kidnapped and enslaved tutors were already working on translating some of them for the Dark Sorcerers, even though they were still trying to resist with everything they had. It wouldn't be enough to help them escape from his control.

“Yes,” the Duke agreed, finally. Maledict could tell that he was scared, even though he was trying hard to hide it. But nothing could be hidden from a sorcerer with enough sensitivity to magic. “What do you intend to do with it?”

Maledict smiled, darkly. One of the books had told him that there was a way to restore and stabilize his body, the body that was being ravaged by dark magic. His natural suspicion had been allayed by the realisation that the rite described by the books was banned, with very good reason. Any loyalist sorcerer who risked using it would be hunted by Merlin and his lapdogs until he was brought down and destroyed. Merlin had always forbidden human sacrifice, knowing how it could be used to bring both power and madness, and no one outside his inner circle had even known that the rite existed. Until now, he told himself; power had always been his desire, yet with his body failing, he might not have long to live. And he didn't want to spend the rest of eternity as a lich.

“I intend to use it to live,” he said, seriously. He allowed his smile to grow wider. If the Duke thought that he was crawling now, he could just wait until he heard what Maledict had in mind. It would cost him far more than a few thousand smelly peasants. “You will bring your daughter to my chambers.”

The Duke’s eyes went very wide and his entire body shook. His daughter was still a child, without even the first flow of blood that would mark her transition to womanhood. Maledict knew that Emma was still a girl, because the Duke would have married her off as soon as she entered the marriage circle – after all, a girl child might not be able to inherit the title, but she could gain the Duke greater influence, with the right choice of husband. And now the Dark Sorcerers wanted her. He could almost see the horrified thoughts running through the Duke’s mind, the terrifying possibilities...what would they want to do with her? Duke Blackrock had had perverted desires, but the Dark Sorcerers might well be worse...

He wondered, absently, if the Duke would finally try to stand up to him. It wouldn't have mattered – in the time they’d spent as his very unwelcome guests, he’d taken control of the castle’s staff and servants, even the girls who served the Duke as his pleasure slaves – but it might have been amusing. The last set of reports from Camelot had also been amusing, yet Maledict hadn't been there to watch as the city was shattered by dark magic and a demon from the heart of the Darkness. A single spell, powered by the vast reserve of power he’d been building up, could cut through the Duke’s defences and enslave him as surely as any of his servants.

“I will have her sent to you,” the Duke said, finally. Maledict was almost disappointed, although he wasn’t surprised. Aristocrats always put their own survival first, even at the cost of their friends and family. “What do you intend to do with her?”

Maledict didn't answer immediately. The rite called for a single death; the death of a virgin girl, pure and unsullied. Few peasants were unsullied, but an aristocratic girl would have been carefully guarded by her family, if only to preserve her marriage potential. He didn't intend to share that with the Duke. If the man had any resistance left in him at all, he could cut his own daughter’s throat to spare her from a fate worse than mundane death. The thought made him chuckle and the Duke shuddered, unable to disguise his revulsion.

“She will save my life,” he said, and explained. The Duke’s face couldn't pale further, but his hands were shaking in fear. Maledict considered taking control of him now, before deciding against it. There was still amusement to be wrung from his suffering. “Her life will be devoted to a higher cause.”

“Yes,” the Duke said, finally.

“Fetch her,” Maledict ordered. “Now.”

***​

High above them, Lucas recoiled in horror. The network of secret passages that ran through the castle was a closely-guarded secret. Only his father, himself and a handful of their most trusted guards knew about their existence, let alone the carefully-hidden ways in and out of the network and the cold iron used to mask their presence from magical senses. He’d spent most of his time in the passageways, spying on the Dark Sorcerers and their slaves. His father could have warned his allies, but he hadn't said a word to them about the passageways. Lucas had chosen to regard that as a good thing, but now...

He was going to give them Emma! Lucas’s youthful imagination could provide too many possibilities for what they intended to do to his sister as part of the rite, before sacrificing her to the Darkness. He’d known that his father would have married them both off when a suitable match could be arranged – on one level, he accepted that as part of the price for being born into such wealth and power – yet Emma would have enjoyed some protection even when she moved out and joined her husband. Few would have risked alienating the Duke by abusing his daughter – and Lucas, who doted on her, was the Heir. And now...the Dark Sorcerers were going to take his sister and use her in their perverted rites. Lucas couldn't protect her from that!

Without being truly aware of his actions, Lucas scrambled up the hidden shaft, climbing up towards his sister’s suite of rooms. She’d stayed in them for the last few days, ever since the Dark Sorcerers had arrived; the only people who had seen her had been her personal maids, who’d fed her and cleaned her clothes. Lucas cursed himself for not going to see her, even though it would have displeased his father. What sort of brother was he when he couldn't even be bothered visiting his own sister? The thought drove him onwards as he reached the exit and slipped out into a level passageway, illuminated by glowing elements in the walls. He’d been told that the eerie light was undetectable, but no one had tested it against Dark Sorcerers. Praying to a God he had never truly believed in, Lucas ran down the passageway and found the exit. He peered through the knot in the wooden panelling and bit down on a curse. His sister’s rooms were guarded by four of his father’s personal guards.

He walked quickly to the next exit and checked that the coast was clear, before stepping out into a room belonging to one of the chambermaids. One of his father’s ancestors had used it for midnight sessions with his maids, before his wife had ordered him to abandon the other women and concentrate on her. Lucas had enjoyed himself with his father’s female servants as well, but he’d never had to sneak around. Why should he, when the lower class women should be grateful for his interest? Now, too late, he had an idea of how they must have felt.

If the guards were curious about his appearance from the chambermaid’s room, they didn't show any sign of it on their faces. Lucas studied them as he walked up to the door, concentrating on looking like the Heir to a Duchy. His father had once told him that people wouldn't always question someone who acted like they had every right to be doing what they were doing, while they would be suspicious of anyone who looked as if they were sneaking around. The guards were armed and armoured, carrying both rifles and swords. Someone was taking no chances with security, or his sister’s safety. A look into their eyes revealed that they were no longer loyal of their own free will.

They moved to block him as soon as he reached the door. “None may pass,” the leader said. Lucas knew him; they’d been close, or as close as Lucas had ever gotten to any of the hired help. Hans had once been a master huntsman who had taught the young Lucas everything he knew about hunting. Now his eyes were cold and dead, save only for the tiniest hint of suffering. This was a man who was dead, yet still alive.

“Step aside,” Lucas ordered. Before now, he would never have talked to Hans like that. “I need to see my sister.”

“None may pass,” Hans said. He placed his hand on his sword and his companions cocked their rifles. “None may pass.”

Lucas studied them frantically. He wanted to draw his own sword and fight, but even if he could beat Hans – who had trained him in swordplay – he couldn't hope to defeat all four of them. If he pleaded...the controlling spells wouldn't let them show any pity, to Lucas or Emma herself. His sister was a prisoner...how long would it be before the Dark Sorcerers came to take her for their own? For a moment, he considered attacking the Dark Sorcerers themselves, but he knew it would be suicide. They’d crush him like a bug and then sacrifice his sister anyway.

“Keep her safe,” he ordered finally, and turned to go. When he was around the corner, he broke into a run. If he couldn't save his sister himself, he would need help – and only one person could help him now. If she could help him...frantically, Lucas recalled everything that had passed between himself and the Lady Tiffany. She had every reason to hate him for his arrogance and his belief that he had the right to anything and everything he wanted. And now he’d grown up, too late. What if she refused to help him? There was no other choice.

He saw a pair of Dark Sorcerers ahead of him, mustering their slaves to carry books into the library. Lucas was astonished to realise that he recognised two of the slaves, both tutors from Beneficence College. What had his father unleashed by allying with the Dark Sorcerers – and what could they do, armed with knowledge that Merlin had sealed away for hundreds of years? The two slaves walked with the helpless droop of true despair. Lucas’s heart went out to them, when it was far too late. The best he could do was help himself.

The Dark Sorcerers never used the passageways the servants used, for whatever reason appealed to their twisted minds. The young Lucas had explored them all, enjoying finding the quickest ways around the castle; later, he’d preyed on the serving girls when he finally realised that there was more to the difference between the sexes than funny anatomy. Guilt gnawed at him as he slipped into the narrower passageways, praying that no one would block his pathway down to the stables. If his father suspected what he had in mind, would he alert his new masters? Would they even give him a choice?

And if the Dark Sorcerers reached out for him, Lucas knew better than to think that his skill with a sword would save him from a fate worse than death.

He wrinkled his nose as he finally reached the passageway that led down to the stables. His father had only taught him responsibility in one area, looking after his horses. Lucas had had to hire stable boys to take care of his horses, but he made certain to tend to each horse personally at least once a week. Mucking out the stables was disgusting work, yet he had seen it as part of his responsibilities. The stable boys had helped, of course. There were limits.

“Here boy,” he whispered. The magnificent black horse at the other end of the stable fixed him with an icy gaze. Lucas’s father had bought Bloody Thunder from a horse trader, believing that the horse was too dangerous to ride, but capable of impregnating many mares. Lucas himself had risked riding Thunder and had achieved a rapport, of sorts, with the creature. As long as he stayed in firm control, he was perfectly fine. The second he showed the horse any kind of weakness would encourage it to try to unseat him and run off into the forests surrounding the castle. “Come here.”

Bloody Thunder reluctantly complied. He wasn't allowed out of the stables normally, if only because he’d kicked a young boy’s head in a few months ago. Lucas swiftly saddled the horse, swung himself up into the saddle and opened the gate. Bloody Thunder grunted and surged forward in a flickering motion that had Lucas hanging on for dear life. Outside, stable boys and guardsmen scattered. They all knew the horse’s reputation.

Lucas dug in his spurs and sent the horse careering towards the gate. Thankfully, his father’s masters hadn’t ordered the gates closed, knowing that it would alert any agents of the Tribunal who happened to be sniffing around. They had put up a barricade, but Bloody Thunder soared into the air and jumped clean over the pile of barrels that would have deterred a lesser horse – and rider. Lucas gave the horse its head as they raced down the road, dust rising up behind them; if they were lucky, his father would assume that he was going to be gone for the rest of the day. Riding Bloody Thunder always took a day, if only so he could exhaust the horse before returning to the castle. The beast never got enough exercise, apart from riding the mares.

The wind slapped against his face as the horse ran faster, galloping down the main road towards – eventually - Camelot. Lucas saw peasant hovels flashing by, ignored by the horse; he hoped, prayed, that no one would be in their path. The sound of hooves slamming against the ground grew louder as the horse, impossibly, galloped faster. Bloody Thunder seemed to have sensed the urgency of his mission, or perhaps the horse was simply trying to outrun its rider. Some horses were smart; Bloody Thunder was just dangerous as hell. A moment of weakness, at this speed, could mean the end of him.

He could see the smoke rising from Camelot a long time before he saw the city. Judging from what he’d overhead, the city had been badly damaged, although it shouldn't have been wreaked. Or perhaps it had; the Dark Sorcerers had unleashed a full-blooded demon. For the first time, he began to see refugees making their way down the road, looking for a safety that would prove elusive. He wanted to warn them that they were heading right towards the Dark Sorcerers, but he didn't dare. His mission was too important to risk. A handful of soldiers, wounded, tired and as helpless as the rest, raised their weapons in salute as he passed. They’d taken him for a Knight of the Round Table...

Bloody Thunder crested the hill and he found himself staring down towards Camelot. Fires were burning everywhere and the air stank of death and dark magic, despite frantic attempts to call down wind and heavy rainstorms. As he grew closer, he saw wizards working desperately to funnel water from the river that flowed past Camelot, the same river that Tiffany’s very distant ancestor had floated down to meet her doom. The old legends seemed so close now that Merlin was gone and humanity was once again at the mercy of higher powers. Lucas barely noticed when Bloody Thunder finally entered the city, neighing his defiance to the pools of dark magic infesting the ruined buildings. A lesser horse would probably have turned to flee, throwing its rider off its back in a desperate attempt to run.

Lucas pulled on the reins and finally managed to slow the horse as they cantered through crowded streets, up towards the Iron Triangle. The mansion his father had built was a ruin, he noted absently; almost all of the aristocratic mansions had been smashed with careless abandon. Bodies lay everywhere, pulled out of the ruins and preserved under spells that would prevent decay, at least until they could be buried properly. Bloody Thunder neighed again and slowly drifted to a halt. A small cluster of men and women were waiting for him, led – he realised suddenly – by Tiffany herself.

For a moment, Lucas hesitated. She had no reason to love him, let alone to help...and part of him just wanted to flee. But his sister’s life was in terrible danger and he would do anything, even beg her husband for help, if it would save Emma’s life. He slipped off the horse and went to one knee in front of Tiffany. If nothing else, the gesture should convince her that he was deadly serious.

“I need your help,” he said, desperately. His entire body hurt; the ride had finally caught up with him. “I know where the Dark Sorcerers are – and they have my sister!”

 

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

Tiffany listened in numb disbelief as Lucas blurted out his story. She would never have expected the stuck-up youth Lucas had been to risk his precious life for anyone, even his charming sister. Not that she had any doubts that his father would quite happily bargain with the Dark Sorcerers in his quest for power. The Duke was capable of bargaining with the Devil Himself, let alone any merely human power. And if Lucas had grown up enough to risk his life in a desperate search for help, the situation had to be serious...

“They won’t kill her at once,” Sorcerer Black said, when Lucas had finally finished. There would be plenty of details locked away in his pretty head, but they’d have to dig those out carefully, perhaps with a trained interrogation team. “I know the ritual you describe; it has to be performed at midnight, in the open air.”

Lucas looked up at him, desperately. Tiffany saw a terrible suspicion flourishing in his mind, a fear that all sorcerers were somehow alike. “How do you know that?” He demanded. “I thought that the ritual was lost...”

“Merlin insisted that some of the Tribunal know to recognise the signs,” Sorcerer Black admitted. He sounded uncomfortable; even knowing about the ritual was risking execution, if anyone ever found out. There was a kind of mindset that collected forbidden knowledge without ever daring to use it – and many sorcerers shared the attitude that knowledge alone was hardly dangerous. “If they intend to use it as soon as possible, they will perform the ritual at midnight tonight.”

He closed his eyes in silent contemplation. “They also need a Place of Power,” he added, after a moment. “I think they’ll go to the Watchtower.”

Lucas frowned; Tiffany was equally surprised. The Watchtower was older than Camelot, dating back to the days before Merlin. No one knew who had raised it, or why; it had been a ruin for longer than even Merlin had been alive. Like so many parts of the world that had been touched by wild magic, smart folk stayed well away from it. Merlin had never mentioned the Watchtower to her...and Tiffany couldn’t imagine why it had even been constructed. There was no border there, no reason to station guards...it wasn't even on the coast. It was situated near the edge of Effrul, on the other side of the Duchy to Camelot.

Robin had his own thought. “The Watchtower isn't particularly well suited for a covert ritual,” he pointed out. “Why wouldn't they perform it somewhere well away from Effrul?”

“They could,” Sorcerer Black admitted. “But if they’re in firm control of Effrul – and young Lucas tells us that they are – they won’t feel like risking an encounter with forces not under their control. Why should they risk exposure when they don’t have to risk anything? Once they perform the ritual – if it succeeds – they won’t even have to worry about dark sorcery ripping their bodies apart. They’d have all the time in the world to complete our destruction.”

Tiffany rubbed her chin, thinking hard. If nothing else, the demon that had almost torn apart Camelot had had the effect of focusing a few minds. The power struggles in the Houses of Parliament had almost come to a halt, probably because the Duke of Effrul was occupied with the Dark Sorcerers. There was even a new feeling that cooperation, rather than conflict, was the way forward. Tiffany doubted that it would last past the next political crisis, but for the moment it gave her hope. Who knew – maybe the horse would learn to sing. With magic in the world, it was far from impossible.

“We can't attack Effrul,” Major General Valiant admitted. “The Garrison is scattered; we have maniples in Tara, occupying the Duchy, and the remainder of our force is here. We just don’t have the manpower to take over the Duchy...”

“And they have the power to defeat the Garrison,” Sorcerer Black added. “Their position is effectively impregnable.”

Tiffany rounded on him. “Are you telling me that we’ve lost?”

“I am telling you that we cannot defeat them, not yet,” Sorcerer Black said. His voice tightened; no matter how one looked at it, for the Duke of Effrul to have made an alliance with the Dark Sorcerers represented the ultimate failure of the Tribunal. They had failed to stamp out dark sorcery and those who would use it for their own ends. “Their position is strong...”

“No it isn't,” Robin said. Tiffany had to smile at the hope in his voice. “They have to go to the Watchtower, right? And we can be there to meet them, tonight.”

“The area is infested with wild magic,” Sorcerer Black said, sharply. “Going there could prove lethal...”

Robin touched the sword at his belt. “We will have protection,” he assured him. “We go there and hit them before they can begin the ritual. You and your men set up wards, trapping them there; we can kill them all before their power overcomes us. We can beat them!”

“It’s a mad plan,” Major General Valliant said. The old soldier looked tired and broken. When the time had come for the Garrison to be a proper army, it had failed – badly. They had had no experience in practical war since the Serpent Wars, three hundred years ago, yet that was no excuse. They’d failed and thousands of people had died because of their failure. “You’d be risking everything on one shot...”

“Even if it fails, it would put them off balance,” Robin countered. He looked up at Sorcerer Black. “Can’t we make it work?”

“Maybe,” Sorcerer Black admitted. “It would be chancy, but...”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “We can make it work,” he said, firmly. “I suggest that we start making preparations now. If they truly intend to use the Watchtower, they will have their own people watching it soon enough.”

***​

Robin looked sideways at Lucas without moving his head as the aristocratic youth followed him into the Garrison. Tiffany was right; the young pompous brat he recalled from the deserted village, back before Merlin had departed, was gone. In his place...there was a frightened young man, determined to do the best he could. It was sobering to reflect that someone like the young Lord Lucas had had a decent person hiding behind his pale face and long blonde hair, but it proved that the central creed of the Knights of the Round Table was true. Nobility – true nobility – only came into its own when a person was tested right to the limits of their abilities.

He watched as Lucas stared around him. The Garrison had served as the home of the Knights of the Round Table for centuries; history was never too far away, not with the handful of Knights who survived their long careers bringing it to life for their successors. The hallways were decorated with ancient weapons, each one bonded to a Knight who had died centuries ago, and covered with paintings of famous victories. Robin saw Lucas’s eyes grow wider and wider as he took in the scene, a wistfulness entering his face that made him seem years younger. Who knew what Lucas would have become if he’d been allowed to train as a Knight?

The Master of the Keep was standing in front of the doors that blocked the way to the armoury. It wasn't the Armoury – that was lost, and likely to remain lost unless they located some clue as to where Merlin had hidden it – but in its own way, it was just as much part of the mythology surrounding Merlin and his Empire. The doors, made from solid slabs of cold iron, opened as they approached, once the Master had given his blessing. Robin recalled rumours that the Master had telepathic powers that allowed him to judge the soul of each potential Knight. As always, the rumours seemed to be barely touching the truth. The Master’s hawk-like eyes had passed over Lucas, and blessed him.

Robin braced himself as they stepped into the antechamber and the doors slid closed behind them. A presence awoke on the air, a strange sensation that began as a gust of cold air and rapidly became a pair of invisible eyes staring right into their souls. No one knew who the ghost had been, before Merlin had bound it to his service, but no one questioned its devotion to the Knights – and their cause. If it had seen fit to reject them, they would have been rapidly ejected from the chamber and dumped into the building’s septic tank. Instead, the second set of doors opened, allowing them entry. Robin permitted himself a smile as Lucas stopped dead, struck by the sheer number of weapons within the chamber.

He led the way inside and smiled, taking in the swords, spears and axes that had been carefully crafted for the Knights of the Round Table. They were all mundane weapons, yet they had all been produced individually, infusing them with a character denied to weapons that had been mass-produced in the free cities. Enchanters and priests had worked on them, the former carving runes into the metal that would give them some supernatural aspects; the latter granting them their holy blessing. He felt a shiver from his sword as he saw a single stone, standing in the heart of the chamber. It’s physical form, he’d been told, depended on who was looking, for it was something other than what little his mortal mind could comprehend. And once, King Arthur had pulled Excalibur out of the stone and proved his worthiness to be King of England.

Robin allowed Lucas a long moment to take in the sight and then gently guided him towards one of the stone tables. A single blade, as black as the night, lay on the stone, its mere presence seeming to absorb all the light around it. Robin felt Excalibur’s odd amusement as he studied the Bloodstained Blade. Where Excalibur was regarded as a weapon of Light and Hope, the Bloodstained Blade had a far darker history. And its wielder, who had taken it into battle against the demon, had been crushed under the demon’s foot. Unsurprisingly, the Bloodstained Blade had been completely unharmed.

“There are stories about this blade,” Robin said. He’d brought Lucas here on a hunch, one he suspected had come from Excalibur. And yet, now he was with Lucas in the Armoury, he had his doubts about the wisdom of allowing him to pick up the blade. “They say that it was once a great blade like Excalibur” – there was a definite sense of mocking amusement from Excalibur at that comment – “until Sir Lancelot of the Lake tried to use it to take his own life. The sword purifies those with tainted souls who have not yet fallen to evil, but it comes with its own price. Sir Worchester sinned and fell from the path; Merlin gave him the sword and told him to redeem himself.”

He’d expected Lucas to object to being called a tainted soul, but the young man said nothing. Perhaps he had truly learned wisdom, after all. Or perhaps he wasn't listening. The Bloodstained Blade seemed to draw the mind towards it, even though it didn't seem to be entirely there. But then, just like Excalibur, the form it took was a reflection of the limitations of the mortal mind. It was far more than just a sword. And no one knew where it kept its brain...

Robin hesitated, before feeling the nudging from Excalibur. “Take it,” he said. “If the blade accepts you, you will be able to pick it up.”

***​

Lucas couldn't take his eyes off the Bloodstained Blade. It drew his attention towards it, its sheer...presence imprinting itself upon the mortal world. Somehow, despite all his childhood dreams of one day proving himself worthy of bearing a legendary blade, it was hard to reach out towards the sword. The stories of what happened to an unworthy person who touched a legendary blade suddenly seemed very real. Slowly, his hand moved towards the hilt...

The sword’s appearance seemed to change, flickering from image to image. It was a curved blade from the Fertile Crescent...and then a long broadsword from nearer home...and then a pleasant blade, one of the few they were allowed to possess. His hand touched the blade and it instantly stabilised into a short, but very firm sword. Lucas realised with a sudden flicker of surprise that it was a copy of his very first sword, the one his father had placed into his hands when he had started training with Hans and the swordmasters. He closed his hand around the blade and blinked in surprise. At some level, he and the sword were very well matched. It felt good for him, right in his hand.

He lifted it from the stone table and moved it through the air, astonished at how light it was. Swords were heavy; they took years to learn how to use properly, unlike guns. It was why the aristocrats had done everything they could to keep guns restricted, knowing that they could be used to alter the balance of power between the nobles and those they ruled. And yet, the Bloodstained Blade seemed to move of its own accord. He had the weird feeling that the blade would guide itself to its target, moving with icy precision that owed nothing to him.

“It seems to like me,” he said. Robin snorted in amusement. “What do I do to keep it?”

Robin considered for a long moment. “Prove yourself worthy of it,” he said, finally. “Do you feel a connection to the blade?”

Lucas considered. He could feel...something, but what? It was below the level of his awareness, a sense that he and the sword were linked on some level. The legends said that the great blades could commune with their masters, yet he could feel no communication, only a chilling regard and awareness that was utterly inhuman. Part of him wanted to put the blade down and run for his life, but the rest of him knew that that was impossible. The Bloodstained Blade and he were linked now, forever...until death did them part.

“I think so,” he said, finally. He struggled for words to describe it, and then gave up. He assumed that Robin would have similar problems describing his link with Excalibur. Emma’s face intruded into his thoughts and he pushed the Bloodstained Blade into his empty scabbard, unsurprised to discover that it fitted perfectly. “When do we leave for the Watchtower?”

“Soon,” Robin said, vaguely.

Lucas paced impatiently as Robin hunted for a handful of other items from the Armoury. The thought of what might be happening to his sister – or even his father – kept him from settling down, despite Sorcerer Black’s reassurances that she would come to no harm. Somehow, he wasn't convinced that the Dark Sorcerers had enough self-restraint to keep themselves from harming her, even if it was in their own best interests. And then there were the servants – the cooks, the maids, the cleaners... – all of whom were at the mercy of the Dark Sorcerers. Tiny fragments of guilt in his heart grew claws and started to slash away at his mind; he’d been their superior, yet he had treated them badly – and now he had abandoned them. The chambermaid who had taken his virginity, the cook who’d been driven to distraction by his increasingly complex and expensive requests, the gardener he’d ordered whipped for stealing an apple...what kind of monster had he been?

The Bloodstained Blade’s hilt felt warm in his hand. Slowly, Lucas realised what was happening to him. The sword was holding up a mirror, one unblemished by his aristocratic snobbery and his firm conviction that he was superior to those of less fortunate birth...and showing him just how small he truly had become. He tried to let go of the hilt, only to discover that it was impossible. He’d learned his lesson...

For an instant, there was a moment of perfect communication. And tell me, the sword seemed to say, what makes you think that there’s only one lesson to learn?

***​

Outside the Garrison, Sorcerer Black had assembled a mixed team of combat magicians and Knights of the Round Table. Robin reviewed them, wishing that he had a larger force yet knowing that a greater number risked exposure before it was time to spring the trap. Fifty men, of whom only thirty possessed significant magical powers. And Excalibur. And the Bloodstained Blade...he’d tried questioning Lucas on just how many Dark Sorcerers there were, but Lucas had been unsure. He’d only seen four together at most, yet Robin was sure that there were far more. There was no way to know until the battle began.

“You saw what happened to Camelot,” he said. Many others who should have been included in the force had died fighting the demon, or crushed by the Dark Sorcerers. “We have one chance to destroy those responsible for the destruction of our city. We know where they are going and we will be there before them, lying in wait. And then we will destroy them.”

He sucked in a breath. He’d never been very good at pre-battle speeches. “If we win this battle, we will have won time for the Empire to learn to survive without Merlin,” he added. “If we lose, we will not live to see dark sorcery consuming all that Merlin built, all that we are sworn to uphold. The lives of everyone in the entire empire are at stake; our friends and families, our husbands and wives. We must not lose. We will not lose!”

Tiffany would have said it better, he was sure. But then...soldiers and combat magicians wouldn't be impressed by pretty speeches.

“Grab your weapons,” he ordered. They’d travel back on the railway, and then cross-country to the Watchtower. “Let’s go.”

 

Finally the good guys are gonna kick some ass.

Love it chris

Jason

 

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

Night was falling as Maledict led the Dark Sorcerers towards the Watchtower. The moon was already rising in the air, moonlight blurring eerily with the wild magic flickering around the ruined building. The Greenwood glowed with uncontrolled and uncontrollable magic, yet it gave the Watchtower a respectful distance, as if it was unwilling to challenge its presence. Maledict peered at the building through his Sight, trying to make sense of the streams of magic floating around the ruined tower...it was as if the building wasn't completely within the mortal world, as if part of it was elsewhere. In Avalon...or were there other realms that touched upon the mortal world?

He put the thought aside for later contemplation and looked at Emma. The young girl was as beautiful as her brother was handsome, with long blonde hair and a perfect heart-shaped face. A few more years and she would have been breaking hearts all over the Empire, but for now she was innocent, poised on the very edge of womanhood. He looked down at his hands and winced as he saw blue flames consuming his flesh. Dark sorcery’s price was catching up with him rapidly, as if it knew that he was on the verge of banishing it forever.

They’d dressed Emma in a dress made of the purest silk, shimmering white even in the near-darkness. Her hair had been allowed to fall down around her shoulders, rather than copying the childish fashions that dominated the Court at Camelot. There were many rites listed in the forbidden books that dated back to the Serpent Empire, noting that the magician-priests had had thousands of volunteers for the sacrificial tables. The sacrifices had been treated like kings, with the best of food, drink and female company until the time had come for them to march out and be sacrificed to the gods. If they’d walked out without resistance, without force or compulsion, the magician-priests could drain more power from their deaths. He would enact such rites and rituals once he ruled the world, he promised himself. The thought of such power was almost intoxicating...and, combined with the other secrets from the forbidden tomes, he would be able to prevent it from overwhelming him.

The Watchtower rose up in front of him and he paused, using his Sight to sweep the building for unexpected problems. It was hard to perceive anything within the area – the interplay of wild magic flickering in and out of existence almost blinded him – but he was fairly sure that they were alone. Smart folk would give the Watchtower and the Greenwood a wide berth, even if they were blind to the possible reasons behind its existence. If it was watching for something, or someone...why? And who had built it in the first place, if it predated Merlin?

Maledict chuckled and some of the Dark Sorcerers turned to look at him. Whoever had threatened the land in the years before Merlin, they would be no match for Maledict and the power he had built up within his wards. Once he had performed the ritual, he could garner power as he pleased, rising to match Merlin and take control of the world. It was his; his to play with as he pleased – no one, even Merlin himself, would be able to take it from him. Everyone living would become his plaything...he chuckled again and stepped into the Watchtower’s ruined hall. Once, it had been an assembly room for soldiers; now, it was almost deserted. Ghosts flickered in the shadows, watching him mournfully as his people filed into the room. He ignored them. Ghosts could do little other than scaring people and Maledict had seen far more terrifying things on his long climb towards dark sorcery.

In the centre of the chamber, there was a single stone table. A beam of moonlight shone down near the table, crawling slowly towards it as the moon rose in the sky. By Maledict’s calculations, the moonbeam would be right on the table at midnight, suggesting that this was far from the first time the Watchtower had been used for sacrifice. Merlin had learned from the druids, he recalled suddenly, and the druids had been fond of sacrificing their enemies to the Old Gods. Perhaps they’d built the Watchtower and abandoned it when King Arthur united the country and inaugurated the first Golden Age.

The ghosts grew brighter as two of his followers marched Emma up to the table. There had been no need to enslave her or drug her – and either might have invalidated the sacrifice. Instead, they’d settled for chaining her legs together, making it impossible for her to run. At his instructions, none of the Dark Sorcerers had harmed her in any way, even the ones who shared Duke Blackrock’s vile perversions rather than the lust for power that defined the Dark Sorcerers. He saw one of the ghosts, a man wearing a suit of armour that had gone out of style centuries ago, shaking his head in dismay. Maledict ignored his presence as Emma was placed on the altar. The girl seemed to have slipped into shock; she certainly offered no resistance as she was tied down, her dress pulled up to reveal a bare chest. One of Maledict’s followers knelt at his feet and opened the box he carried, revealing a single stone knife, covered in runes. It had taken most of the afternoon to create the knife, in accordance with the instructions for the ritual; if they hadn't had the enslaved tutors, it would have been impossible. Their sole enchanter had been killed by Sir Robin.

Maledict settled back to wait as the moonbeam crept towards the table. Soon, he told himself; soon...

***​

Robin had endured an uncomfortable afternoon once they’d reached the Watchtower. There was less cover than he had expected, forcing him to disperse most of his forces into the Greenwood, where they might be attacked by creatures of wild magic. Robin himself, Sorcerer Black and Lucas had waited inside the Watchtower itself, hidden within the shadows. It was a hell of a gamble, but with so much wild magic around they would be hidden from anything apart from a physical search. And Dark Sorcerers often neglected the physical through their focus on the magical.

Night had fallen by the time the Dark Sorcerers arrived. Two of them had generated light gloves to illuminate their path, allowing Robin to count them as they arrived. There were twenty-five Dark Sorcerers, each one wearing the dark robes that marked a sorcerer and hid their faces from casual view. Lucas had wanted to charge out at once as soon as he saw his sister, but Robin had put a restraining hand on his arm. They had to trap the Dark Sorcerers within the Watchtower or they would just teleport out and escape – and their next hiding place would be impossible to find. What he hadn't told Lucas – and had no intention of mentioning to him – was that if the Dark Sorcerers began the ritual, the only way of halting it would be killing the sacrifice. Ideally, they should strike before the ritual had begun.

Sorcerer Black had – privately – disagreed. Once the ritual had begun, the Dark Sorcerers would want to complete it and it might force them to decide to remain at the Watchtower and fight, rather than flee. Robin had shaken his head at the though. Lady Emma was an innocent and, as such, she was the type of person the Knights of the Round Table existed to defend. Saving her, if possible, had to be a priority. Killing her to stop the ritual came a very distant second. Besides, terminating the ritual while it was uncompleted might well be very dangerous.

The moon kept rising in the sky as the Dark Sorcerers made their preparations. Robin felt a cold shimmer of anger as they poured blood out across the chamber floor, blood they would have taken from innocent men, women and children whose only crime had been to remain loyal to their Duke. Blood served as a channel for some of the darker forms of magic; naturally, the Dark Sorcerer hadn't risked using his own blood. Robin wasn’t particularly surprised. The ancient laws of magic would ensure that any consequences rebounded on the unwilling donors, rather than the Dark Sorcerer who had unleashed the madness. Magic’s laws were strange, but they could not be gainsaid. There was always a price for power.

Sorcerer Black nudged him, holding up a communications crystal. Robin took it and communed with the combat magicians outside the Watchtower, hidden within the Greenwood. Mental communication was impossible so close to the Dark Sorcerers – they’d detect it and realise that they were being watched – but using an enchanted crystal rendered the communication undetectable. The combat magicians were stealthily coming out of concealment and preparing to erect wards that would keep the Dark Magicians trapped within the Watchtower, unable to teleport away. Robin’s lips twitched. The Knights of the Round Table had shared stories about Knights who’d done things like climbing into a bear’s cage and wrestling it into submission, but most such stories ended with the Knights being badly mauled. Trapping the Dark Sorcerers would be about as safe as sneaking up behind a tiger and pulling its tail...

Lucas twitched beside him as he caught sight of his sister, clearly on the verge of running forward and trying to save her. The young girl was definitely dazed, unsure of where she was or of what was happening to her. Robin silently thanked God for small mercies, even though it wouldn't invalidate the sacrifice. Her soul would be in a better place, whatever happened to her physical body. They wouldn't be able to make her despair and call on Satan, rather than placing her faith in God...

There was no sign of her father, Robin noted, absently. Perhaps the Dark Sorcerers had finally grown tired of their game and killed him, or enchanted him into becoming their slave. It seemed odd that they would throw away such an asset – the wards around the House of Lords would have sounded the alert if he’d entered while under outside control – but after they’d unleashed a demon on Camelot, they might well feel that they no longer needed the Duke. Robin suspected that they would need him, if direct conquest and rule was their aim, yet perhaps they weren't interested in ruling the world. They might just want to have fun, with no one able to stop them...

He looked up at the moonbeam’s steady advance and prayed for the combat magicians to finish their work quickly, before time ran out. Robin didn’t want to kill the girl, even to prevent a greater catastrophe. She was an innocent...even the thought that Tiffany would understand if there was no other choice failed to reassure him. He didn't want to die with such a stain upon his soul...and so close to the Dark Sorcerers, death was always a possibility. The few who’d met Death and walked away alive had said that she looked like a very young girl...nothing like the hooded skeleton that was depicted in legend. Merlin had long banished the endless personifications of universal concepts from the mortal world, but with his departure perhaps they would return. At least they weren't as dark and malevolent as the Faerie.

A ghost shimmered into existence in front of him, eyeing him sadly. Robin refused to show any fright, or even alarm; the ghost was no real threat to him. There were some ghosts that could be very dangerous – he recalled the ghost of one house that had waged a supernatural war on his descendents, who hadn't appreciated the collection of artworks and knickknacks he’d built up over the years – but this one was just a memory, a legacy of a long-forgotten war. He’d seen paintings of men wearing similar armour, Romans from Rome who had come to Britannia only to find themselves waging war against the druids and the wild magic that had shimmered on the air. They’d never even come close to gaining control over the northern reaches of the country. The ghost eyed him sadly and shook its head. Its translucent form faded and was gone.

Robin touched his sword’s hilt as the Dark Sorcerers broke into a chant, and then into a dance. Suddenly, as if they were no longer in control of themselves, they were dancing, their feet stamping the ground in obedience to an inaudible tune. They whirled around and around in circles, not unlike the whirling dervishes from the Fertile Crescent, their voices blurring into one note. Their leader, standing next to the table, was unmoved. Robin frowned in puzzlement, trying to understand. They didn't seem to be performing a magical rite...

Understanding clicked. The Dark Sorcerers had never posed a major threat before for two reasons, one of which had been Merlin’s presence on Earth. The other...dark sorcery took a terrible price from the bodies of those who risked using it for power, shortening their lifespans even if they didn't wind up being hunted down and destroyed by the Tribunal, or Merlin himself. It was reassuring to think that they would fade away even if Tiffany and the remains of Merlin’s Government failed to stop them, but Robin suspected that that wasn't about to happen. The Dark Sorcerers were spreading the burden of the power, sharing it between themselves...and sparing themselves much of the ravages caused by touching dark sorcery. He ground his teeth in anger; a magical breakthrough, perhaps the most significant breakthrough since the first Enchanters had figured out how to infuse magic into objects, and it had been made by a Dark Sorcerer. They would continue to pose a threat until they were all wiped out...

The communications crystal glowed once in his hand, sending the thoughts of one of the combat magicians directly into his brain. The wards were ready; they only required his command to bring them up into existence, trapping the Dark Sorcerers at the Watchtower. Robin caught Lucas’s arm and held up three fingers, counting down the minutes. Lucas had never been trained at any of the Knight Schools, let alone been Knighted by his Lord, but even he should know the basic hand signals. He hoped...

He passed the crystal back to Sorcerer Black and took hold of Excalibur’s hilt. The moment he drew it from the scabbard, they’d know he was here and try to run. If they were very lucky, the confusion they’d feel when they discovered that they were trapped would last long enough for Robin to cut down the leader – clearly the most powerful – and prevent any of them from taking control. Dark Sorcerers only recognised one thing as giving the right to rule: power. And all of them would be scheming to boost their own power and overthrow their master. In one sense, Robin thought, with a flicker of amusement, it was more honest than the political manipulations of Camelot. But raw power alone didn't confer leadership abilities...

***​

Patience was not something that came easily to Lucas. Sure, he’d hunted – and that required a certain kind of patience – but he’d never had to wait for something as fundamentally important as rescuing his sister from a fate worse than death. No one of his birth had had to wait for anything, ever; not female company, not power...not even a marriage, if they wanted to push for one.

Emma’s haunting white dress looked like a mocking parody of a wedding dress. Lucas knew very little about how symbolism affected magic, but the symbolism of innocence going to the slaughter wasn't lost on him. The only thing holding him back from charging out, sword in hand, was the quiet pressure from Robin and the awareness of the Bloodstained Blade awaiting its moment. It was very hard to understand what the sword was telling him – it seemed to communicate in concepts, rather than words – but it wanted to wait. Wait until what, Lucas had tried to ask, but if there had been an answer it had been beyond his understanding. The sword was keen to wait...

The dance was slowly coming to an end, he suspected. He wasn't sure how he knew – and it might have been the sword’s influence – but the dancers were slowing down and raising their hands in eerie unison to clap. Lucas had been to formal balls ever since he’d been presented at Camelot, yet none of the dances had ever had the same strange precision that the Dark Sorcerers had shown. At some level, they were puppets, but puppets of what? Their master, standing and watching with his face hidden behind the eerie darkness of his hood, or someone – something - far darker? All the tales about the dark forces that had prowled through the dark of the night before Merlin had established the boundary lines suddenly seemed very believable.

He shivered as he realised that the moonbeam had finally reached his sister’s bare chest. The Dark Sorcerers master held up his blade as the dance came to an end, chanting words in a language long forgotten outside the old tomes. Lucas grasped the Bloodstained Blade, but something prevented him from drawing it, no matter how hard he tugged. Beside him, Robin was moving with uncanny stealth, one hand on his own sword hilt.

The Dark Sorcerer’s chant finally came to an end. Robin stood up, drawing Excalibur in one smooth motion. The glowing blade drove the shadows away, illuminating their presence and sending the Dark Sorcerers into confusion. Their master seemed torn between plunging the blade into Emma’s chest and turning to flee.

“Now,” Robin bellowed. The Bloodstained Blade came free in Lucas’s hand, an eerie blade glowing with the colour of freshly-spilled blood. He had a moment to see the Dark Sorcerers recoil from the sight, before the blade was suddenly dark, thirsting for blood. It had an almost vampire-like desire to feed. “For Camelot!”

And he charged.

 

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

Maledict spun around in surprise. The sheer presence of two powerful blades almost froze him into immobility. Only luck – and a hefty burst of magic – sent him cartwheeling away from the two oncoming Knights, each one wielding a blade that could cut through magical protections. He landed on the far side of the chamber and spat out a curse that should have stopped them both in their tracks, only to see the curse harmlessly absorbed by the glowing sword.

Cursing, Maledict attempted to teleport out of the Watchtower, but the teleport spell refused to form properly. An instant’s check revealed that someone had established light wards around the ruined building, hardly enough to stop someone running for their life, but enough to ensure that any teleporting sorcerer bent on escape scattered his molecules over the entire world. He reached out, attempting to infuse the Watchtower with magic that would allow him to turn the building against his foes, but the Watchtower’s eerie nature resisted his magic. They were trapped!

He reached down into the vast reserves of power he’d stockpiled over the past hours and started to spend it freely. Some of his followers were warped and transfigured into monstrous forms, their human flesh running into sharp claws and savage teeth; others were directed to use their own magic to attack the glowing swords. Flames burst up out of nowhere, flaring through the Watchtower, yet they refused to touch the two Knights. A third person, hanging back in the shadows, calmly deflected a spell that should have blown him into a million pieces.

Maledict sent his awareness outside, only to realise that the trap was still being sprung. There were combat magicians out there, combined with Knights of the Round Table. They might have been individually weaker than his Dark Sorcerers, but they were working in unison and his followers would not – could not. There was no escape, unless they won the fight – and somehow that seemed unlikely. They couldn't even touch the two mythical blades.

He remembered all he’d learned from Faye and the abducted tutors and started to concentrate on more subtle forms of attack. Green mist appeared out of nowhere and streamed towards its targets, the two armoured Knights. Bright flashes of light struck the ground next to them, forcing them to duck and dodge as entire pieces of stonework were blasted free of the Watchtower. An attempt to bring part of the ceiling down on their heads was deflected by the enemy sorcerer, who casually redirected Maledict’s stream of power and thrust it into the face of one of his most powerful followers. There was no time to cancel the spell before it wiped the man from existence, leaving only a pair of smoking boots on the ground.

The lead Knight lunged at him, his face hidden under his helm, but his style oddly familiar. Sir Robin, the man who had betrayed his lair’s location to the Tribunal; the man deemed worthy to bear the most powerful weapon in all of existence. Maledict felt cold hated rising within his breast and he drew on his own magic carelessly, shaping a sword and armour out of raw magic. The sword was animated by his own will, nothing more; it shattered as soon as it touched Excalibur. He shaped a second spell and then a third, before he called on his magic to blow a gust of freezing wind right into the face of his foe. The Knight staggered backwards and Maledict took the opportunity to put a great deal of distance between them. If he could break the wards...

Faye could have channelled both sets of magic simultaneously, but Maledict had never had to learn. His practice had been in a far less stressful situation – and most of his opponents could be dispatched by raw power alone. Only the High Magus had come so close to defeating him, and he hadn't carried the most powerful weapon in the world. He realised numbly that the second Knight had removed the girl from the table, ensuring that she could not be used as a sacrifice. Besides, the moonbeam had already advanced into the Witching Hour. The time was no longer right for the ritual.

With a howl of pure rage, he threw his magic at his foe and fought to escape. He had to escape; without him, the cause of dark sorcery was lost...

***​

Lucas would never know if his mad leap had been powered by his own determination to rescue his sister or if the Bloodstained Blade had helped, but it hardly mattered. He landed on top of the table, his sword flaring out to decapitate a pair of Dark Sorcerers who had sought to attack him as soon as he jumped. Raw magic fizzled around the blade, leaving his hair standing up on end, but somehow the blade absorbed the magic. A third Dark Sorcerer, his body warped into a cross between a human and a werewolf, appeared out of nowhere, yet Lucas saw him and cut him down with a ruthlessness that surprised him. The Bloodstained Blade’s bloodlust was growing stronger.

He heard a moan below him and looked down at Emma. His sister’s eyes were pale, barely aware of her surroundings; she cringed back from Lucas as if she expected him to be another tormentor. The sight left him tottering between despair and anger, but somehow he managed to slash down with the blade and cut through her ties, freeing her from the table. A Dark Sorcerer lunged for her, knife in hand, and Lucas threw himself at the mad magician. There was no thought to the motion; nothing, but pure rage and determination. The Dark Sorcerer’s eyes widened as he saw the black blade, before Lucas plunged it into his chest. He let out an ear-splitting yell as he lost control of the power stored within him and his body exploded in malevolent light. Lucas shielded Emma as best as he could, praying that the Bloodstained Blade would shield them both. Raw magic in its darkest form could be utterly lethal, leaving its victims quite beyond any hope of salvation.

“Get under the table,” he snapped to Emma. She was in shock, but somehow she managed to obey – or they’d drugged her with something to make her compliant. Lucas turned as she shielded herself, facing a group of five Dark Sorcerers who had warped themselves into monsters. They came at him, all fangs and teeth and claws; Lucas braced himself and then lunged forward. Deadly claws reached for him and he laughed...

The bloodlust rose up within him, pushing him forward. He could hear the sword singing in his mind, pushing him to strike down his enemies with neither fear nor favour. A Dark Sorcerer, now warped beyond the creatures within the Greenwood, was torn apart by a single blow, leaving blood and guts splashing down on the floor. The old Lucas would have been horrified; even the new Lucas was concerned...but the bloodlust drowned everything out. He heard a roaring in his ears as the second Dark Sorcerer was struck down, followed by the third. A berserker rage seemed to have come over him, driving him to throw himself at the enemy without any regard for his personal safety. At some level, he knew that he was being wounded, but it hardly seemed to matter. All that mattered was satisfying the bloodlust.

Another Dark Sorcerer – he’d lost count – was trying to cast a spell, throwing an unearthly green flare of light towards Lucas before he could react. The spell exploded on the Bloodstained Blade, somehow enhancing the rage he felt channelled through the sword. Green light flared around the blade for a long moment, only to be spat out and harmlessly absorbed by the walls. Lucas was suddenly aware of great and powerful magic flaring through the Watchtower as it became aware of the fighting within its environs, although he couldn't tell if it intended to lash out at the puny mortals infesting its core.

He roared in rage and threw himself at another sorcerer, and then another. The bloodlust was overpowering, driving him onwards...until he heard a cry. Emma was crying; whatever they’d done to her, be it shock or a drug or a spell, was wearing off. Lucas hesitated, just long enough for one of the monsters to land a blow that should have decapitated him. The bloodlust flared up again, but this time he understood. There was no such thing as an easy redemption, not even for him. Giving into the sword’s lust for blood would mean giving up his only chance at redemption – and perhaps Emma’s only chance for life.

Lucas stepped backwards, lowering the blade. How many had died, slashed apart by the Bloodstained Blade? The walls and ceiling were covered in blood...he tried to remember, only to discover that his memory had faded, tinged with berserker rage. His armour was covered in blood, none of it his; his body was aching from the stress he'd put on it, or minor wounds that had healed almost instantly. Apart from the Dark Sorcerer fighting Robin, there were no other enemy left within the chamber. He looked up and saw Sorcerer Black shaking his head. The Tribunal-trained sorcerer seemed oddly amused by his dilemma.

“Everything comes with a price,” Sorcerer Black said. His voice was calm and gentle, yet Lucas could feel the sword’s cold rage at the thought of anyone taking advice from a sorcerer. Or was that his own thoughts being reflected back to him? Without Merlin, every sorcerer would be able to proceed down the path that led to dark sorcery, for no one would dare stand in their way. “I’d advise you to be careful when you choose to draw that blade, young man.”

He didn't seem inclined to say anything else. Lucas glared at him, but he refused to be cowed. Was he thinking about dark sorcery...? Lucas looked down at the blade and knew that he, at least, would stand between sorcerers and the moral corruption brought by dark sorcery. And Robin and Tiffany and so many others would join him...putting the thought aside, he helped Emma out from under the stone table and pulled her to him, heedless of how the blood was staining her dress. He'd have to take her out of the Watchtower, back to the Garrison – they’d look after her, he was sure – before heading back to his castle. The Duke would have to be removed...

On one level, he was shocked at his own decisiveness. When had he ever made a decision for himself? His father had dominated him, indulging him and at the same time shaping him into his ideal heir. And now...now he was his own man. And children had responsibilities towards their parents. The Privy Council might have their own ideas about what should happen to a Duke who partnered himself with dark sorcery, but Lucas was determined that he would get to his father first. He would redeem himself by removing his father personally.

A roar split the chamber as the Dark Sorcerer fighting Robin realised what had happened. He’d lost everything, Lucas realised...and no longer looked even remotely human. Robin was fighting hard, but even Excalibur seemed daunted by the raw magic surrounding the sorcerer. Slowly, Lucas reached for the Bloodstained Blade, wondering when he'd returned it to its scabbard. If Robin couldn't beat the Dark Sorcerer...

***​

Robin’s armour was already scorched and pitted as blast after blast of dark magic snapped against his skin. Even Excalibur seemed to have reached its limits in coping with the Dark Sorcerer, who seemed to be transforming into something utterly inhuman. Parts of his skin had completely burned away, to be replaced by dark energy and a power that somehow animated his skeleton. His red eyes burned with an unholy glare, sending Robin staggering backwards...even with Excalibur in his hand. The sword’s glow was dimming fast...had the demon somehow damaged the sword beyond repair?

The Dark Sorcerer’s form broke down into an eerie translucent mist. Robin slashed out at it with his blade, but even his sword passed through it harmlessly. The Dark Sorcerer formed a fist and slammed it into Robin’s helm, leaving him staggering from the sheer weight of the blow. It would have smashed his skull without the protection of his armour...cursing, Robin stepped backwards, looking for a target. But even Excalibur seemed daunted by the sorcerer’s rapid transformation. He’d become a creature of pure dark magic.

Robin jumped backwards, silently noting that Lucas and Sorcerer Black were escorting Emma out of the chamber. At least one innocent would survive...the rest of the Dark Sorcerers had either been killed by the forces waiting outside or had managed to escape into the Greenwood. Brimming with magic as they were, they’d still present a danger – but if they managed to destroy their leader, it would take them some time to reassemble and start plotting again.

Maledict roared with rage and came after Robin, forcing him to jump backwards as lightning flashed from his translucent hands, blasting through the air towards him. The Dark Sorcerer seemed to have access to almost limitless power, yet Robin knew that that could not be the case. If he could force the Dark Sorcerer to expend his power carelessly, surely he would eventually run out of power – and without power, the force holding his inhuman body together would collapse. If...the Dark Sorcerer seemed to have realised that he was no longer bound by human limitations. His form was losing its humanoid aspect, allowing him to appear as an eerie glowing mist, sparkling with power. Robin had seen similar shapes in the Greenwood, yet he’d never connected them with the Dark Sorcerers. There had been no reason to think that there might be a connection.

Lucas appeared suddenly behind the Dark Sorcerer and rammed the Bloodstained Blade through the mist. It seemed to slip around the blade, as if it wasn't quite touching the sorcerer’s form. Sorcerer Black stepped forward and wove a containment ward, only to stagger backwards as Maledict casually overpowered the ward and lashed out towards him. The sheer force of the magic involved picked Sorcerer Black up and sent him slamming into the wall, crashing against the stone with a sickening crash. Robin knew that sorcerers were tough, yet surely no one could have survived...it hardly mattered; the moment he took his attention away from the Dark Sorcerer, he would die. His enemy was starting to form a humanoid face out of the mist, fixing him to the spot with an inhuman glare. Excalibur seemed to almost wilt in his hand...the sword needed time to regenerate and if they failed to beat the Dark Sorcerer, there would be no time for it to regenerate. It could die...

Sheer fury drove Robin forward, ramming right through the Dark Sorcerer. There was a sudden sense of cold, as if he’d suddenly plunged into an icy cold bath, as if every molecule of his body had been exposed to the coldest sensation in the world. Maledict howled at the intrusion and tried to expel Robin, but his magic seemed to refuse to turn on itself. Robin brought his sword up and sliced into the translucent figure, praying that it would be enough...

***​

Maledict could barely think any longer. The sheer power in the two legendary swords was too much; every time they slashed through his new form, his thoughts shattered and had to reform slowly. His power was being spent on maintaining himself and he knew he should try to return to humanity, yet the moment he restored himself he’d be killed. Desperately, unsure of what he was doing, he drew on his magic one final time and resonated with the magic spilling through the Watchtower. He heard something screaming in agony – and frustrated rage – and then he was suddenly aware of the wards breaking at his touch. His mind right on the verge of total collapse, his power draining away, he shaped a thought in his mind...

And the world went away in a flash of green light.

***​

Robin had barely a second’s warning from Excalibur, just enough to save him from being torn apart by the teleport spell. The Dark Sorcerer – no longer human – was gone. Lucas stumbled to his knees as the Bloodstained Blade relaxed its hold on him, his face twisted between bloodlust and revulsion. Robin pulled himself back to his feet and swore aloud. The wards they’d set up were gone, which meant that their target had escaped...try as he might, he couldn't convince himself that it was anything other than a very bad sign.

Slowly, as he leaned against one of the stone walls for support, he became aware of great power stirring within the Watchtower. Images flickered in and out of existence around him, some from the far distant past and others from a future that might never come to pass. He saw mighty sorcerers and druids, facing the Romans when they invaded the home of magic itself...and he saw Knights in armour, carrying weapons that seemed to be the far distant descendents of the firearms manufactured by the free cities. Great power was pressing down all around him...and then a voice spoke directly into his head.

IS IT TIME? The voice demanded. HAVE THEY COME?

“No,” Robin said, finally. His voice sounded small and weak compared to the terrible voice that was echoing through his mind. Lucas, who’d clearly heard the same thing, gave him a shocked look. Robin ignored him. Whatever was waking up within the Watchtower was clearly ancient, with such great power that waking it up ahead of time might prove uniquely dangerous. He had no idea what the Watchtower was watching for, but he had a suspicion that their arrival would have been obvious. “They have not come.”

GO, the voice thundered. They found themselves outside the Watchtower, surrounded by shocked combat magicians and Knights. DO NOT RETURN.

Lucas looked a question at Robin, who shrugged. “It’s time to put an end to this,” he said, firmly. The mystery of the Watchtower could wait. “Let’s go.”

 

So I’m having problems deciding what to write next.
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I do want to do the rewrite of Inverse Shadows, crossing it over with All the Marbles. Basically, a far-future society finds itself fighting an incomprehensible alien threat. I have a fairly detailed outline now so I may focus on that one next.

The next idea would be a stand-alone, I think. It would be basically set in a future dystopia, facing a possible alien threat.

Another stand-alone idea is called ‘Recovery.’ It’s 4000 and Sol has just flared, wiping out the core of the human sector. Now a team of mercenaries have been paid to recover data from the destroyed system...unaware that the people they’re working for are not quite what they seem.

As always, I have too many ideas and not enough time to write them all.

I’m also having doubts about my own skills. Damn it.

Thoughts?

Chris

 

YOU should never have doubts about your ability to write a compelling store ,just go with what is in your head and will come out the way it should no matter the subject.
Great writing and story.

 

Chris you doubting your own skill? Don't make me hunt you down & club you with a Frozen Fish!!! I'll chain you to your PC & hold you at FishPoint while you write the rest of this Story!!!!

 

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

The execution of Duke Rufus Valditch was carried out one week after the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Battle</st1:City></st1lace> of the Watchtower.

Lucas hadn’t been ordered to attend, but he’d forced himself to watch as his father’s head was neatly separated from his body by the executioner. By then, death had probably been something of a relief; his father had been alternating helplessly between madness and lucid rationality, where he’d understood just how badly he’d failed. Lucas hadn’t been confirmed as Duke in his place, but he no longer wanted the post. The price was far too high. Afterwards, he’d walked out into the gardens and found a place to sit, staring down at the Bloodstained Sword. He could still feel its presence at the back of his mind, waiting.

He thought he understood, now that there was a moment of peace. The sword lusted for blood and holding it – wielding it – gave vent to some of humanity’s most terrible impulses. And yet, if he mastered the sword, he would master himself. The bloodlust had to be quenched, along with the desire for power without responsibility. A man wielding the sword could make himself a king, yet its power came with a price, the price of self-reflection. Lucas had been a fool, in so many ways; the sword merely illuminated them for him and allowed his mind to do the rest.

Tiffany found him there, two hours after he’d settled down.

“I’m sorry about your father,” she said. She sounded as if she meant it, even though she was now effectively the Regent for two Duchesses. It would be years before either Lady Gwendolyn or Emma came of age, and by that time Tiffany would have used their votes and powers in the House of Lords to ensure that the new political settlement was solid. Her method wasn't entirely legal, but no one would dare object. Questioning her right to serve as Regent would bring hundreds of other matters into question.

“I’m not,” Lucas lied. In truth, his feelings were conflicted. His father had been a good father at one point, before his son had grown up into a vain young man. Or was he just remembering the good and forgetting the bad, now that his father was gone. Emma would mourn him openly, as was right and proper, yet Lucas could never bring himself to do that, not when his father had committed so many crimes. He’d been astonished to discover how many half-sisters and brothers he had, sired by his father in the hopes of producing someone with formidable magical power. “What do you want?”

Tiffany didn’t seem annoyed at his rudeness. “Here,” she said. She reached into the bag she carried and produced a single black shield. Lucas took it in surprise. It was utterly unmarked, yet the very lack of marking betrayed its wearer’s true nature. He was a Knight without a master, without a lord; a Knight sworn to nothing, but his own conscience and God. “I want you to have this.”

Lucas stared down at the unmarked shield. “Why?”

“You have to do something with your life,” Tiffany said. Lucas raised a questioning eyebrow. “You took – and hold – the Bloodstained Sword. I think you have a right to wear the black armour, don’t you? Besides, it will give you a chance to make up without having your father’s life and crimes rubbed in your face.”

She stood up, placing the rest of the bag at his feet. “The armour isn’t passed from Knight to Knight,” she said. “A Knight wears the black armour if he feels he should wear it…but then, you will know all this already. The choice is yours.”

Lucas watched as she walked away, and then looked down at the armour. The original Black Knight had been a mysterious righter of wrongs and servant of God, his true identity lost to the mists of time. Even King Arthur hadn’t known, although that hadn’t stopped countless bards from speculating that the reason King Arthur and the Black Knight were never seen together was that they were one and the same. Merlin…it was hard to tell what Merlin had known, or thought, but if he’d felt that the Black Knight was a menace he would have blown him out of existence with a snap of the fingers. Later, after Merlin had established the Pendragon Empire, Black Knights had continued to appear, wear their armour and fight in a noble cause…and then vanish. It had honestly never occurred to Lucas, who had grown up reading the tales of noble knights, that Merlin might have been choosing those who wore the black armour.

He thought he understood, at last. The Black Knight was dependent upon his own wits and skill with a sword. He couldn’t call upon a master’s protection, or whatever aristocratic rights his birth entitled him to claim. His skill was all that would keep him alive…

…And if Lucas wore the armour, he would no longer be the son of a disgraced Duke.

Slowly, almost reverently, he began to don the armour.

***​

Tiffany watched from a distance as Lucas started to dress himself, and then turned and walked away before he could see her standing there. Meeting him had been a duty; unpleasant, but necessary. She couldn’t risk allowing him to wander around on his own, not carrying a sword that killed its wielders as often as it saved their souls. Lucas was the Heir to a Duchy, after all; there were too many other aristocrats who’d rally behind him if they believed he’d been sidelined deliberately.

Camelot had almost been abandoned, with much of the civil servants who kept the government running moving to the remains of Londinium. The dark magic unleashed by the demon had contaminated the entire city, even through the sorcerers believed that it could eventually be cleansed and returned to normal. Tiffany doubted that it was possible; Merlin, given all of his power and abilities, had never even tried to cleanse Kentigern. The Houses of Parliament had accepted the move grudgingly, pointing out that Camelot had been the centre of the Empire for over a thousand years, but they’d never tried to block the move. She suspected that prudence and common sense had been allowed to triumph over the bloody-minded determination to have their own way that normally affected anyone sitting in the Houses of Parliament. After all, the magic contaminating the city was no respecter of noble personages.

She walked into the Keep and up through the handful of armed guards until she reached the War Room. Most of the Garrison had already decamped to their new home, even though a token force would remain behind to guard the city’s vital buildings. They’d just have to get used to living without Merlin’s infinite source of magic to power the devices they’d used to monitor the Empire. These days, the enchanters and alchemists were barely keeping up with demand for newer devices that didn’t need Merlin to work properly.

Robin smiled at her as she joined him and peered down at the map. They hadn’t found Maledict, the leader of the Dark Sorcerers. Robin’s account had suggested that Maledict had been consumed by his own magic, but Tiffany’s intuition told her that the Dark Sorcerer was still alive, somewhere well away from civilisation. The devices they could have used to track him down no longer functioned – and it was doubtful that they would have worked in any case. Maledict had renamed himself when he became a Dark Sorcerer and killed anyone who might have been able to betray his real name. Without that information, it was unlikely that any form of tracking magic could find him without a sample of his blood. Anything else that might have belonged to him was useless. He knew how to ward himself against such crude forms of detection.

“We got the report from Sir Lancaster,” Robin said, grimly. Tiffany looked up at him, sharply. “All of the boundary lines are gone. There are no reports of contact with the supernatural creatures from the <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Greenwood</st1lace></st1:City>, or Avalon, but it’s only a matter of time.”

Tiffany shivered. She’d known that the lines were falling, yet she’d dared to hope that they would find a way to replace them before it was too late. They hadn’t; the enchanters and alchemists, wizards and wardens, who’d worked on the remains of the boundary lines hadn’t been able to understand how Merlin had done what he’d done, let alone duplicate it. Merlin had been so powerful that his every act was beyond their comprehension, his raw power allowing him to skip steps that wizards or even sorcerers would need to follow. Robin was right. It was only a matter of time before the supernatural creatures started returning to their old haunts, drifting out of Avalon and into the mortal world. And then there would be war as society collapsed under their pressure.

“The villages nearest the <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Greenwood</st1lace></st1:City> will be the first to fall,” Robin said. His tone hadn’t changed. “I think we need to begin evacuating them and moving the population to the free cities…”

“The Lords won’t agree,” Tiffany said. She shook her head. Putting together the political compromise that had allowed the Empire to survive had taken every last bit of her political capital – and only her regency for two immature Duchesses had allowed her to push it through, against opposition from both the Lords and the Commons. Evacuating the villages nearest the <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Greenwood</st1lace></st1:City> would outrage the Lords, who would believe that they were being stripped of their peasants in a move to weaken their standing. And besides…without the farms, how would they feed the population? Tiffany had already started planning to stockpile as much food as possible, but it wouldn't be enough.

“They don’t have a choice,” Robin said, sharply. Tiffany couldn’t disagree, even though she knew that it was politically impossible. “What happens when people start to die?”

He shook his head, one hand touching the sword at his belt. “Did Lucas like his armour?”

Tiffany smiled. She was glad of the change in subject. “I believe that he accepted it,” she said, wryly. Her own feelings were harder to fathom. Lucas had deserved some reward for his efforts, even if they had been too late to save countless lives. And yet…being the Black Knight wasn't really a reward, not when the wearers of the armour often came to unpleasant ends. “Do you think he will wear it with pride?”

Robin shrugged. “Tiffany,” he said, “why did he leave?”

He meant Merlin, Tiffany knew. “I don’t know,” she admitted. It was a bitter admission; Merlin hadn’t even told her, his First Councillor, that he intended to depart. She’d been his most trusted ally and yet he hadn’t warned her of the coming crisis. What had been running through his immensely ancient mind? Had he been tiring of serving as immortal monarch to an empire that spanned the entire world, or had he been swept away by something much more powerful? “I just don’t know.”

For a moment, she remembered the vision she’d had, back before Merlin had left and the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Iron</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace> collapsed to rubble. She’d been naked, on her knees, chained hand and foot, and looking up with hopeless eyes. Tiffany would have liked to dismiss it, yet every time she remembered it, the haunting image of her older self’s eyes chilled her to the bone. Merlin had said that such visions were only probabilities, at best, and yet…

She wrapped her arms around Robin, taking comfort in his presence. One thought dominated her mind. The worst was yet to come.

***​

Maledict staggered and fell to his knees in the mud, cursing the rain falling from the darkened sky. It took all of his remaining strength to pull himself back to his feet, slipping and sliding in the muddy ground. Water ran down from above, washing away at his footing; he stumbled and fought to remain upright. Something was calling him onwards, yet he couldn’t tell who – or what – was calling for him.

Lightning flashed and he winced as the world was suddenly illuminated in chillingly bright light. He covered his eyes, realising that whatever had happened in those final desperate moments at the Watchtower had restored his human form, at least for a few hours. Or was it days? Once, he’d been able to keep track of time easily, without effort. Now…now he had no idea how much time had passed since he’d escaped the Watchtower and reappeared…here. Where was here?

The rain poured down harder, leaving him struggling to keep moving. His entire body was bent and old, the damage he’d inflicted on it with dark sorcery finally catching up with him. Only his indomitable determination to survive and triumph kept him moving forward, staggering up the hill. He would return to wreak his revenge, he promised himself. This time, it would all be different. There would be no lust for power over the empire, over the teeming millions who flocked over the world, merely their destruction at his hands. He would shatter their cities and towns, sending them fleeing into a countryside that would provide no refuge for the huddled masses. Maledict spat into the wind as he pressed against it and finally stumbled onto the top of the hill. High overhead, he could see the moon shining down upon him.

High above, the lightning flashed again. This time, he saw a set of huge standing stones, erected centuries before Merlin had started to create his empire. He knew, instantly, where he had to be; indeed, he was surprised that he hadn’t realised earlier. Somehow, heedless of myths and legends that warned all good folk to stay away from Mordred, he staggered into the circle of stones and collapsed right at the centre. Below him, he could feel a trickle of ancient power slipping up towards the surface. There were ancient stories of those who had touched the Great Old Ones in their eternal rest under the surface of the world, but Maledict had never cared for such cautionary tales. Drawing on his remaining power, he reached down to the source and pulled…

The ground shook. Slowly, one by one, the great standing stones began to collapse. Maledict couldn’t have moved to save his life, even when one of them came down right next to him. The shaking only grew worse as bright light started to flare up from underground, pulsing in time to the shakes passing through the earth. Maledict cringed back as the light grew brighter and finally burst out of the ground, revealing a pale hand reaching towards the sky. The shock somehow invigorated him and he managed to crawl to his feet, knowing that it was already too late to run. There was a final burst of light and the figure rose up from the ground, drifting into the air.

Maledict slowly lifted his eyes to meet her. She was pale, her skin as pale as a swan’s feathers. Her black hair seemed to have a life of its own, caressing her face and shoulders as she slowly turned to look upon her savoir. She was naked, yet there was no hint of vulnerability or even human sexuality. Her body was inhumanly perfect, too perfect. Raw power beat upon the air as she smiled, revealing that even Merlin could not have destroyed her. In hindsight, some of the legends that were only communicated in whispers had barely scratched the truth. Merlin had locked up ancient powers he could not destroy…and now one of them was free. Maledict realised, as she slowly focused on him, that his hopes – barely expressed – of tapping her power for himself were futile. She was so far beyond him that only her indifference could keep him safe.

Her dark eyes met his and he froze. He could feel her peering into his mind, ransacking every last corner for knowledge about the world she’d re-entered. There was no point in even trying to fight, not against such power. He could barely think as her power lifted him into the air and held him in front of her, studying her with the same casual unconcern he’d studied the dying when he’d sacrificed them to the Darkness. For all of his power, he was nothing more than a fly to her…

She laughed and Maledict’s world came apart around him. His mind, in his final seconds, expanded. It showed him a vision; it showed him who she had been, who she was and what would happen, now that she was free. Her power shimmered out upon the air; all over the world, children awoke screaming, unable to say what had snapped them out of their rest. Every magician shuddered, although even the most subtle magic would be unable to identify why until it was far too late…

…And, in the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Greenwood</st1:City></st1lace>, creatures long forgotten knew that their time had come.

And then Maledict knew no more.

END OF PART ONE​

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THE STORY WILL CONTINUE IN​

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THE QUEEN OF NIGHTMARES​

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AND CONCLUDE IN​

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THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING.​

 

Great ending, looking forward to the next story Chris, you should really look into publishing some of your work. Even if it's just $2 pdf downloads.

Jason