The Indigo King (22 page)

“Never, Chaz,” Jack said, embracing his friend in a tight hug. “I’ll never forget.”

John also gave Chaz a hug and a solid clap on the back, and even Hugo gave him a warm two-handed shake.

Chaz turned to the enchantresses and spread his arms. “Okay,” he said with as much bravado as he could muster. “Y’ got me.”

Circe looked at Calypso, who nodded and looked at Gwynhfar, who also nodded. Then the three of them beckoned to Chaz to come forward.

He took a few slightly unsteady steps, then strode forward to the top of the dais. Circe moved behind a pillar and reemerged carrying a silver tray. On it was a small cake and a crystal bottle with a stopper.

“Choose,” said Calypso. “Choose your form, Chaz, and thus become the Guardian of Avalon.”

“I’ve avoided drinking things lately,” Chaz said decisively. “Nothing personal, but everyone in history seems obsessed with poisoning everyone else. So if it’s all the same t’ you, I’ll have the cake.”

“As you wish, Chaz,” said Circe.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied, taking the small cake from the tray and popping it, whole, into his mouth. “And please, from here on—call me
Charles
.”

The cake took effect almost immediately, and Chaz—Charles—bent over in pain. Jack began to rush forward to the dais, but John held him back. “Wait. Just wait, and watch.”

The two enchantresses and Gwynhfar stepped around the agonized man, forming a loose circle. All three were murmuring words—words of comfort, or spells? John couldn’t tell. His friend twisted about, seemingly in agony. But even through the tears, they could see he was smiling.

Suddenly leaves shot out from his joints, and around his neck and waist, shredding his clothes. His skin began to darken, as if it had been aged and stained to a fine, rich sheen. As one, the three women moved away and removed pieces of armor from the alcoves around the dais. They returned just as the transfigured man was getting to his feet, and they dressed him, reverently, almost gratefully.

Next, Gwynhfar signaled to her daughter, who dashed off to one of the rooms and returned with a great rectangular shield, which she handed to him.

“And now,” Calypso stated, “we must choose a weapon for you.”

“I think I have just the one,” Jack said, and dashed down the steps to the
Scarlet Dragon
. He returned to the temple carrying the Lance of Longinus.

“This was Mordred—Madoc’s,” he explained, “and it has a history with your ancestor as well, Gwynhfar. I think it being wielded by the Guardian of Avalon would be an appropriate use for it.”

“Well spoken,” said Circe.

Jack handed the spear to Gwynhfar, who presented it, reverently, to the Green Knight.

“It is done,” said Circe. “The Old Magic is satisfied.”

The girl kissed each of the enchantresses farewell, then embraced her mother. The companions said their good-byes to the knight, who then stood at the entrance of the temple, ready to assume his duties.

“Tell Fred and Uncas I will miss them,” the Green Knight called out as the small boat moved away from the shore. “Tell them I said thank you, for helping me to find my destiny. And look after Archie, will you?”

“We will,” Jack said, waving. “Good-bye …
Charles
.”

The
Scarlet Dragon
passed back into the Summer Country as easily as it had left, and in a matter of hours, the companions were once again racing through the stone passageway that led to the castle.

When they emerged from the crypt, they found Taliesin still watching over Arthur’s body. The Lawgiver seemed astonished to see them back.

“The battle does not go well,” he said, “and you have increased Mordred’s anger tenfold.”

“Us?” said John. “Why?”

“He came back for the lance,” said Taliesin, “and flew into a rage when I told him you had taken it.”

“Hah.” Jack smirked. “It’s in a far, far better place, and being used for a better purpose than Mordred had managed.” He looked down at Arthur’s body. “I only hope we’ve returned in time.”

“I don’t even know who’s supposed to win anymore,” said Hugo. “Do we want Mordred to win? Or Merlin?”

“We want Arthur, the true High King, to do what he’s meant to do,” said John, moving aside to allow the girl to approach the table. “That’s what we brought her to do, if she can.”

Taliesin gasped in recognition, then bowed his head as the girl approached.

She touched Arthur’s face lightly. “Hello, cousin Thorn,” she said as if he could hear her. “My name is Rose. And I’ve come here to help you.”

“The blood that took his life must be the blood that restores it,” Taliesin murmured.

“He’s not going to hurt her, is he?” Hugo asked, eyeing the Lawgiver.

“I don’t think so,” Jack said, holding him back. “Watch.”

Taliesin touched Rose’s hand with the black staff, and the runes flared briefly with eldritch light. She looked at her hand and saw the small cut across her palm.

Rose marked both of Arthur’s cheeks with the blood from her hand, tracing the line of the bones to his chin. Then, reverently, she laid both of her hands on his head, closed her eyes, and began to speak.

By light’s power driven

For need of right

I restore thee

I restore thee

By blood bound

By honor given

I restore thee

I restore thee

Rose removed her hands from his head and crumpled to the ground. Hugo rushed forward and caught her, but the others had no time to react to what happened next.

There was a pause, as if the world had stopped.

No sound, no movement. Even the constant rumble of the battle outside had ceased. The stillness was everywhere, and everywhen. And then, overhead, the dark circle eclipsing the sun shifted. The light on the edge of the sun brightened, then rays burst forth, striking directly below in the center of the castle, on the ancient table made of stone, which was carved with the runes of the Old Magic.

Suddenly, impossibly, Arthur raised his hand and reached into the light. Then he sat up, swung his legs off the table, and rose to his feet.

The High King, Arthur Pendragon, was alive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Fallen

A tall stack of bound manuscripts tottered, then fell, setting off a chain reaction in the small writing chamber Geoffrey kept on the topmost level of the church.

In seconds, the pages he’d been working on were swept away in a tidal wave of aged leather and the decaying writings of monks long dead.

Geoffrey sat on the floor and sighed. This was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence. He’d gotten into the habit of acquiring old books and manuscripts in his younger days, at the upswing of the twelfth century. But now, at its midpoint, he was beginning to grow weary at the futility of it all.

He reached for the nearest tome and smiled as he realized what it was. Nestor’s
Primary Chronicle
. One of the first and greatest of the world histories. Not complete, by any means, and certainly slanted toward the Slavic, but indispensable nonetheless. After all, few chronicles ever attempted to begin as far back as the pharaohs, or even the Deluge. Even his own works were meager contributions to his own library compared to Nestor’s works, dealing as they did with the histories of the lineage of Britain’s kings, and of the great enchanter and philosopher Myrddyn.

Geoffrey had only just begun to clean up the disaster when he heard a knocking at the door downstairs. He quickly made his way down the stairs, but when he opened the door, no one was there.

Instead he found a parchment rose, which had strange markings on the petals, and a roll of paper, cream-colored and tied with a cord. It was addressed to him. Cautiously he unrolled it and read what was written inside.

He blinked at the rose and the strangeness of the message, then read it again, then a third time.

Quickly he shut the door and hurried back up to his study, where he tossed the rolled paper into the embers of his fireplace, then stoked the coals until it caught fire. He stood and watched it until it was nothing but ash.

“Is this a dream?” Arthur asked. “It must be, because Merlin’s War Leader is here and seems to have been weeping over me.”

“He was Bound,” John said, “by Merlin.”

Taliesin knelt and took Arthur’s hand. “You are the true High King, the true Arthur.”

“Bound?” asked Arthur. “As in Old Magic?”

“Yes,” said Hugo. “He’s been Bound all along, ever since the tournament.”

“The tournament,” Arthur said wonderingly. “That’s where I met you two before, isn’t it? You met Archimedes and me at Grandfather Oak and helped me find my way to Camelot.”

“We did,” Jack confirmed.

“I wish you’d stayed around,” Arthur remarked. “You three seemed reasonable men. And there has been a shortage of reasonable men these last thirty years.”

He suddenly noticed his bloodstained tunic and touched his chest, probing. “I … I died, didn’t I?”

“You did,” said John. “It was an accident. Mordred didn’t mean to do it.”

“Then how is it I am standing here now?”

“Because of her,” Hugo said, cradling the still weak girl. “Mordred’s daughter—your cousin, Rose. The heir of the Grail.”

“I can’t believe you have that kind of power,” Jack breathed, as he and Hugo helped her to her feet. “You brought him back, Rose.”

She shook her head. “Not I, and not my power.”

“It was someone’s power,” reasoned Jack. “He was dead, and then he was not.”

“That is the blessing of the Old Magic,” said Taliesin, “and the power of belief.”

“Oh no,” Arthur cried, kneeling. “What happened to my sword?”

“It shattered when Mordred stabbed you,” John said. “When his spear clashed against your sword.”

“That should not have happened,” said Taliesin, looking over the broken halves of Caliburn with Arthur. “Caliburn should have been stronger.”

“I don’t think it was Caliburn that was weak,” said Arthur. “
I
was. I think I was afraid to use the strength that was needed to end this sooner.”

“Now is your chance, boy,” a harsh voice called out as one of the heavy inner doors splintered apart. The companions whirled about to see Merlin force his way into the castle’s center. “It’s only right that I should find you here, where it began,” he said angrily. “Where you took what was rightfully mine.”

He seemed to notice only then that there were others present and, with no small surprise and a rising anger, realized that he knew them.

“You,” he said accusingly to the companions. “You have followed me for much of my life. If you value your own, you won’t interfere.”

“You didn’t mind when it benefited you,” John pointed out.

“I did mind, when you changed my own history,” Merlin spat, “and disqualified me when I was one breath away from gaining my throne.”

“You would have lost, Merlin,” Taliesin said. “Mordred would have beaten you.”

“I lost, traitor,” Merlin replied, “when I didn’t learn my lesson the first time, to make my Bindings more specific.”

He tightened his grip on the short Roman sword he carried and stepped toward Arthur. The companions circled protectively around the king, and then another player joined the deadly game.

“This has been a long time coming, brother,” Mordred said, stepping out of the crypt passageway. He stopped in shock when he saw Arthur, and even took a step backward when he saw Rose.

Then he seemed to steel himself. He took a firm grip on the scimitar he was carrying and walked purposefully toward Merlin.

“Mordred,” Arthur began.

“Stay back, Arthur,” Mordred commanded, “and this shall be ended in a trice.”

Merlin acted first, leaping with a snarl at Arthur. His blow was parried not by the king, but by Mordred’s scimitar. Mordred pulled back and struck out at Merlin, but found his blow deflected by a short sword, expertly wielded—by Arthur.

“What are you doing?” Mordred asked, incredulous.

“What I must,” said Arthur.

“As am I,” said Merlin, swinging the sword again. Arthur dodged it easily, then pressed around the table to block Mordred.

Merlin jumped atop the table, only to have his feet knocked out from under him by a vicious blow from the scimitar. Mordred pushed Arthur aside with a shove, then leaped up to deliver a killing blow to the disoriented Merlin.

“This is the end, brother,” Mordred said, holding Merlin at the throat with one hand, while drawing back the scimitar with the other.

Merlin screamed.

Mordred struck.

And suddenly he realized that his scimitar was lying on the ground, still clutched in his hand.

He cried out in pain and horror and held the bleeding stump of his forearm to his chest.

“I couldn’t let you do it, Mordred,” said Arthur, the bloody sword in his hand dropping loosely to his side. “I couldn’t let you kill him.”

Mordred staggered, then fell. Kneeling in the dirt, he curled in on himself. After a moment, his shoulders began to shake.

Dear Christ
, thought John.
Mordred is
laughing.

Mordred threw back his head, eyes wild, and in a moment his frenzied laughter turned into an agonized, soul-searing scream. He rose to his feet, still bleeding, and pushed past Arthur and Taliesin to the crypt, where he disappeared into the passageway below.

The companions moved back to the table, where Merlin was sitting and holding his head in his hands.

“Are you all right, Merlin?” John ventured, staying back out of reach of the short sword.

“I was going to kill you myself!” Merlin cried, looking at Arthur with a bewildered expression. “Why, Thorn? Why did you prevent Mordred from killing me?”

“Because,” Arthur replied, “I didn’t believe then, and don’t believe now, that anyone needs to die to become the High King.”

“That,” said Taliesin, “is the reason you were able to draw Caliburn at the tournament.”

“Then how was it that Mordred’s spear shattered Caliburn?” asked Jack. “Arthur is far more noble than Mordred. In my opinion, anyway.”

“It wasn’t a matter of nobility, but a matter of belief,” Taliesin replied. “In the moment that they met, Mordred’s belief in his motivation was greater.”

A tremendous crashing arose from within the walls of the castle, and the clashing of steel could be heard. The war was coming to the heart of Camelot.

“Is it Arthur’s forces, or Merlin’s?” asked John.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Arthur. “My main support had been Mordred’s, and the soldiers were his as well. Everyone else, all the other tribes, had been united under Merlin before he tried to overthrow me.”

Taliesin agreed, with sadness and regret radiating from his face. “Under the Binding, I had trained them all to respond to the will of Merlin, on Arthur’s behalf,” he said, “but none of that will matter now. If you have the means to take him away, Arthur must flee, and rule in exile.”

John and Jack knew what it would mean if Arthur left now. Merlin would try to rule until he was overthrown by Mordred.

And then, despite all they had done, the Winterland would still come to pass.

“There is a way.”

It was Merlin who spoke.

“When you drew Caliburn,” he began, “and won the tournament, you were acknowledged as the High King. As the Arthur, Pendragon. The liaison between the Summer Country and the Archipelago of Dreams. But there was one step you didn’t take … were not allowed to take. One I never allowed those who knew,” he said, looking at Taliesin, “to tell you about.

“There are those more powerful than the armies of man,” Merlin went on in a somber voice, “and as High King, you have the right to command them.”

“Where?” asked Arthur. “Who are they?”

Merlin turned to John. “You know where, and you know how,” he said. “Don’t you?”

“Stonehenge,” John said breathlessly. “We can use Stonehenge, the Ring of Power, to summon the dragons of the Archipelago.”

The small group, including Merlin, left the castle through the crypt passageway, pulling the cover stone over it as they went. It would not take long for it to be discovered, but by then they would be miles away.

Taliesin, with some assistance from Jack, secured horses for all the companions and took the lead, heading toward the standing stones John called the Ring of Power. As they left the passageway and waited for the horses, Arthur was anxiously scanning the countryside, looking, hoping, but to no avail.

Mordred was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

It took several hours for the companions to reach Stonehenge, and all the while they rode, the skies behind them filled with smoke. Camelot was in flames.

Arthur glanced to his left, at the girl called Rose, who was riding behind Hugo on a black mare. There had been little time for discussion, but he was wise enough to have pieced together who she was, and what she had done to save him. He watched her, saddened, and hoped that their support of each other would extend beyond the present moment. That was, he believed, how it should be. In a family.

He patted the bag at his side, taking comfort in the feel of Caliburn, while also feeling shame. Was it possible to betray, even by weakness, a weapon? Even one as storied as Caliburn?

They dismounted and tied the horses in a nearby grove, then walked over to the ancient standing stones.

“The last legacy of the sons of Albion,” said Taliesin, stroking one of the massive stones. “And the last connection they kept to the world of their birth.”

“Do you know what to do?” Merlin asked Arthur.

“We can show him what he needs to do and say,” Jack said, his voice firm, “and if it’s all the same to you, I think you need to stand back.”

“Of-of course,” said Merlin, bowing his head.

He moved to a shallow field where he could watch without disturbing Arthur. The others remained apart from him, until Rose moved over to him and took his hand. Then Hugo followed, and finally Taliesin.

John and Jack took Arthur to the center of the stones and explained to him what it was they hoped he would do. They explained the means, and the ritual, then left him alone and joined the others.

Arthur stood a long while, arms folded behind his back, head bowed, as if in prayer. Finally, he lifted his head and began to speak.

By right and rule

For need of might

I call on thee

I call on thee

By blood bound

By honor given

I call on thee

I call on thee

For life and light your protection given

From within this Ring by the power of Heaven

I call on thee

I call on thee.

He finished speaking the Summoning and looked around at the mottled sky. Then he turned and called out to the others, “Now what happens?”

“Now,” John said grimly, “we wait. And hold out as long as we can.”

They did not have to wait for long.

A dozen dragons, of various shapes, sizes, and colors, dropped out of the sky and landed on the hillside near the stone circle. The first among them was not the largest, but was by far the most familiar to John and Jack.

“Samaranth!” John exclaimed. He was almost giddy at seeing one of their strongest allies. Both he and Jack rushed forward—and stopped in their tracks.

The large, reddish dragon with the white mane of hair looked at them with a gaze that was clear in its meaning: Come no closer.