Area 51: The Legend (30 page)

Merlin also carried the Grail in a pack slung over one shoulder. He did not plan to give it away. From the records he knew it was even more important than the sword. Whatever lay ahead, he planned to be the only one who knew its location.

A.D. 521: ENGLAND

Arthur spent two days at high altitude in Chi Yu, studying the data that the craft’s sensors picked up from the large island and interrogating a half dozen unfortunate prisoners he had scooped up in the night. It was a land mired in dissension and distrust, as evidenced by the continual skirmishes among petty lords and the successes of small knots of invaders in coastal areas, holding their own against the locals, keeping a foreign footprint on the land.

According to the sensors, Excalibur had been reshielded and was in the west of the land in the largest, and best organized, fiefdom—Cornwall. The region’s leader resided in a castle on a high rocky outcropping along a rough coast. That was the place where Arthur decided to make his entrance.

Just as the sun was setting over the ocean to the west, Arthur brought Chi Yu down out of the clouds and landed with a burst of flame from the craft’s snout on the cliff just to the south of Tintagel, Uther’s castle.

AVALON

Donnchadh leafed through the documents lying on the wooden table deep inside the tor. She’d read them all on previous visits and it didn’t take her long to see a patternto those chosen. She looked up as Gwalcmai entered the chamber.

“The sword and Grail are gone,” he confirmed.

Donnchadh tapped the documents. “The Watcher has been reading of both.” She picked up one particular piece that had the prophecy of a king written on it. She shook her head. “There is so much gibberish mixed in among the reports. Fiction some of the
Wedjat
made up.”

“It is amazing the Watchers have lasted this long,” Gwalcmai said. “What do we do now?”

“We find the sword and the Grail.”

“The others will be coming—or be sending someone.”

Donnchadh nodded. “They’ll want to restore the truce.”

“Why won’t one side want to end it?” Gwalcmai argued. “Grab the key and the Grail and be done with it?”

“Because both sides have made mistakes,” Donnchadh said. “Aspasia by being out of contact for so long, then Artad for acting so precipitously when he came here. They need a lot more time to get this planet back on track. And—”

“And?” Gwalcmai prompted.

“And I think both are afraid of the Swarm. I think they secretly want to keep hidden for a long time and stay out of that war.”

“And what do we want?” Gwalcmai asked.

“To cause them as much trouble as we can. And then go back to the truce because we need to fear the Swarm also.”

“I do not think it will be as easy as that,” Gwalcmai said.

“Of course not,” Donnchadh agreed. “But I’m trying to be positive.”

THE
MEDITERRANEAN

Aspasia’s Shadow was already finding things not so easy. Along with his Guides, he’d taken passage on a trading ship out of Alexandria. Less than two days into the journey the ship had been accosted by pirates. They’d beaten off the attack, but it had cost Aspasia’s Shadow two of his Guides. Four days later a storm forced them to put to shore and kept them there for almost a week.

When they finally put to sea once more, Aspasia’s Shadow stood in the bow of the boat, letting the salty air blow across his face. His left hand absentmindedly played with the
ka
that hung around his neck. It was going to take a long time to reach England. He had known that when he left Mount Sinai.

Not for the first time or the last time, Aspasia’s Shadow cursed the Watchers. But underneath that anger, coiled and bitter, so still he was almost unaware of it, was his resentment toward his maker and his awareness that he was just a tool.

Aspasia’s Shadow removed the
ka
from the chain and dangled it over the deep, dark water. Even as he did so, he knew it was a futile gesture. If he did not return within a specified amount of time, the machine in Mount Sinai would automatically regenerate another Shadow based on the last memories he had loaded into it. While this body and mind would die, he would be brought back to life once more.

Someday, Aspasia’s Shadow mused as he put the
ka
back around his neck, someday he would be free. Perhaps in the coming events he might find a key to escaping from the unique and horrible prison he was in.

TINTAGEL

From the highest tower of the stone castle, Arthur dispassionately stared at King Uther, but the look was not returned for the simple reason that carrion-birds had plucked the eyes out of the severed head the previous week. Uther was merely a head impaled on a pole set on the outer wall of Tintagel Castle and Arthur had been king for two weeks.

After landing Chi Yu, Arthur had exited the flying machine, garbed in gleaming armor and carrying a sword, not quite as nice as Excalibur but of Airlia make and far beyond anything Uther’s age of humans could produce. However, Arthur would not depend on force of arms to take control. Fear worked much better. He’d known that the dragon had been seen from the castle walls and he’d let the humans stew on the strange apparition for the entire night.

The next morning he’d approached the castle, with Chi Yu, controls set on automatic, hovering above and behind him. It had been a most impressive spectacle and when he’d called out for the castle gates to be opened, the guards had quickly complied.

It had taken Uther a week to build up the courage to challenge Arthur and the battle had lasted less than two seconds before the king’s head was severed from his body. Arthur had become king. He’d dispatched Chi Yu on autopilot to a hiding place on a desolate island off the coast that he’d discovered during his reconnaissance.

Alone and above everyone, Arthur removed a small black sphere from underneath his cloak. He accessed the device and peered at the tiny screen set into one of the hexagonals. Excalibur, as his overflight had indicated, was moving ever closer. He had not even considered simply landing and taking the sword from whoever had it. That was not what he had been programmed to do. There was more to be donethan simply recovering Excalibur—there was also the issue of the Grail’s location. And sooner or later, someone from Aspasia’s side would show up.

Merlin was covered with a layer of dust over a smattering of mud. He was hungry and tired and the wonderful sword, so light when he first drew it from the crystal stone, had become a wearisome burden wrapped in a threadbare blanket and held close to his chest with both arms.

He cleared a rise in the road and saw two things at the same time. The ocean in the far distance and, perched on the rocky crags overlooking the ocean, the stone walls and tower of Tintagel Castle. From the top of the tower a guidon flapped in the stiff offshore breeze. It was red with a mighty dragon emblazoned on it.

Activity closer by caught Merlin’s attention. A troop of armored knights was galloping up the road toward him. Merlin stepped to the side to let them pass, but the man in the lead, clad in shining armor, reined in his horse and halted, peering down at Merlin through narrow slits in his helmet. The knight slowly raised his visor, revealing cold blue eyes.

“You are the one who brings the sword.”

It was not a question. Merlin went to one knee and offered up Excalibur. Surely such a knight who knew he was coming and about the sword was the one. “My king.”

“I am Arthur,” the knight said as he got off his horse. He took the offering, tossing aside the blanket. With one smooth movement he drew Excalibur. He leaned forward and placed the blade against Merlin’s neck. “Where is the Grail?”

Merlin swallowed hard, feeling the cool metal against his skin. “It is safe, my lord.”

“Where is the Grail?”

Merlin stared up into the knight’s eyes and saw no compassion or humanity. With a rush of despair he knew he’d made a mistake. He closed his eyes for several seconds, thinking furiously. Then he looked up at the king. “My name is Merlin. I have hidden the Grail and only I know where it is. If you want me to serve you, and someday learn of the Grail’s location, you will let me live. I have given you the sword. Give me my life. I will serve you well.”

Arthur did not immediately remove the sword. “You will take me to the Grail later?” he finally asked.

“Yes, my king.”

Arthur pulled back Excalibur.

Merlin slowly got to his feet. “We can build a great kingdom together, my king.”

“We will have to,” Arthur said. He looked at Merlin. “For they are coming to take it.”

A chill ran down Merlin’s spine and he realized he had walked into something much, much larger than himself.

A.D. 522: ENGLAND

It was a mild winter, for which Donnchadh and Gwalcmai were grateful, as they spent most of it traveling. I For the first couple of months they found no sign of the absent Watcher, the Grail, or Excalibur. Upon one occasion they were accosted by bandits, and Gwalcmai, in the course of dispatching the ignorant souls, suffered a wound serious enough to warrant a return to Stonehenge and regeneration of a new body for his personality and memories to be implanted into. That caused a delay of another couple of months.

Thus it was early summer before they began to search to the west, tracking down rumors of a powerful king who wielded a magical sword. They traveled along the southern coast of England and were in a small fishing village having a meal in the local inn when they heard something that caught their attention.

“This bloody bastard crucifies people. Not in the way those Christians have their cross, but on an X—two poles stuck into the ground and crossing each other.”

The speaker was a man dressed in the garb of one who made his living from the sea. His audience was the bored woman, old beyond her years, who ran the inn.

“Who is this you speak of?” Gwalcmai brusquely demanded, swinging around on his stool and facing the speaker.

The man was startled at this abrupt response to his comment. Donnchadh moved between the two and placed a piece of silver on the wood plank table in front of the man. “We’d like to know more about this,” she said in a low voice.

The silver was already in the man’s pocket. He looked at the two of them. “I just came from across the channel. This man, he’s raising an army there. Word is he’s going to cross the channel this summer and invade.”

“His name?” Donnchadh asked.

“He calls himself Mordred.”

“Have you seen him?” she pressed.

“I didn’t want to see him,” the man said. “I seen what he done to folks that opposed him. As I was telling the keep, here. Crucifies them. And not with nails but with wet leather. Who ever heard of that? It dries and squeezes the life out of the poor fellows.”

“This Mordred is local?” Gwalcmai demanded.

The fisherman shook his head. “No. That’s not what they say. He’s got this group of warriors with him—they do whatever he says without question. He’s recruiting local knights to fight with him. To come over here and invade. Those who oppose him, he crucifies.”

Gwalcmai ran a hand over the stubble on his chin as he contemplated this information.

“Like flies to manure,” Donnchadh muttered, which earned her surprised looks from both her husband and the fisherman. “You said this Mordred will be coming over the channel with his army in late summer?”

“He’d have to—to beat the fall storms,” the man said.

Donnchadh threw another piece of silver down and indicated for Gwalcmai to follow her outside. They exited the tavern into a light downpour, another typical day in England.

“Who the hell is this Mordred?” Gwalcmai asked as he pulled up his hood.

“Most likely a Shadow,” Donnchadh said.

“Then who is this Arthur who has the sword? The Watcher?”

Donnchadh shook her head. “I’d say another Shadow. One Aspasia’s, one Artad’s. They’re not breaking the truce outright, but they are looking after their interests, and it is in their interest to make sure the Grail and Excalibur are under control.”

“Which is which?”

Donnchadh shrugged. “Does it matter?” She tapped Gwalcmai on the chest. “You go to Arthur. Join his force. I’ll cross the channel and look up this Mordred.”

“He’s crucifying people,” Gwalcmai noted.

“Yes, but every war leader needs a seer. A sorceress at their side.”

Gwalcmai was clearly not happy with the plan, but he didn’t voice it. “Just be very careful. We’ve had some good memories on this trip and I wouldn’t want to have to tell your clone all about them.”

FRANCE

“You will see my power,” Aspasia’s Shadow, now known Y as Mordred, yelled out.

He was standing on a pile of rocks, looking down at the gathering of local and banished English knights that his Guides had bribed, cajoled, or threatened into being there. The knights were in a large semicircle around the rock pile, with a blazing bonfire between them and Mordred.

“You.” Mordred pointed at one of the Guides. “Go into the fire.”

A ripple of unease passed through the knights at this strange command. The Guide didn’t hesitate for a moment. He walked forward into the fire. Hair burst into flame, skin was scorched, yet the Guide stood ramrod straight, without any utterance of pain. The smell of burning flesh crept outward without even a breeze to clear the air. Several men, hardened knights, went to their knees gagging and vomiting.

The Guide collapsed, lifeless, the flames continuing to consume his flesh.

“Gather your men,” Mordred continued. “We will set sail for England in two months.”

TINTAGEL

The ring of steel on steel echoed off the castle’s stone walls, intermingled with the grunts and curses of men locked in combat. Arthur sat on a high-backed wooden chair, chin in palm, elbow on knee, watching the two knights who fought in the churned-up mud below him. The surface of the opening had been hard-packed dirt earlier that morning but twenty-three engagements later, it was soaked with blood, urine, and sweat, producing a foul tableau on which to fight for glory and one’s life.