Spellbinders Collection

by Molly Cochran

  Careful, Hal. You'll lose your head.

  He could wait no longer. He thrust viciously. The sword whistled near Hal's throat. Hal stumbled backward. The sword swooped again.

  Hal staggered back wildly, watching the blade in the long arms slash closer to his neck, trying not to think about the possibility of dying at Saladin's hands. The tall man was planning to cut his head off, that was clear. And though Hal tried not to think, an image stuck in his mind: Without a head, even the cup couldn't save him.

  He panicked.

  That's right, Mr. Woczniak. But what difference would it make, really?

  Hal swallowed.

  You've always been a loser, Hal. You couldn't fight me sixteen hundred years ago, and you can't now. All you can do is die. It's all you've ever been good for.

  Saladin's eyes widened, smiling.

  Hmmm?

  "Don't listen to him!" Merlin shouted from somewhere far away. "I can hear his thoughts, too, and they're full of lies! Hal! Hal . . ."

  Come to me, Hal. I'll make it quick. You know you're going to die. You've known it all along, haven't you? The boy doesn't need you anymore. He's got the wizard. No one needs you. It's time, Hal. Come."

  Hal's back struck something hard. A tree. His legs were trembling; he felt a pressing need to urinate.

  Saladin's sword came close, so close that Hal could feel its wake in the hollow of his throat. He uttered a small cry; the weapon in his hands fell to the ground. Instinctively he raised his arms to cover his face.

  "Hal!"

  It was Arthur's voice, ringing through the meadow like a clarion bell. Through his splayed fingers Hal saw the boy twist out of Merlin's grip and run toward him, the jeweled sword in his small hands.

  Saladin turned slightly toward the child, a smile playing on his lips. His hostage was practically throwing himself at him. Yes, he thought, this was all going to work out perfectly.

  "No, Arthur!" Hal shouted. "Get away, damn it! Get away now!"

  The boy stopped in his tracks, but the sword did not. Bending over nearly double with the effort, he heaved the golden cross overhead.

  Perhaps it was the wind. The sword should have fallen to the ground within a few yards. It should not have sailed on through the air, windmilling end over end like a gleaming silver star. It should not have fallen directly over Hal, who had resigned himself to death once again, as he had those long ages ago.

  Yet it did, and Hal was so filled with wonder at the sight of it that he questioned nothing. He lifted his hands heavenward, as he knew he must, and received into them the living metal of Excalibur.

  Saladin attacked him at once. The move was subtle and lethal, aimed at Hal's heart. Hal watched it come, but he did not struggle to master the sword he held. Not this sword. It sang to him, and with his body he listened to its ancient song, giving himself to it.

  Excalibur danced to its own music. Filled with grace and power, it pushed back the tall Saracen like a block of wood, then struck the sword held by the long arms, again, again, shooting off sparks of brilliant light in the half-morning.

  You're nothing. You're still nothing, even with the wizard's sorcery. Saladin's words insinuated themselves into Hal's mind. I can outlast the magic, Hal. I can outlast you all.

  Suddenly the sword in Hal's hands felt heavier. Its blade grew duller. He fought on, but his shoulders ached with each empty swing of the ungainly object.

  It was never yours, you see. You may have tricked it for a moment, but Excalibur belongs to a king, not to a worthless drunk.

  Sweat poured off Hal's face. The muscles in his forearms twitched with fatigue. Finally, panting, he lowered the great sword.

  That's better. The magic was never meant for you.

  Saladin swooped in for the killing stroke.

  "Go to hell," Hal said, and brought Excalibur up to meet Saladin's weapon with such cold force that the tall man's back arched, his arms flung away from him.

  "Read my mind now, dirtbag." He struck Saladin's belly, crosswise. His eyes bulging with surprise, the dark man buckled suddenly forward, his arms reflexively trying to seal the gaping wound.

  "The cup . . ." Saladin whispered. Blood poured out of his mouth.

  The second stroke sliced through Saladin's neck. The severed head fell. Its eyes were still open.

  Thank you.

  Hal didn't know if the voice was Saladin's or his own.

  A great roaring shout went up from the knights.

  Wearily, Hal retrieved Launcelot's fallen sword and returned it to the big knight. Then he brought Excalibur to Arthur and held it out to him.

  "Is he really dead?" the boy asked, amazed by what he had just seen.

  Hal nodded. "It's all over," he said. A few steps away lay the metal cup, forgotten since the start of the combat. Hal picked it up and held it out to Arthur. "He won't be coming after this again."

  Arthur took it in one hand while he held the sword with the other. He hefted the small cup, feeling its warm mystery. Then, with a sigh, he offered it to Merlin.

  "I want you to get rid of this," he said.

  The wizard blinked. "I will put it in a safe place, naturally."

  "No. I don't want it hidden. I want it to be lost. No one—not me or you or anyone—must find it."

  Merlin gaped at him. "Surely you can't . . ."

  "I don't want it!" The boy's voice carried over the heads of the now-silent knights. "It's brought nothing but misery to anyone who's ever known about it."

  "But the dream," Merlin said, his face pained. "Long ago, I had a vision in which you were offered the cup by the Christ himself . . ."

  "No," Arthur said. "I had the same dream. It wasn't a gift. It was a choice. And I've made it."

  Merlin pleaded silently with Hal to intervene.

  "It . . . it saved my life," Hal said.

  "Yes. And now you've got a second chance. We both have. Let's take it, Hal, for as long as we've got. But no longer. I'm not going to end up like him." He gestured to Saladin's beheaded body. "And you aren't going to, either."

  His young face was drawn, but his eyes were smiling. "We're not ready for the cup," he said softly. "None of us." He fondled it lovingly, like a wild animal he had befriended and was about to set free. "Maybe in a thousand years, people will know how to handle something so wonderful. But not now."

  There was a long silence. Merlin bent his head.

  Finally Hal cleared his throat and snatched the cup out of the boy's hand. He tossed it to Merlin like a baseball. "You heard him," he said. "Get rid of it."

  Merlin sighed. Once again he had offered the king a treasure beyond price. And once again the king had refused it.

  He looked up to the lightening sky. A choice, he had said. Between a short life and an everlasting one. What sort of choice was that? Who in his right mind would choose not to live forever?

  The moon was a fading crescent. The long night was over at last. Near its inner curve, to the west, was a cluster of faint stars.

  The lion, Merlin thought. By Mithras, it had been more than a thousand years since that night, when Nimue had decided that the Greek version of eternity was the true one. He smiled, remembering. The haphazard aggregation of stars in no way resembled a lion, then or now.

  That's because you have no imagination, she had said. The lion's there, and I'm going to be the heart of it.

  Nimue.

  She, too, had chosen not to keep the cup.

  The wizard's old eyes misted with tears. What happened to a soul after it died? Was it reborn, like Arthur's, in the identical body it had occupied in another life? Or like Hal's, shifting restlessly from generation to generation, searching for something it could not name? Or did it simply vanish somewhere into the vast sea of time?

  Nimue, my only love, will I never find you again?

  Through his wavering tear-filled vision, the stars near the moon twinkled. And one, he saw, in the center, the lion's heart, shone brighter than the rest.

  He made
a sound, halfway between a laugh and a cry.

  "Merlin?" Arthur asked.

  The old man waved him down. "It's nothing, boy." He sniffed. Then he laughed truly. "I think I know what to do."

  Some distance away, he climbed up on a tall boulder. Then, deep in his throat, he began the call. It welled up out of him, a whistling, shrieking noise like the cry of eagles. He held up the cup, stretching his arms toward the vanishing stars, calling, calling until the metal sphere seemed to glow.

  The trees rustled. Below them, the knights looked around in anticipation and fear. Some of them crossed themselves. The wizard was at work again.

  And then the birds appeared.

  From every corner of the early dawn they came, the great predators alongside tiny, thin-beaked avians. They came until the sky was black with them and their shadows blocked out even the light of the waning stars. They screamed and sang; the beating of their wings flattened the meadow grass.

  They came to Merlin for the cup, and when he gave it up to them, they soared away and dispersed.

  The men in the field looked up in silence. The birds were gone. The sun would rise soon and the day would be warm and long and sweet.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  When Merlin came down from the boulder, the knights gave him a wide berth.

  "Yes, yes, I know," he muttered irascibly. "You think I'm going to turn you all into toads."

  Arthur was smiling. "Thank you, old friend," he said.

  The wizard grunted.

  Hal was the first to break the silence. "What happens now?" he asked. "I mean, as far as I know, England already has a monarch. I don't think she'd appreciate being usurped by a ten-year-old kid from Chicago."

  "Arthur isn't going to usurp anyone," Merlin said with annoyance.

  "So? What's he going to do, then?"

  "Dash it all, I don't know! I told you in the castle that he would find his own way in the world. All I can do is to keep him safe from harm until he's ready to begin whatever it is he's going to do."

  "Keep him safe?" Hal set his hands on his hips. "That was your idea of keeping him safe?"

  Merlin's face reddened. "Cheeky!" he sputtered. "From the beginning, I knew you'd be . . ." He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Perhaps you're right," he said blandly. "Things do go wrong sometimes. But you needn't worry any longer. Arthur will remain in the castle until he’s of age."

  "What?" Hal and the boy shouted at the same time.

  "Well, of course. It's the only way, now that the cup is gone, to ensure the King's safety."

  "Wait a minute," Arthur said. "Are you going to make me disintegrate or something?"

  "Oh, it won't be like that," the old man said gently. "You'll be able to see yourself and all the others. It will be Camelot, just the way it was."

  He inclined his head toward the knights. Launcelot nodded.

  “But it won’t be here,” Arthur said. “Or now.” He regarded the great sword in his hands. "Back to Camelot," he said with a faint smile.

  "Exactly. You'll be able to do all the things you'd like. The only difference will be that other people—current people, that is—won't be able to see you until you're ready. It's not strange at all, really. Hal's been inside. You know what I mean, don't you, Hal?"

  "Well, I wouldn't say it wasn't strange," Hal said. The knights were all watching him.

  Things happened to kids, even ordinary kids. Car accidents. Muggers. Crazies. He had quit the FBI because he couldn't stand some of the things that happened to kids.

  "None of those things must happen to Arthur," Merlin said quietly.

  Hal looked up, startled. "No," he said. He saw Arthur's confused face. "What I mean is, it might have seemed strange to me because, hey, after all, I'm not King Arthur," he said with false heartiness. "You know, I think it'll be a blast. Do you know what most kids would give to spend a few years with the Knights of the Round Table at Camelot?"

  Arthur looked up sadly. "But what about you, Hal? Would you come, too?"

  "Me?" He looked around at the knights standing before the great crenellated walls of Camelot. He had been there, with his heroes, seated among them in a place of moondust and magic. He had done what he had been asked to do. He had kept the faith of a slum kid with two broken legs and a head filled with dreams and had seen those dreams come true. For a time—a brief, awesome, magnificent time—he had felt the pure fire of Galahad's restless soul.

  But Galahad's job was finished now; it was time for Hal Woczniak to come back. Another night at Benny's, another car to fix for the Greek pimp, another morning when he'd wake up next to a woman he didn't remember meeting. Hal's life.

  "Naah," he said, shaking his head. "I don't belong there."

  His eyes met Merlin's. The old man understood. The future belonged to Arthur now. There was no place at Camelot for an ex-FBI agent whose life was behind him.

  Hal smiled. "Go ahead, kid. You aunt's on her way to London by now. She thinks we're both dead. I left her your instructions about what to do. But I'll find her. I'll tell her you're all right."

  Arthur shook his head. "You won't find her," he said, "That's the point of the plan. No one will find her."

  "There's got to be some way . . ."

  "I don't think so. I worked it out carefully."

  There was a silence. "I'm sorry," Hal said finally. "I didn’t think—"

  "You were right, Hal. I didn't think we'd come through this, either." He sighed. "Anyway, I suppose it's better that she doesn't know about this. No one should know."

  "But she loves you," Hal said.

  And I love her.

  "I know," Arthur answered slowly. "Maybe that's why it's best to leave her alone."

  Hal looked out over the meadow. The boy had said it all. Emily had her work. She would hurt for a while, hurt badly, but in time she would be able to go on with her life. In his own time, too, Arthur would go back to her himself. And neither one of them had any further need of Hal Woczniak.

  "All right," Hal said quietly. He shrugged and held out his hand. "Well, I guess this is good-bye." Arthur's eyes welled. His lips were squeezed tightly between his teeth. "Go on. I can't hang around here forever."

  "Kneel, Hal," the boy said.

  "What?"

  "Kneel." He stood stiffly, the sword held upright in front of him.

  "Now, this is going too—"

  Launcelot came over and rested his big hand on Hal's shoulder. His eyes were kind but firm as he guided Hal gently down onto one knee.

  "Okay, I get your drift," Hal said. Feeling foolish, he lowered his head.

  Arthur stepped up to him solemnly. Then, touching Hal first on one shoulder and then the other with the heavy sword, he spoke: "Be valiant, knight, and true; for you are the most loyal of men, and beloved of your king." He stepped back. "Arise, Sir Hal."

  But Hal could not get up. Not just then. The touch of the sword left him rooted, his thoughts swirling around him, centuries of memories. He had come looking for his king in a thousand different lifetimes. In all of them he had failed; all but this last.

  The king had come home. Galahad, indeed, had done well.

  "Your Majesty," he whispered.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Merlin stopped them near the boulder where Arthur had found the sword.

  "You can't go any farther," he told Hal. "Of course, if you'd like to reconsider the offer to come with us . . ."

  Hal smiled. "No, thanks. I'll take my chances out here."

  The old man nodded. "I think that's best," he said.

  "Well? What say we get this show on the road?"

  Arthur put his arms around Hal’s waist. "I'll miss you," he said.

  "I'll miss you, too." He mussed the boy's hair, then pushed him away. "Go on, now. Be a good king, or whatever it is you're going to be this time around. Scoot."

  Hal folded his arms in front of him and watched Arthur lurch away, holding onto Merlin's robes with one hand like a small child, while the other clung
fast to the enormous sword. Behind them, the army of knights waited on their mounts, eager to bring their king back to his castle at last.

  Then, at the last moment before they reached the drawbridge, Arthur turned and ran back.

  "What is it?" Hal asked. "What's wrong?"

  "I can't go, Hal."

  "What are you talking about? You'll be fine in there. It's where you belong—"

  "No, it's not!" His face was flushed. "Don't you see? I might have belonged there sixteen hundred years ago, but I'm not that King Arthur anymore. I'm ten years old, Hal. Whatever I'm going to do with my life, I've got to become a man first."

  "So? You'll get older in the castle."

  "What am I going to learn there? Everything in that place has been dead for sixteen hundred years."

  "It's the safest place for you."

  "But I don't want to be safe!” he shouted. “I want to be alive!"

  They stared at one another. "Arthur . . ."

  "I'm coming with you," the boy said.

  Hal backed away. "Oh, no, you're not."

  "I won't be any trouble, I promise. I'm good with my hands, and I learn fast. I'll do whatever you say. Just take me with you. Teach me what you know."

  "Teach you what? I don't know anything! Jesus, you want to grow up like me?"

  "Yes, Hal," Arthur said. "Just like you." Slowly Arthur shook his head. "You're the best, Hal. The best there ever was."

  He walked back to the cracked boulder and held the sword above it.

  "No!" Merlin cried, running toward them. "Don't put it back! Don't . . ."

  Arthur slid the sword back into the stone.

  Immediately the castle began to fade. A low mist fell over it all, the towers and battlements, the courtyards, the moat. It surrounded the stunned knights, who looked at one another in bewilderment as they, too, grew as insubstantial as whispers. Horses whinnied, their manes becoming transparent as spiderwebs.

  Only one man did not flinch. Launcelot, mounted like an immovable rock on his steed, kept his eyes steadily on Hal as the mist enveloped him. His face showed no fear. Instead, it seemed to Hal, there was something like pride in the big knight's eyes. While the others around him vanished, Launcelot made his right hand into a fist and brought it over his heart in a silent pledge.