Ruins of Camelot

by G. Norman Lippert

  "But why?" Gabriella rasped, wonder and horror mingling inside her.

  "Because I choose my tools well," the man declared proudly, moving around her, fingering his wand. "I chose Merodach when he was a young man because I recognised his usefulness. But I also knew that his time of usefulness would someday come to an end. When his purpose had been served, he would need to be destroyed. I could have done so myself, of course, but this way—using you—was so much more… elegant."

  Gabriella's knees grew weak as realisation flooded her. The monstrous wizard had planned it all. She, Gabriella, had reviled Merodach for doing this beast's dirty work, and yet she herself had done the same. She had killed on his behalf without even knowing it. He had used her, ultimately, like a puppet.

  "Do not be too hard on yourself, Queen," the horrible wizard said, moving alongside her again. "It was only natural that you would seek to kill he who had destroyed your love. But had it not been for my own magic, you never would have succeeded. I expect that you believed the magic of the sigil was your own, but surely, you see now how foolish that was. You may have borrowed it for a time, and it may even have come to reflect you, but let me assure you… the magic never forgot me, its true master."

  He looked down at her, eyes narrowed, and she refused to meet his gaze. "And now, here you stand," he mused darkly, "the last queen of the last true human kingdom…" He fingered his black wand, and she watched it hopelessly.

  "Fear not," he said soothingly, lifting his wand, "I have wasted enough magic on such as yourself."

  He tucked the wand back into his robes. When he withdrew his hand, a long, curved dagger protruded from his fist. He stabbed her with it.

  Gabriella felt the blade bury itself up to the hilt into her side and was at first too stunned to respond. Her eyes flew open, staring blankly into the darkness of the black candle. It did not so much hurt as simply sap her strength. Hot liquid poured down her side, wetting her tunic and pattering to the floor at her feet. The man studied her face grimly, his nose barely six inches from hers. Then, with a jerk, he pulled the dagger from between her ribs.

  Gabriella sank to her knees as weakness overtook her. She watched, dumbfounded, as the dark figure stood over her, the blade dripping her blood from his right hand.

  "The time has come," he declared in a low, merciless voice. "With your death, I shall ascend to the throne, unchallenged and unstoppable."

  Gabriella struggled to draw a breath. It hurt monumentally, and she crumpled to her side on the cold stone. The enemy stood over her. Then he bent down slightly. His hand reached for her, touched her neck. She tried to bat him away but could not muster the energy. He gripped the falcon sigil in his fingers, then, almost lovingly, he withdrew it from around her neck. He stepped back from her, watching with interest as she bled to death before him. He began to raise the falcon sigil, to lower it around his own neck. As he did so, Gabriella saw its mate, the dragon with its glinting green eye, already hanging there, Darrick’s half of their royal wedding gift. Merodach had given it to him of course, having stolen it from the body of her dead husband.

  "And now," the enemy breathed, draping the falcon sigil next to its matching half, "as a sign of my triumph, the magic that accompanied you returns to me, its ultimate master. What you believed to be a symbol of your love is rejoined now upon my neck, reverting to its ultimate form. Die knowing this, Queen… and despair."

  Beneath the wizard's pointed chin, the falcon and dragon sigils touched. There was a flash of green light, and the halves joined together, snapping into place like two magnets. The emerald eyes glowed.

  Gabriella fell back, her hand clutched uselessly to her bleeding side. She heard the wizard turn his back on her. He began to walk away.

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, he let out a tiny hiss. His footsteps ceased.

  Gabriella slitted her eyes open. The dark figure's back was turned to her, framed against the fire. He brushed something off of his robes, then shook his hand. Gabriella's gaze drifted towards the floor at the wizard's feet. A small spider scuttled on the floor where it had fallen. The wizard lifted a foot patiently and stepped on it.

  Another spider skittered out of the shadows, casting a long shadow in the firelight. It disappeared under the wizard's robes. A moment later, he jerked and hissed in pain. More tiny shapes began to dart from the shadows, converging silently on the robed figure.

  "Back to your hovels, creeping things," the wizard rasped. He drew his wand, but the spiders took no notice. There was a tiny flash as the wizard flicked a spell. Several spiders tumbled away, their legs convulsing. Then a larger shape darted along the line of the fireplace. Gabriella saw it and shuddered even in spite of her pain. It was a fat, bedraggled rat. It skirted the wizard, then scampered forwards into his shadow.

  "Argh!" the wizard exclaimed, leaping backwards. His toe was bleeding. He spun, fired a bolt of green at the rat, but it dodged away. It circled around a chair, then darted forwards again.

  More shapes began to trickle forth. Spiders dripped from the ceiling on threads of web, descending on the wizard as he turned and flailed, batting at them. Rats and mice poured from the dim corners, circling the man's feet and then battening onto his robes, climbing him, squeaking audibly.

  "What is this?" the wizard demanded angrily, stamping and flailing as the creatures collapsed upon him. "How dare you…?!" Jets of green light sprayed all around as the wizard attempted to quell the creeping rebellion. It was no use, however, since the number of his attackers seemed to grow every moment. He backed away from them, shaking them violently from his robes.

  Suddenly, Gabriella heard a muffled bellow from below. There was a thump, a clatter of breaking wood. Then, seconds later, a furious scratching noise welled up the outer stairs.

  A river of creatures poured into the room. In the lead, gnashing its teeth viciously, was a fat, grey hedgehog. It spied the writhing wizard, snarled, and leapt forwards. The wizard saw it coming and spun towards it, raising his wand. There was a green flash, and the hedgehog flew backwards, dead in mid-air. A dozen more creatures darted forwards in its place, however, eyes flashing in the firelight, jaws parted and lips pulled back. There were squirrels and opossums, badgers and foxes, beavers and wild dogs. Snakes dripped through the room's arrow slits, dropping to the floor in alert coils and slithering swiftly towards their prey. A huge timber wolf leapt through the double doors and onto one of the plotting tables. It spied the wizard and bared its yellow fangs, snarling furiously. With a scratch of its claws and a blur of grey fur, it launched towards him and landed on his back, driving him to his knees.

  More flashes of green lit the room, and the wizard's exclamations grew to screams of fury. He fought back against the creatures, kicking and flailing, hexing everything in sight.

  And then, at the height of the fracas, a shuddering boom shook the entire hall. Dust and grit showered from the ceiling. Tools clattered from tables. Gabriella watched, strangely calm, as the wizard fought to his feet, his eyes hectic, his face covered in scratches. He looked around wildly.

  Another boom ripped through the hall, and finally, the smaller creatures began to scatter. They darted away in every direction, making way for the newest arrival. The wizard spun on the spot, waving his wand.

  A shuddering explosion ripped through the citadel wall behind him, destroying the fireplace. Bricks and stone flew across the room, smashing furniture and burying the small stage and its enchanted musical instruments. Dust filled the air. As it began to clear, a pair of enormous, orange eyes opened in the darkness.

  The wizard saw this and began to back away, raising his wand.

  A huge, scaly head pushed in through the broken wall. A long, snake-like neck followed it, and then a massive, clawed foot. Lengths of shredded net still clung to the creature. The beast seemed to grow even larger as it shouldered its way into the hall, casting the entire room into its shadow. It kicked the stony debris away effortlessly. Deeply, lividly, the dragon began to growl.


  The wizard fired at it with his wand, but the green spells merely exploded against it with no effect. The dragon stalked forwards, its nostrils smoking, its jaw creaking open viciously. Its eyes never left the wizard. It began to coil, to lower itself in preparation to pounce.

  The wizard transformed. Gabriella watched from where she lay in her own blood, dying and too weak to move. The awful man dropped away, growing small and sprouting wings. Beyond him, the dragon pounced. It hurtled through the darkness, bashing the chandelier aside and crashing heavily to the floor. Its great tail swept a gout of debris into the air, but the wizard was no longer there. Instead, a small, winged shape fluttered up, screeching angrily and darting into the cloud of bats that still scattered throughout the room's upper reaches. The dragon saw this and lunged after it, snapping its jaws, but to no avail. There were too many of the bats. It was impossible to know which one was the villain in disguise.

  But then, silently, one more shape swooped in through the broken remains of the wall. Gabriella saw it and smiled wanly.

  "Featherbolt," she breathed.

  The falcon arced into the air, circled the dragon's lunging neck, and homed in on one of the swirling bats. In an instant, the two became fluttering streaks, swooping wildly around the room, screeching and squeaking furiously. Finally, Featherbolt dipped his talons, thrust forwards, and caught the bat.

  The awful creature began to transform again in mid-air. Featherbolt seemed to sense this. He carried the struggling bat-thing higher, dragging it up into the rafters even as it bulged and writhed in his talons. Reaching the apex, Featherbolt turned, clapped his wings, and gave his talons a mighty, decisive twist. The bat-thing was ripped in two. Black guts exploded from between the halves and rained wetly towards the floor far below. With a flap of his wings, Featherbolt released the torn body parts. They fell, still writhing and transforming, and as they did, the dragon lunged upwards once more.

  Gabriella squinted as the entire room was filled with a torrent of blue light. The roar of the dragon was deafening in the enclosed space, and the heat of its breath raised the temperature to an almost unbearable level. A long moment later, darkness fell once more, along with a sudden, unexpected silence.

  When Gabriella looked up, there was nothing left of the wizard but a caul of black smoke and sifting ash. The dragon watched this, its orange eyes narrowed. Featherbolt perched on one of the rafters and peered down, blinking his gold-ringed eyes.

  There was a heavy clink as something fell to the stone floor in front of Gabriella. She saw what it was but was too weak even to reach for it.

  The falcon and dragon sigils glinted by the light of the diminished fire. Their emerald eyes no longer glowed, but the magic was not yet gone from them. She could sense it.

  The dragon inched towards her carefully. Its great head bent over her and nuzzled her, as if to help her up. As always, its scaly skin was hot to the touch.

  "No," Gabriella whispered. "No more riding. It is over."

  Featherbolt landed on her other side. He hopped closer and ruffled his wings.

  "Thank you, my friends, but it is finished. There is nothing… nothing…"

  She stopped. Quietly, peacefully, she blinked. There was, in fact, one more thing. Mustering all of her remaining strength, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Blackness pulsed in her eyes as the blood drained from her, but she willed herself to stay for just a little longer. She looked through the ruined hall, and her gaze rested upon the ugly metal statue. It was untouched, despite the violence that had overtaken the place. The eight skeletal fingers still clutched the cloud of shifting shadows and the haunted, black candle.

  "No human can approach it… and live," Gabriella whispered faintly. "But neither of you… are human."

  Both the dragon and Featherbolt followed her gaze. The dragon's neck creaked ominously as it turned, facing the hideous sculpture head on. Featherbolt ruffled his feathers and flapped his wings anxiously.

  Gabriella felt her strength ebbing away. Darkness thumped over her with every slowing heartbeat.

  The dragon moved first. It stalked away from her, approaching the sculpture, then turned aside of it. Its great, sinewy tail swung back, sweeping out over the room. Then, with a snarl of effort, the dragon heaved back, slamming its tail against the metal claw. Two of the skeletal fingers crashed inwards at the first blow. Blood ran from the dragon's tail where the metal had slashed it, and yet it did not pause. It adjusted its footing, swung its tail back again, and slammed once more against the black shape. Two more of the fingers crashed away, and the swirling shadows within began to leak out, to diffuse into the air of the room. Deprived of its protective cage, the force shield was weakening.

  Again the dragon smashed at the shape. This time, all of the claw's fingers were crushed out of true. Blood poured from the dragon's torn tail, but its work was done. It took a massive pace backwards, watching as the swirling shadows broke apart, diffusing and spreading, losing their focus.

  Then Featherbolt took off. He soared up into the lofty darkness and circled towards the remains of the black candle's shield. Fluttering his wings gently, he began to lower through the top of the shadowy cloud. It spun around him frantically, quickening, but it was too diminished. It could not fully hold the falcon back. Featherbolt fought steadfastly against its force, lowering into the midst of the writhing shadows. Beneath him, the black candle buffeted, fighting the wash of his wings. The falcon dipped, struggling to keep his balance on the shifting air, and his talons clutched beneath him, reaching… reaching.

  The shadowy shield contracted over Featherbolt and the candle, spinning into a raging blur, and still, the bird dipped. The black flame tattered and streamed wildly, resisting the undeniable rush of Featherbolt's wings. A whine of power filled the air, growing in pitch and volume. The talons clawed at the candle. The flame intensified, grew to a seething, black furnace.

  And then everything vanished into a silent, icy blast. The hall shook and rumbled. The remains of the hearth fire flared green for one bright moment and then snuffed dark. A chorus of screams rushed through the space, as if a thousand tortured souls had been withdrawn from their hosts, banished back to their abyss of origin.

  And then, finally, silence fell.

  Gabriella watched all of this and felt nothing but relief. Weakly, she looked around the darkened hall. Nothing moved. Neither the dragon not Featherbolt seemed to be there any longer. The horrible skeletal claw was destroyed, bereft of its writhing shadows. Its candle stand stood empty, bent and dark.

  The wizard was no more. His forces were destroyed.

  Feebly, pathetically, Gabriella shifted onto her side, feeling the stickiness of her own blood pooling beneath her. Her arm seemed to weigh as much as a millstone as she lifted it, reaching for the twin sigils. She could not do it. Her hand fell short of the sigils, grasping instead onto another loose object. It was the cast-off wand, her gift from the wizard Goodrik. She clutched it weakly and moaned, too exhausted to move again.

  And then, blissfully and finally, darkness collected her. She gave herself over to it.

  The Queen's eyes closed, and she knew no more.

  Chapter 13

  It was near sunset when Yazim and Thomas crested the hill and saw the tiny hamlet below them. The village was hemmed in on one side by dense forest. The other side was marked by sheer granite cliffs, broken with crags and cut by a ribbon of falling water. The waterfall was so tall that it was reduced to mist by the time it dropped beyond the roofs of the village.

  The travelers stopped on the crest of the narrow road, overlooking the sight.

  "You knew this was here," Thomas said, somewhat accusingly.

  "I did not, I swear it," Yazim replied calmly. "But I had long wondered."

  Thomas frowned aside at his friend. "Why?"

  Yazim shrugged vaguely. Together, they spurred their horses onwards again, descending into the shadow of the trees and approaching the village. It was still some distance off, its ro
ofs burning bright with the glare of the setting sun. In the centre of these, a small stone church stood, its flat bell tower rising above the other structures.

  Thomas sighed. "I thought you said that you did not know the ending of the Princess's story."

  Yazim nodded. "I did say that. It is true."

  "Forgive me," Thomas commented, shaking his head, "but that sounded like the ending to me."

  "That, my friend, is because you lack imagination. You resemble your namesake in that sense. You doubt the bigger plan."

  Thomas accepted this as if it were a compliment. "I see things for what they are, if that is what you mean. We live in a much different age than did the Princess Gabriella. We cannot all simply bow a knee and pray to overcome obvious evils. In our time, there is far less black and white. Only thousands of shades of grey."

  "It is popular to believe that, yes," Yazim acknowledged.

  "So what is the great mystery then? What part of the Princess's tale am I missing?"

  Yazim was silent for a long moment. The declining sun made amber beams through the trees, throwing dapples onto the road before them. Finally, he said, "There is the question of the vampire armies for one."

  Thomas smiled and shook his head. "Fanciful embellishment. Come, Yazim. Even if you believe the rest of the tale, you do not believe that detail, do you?"

  Yazim responded with a smile of his own. "Perhaps," he sighed. "It is said that there were indeed many rogue armies in that day, not just the one that conquered and destroyed Camelot. The legends say that none of those other armies succeeded in their marches however. All of them, for reasons no one knows, simply halted in their tracks. Some tales even go on to suggest that great numbers of the evil soldiers simply fell over as dead. There, they were left, lying in their ranks and divisions, to rot on the nameless hills and fields."

  Thomas still smiled crookedly. "Such things do make excellent stories, Yazim. I shall admit that."