by J A Cummings
It was a pity he was going to die.
Calling upon a quarter century of experience in warfare and bladed barbarism, Pellinore pressed forward, his sword singing as he rained blow after blow upon the beleaguered youth. The young man fell back a step, but then he held his ground, repelling his attack and countering with strokes of his own. Pellinore grunted in surprised admiration as the boy’s sword found the back of his leg, digging into the unprotected flesh. He felt blood coursing down into his boot, and he grinned like a death’s head.
“You’ll regret that,” he said.
The boy tossed his head. “Unlikely.”
Now fueled with anger as well as experience, he attacked again. He was taller than his adversary, and he had a longer reach. It was not easy, but he pressed the fight so hard that the boy was forced to turn back toward the fountain where the ground was rocky and uneven. Pellinore swung with all his might toward his opponent’s neck, and the boy parried the blow with his sword. The blade shattered beneath the force of Pellinore’s attack. The boy’s foot slipped on the mossy stone, and he fell hard upon his back, all of the air leaving him in a rush while his helmet clanged noisily off the fountain’s rocks. Pellinore stepped forward, misericord in hand, ready to end this charade.
“Stop!”
He looked up, annoyed. He was surprised to see the druid Merlin standing at the edge of the clearing, his hands raised.
“You are about to slay the High King!”
Pellinore felt his face go white. Merlin was no liar. Attacking the king was treason, and treason was punishable by death. He had no desire to meet the headsman, or worse, to burn at the stake. His family, his sons, would be dishonored if he was executed for treason. He could not allow that to happen. He raised his misericord and prepared to slit the young king’s throat.
Merlin barked something in a language Pellinore did not speak, and then all the world went black.
Merlin cursed under his breath as his spell took effect and Pellinore fell into a deep and unnatural sleep, landing on top of Arthur. The druid went to Pellinore and shoved him off the young king. He crouched and put one hand on Arthur, reading the life force that he could sense. It was still strong and vibrant, which was a relief. The High King was unconscious but not dead.
He cast a traveling spell and took Arthur and Griflet and their horses back to their camp. He put Arthur to the side to sleep off the knock on his head, and he went to examine Griflet’s wounds. The young knight was injured badly, but he would survive with a little intervention. Merlin collected his herbal kit and applied his best healing to the boy.
Griflet groaned and opened his eyes, and Merlin snapped, “That went well.”
The knight closed his eyes again. “I hurt.”
“I would think so. Maybe it’ll be a reminder not to do something so foolhardy again.” He sat down at the young man’s side. “Arthur was nearly killed trying to defend and avenge you.”
Griflet was suddenly awake. “Is he all right?”
“He will be, no thanks to you. I told you not to go after that knight. He very nearly murdered you,” the druid scolded.
The young man looked around until he saw Arthur lying motionless a few yards away. He hurried over to the young king’s side, touching Arthur’s face gently.
“He came for me?”
“I couldn’t stop him. He was manic.”
Griflet swallowed a lump in his throat and looked down at his sleeping king, tears in his eyes. “He came for me.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Stop it. Just stop with the romantic notions. Remember our agreement.”
The young man shot a resentful look in his direction, then turned his attention back to Arthur. The druid stowed his herbs again and went to crouch at the king’s side. He put out a hand and pressed it to Arthur’s heart, and he pushed energy and tendrils of his own life force into the unconscious king. Arthur twitched, then his blue eyes fluttered open.
“Oh,” he moaned. “Oh, my head…”
Griflet spontaneously leaned down and kissed Arthur, surprising the king and annoying Merlin nearly beyond endurance. “You came to help me. You really do care about me.”
The king looked up into his lover’s face. “Of course I do.”
“That’s enough, both of you. We need to get out of this forest, and we need to get you a new sword. Can you both ride?” The two young men nodded, and Merlin rose. “Good. Now get in the saddle and let’s get out of here.”
Pellinore awoke to see Annowre leaning over him, a frown of consternation on her face. “Were you bested?” she demanded.
“I was enchanted. Merlin was here… he used magic to prevent me from killing a knight.” He concealed the identity of the knight in question, not certain why it mattered but feeling that it was important for him to do so.
She narrowed her eyes. “What knight? Why would Merlin care?”
“Why does Merlin do anything?” He hauled himself up to his feet and picked up his sword. “I almost had him. Look here, you can see the pieces of his sword. I broke it while it was still in his hand.”
She looked at the fountain, then said, “It was Arthur Pendragon, wasn’t it?”
He held his gaze and his voice steady. “I don’t know.”
Annowre’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” She walked a few steps away, her hands on her hips. “He is instrumental in an enemy’s plans. You should have killed him. You were meant to kill him.”
Pellinore was annoyed. “I was going to, but Merlin interfered.”
“Perhaps there will be another opportunity,” she mused. “I will think on this and try to make it happen. If you ever face that boy again, I want you to cleave his head from his body. Do you understand?”
The King of Norgalis picked up his fallen sword and sheathed it. “If we meet again, I will kill him. You have my word on that.”
They finally emerged from the Perilous Forest a day later, finding the road covered with snow. The horses shuffled along, their hooves forging a path. The air was colder outside the forest, and the sun was brighter. Arthur considered himself lucky to still be alive to see it.
Griflet rode close to him, and Arthur saw the young knight looking intently at him when he thought perhaps the king wouldn’t notice. When Arthur made eye contact with him, Griflet looked away, blushing furiously.
They passed through Viroconium, where Griflet broke off to stay with his uncle. Sir Bedivere welcomed them effusively, and he invited them to say, but Arthur wanted to see Kay and Caer Gai. He and Merlin declined Bedivere’s hospitality and returned to their travels.
They reached a fork in the road where one path would lead to Lake Bala and Caer Gai. Arthur began to nudge his horse into that trackway when Merlin said, “Not yet. There is something else that we must do.”
“What is that?”
“I told you that we need to get you a new sword, and I know just where to look,” he said. “Follow me.”
Arthur thought they might have been heading into Powys to see a weaponsmith, but instead the druid took them off the road and into the wood. The young king followed curiously, mystified.
Their path took them to a place where the trees gave way to rocky soil. Merlin whispered words of magic, and then the rocks disappeared, replaced by a shimmering blue lake. A white boat waited at the shore, lashed to a metal hook driven into the rock of the lake shore. The little vessel was shallow and ornamented with a prow carved to show interwoven dragons, and it was made of a material that Arthur had never seen. Merlin turned to him.
“This is Llyn Tylwyth Teg,” he said. “It is a faery lake, and only visible to those the fey have allowed to see it. It will appear anywhere it is summoned, if you have the power and the words to call it. You need to get in that boat and go out into the water. When you get there, you will know what to do.”
Arthur dismounted, his palms sweating. He hesitated. “Will I be taken into the Fey
Lands if I do this?”
“You’ll be taken no farther into that realm than you already are. This lake is the boundary between our world and theirs. This is no longer the world of men, but it is not yet the world of faery. You will not disappear.”
The king nodded. He thought he understood. He left his horse behind and walked to the boat, which was bobbing serenely on the gentle ripples of the lake. He stepped inside, and Merlin untied the tether, setting it loose.
There were no oars and no rudder, nothing that he could use to steer the craft. It floated steadily into the center of the faery lake, pulled along by a power he could not see, but which tingled all along his body like sparks from a campfire. He gripped the sides of the boat in anxiety.
When it reached the center of the lake, the boat stopped moving and stood stone still. Even the gentle rise and fall of the water had ended, leaving the surface of the lake as smooth as a looking glass. Arthur felt a tickle in his mind, as if he was thinking someone else’s thoughts, and he felt the urge to look to his left.
A beautiful woman was rising from the water slowly but steadily, a sword and scabbard in her hands. She was dressed in a white gown chased with silver, and her black hair was bound in a net of pearls. He had seen just such regalia once before, when it had been worn by Guinevere. He knew that he was facing one of the Ladies of the Lake.
She walked toward him, the water holding her up as if it were solid ground. When she reached the boat, she looked at him with kindness.
“You and you alone have been chosen to wield the sword of the fey,” she said, her voice sounding like the tinkling of charms on a horse’s harness. She extended her hands toward him, the sword and scabbard lying across her palms. He hesitantly took the hilt in his hand, and the black leather of the wrappings conformed to his grip as if it had been made for him. With his other hand, he took hold of the scabbard. She lowered her arms and smiled at him. “This is Excalibur. Take it, King Arthur, and come into your power.”
He took a deep breath, then pulled the sword free. The blade shone with a white light all its own, as if it was made of concentrated moonlight. There were words etched into the blade on both sides, written in a rune-like script he could not read. As he looked at those words, they began to shimmer and reshape themselves until he could read them clearly.
Take me up, it said on one side. On the other, it said, Cast me away.
“What does it mean?” he asked her.
She smiled. “You will learn.”
The lady looked toward the shore, where Merlin stood alone. She nodded to him, and he nodded back. Arthur returned Excalibur to its scabbard, extinguishing the faery light.
Without another word, the lady took a step backward and descended once more into the lake, vanishing beneath the glassy surface without leaving so much as a ripple. The boat began moving again, taking him back to the shore where the druid was waiting.
Merlin smiled as he stepped out of the boat. “That sword is the most precious thing you will ever own,” he said, “but the scabbard more so. Only the chosen king may wield the power of the sword, which will never dull and which will cut through any substance, be it metal or stone or flesh. The wearer of the scabbard will never bleed when he’s cut, no matter how deep the cuts may be or how many cuts he may receive. Together they will keep you alive in desperate battle.”
“Amazing.” Arthur held the sword reverently, examining the scabbard. It was made of light brown leather and embroidered in gold thread describing more interwoven dragons. Down the center of the scabbard, a series of gemstones glinted in the winter sun, each one held in an embroidered dragon claw. It was the most beautiful object he had ever seen.
“Another thing you should know about Excalibur: it will not shed innocent blood. If you try to strike an innocent, it will turn in your hand and prevent your blow from landing. If it does this three times, the sword will vanish and return to the Lady of the Lake.”
“I have no intention of ever raising my hand to an innocent person, much less swinging a sword,” Arthur said. “But I will remember what you’ve said. This is… this is wonderful. What happens if someone other than the chosen king tries to wield it?”
“It will lose all of its magical properties and will be just a sword like any other.” He climbed back into the saddle of his own mount. “Now we can go to Caer Gai.”
Caer Gai looked peaceful beneath its blanket of white. The gates stood open, a welcome sight to the young king. He urged his horse faster, eager to go through that portal and into the only place he had ever called his home. He almost expected to see Sir Ector waiting for him, but he was only too well aware that he would never see his foster father again, at least not in this lifetime. The loss felt new again, and it weighed upon his heart.
They rode into the courtyard, and Ewain, the ever-present groom, greeted them with a wave and a shout from the paddock. Arthur dismounted with a smile and walked forward into the welcoming arms of his old friend, who embraced him tightly, pounding his back with enthusiasm.
“So good to see you! Welcome home!” the groom cried. He stepped back from the embrace but kept his hands on the young king’s shoulders. “Look at you. More like a man every day.”
Arthur smiled. “I’m not a child anymore, Ewain.”
“No, you’re not, are you?” He shook his head. “So many changes…”
Merlin dismounted as well, and the groom nodded to him politely. The druid nodded back. “Is Sir Kay within?”
“Yes, sir,” Ewain nodded. “He got your letter, and he’s been expecting you.”
Arthur turned to Merlin with a raised eyebrow. “Letter?”
“I sent a message telling him we were nearly here,” the druid shrugged. “Didn’t want to fall on him unannounced.”
Sir Kay appeared in the doorway to the keep. He was heavier than Arthur remembered, and his face was sad. “It takes time to prepare for the arrival of a king,” he said.
“I’m not a king today,” Arthur told him, walking to his side. “Today I’m just your brother.”
He embraced Kay, and after a moment’s hesitation, the knight wrapped his arms around Arthur, too. They held each other tightly.
“I’ve missed you,” Arthur told him.
Kay stepped back with a wan smile. “Come in. Are you staying all through Christmas?”
“That’s my plan. I thought perhaps we could winter here. I’d do all of my old chores, of course.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the High King and an honored guest in my home. I won’t hear of it,” Kay fussed. Arthur noticed a slight emphasis on the words ‘my home’, and he was uncertain what to make of it. His foster brother stepped aside. “Where are my manners? Come in, my lords. Come and warm yourselves by the fire. Winter riding is a cold proposition.”
They followed him into the warmth of the great hall, leaving their horses in Ewain’s capable hands. Kay walked with a slight limp, something that made Arthur sad when he saw it. Once they were inside, the hall was barer than Arthur remembered. There were no tapestries upon the walls, and most of the furniture had been cleared away. The table was pushed against the wall, and only a pair of benches sat before the hearth. The room felt empty.
Kay walked over to the benches and brushed non-existent dust off of one of them, then gestured for Arthur to sit. The king didn’t know if he was being mocked or not, but he sat where he was bidden, letting the heat from the fire chase the winter’s chill from his limbs. Merlin hovered behind him, standing and watchful.
“Will you not sit, Master Druid?” Sir Kay asked.
“I’ve been sitting on a horse for days. I prefer to stand.”
“As you wish.”
Kay sat on another bench, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Arthur looked into the fire, and so did Kay, both of them avoiding each other’s eyes. The king was saddened nearly beyond his ability to express. His brother was so distant, so unfriendly. The time alone had not been good for him.
Merlin s
poke up. “It’s good to see you in better form than the last time we met, Sir Kay.” He smiled, and it was a cold expression, no friendliness or affection behind it. “Have you collected your rents and seen to your tenants’ needs?”
“Everyone is well victualed and prepared for the winter, if that is what you’re asking,” he responded, his tone sharp. “I would hate to be accused of neglecting my father’s holdings.”
Arthur said softly, “They’re your holdings, now.”
The look that Kay turned on his foster brother was vicious, but he somehow kept a reasonably civil tongue. “I am aware, sir, but they are my father’s legacy. I wish to keep that legacy in a fashion he would approve.”
“Sir,” he echoed, still looking into the fire. He shook his head. “‘My father.’ I understand you, Sir Kay.”
“What do you understand, my lord?”
“That you hate me,” Arthur answered simply. “And that you blame me for all of your sorrows.”
Merlin looked at Kay, almost challenging him to respond. The knight faced the king. “You are correct, on all points.”
Arthur stood slowly, unpinning the cloak from his shoulder, opening the penannular brooch he wore and letting the fabric fall away. He faced Kay. “If you hate me so much, and if I’ve done you so much harm, then take your revenge.”
Kay blinked. “What?”
Arthur removed his sword belt and set Excalibur aside, then discarded his dagger as well. He pulled his chain shirt over his head and tossed it onto the bench.
“I am unarmed and undefended. Come and take your revenge.”
“You want me to attack you?” Kay asked, incredulous. “You want me to commit treason?”
“I want you to get this anger and hatred out of your heart. I think that will only happen if you’re able to strike me, at the very least. Do you want to strike me?”
Kay’s jaw jutted forward and he glared. “Very much.”
“Then do it. I order you to.”
