Ruins of Camelot (40 page)

The doors to the grand hall were indeed thrown wide open.  A pair of ornate wrought-iron floor candelabras flanked the entry, each one as tall as she and decked with a dozen extravagantly melted candles.  Beyond this, the massive room stretched into lofty dimness, filled with collections of furniture and plotting tables, a massive, roaring fireplace, and, in the rear centre, a huge, very strange object comprised of some black metal.  It looked like a clutching skeletal hand, its eight fingers reaching up from the floor and embracing something unseen, lost in thick shadow.  Overhead, hanging from a heavy length of chain and only slightly smaller than the strange metal sculpture, was a hulking monstrosity of a chandelier.  It was similarly comprised of wrought iron, so covered with curlicues, spiked edges, and fist-sized bolts that its ugliness defied imagination.  Hundreds of candles burnt within it, forming a flickering constellation and releasing streams of black smoke towards the high ceiling.

Bats swirled amongst the rafters, chittering busily amongst the smoke.

Gabriella crept into the room, taking it all in, seeking its occupant.  On the far left, a sort of stage had been erected, surrounded by mysterious, golden light.  This, hauntingly, was the source of the music.  The keys of the harpsichord plunked busily, operated by nothing.  Next to it, the fiddle and flute floated in the air, dipping breezily with the tempo of the music.  The fiddle's bow wove back and forth jauntily on the strings.

On the opposite side of the room, a man stood.  His back was
to her as he leant on a large
table, studying an oval mirror where it hung on the wall, as if his own reflection was the most enthralling thing he had ever seen.  A thick book lay open on the table before him, and his hand was pressed to one of the pages, apparently holding it open.

Gabriella opened her mouth to call out to him, but before she could, he spun wildly on the spot, turning to face her.  Behind him, the book snapped shut of its own accord.  The man's eyes were wide and haunted above his short, black beard.

"Well," he said in a surprisingly pleasant voice, relaxing very slightly, "you are not exactly whom I was expecting."  He cocked his head inquiringly to the side.  "So, then, who might you be, love?"

Gabriella gripped her sword before her with both hands, her face tensed into a hard scowl.

"Are you Merodach?" she breathed.  It was almost a growl.  The level of her rage surprised even herself.  It vibrated in her veins like the static before a storm.

"Will it improve the situation if I am?" the man answered brightly.  "I cannot help but think that you are not here on a mission of goodwill, my dear.  Put down your sword and let us talk.  I rarely get such pretty visitors."

Gabriella shook her head and began to step forwards.  "You killed my husband," she said with low ferocity.

Merodach shrugged and shook his head minutely.  "I've killed many husbands.  How should I remember which one was yours?  It is so very difficult to keep track of these things."

"Then count what I am about to do," Gabriella said, raising her sword, "as payment for all of them."

"Pray do not be so hasty, my dear," the man said, moving suddenly aside and backing away from her.  He lifted his hands, palms out.  "I am unarmed as you can see.  I sense that you are not the sort of woman who would attack a defenceless opponent.  Let us discuss.  Surely, you know that killing me will not solve anything."

"Still your tongue," Gabriella commanded, moving to follow the man.  "And stop moving.  Do not approach that… thing."

"What, this?" Merodach clarified, glancing behind him towards the strange, black metal sculpture.  It was the largest object in the room and emitted a distinct chill despite the roaring fire nearby.  Shadows seemed to swirl within its enormous skeletal grip, forming a light-less cloud.

"Fear not, love," Merodach went on, smiling back at her.  "I have no intention of getting close to
that
. 
I
wish to live to see another day."  He laughed lightly, still inching away.  He seemed to be skirting around her towards the massive fireplace.

"What
is
that device?" Gabriella asked, gesturing with her eyes, her sword still angled towards Merodach's chest.

"It is not mine," the man replied lightly, almost defensively.  "It belongs to a… er…
benefactor
of mine.  No human can approach it.  A few have tried, despite my warnings, for they recognised its significance.  But the result was… unpleasant."

He nodded back at the strange shape again.  Gabriella looked closer.  Several shapes lay beneath it, just inside the clutch of the metal claws.  Through the strangely shifting darkness, Gabriella saw that the shapes were skeletons, reduced nearly to dust.  She examined the huge metal sculpture more closely, peering into the shadowy depths of its embrace.  There was something hidden in the centre of that swirling dark.  It almost looked like a black candle seated on a tall, thin stand.  Even darker than the candle itself, however, was its flame.  It was as black as onyx, its inverted glow sucking all light into itself, as if its fire was not a fire at all, but a portal into the deepest abyss.

"It is evil," Gabriella proclaimed, shuddering beneath her armour.  Almost involuntarily, she took a step towards it.

"Granted," Merodach agreed, glancing back at the awful shape again.  "But it is useful.  I am told that so long as its black light burns, my armies of darkness will march, obeying my command with perfect devotion.  Apparently, only those of magical blood may approach it and live, but feel free to make the attempt.  Extinguish it if you can.  I will applaud the attempt regardless of the outcome."

Gabriella almost did.  The abomination of that horrid, black flicker was nearly too much for her to abide, especially if it was the source of power for the horrible undead armies.  If she could put it out, then perhaps all could still be saved.

"Go ahead," Merodach nodded silkily.  "I will not attempt to stop you."

Gabriella narrowed her eyes as she looked back at him.  "I may indeed approach your black magic," she admitted.  "But not whilst
you
live to witness it.  You shall die first.  Your plans will fail.  You shall never sit on the throne of Camelot."

She began to advance on him, but he dodged backwards, hands still raised defensively before him.  "Me?" he protested, giggling a little.  "I assure you, I have
no
interest in sitting on any throne.  What fun would that be?  You do me a disservice, love."

Gabriella blinked at him suspiciously.  "How can you say such a thing?  Your singular purpose has been to attack the Kingdom, to overthrow the King and take over his throne for yourself."

Merodach nodded quickly, then reversed course and shook his head.  "I seek to overthrow, yes, but not for myself.  Truly, the thought of ruling bores me positively to tears.  I am a man of action, not policy."

"Who then?" Gabriella demanded, rounding on him as he backed towards the fireplace.  "Who do you represent?  The barbarian emperor of the north?  Are you clearing the way for an invasion?"

Merodach tittered.  "You do not understand the magnitude of these things, love.  The barbarian empire shall fall as well.  My benefactor does not wish merely to be King of Camelot.  His goal is to rule all.  Soon, he shall ascend to power over the entire land, from shore to shore.  And in time, even those natural boundaries will not contain him.  His reach shall encompass the whole of the earth.  The time of reckoning has come, my dear.  The new order of true power is at hand."

Gabriella shook her head in dark wonder.  "But why would you obey the command of a man such as this?  Why would you do his dirty work?"

Merodach shrugged lightly as he inched up against the fireplace.  "I happen to
like
dirty work.  I admit it.  And besides, my benefactor is no mere human.  He found me when I was but a young man.  I had been arrested for my crimes, such as they were, and sentenced to death.  He rescued me and laid waste to my enemies with power like I had never seen.  Why?  Because he recognised my potential.  He needed a right hand, he told me.  Someone to stand in for him until he could ascend to power himself.  It is by his strength and authority that I have achieved what I have, but it is my ingenuity and wit that has made it all possible.  We are of one mind.  Tonight, he shall assume his command in full, and I shall become his hand of judgement, wreaking punishment on those who defy him."  Here, Merodach sighed deeply, wistfully.  "It is what I was made for, after all."

He lifted his foot and rested it on a decorative bit of scrollwork that framed the huge fireplace.  Smiling at her, he shoved it forwards with his foot, as if it were a giant lever.

Gabriella recognised instantly that the villain had sprung a trap on her.  She leapt aside, not knowing what was about to happen but knowing that it depended on her being in a specific place.  There was a loud twang, a screech of metal, and a protracted ratcheting noise.  A second later, the enormous chandelier crashed deafeningly to the floor, barely missing her legs as she lunged away.  Candles exploded in every direction, spraying wax and trailing black smoke.

Gabriella hit the floor hard and dropped her sword.

"Damn, but you are quick!" Merodach proclaimed loudly, giddily.  "All the better, for I can be quick as well!"

Gabriella heard the ring of metal, knew that the villain was snatching up one of the decorative swords that had been hung over the fireplace.  She had barely noticed them until it was too late.  She scrambled to her knees, reclaimed her own sword, and raised it just as the man pounced upon her.  Metal clanged on metal as their swords met, and Gabriella was nearly driven to the floor again by the ferocity of his attack.

"You really
should
learn to be less curious, love," the man said through a fierce grin.  "It is a sign of a lack of
intent
."

He spun his sword around, aiming for her neck, but Gabriella parried just in time, catching his blade and sliding hers along it with a screech of steel.  She struggled to her feet and shoved him back.  Dimly, she was aware that the ache in her forearm had spiked to a throb.  She could not fight like this for long, but she could not let him know that.  She thrust forwards fiercely, forcing him back.  He angled nimbly away from the fallen chandelier.  Behind him, the enchanted musical instruments struck up a heroic battle fanfare.

"This is pointless, my dear!" Merodach chided as their swords clashed.  "You cannot win, hard as you might try.  And even if you could, it would not bring your dead husband back.  Run along, and I may let you live.  After all, there are other husbands to be had in the world."

"Curse you!" Gabriella cried, raining blows onto the man's sword, forcing him back.  "Still, you do not know who I am!  My father is King of Camelot!  My husband was his field marshal!  You tortured him to tell you where my people would retreat, and then, when he complied, you killed him!  You killed him, and when he was dead, you had the singular gall to steal from his poor corpse!  For that, and for the sake of those who still live, you shall
die
!"

Merodach fought her wildly, almost gleefully.  He laughed with recognition.  "Ah yes!  You are the Princess Gabriella then!  In that case, I
do
recall your husband.  He amused me.  And yes, I acknowledge that I did take a trinket from him.  Tasteless, I suppose, but you must admit, he no longer needed it."

"I will
kill
you!" Gabriella vowed furiously, forcing him further back, using every ounce of her strength.

"If you kill me," Merodach declared, deflecting her blows with wild parries and thrusts, "you shall never find your husband's trinket!"

"Fortunately," she seethed, plowing onwards, "I care less about even that than I do your head."