by C. J. Busby
Max looked up at Merlin, who was looking back at him intently. He thought of Morgana’s cold expression and the terrible power of her spells, and his legs felt like straw – but then he met Merlin’s bright, fierce eyes and took a deep breath, and nodded.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “But I’m not sure why you need my help.”
Merlin frowned. “I can reverse any spell she cares to throw at me, but as for defeating her… She has been getting more powerful, and it’s been clear for some time that she can undo my spells. I cannot defeat her alone. But together we have more of a chance.” He clapped Max on the shoulder and smiled. “You have more power than you realise, Max. When the time comes, you’ll be ready, I know it.”
He looked round at the others, then rubbed his hands together. “Well, this battlement seems as good a place as any for a council. But I’m ravenous!” He gestured at the ground, and food and drink appeared on a rug nearby. Adolphus whooped, and got stuck in to a large bowl of woodlice.
Merlin lowered himself to the rug and helped himself to a large piece of chicken.
“So,” he said thoughtfully. “We know Morgana has done her swordspell. But do we know anything else about it? Max? Could you tell anything from the feel of it?”
“Only that it was powerful,” said Max, reaching for a pastry. He thought back to the tremor that had run through the whole castle. It had hardly felt like a spell, more like a huge landslide thundering down a mountain. Now he thought about it, though, there had been the cold feel of Morgana’s magic at the heart of it. And something else – something he’d felt before…
“It was Morgana’s spell – but there was something mixed up with it. A different magic.”
Merlin leant forward eagerly. “What did it feel like? Did you manage to recognise it?”
Max tried to concentrate on the memory – but it had all happened so fast. There was something about the other magic in the spell – something familiar – but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He sighed.
“Sorry – I don’t know. Maybe Vortigern felt it?”
They turned to the duck, who quickly swallowed a large piece of bread and bobbed his head.
“Quack! The spell nearly blew all my feathers off. I couldn’t tell one end of it from another. Quack! But we did see them put some hair in it. Hair from the head of Arthur Pendragon, and then hair from another knight – but I didn’t catch the name. Got a bit of soot in my ear. Adolphus? Did you hear who it was?”
He turned to the dragon, who thumped his tail eagerly on the ground.
“Yes – I know! It was… um… Sir Bors… No – it was Sir Edgar… Or – was it – um – no! Oh! I’ll get it in a minute, I know it, I do really!” He closed his eyes in fierce concentration and put his clawed feet over his head, muttering to himself.
Merlin turned to the others.
“Let’s assume this knight is supposed to wield the magical sword she’s made. Who is fighting the king in the tournament tomorrow?”
“I am,” said Lancelot, unexpectedly. “If I get through to the final. At the moment I’m in the other half of the draw.”
Merlin raised his eyebrows. “So. Decided to reveal yourself as a knight, Lancelot? And are you entering with your own name?”
Lancelot grinned. “Well, no. I’m planning to keep my helmet on, so no one will know who I am. I’m just down as the Knight of the Lake.”
Olivia’s eyes shone. She was already looking forward to seeing King Arthur fight – now she would get to see Lancelot as well. Merlin had once told them that Lancelot was the best knight he’d ever seen. Maybe he would even be a match for Arthur himself. But then Arthur had Excalibur, so that made him pretty much invincible. Unless…
“Merlin!” she said. “You don’t think… Excalibur… Could Morgana have done anything to Excalibur?”
Merlin shook his head. “No. Excalibur’s safe. It’s bound to Arthur by the magic of the Lady. No other knight can even wield it without that spell being remade. Morgana couldn’t begin to attempt magic as deep as that.” But his face looked troubled, and he rubbed his chin with his hands thoughtfully. “Morgana’s magic has been getting stronger, I’ve felt it. It’s still no match for the Lady’s, but it’s possible she has managed to make a very powerful magic sword.”
At that moment Adolphus suddenly leaped up with a cry.
“Got it!” he said eagerly. “I’ve remembered! It was King Arthur! She put King Arthur’s hair in the spell!”
They all looked at each other, and Ferocious rolled his eyes.
“We know that, pea brain,” he said. “It was the other knight we wanted you to remember.”
“Oh,” said Adolphus, crestfallen. “Oh, well, that was Gawaine.”
“Gawaine?” said Olivia, startled. “Mordred’s brother? But he can’t be in on the plot! He doesn’t seem like the sort to be in with Morgana!”
“Um, well, then maybe it was Gaheris,” said Adolphus, confused. “Or – Gareth… Something beginning with ‘G’ anyway.”
“Snotty was down by the knights’ chambers,” said Max thoughtfully. “It sounded like he was planting a spell, but he could have been taking the sword down there as well. And Arthur will be fighting Gawaine in the tournament. Although he’ll also be fighting Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth…”
There was silence, as they all tried to work out what Morgana was up to. At last Lancelot spoke, slowly.
“Arthur will be seeking only to disarm his opponents in the tournament – it’s supposed to be just a friendly test of skills. If this other knight – Gawaine or whoever – wields a powerful magic sword, and is aiming to kill the king, then Arthur could be in danger. Even with Excalibur. He could be killed before he realises the fight is to the death.”
Merlin nodded, and then sighed. “I shall warn the king. I don’t have much hope that he will withdraw from the tournament. Still – I will enhance his shield with magical protection, it should be enough to hold against Morgana’s spelled sword, keep him safe. But we must all be on our guard. There’s something about the plot that worries me. Something we’re not seeing… I don’t like it.”
Max looked at Merlin. His magic should easily be a match for Morgana’s. But the wizard still seemed anxious. Max exchanged glances with Olivia. So far, they had always managed to foil Morgana’s plots and save the king. What if this time they couldn’t? What if this time, she actually succeeded?
King Arthur is Warned
A small finger of sunlight pushed through a gap in the tapestries draped across Max’s window. Gradually it lengthened, and traced a path across the dark floor towards Max’s bed, until finally it brushed across his face and poked him brightly in the eye.
Max flinched and flung his arm up over his face, then he opened his eyes. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was or what had been happening. Then he heard the peal of several hunting horns outside, the jingle of horses’ harnesses and the shouts and calls of a gathering of riders. It was the Veterans’ Hunt, the traditional early morning start to the Festival of Chivalry. That meant there were only two hours before the first events of the Squires’ Challenge, and after that, the real business of the competition – the single combat for the Knights’ Cup. In which King Arthur, as reigning champion, would have to meet any knight who was called against him in the draw.
Defeating the challengers for the Knights’ Cup had never been a problem for King Arthur up to now. But that was before Morgana le Fay had created the most powerful spell she’d ever made, and provided one of his opponents with a magic sword. One of the knights in the festival had been primed by Morgana to fight the king to the death and they had to hope Merlin’s shield would hold against her spell or the king was doomed.
Max sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As he did so, there was a clatter on the floor. A small grey pebble had fallen off the blanket where he’d left it the night before. Morgana’s pebble.
Idly Max picked up the stone and began to feel for the ma
gic in it. He pushed against the hard iron wall of the spell, wondering how he was ever going to break it. And then he thought about Merlin’s words. Morgana’s magic was tricky, it turned you around so you added your own magic to the spell, rather than reversing it. Max stopped pushing against the enchantment and held still, just feeling it at the edge of his consciousness. Gradually he became aware that there was a background of magic around it, like a huge dark absence of anything – and suddenly he realised that this was where the power was. Not in the cold, hard, unyielding wall of iron but in the dark absence around it. He felt his way into the absence, beginning to pool his own magic inside it, trying to dissolve it. With a growing sense of excitement he felt the stone grow warm in his hand. Could he smell roasted meat?
At that moment the door to his chamber burst open and Olivia came rushing in.
“Max! It’s the festival! It’s now! It’s today! I can’t do it – I’m going to fail!”
Adolphus flew in behind her in an equal flap, careened right into a roof beam and crash-landed on Max’s head.
The pebble reverted instantly to a cold, dark grey stone. Max, almost completely engulfed by the sprawling dragon, kicked his legs and gurgled frantically. One kick managed to make contact with Adolphus’s head, and Adolphus flopped off the bed onto the floor, where he lay feebly coughing.
“Druid’s toenails, Adolphus!” said Max, taking a great gasp of air into his lungs. “You nearly suffocated me!”
Ferocious, who was perched on top of a nearby chest washing his whiskers, snorted.
“It’s your own fault. If I were as much of a lazy slug as you are, Max, Adolphus would have landed on me, too, and I’d currently be squashed as flat as a fetching rat-shaped tapestry. Were you planning on getting up at all this morning?”
Max made a face and heaved himself off the bed, swiftly pulling on some leggings and a tunic and running a hand through his messy hair.
“Right then. Breakfast.”
“I can’t eat anything!” wailed Olivia. “It’s the competition in less than two hours! I’ve got to saddle a horse and arm a knight faster than any of the other squires. And before that I have to hit the bull’s eye in the archery target and knock down the dummy with a well-aimed saddlebag. And if that wasn’t enough – this afternoon I have to beat Mordred in a sword fight! Max – I need some magic! I need you to spell my bow so it shoots straight! I need you to—”
“Calm down. It’s going to be all right,” said Max soothingly. “You’ll be fine. You’re really good at throwing the saddlebag – and you’re quite good at archery. Who are you arming?”
“Dad,” groaned Olivia. “And he’s twice as large as most of the other knights, so he has twice as many bits of armour. Plus he’s ticklish, so he’s always wriggling. So far I’ve come last every time we’ve practised.”
Max tried not to laugh, because Olivia was so distraught – but it was hard to keep a straight face at the thought of her dressing their father in all his many bits of armour while he danced around trying to avoid being tickled.
“I’m sure he’ll behave for the actual competition,” he tried to reassure her. “Come on – come and have something to eat. Lancelot might be down there, and he can tell us if Merlin had any luck with the king.”
***
As it happened, Merlin was still with the king, and he was not having any luck at all.
“Merlin, I cannot withdraw from the competition. Are you mad? I am the king! I cannot look like a coward.”
Merlin sighed. “I thought you would see it that way. Well, at least let me put some extra protection on your shield. And you must take great care – there may be one knight in the competition aiming to kill rather than disarm you. Be aware of the danger.”
Arthur smiled, his blue eyes clear and unafraid. “I can defend myself, Merlin. And even if there is some magic sword being wielded against me, I have Excalibur! What can go wrong?”
Merlin nodded, and then frowned. “Where is Excalibur, though? You don’t have it with you.”
“No,” said Arthur. “It’s with Morgana. She wanted to add some protections of her own before the tournament – she was worried about this rogue sorceress.”
Merlin looked startled. “You have given it to Morgana? But, my lord… did she have it yesterday? If the spell we felt was carried out on Excalibur…”
Arthur held up his hand. “Enough, Merlin! That spell had nothing to do with either Excalibur or Morgana. I trust her. She is my sister.”
Merlin stood for a moment, hesitating, but Arthur raised his blue eyes to Merlin’s grey ones, and held his gaze.
“If I cannot trust Morgana with my life,” he said, and suddenly he sounded unbearably weary, “then perhaps I would rather not live.”
Merlin sighed, and nodded.
“So be it, my lord,” he said. He bowed, and left the room.
After Merlin had gone, Arthur took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face, and wondered if he had done the right thing.
***
“Olivia! Olivia for the Challenge!”
Max was shouting as loudly as he could but he was drowned out by the roar of Sir Bertram beside him.
“That’s my girl! Show them what you’re made of!”
Sir Bertram had waxed and curled his enormously magnificent moustache in honour of the festival. With his large frame and deep voice, he was attracting more than his fair share of attention from the surrounding crowd. He and Max were sitting at the front of the tiered seating which had been arranged around the castle green. Filling the seats were countless knights, ladies, children, witches and wizards in brightly coloured clothing and there was an air of excited anticipation. Sir Bertram was trying to forget that he was already in terrible trouble with his lady wife Griselda for letting Olivia even enter the Squires’ Challenge, and would be in even deeper trouble if she won. He couldn’t help secretly hoping she’d actually make it. She really was a fantastic squire, and would make a very decent knight. Sir Bertram could see it now – setting off on quests with Olivia at his side. The Knight with the Most Magnificent Moustache and The Only Knight Who Is a Girl. What a pair they’d make!
Olivia, pale but determined, stepped out into the middle of the castle green with the other squires, her bow in her hand. Adolphus, next to Max, couldn’t stop bouncing, and had already nearly singed Sir Bertram’s moustache with a bit of over-excited fire-breathing. Ferocious was perched on Max’s shoulder, cleaning his whiskers, and Max could just see Vortigern waddling in front of the crowd further on, catching the bits of bread people were throwing to him.
There was a drum roll, and gradually an expectant silence fell over the crowd. The castle sword master, Sir Gareth, strode out with the archery target and set it up a hundred paces from the nervous bunch of squires.
“Our first contestant,” he bellowed, “is Geraint Muddpuddle of Castle Caerleon.”
A thin boy with bright blonde hair stepped forward, and drew his bow almost before anyone had time to clap. His arrow whistled across the green and struck the target just off-centre. The crowd cheered and stamped their feet. The Squires’ Challenge was a popular event – a good-humoured extra alongside the real business of the festival and a way to spot upcoming talent. Quite a few people staked bets on the winners, and Max could see money changing hands in the crowd as people reassessed Geraint Muddpuddle’s chances.
As the next contestant took his place in the centre, Lancelot slipped quietly into the seat next to Max.
“Olivia next, then,” he said with a wink, and showed his fingers crossed. “I’ve got five gold pieces on her to win.”
“Five?!” said Max. “Are you sure?”
Lancelot tapped his finger against his nose and winked again. “I’ve seen her in action,” he said. “She’s got some very special disarming techniques.”
Sir Bertram heard, and grinned. “Excellent. Excellent. I’ve got a bet on her too, as it happens. And a trick or two up my sleeve. Just wait and see.”
>
A Fight to the Death
At that moment, the sword master called Olivia to the middle, and she walked out, looking very small and rather white. There was a slight buzz of surprise and discussion – she was, after all, the only girl ever to have entered the competition – and then a good-humoured cheer.
Olivia squinted at the target. There was the slightest breath of wind, and she adjusted her aim carefully to take account of it. Then she drew her bow and loosed the arrow in one smooth fluid motion. The bow twanged, and the next second the arrow had thudded into the target – right in the bullseye. The crowd roared, and Sir Bertram whooped and clapped Lancelot on the back, sending him pitching forward into the barrier in front of them.
Unfortunately for Olivia, Mordred also managed a bullseye – so they were in joint first place at the start of the next event: Knock Down the Dummy with a Well-Aimed Saddlebag. Olivia was pretty good at this – but Mordred was bigger and heavier, and could throw a saddlebag that Olivia couldn’t even pick up, so he won by a mile.
The final event of the morning was Prepare and Arm Your Knight. Max almost couldn’t bear to watch as he saw Olivia lined up with the other squires, each with their knight and horse. Mordred was arming Gawaine, who was slim and supple, and looked as if he could shrug himself into his armour with almost no help. Sir Bertram, on the other hand, was large, heavy and ponderous, and his old-fashioned armour had several fiddly fastenings that needed a great deal of pulling and pushing to get around his ample frame. The horses might even things up a bit – Sir Gawaine’s looked like a temperamental charger, while Sir Bertram’s horse, Daisy, was a docile old nag, quite happy to stand still for hours. But Max didn’t think it would be enough.
Olivia looked despondent, but Sir Bertram, strangely, was trying very hard not to grin. He leant sideways and murmured in her ear.
