Jordan (22 page)

“What now?” Vivianne asked, her pulse racing. These beings knew entirely too much about them and their mission.

“Dragonshape and you shall learn.”

Home is where you make it.

—L
ADY OF THE
L
AKE

S
o we dragonshape?” Vivianne asked.

Jordan nodded, then removed the Ancient Staff from the sheath. They morphed.

Where to?
Vivianne asked.

Jordan now clutched the Ancient Staff in his talon. It was her first good look at the Ancient Staff since he’d embedded the
Wind Key into the bough. It pulsed with more energy than she’d ever seen before.

Jordan turned in a continuous circle, using the Staff like a dowser trying to find water. When the Staff brightened, he clutched
it in both front talons, then launched into flight.
This way.

With a flap of her wings she lifted off, caught an updraft, and soared after him. Flying in the sunny, cloudless sky was pleasant,
even if the landscape below was monotonous. She saw no animals, no people, no movement. Just ripe grains swaying under a blue
sky.

How far?
she asked.

This is very strange.

What?

To the right. That edifice looks like an exact replica of Camelot.

She turned her head and stared in surprise.
King Arthur Pendragon’s castle?

“Strange” might be the understatement of the century. With anyone else she would have questioned the facts, but Jordan had
lived in Camelot. He’d been King Arthur Pendragon’s adviser.

Jordan humanshaped, and she did the same.

The castle rose naturally from a cliff, its stone walls spiraling into the sky like a city out of some medieval history book.
Surrounded by high, thick walls and a moat filled with striking blue water, Camelot was a fortress, a haven, large enough
that they should have spied it from space. Massive round towers rose above narrow cobblestone streets crowded with horses
pulling carts laden with cloth, foodstuffs, and animals. People wore cloaks trimmed with animal pelts.

“This city can’t be real,” she murmured.

“It’s manufactured.” Jordan sounded very certain. “Just like the air was manufactured for us.”

“But why?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Jordan said, his frustration evident. He lifted the Staff, and when he pointed it toward the city, the Staff
didn’t appear to change. Nevertheless, he offered her his arm in a gallant gesture. “Would you like to see Camelot, milady?”

She glanced down at her nanotech pants and blouse. “In these clothes, we’re going to draw attention.”

Jordan grinned, his gaze falling to her chest. “No one’s going to mistake you for a man.”

She didn’t rise to his teasing. “I’d rather blend, at least until we figure out—”

Trumpets blew. A gate opened, and the moat lowered. Men atop war horses rode out of the castle, the Pendragon banner waving
in the gentle breeze. Everything looked medieval to Vivianne, the knights and their armor, the saddles, the gear. Shields
gleamed in the sunlight. Huge black horses with plaited manes and polished hooves pranced down the road.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

A smile teased Jordan’s lips. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re about to meet King Arthur.”

She swallowed hard. “King Arthur Pendragon?”

“Yes.”

“But he died almost fifteen hundred years ago.”

“Apparently not.” Blue eyes glittering, Jordan folded his arms over his chest and waited.

She would have given one of her companies to read his thoughts. Did Jordan think this was real? Or had this alien civilization
created this city out of their archives for some reason of their own?

“Is this some three-dimensional hologram made up for us?”

Jordan’s expression didn’t change. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“How?” Her pulse raced.

“I knew the man. A hologram won’t fool me. Not even a clone.”

Right. Jordan and Arthur would have had private conversations that no one else knew about. But Jordan seemed so pleased to
see his old friend that she was certain he believed King Arthur still lived.

Who would have thought it possible?

King Arthur rode as if he were part of the horse. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, he didn’t look a day over fifty. With strong muscles
and bronze skin, he held his head with a regal elegance.

“Merlin, my man.” Arthur dismounted, his cape flaring out behind him dramatically. Striding over to Jordan, Arthur enfolded
him in a bear hug. “Good of you to visit.”

“I’m going by Jordan now.” When the back pounding was over, Jordan stepped away with an ease that belied her own tension.

Arthur’s focus shifted from Jordan to Vivianne. “Introduce me to your beautiful lady.”

“King Arthur Pendragon, this is Vi Blackstone, CEO of the Vesta Corporation and half owner of the
Draco.
”

“Vivianne,” she corrected Jordan and offered her hand to Arthur.

Arthur began to lift her hand to his lips. Jordan bristled slightly and Arthur seemed to change his mind, and instead, he
shook her hand. “Welcome to Arcturus, milady.” Arthur slipped his arm through hers. “Guinevere will be so happy to speak with
you. She remembers the many kindnesses of your people.”

So Guinevere was an alien, too? “I shall be glad to meet her, but sir, we have come a long way. And we have far to travel.
Why did you bring us here?”

Arthur’s eyes twinkled. “Your lady’s full of fire, Merlin.”

“She’s stubborn as hell,” Jordan said to Arthur.

“Thank you,” Vivianne said and turned to Arthur. “And you, sir, avoided my question.”

“So I did.” He winked at her. “But the story is long and should be told over good food and savory wine.”

“Can you possibly give us the short version?” Vivianne insisted.

Arthur frowned at Jordan over her head. “CEO of the Vesta Corporation, you said?”

Jordan nodded.

Arthur cocked his head to one side, his face deep in thought. “Ah, so she’s a powerful, self-made woman of industry. Interesting.”

Vivianne banked her frustration. For all she knew, Arthur wasn’t real. However, his arm holding hers felt real. And she could
smell the scent of leather, the horses, the grass.

With the news on Earth so terrible, her patience was in short supply. When another knight lifted a gauntleted hand in her
direction, she almost jumped. “Would milady prefer to ride?”

“No, she wouldn’t, Lancelot,” Jordan growled.

Jordan almost sounded… jealous. Her gaze flashed to him, but he refused to meet her eyes. Still, she couldn’t miss the muscle
ticking in his neck or the tense set of his jaw.

Lancelot? She peered at the knight with curiosity. He was handsome, with dark hair and playful eyes.

Vivianne recalled that Lady Guinevere had fallen in love with Arthur’s best friend, Lancelot. Yet the two men had an easy
way about them that suggested no hard feelings. And Jordan was reacting as if he believed these men were real. Not holograms.
Not messengers. And in truth, this place felt real.

She might as well have stepped back in time. And yet, Arthur knew what a spaceship was. And he’d obviously sent those powerful
cubes to fetch them.

She really wished he’d get to the point. Almost as if reading her mind, Arthur patted her arm. “Easy, milady. I brought you
here because I thought I could be of some help.”

“That would be much appreciated. What kind of help do you offer, sir?” she asked.

Arthur threw back his head and laughed, his gaze on Jordan. “You must have your hands full with this one.”

“Actually,” she countered. “I’m the one who has my hands full with him. Jordan is a man of many mysteries. And he’s determined
to find the Key of Soil. Might you help us with that little task?”

Arthur stopped and released her arm. “Have no fear. I have safeguarded the key for Merlin.”

Vivianne saw the hope flash in Jordan’s face. “So you can give it to him?”

Arthur shook his head. “Not even I can reach the key.”

“A king can do what he wishes,” Vivianne challenged.

“If I went after that key, Guinevere would have my head—if I didn’t lose it first. And since I have no wish to end my existence,
I shall leave the task to the one who is most suited for it. But right now, I have one of my oldest and dearest friends to
entertain and a feast prepared. Come. Both of you. Welcome to my home. Welcome to Camelot.”

One should never consent to walk when one feels the impulse to fly.

—L
ADY
C
AEL

A
s they walked inside, Vivianne saw that the castle was not exactly what she’d expected. While the high stone walls looked
like they could have been built on Earth during medieval times, the floors were polished stone. Torches burned but emitted
no odors or smoke. Castles on Earth were known to be drafty; this one had radiant heating in the floors. And while the clothing
designs looked medieval, the fabrics were modern, self-cleaning nanotechnology.

Camelot had been Disneyfied. She imagined sparkling kitchens with gleaming technology hidden in an ancient cellar and bathrooms
with hot and cold running water secreted away in some crenellated stone tower.

“Guinevere, my love.” Arthur gestured to a short, pleasant-faced woman whose hair was worn in an elaborate coif riddled with
pearl-seeded pins. Her gown was elaborate, golden-embroidered nanosilk. “Come meet our guests from Earth.”

Guinevere held a toddler by one hand and carried a baby on her hip. She smiled, her eyes lighting with pleasure as she joined
them. “We so enjoy having guests. And Merlin, ’tis good to see you again after so much time.”

With a whoop, Lancelot lifted a curly-headed toddler onto his broad shoulders. There could be no doubting the little boy with
dimples matching his own was Lancelot’s son. Yet Arthur wrapped a protective arm over Guinevere’s shoulders and held her close
to his side.

Clearly there was no jealousy between Arthur and Lancelot. And Guinevere didn’t appear the least bit uncomfortable under the
adoring and loving gazes of both men.

Arthur kissed her brow, then made introductions before continuing to beam at the baby. “This infant is Bethany.” Arthur smiled
at his daughter, and his grin remained just as wide and proud as he held out his arms to the toddler on Lancelot’s shoulders.
“And this big guy is our son Grant.”

“I’m pleased to see you again, milady,” Jordan said to Guinevere, then smiled at the child. “And pleased to see the years
have been fruitful.”

Guinevere actually giggled. “I now have too many children to count. In just this last century alone, I’ve borne Lancelot six,
Arthur five more, and three whose genetics we have yet to determine.”

“Congratulations. I’ve never heard you so happy,” Jordan said.

And no wonder. Not only had Guinevere finally borne the children she’d always wanted, apparently she was married to two men.
Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere had worked out their love triangle to the satisfaction of all. “I have the two best husbands,”
Guinevere confirmed. “And it’s a good thing, because I think I might yet again be with child.”

“So soon?” Lancelot raised his eyebrows, but Vivianne could tell he was pleased and only pretending surprise.

Arthur smiled widely. “Another child is always a blessing. Come, my dearest, sit and feast with us.”

The king led them to a great hall where a bard was entertaining a group of knights with a long and complicated tale about
a dragon slayer, his mate, and a war. Elegant, bejeweled ladies in floor-sweeping gowns and elaborate updos gathered and chatted,
while children romped and musicians played stringed instruments.

Vivianne accepted a goblet of sweet red wine and was filling her trencher from the vast assortment of turkey, pheasant, wild
boar, and meat pies at the table when Arthur raised his goblet. “A toast.”

His people raised their glasses. “A toast.”

“To old friends.” He tipped his goblet to Jordan, then to her. “And new ones. May they make all their dreams happen.”