The King of Camelot opened his eyes to find himself undamaged, the flying monster’s fire having no effect on his stony body whatsoever. Well pleased, Arthur drew his stone sword and prepared for the dragon’s next attack.
“My turn, beast!” he shouted. “Come and get some of this!”
* * *
When Merlin approached the witch, she was laughing. Morgana set her parasol and the Grail both down on the grass at her feet, quite enjoying herself.
“Isn’t that cute?” she said. “You’ve brought to life a cute little stone soldier with a cute little stone sword. He’s simply adorable! Hope all that rock doesn’t give my dragon a sore stomach.”
Merlin wasn’t sure how a twelve-foot-tall warrior could ever be described as “little” but he let her snide remark slide. “Actually he’s not a soldier at all…and that cute little sword happens to have a name you just might remember. It’s called Excalibur! Ring any bells in that pretty little head, witch?”
The smile faded from Morgana’s lips. She looked back over at the stone man, perhaps seeing him in a whole new light. “Excalibur? But that would mean…”
“All hail the Forever King!” Merlin said, not being able to keep the satisfied grin from showing on his face. Hopefully his long white beard would cover it. “We’re taking the Grail back, sorceress. The Carpenter’s Cup was meant to represent all that’s good in this world, not to be twisted and used in your sick little plans. I can’t let you keep it.”
“You can try and take it back, old man. You and Arthur both, but I’m the only one walking off of this battlefield alive today. Your dead King can give you a personal tour of Avalon shortly.”
“A much better place than you’ll spend eternity, witch. I can assure you of that!”
Morgana screamed in anger, hurling a blood-red energy sphere at the magician’s chest. Merlin was nearly caught off guard but managed to get his staff raised just in time, the powerful spell deflecting off the enchanted wood and fragmenting into harmless fireworks above his head.
“That the best you’ve got?” Merlin asked his opponent.
“No,” Morgana said, her tone ice cold. “Not even close.”
The witch bared her teeth and prepared for her next attack…
* * *
King Arthur made the mistake of looking over at Merlin when the wizard had deflected Morgana’s first strike. He watched the energy sphere explode into a million twinkling lights and by the time he looked back to where the dragon had just been flying his adversary was gone. Seconds later, the beast attacked at lightning speed from behind, grabbing Arthur around the waist and dragging him along the ground for a hundred feet before driving his body into the dirt and biting down hard.
The dragon’s bite would have easily sheared through flesh and bone and crushed most types of armor, finishing this fight in a spray of blood, but the stone that made up Arthur’s new body was made from a special type of mineral classified as corundum, a high quartz material as hard as granite and only topped by diamond as one of the hardest rocks on Earth. The beast’s bite produced nothing but a series of tiny scratches across the King’s waist, chest, and back. The dragon screamed in pain as four of its giant hand-sized teeth broke off on the stone and it was forced into releasing its squirming prey to swallow a mouthful of its own syrupy blood.
King Arthur rolled free of the dragon’s bleeding mouth and thrust his stone sword deep into the beast’s right eye. Excalibur punctured the thick protective lens and Arthur was showered in a soup of viscous jelly as the eyeball completely ruptured, emptying onto the ground. The dragon howled in agony and rage, launching into the air and savagely clawing at some imagined opponent it could take out its frustration on. Blinded in one eye but more dangerous than ever, the fire-breathing beast banked left and circled the stone warrior on the ground, stalking him, always keeping the man in view of his good eye. Even from the ground Arthur could tell what the monster was thinking, its primitive brain searching for his weaknesses, waiting patiently to strike again…
* * *
Merlin deflected yet another energy sphere, his strength starting to wane. The proximity to the Grail was giving Morgana an endless source of power, and her strikes were hitting the old wizard hard and fast, like he was standing directly in front of the business end of a long range cannon. The sculptor knew he couldn’t keep the sorceress’ blows at bay for much longer – not like this. He’d managed to launch a few volleys of his own from his emerald scepter but for the most part Morgana’s evil power had kept him constantly on the defensive.
I’ve got to get her farther away from the Grail, he thought, knowing she wouldn’t be nearly as strong if he could lure her onto neutral ground.
With no great plan in mind, Merlin turned and started to run. He play‐acted a slight limp as he ran, leaning heavily on his wooden staff, hoping a false sign of weakness would make the witch overconfident and sloppy. Obviously Morgana wasn’t the only one here who could act, because his ruse worked. When Merlin glanced over his shoulder he saw Morgana laughing at his painful gait, and saw her start to jog after him. Forgotten for the time being, back on the grass, she had left behind her umbrella and the Grail.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Morgana shouted after him, easily closing the distance between them. “There’s no rest for the wicked, old man! Not today!”
The witch threw her hands skyward and drew power from the black storm clouds above. The smell of burning oil filled the magically charged air and when Morgana pointed her long finger from the cloud to Merlin’s back, a lightning bolt flashed across the darkened sky shooting straight toward the retreating wizard. Merlin dove for the ground just in time, the electric bolt missing his head by less than a foot, singeing the hair on his bushy white eyebrows and very nearly igniting the hair on the back of his head. The lightning bolt tore into the cemetery grass twenty feet in front of where he landed, instantly creating a deep crater in the earth, dirt exploding everywhere.
When Merlin regained his feet, he saw a second large hole in the ground and realized he was back at the Templar’s grave, empty now other than for half of a human leg lying in a pool of sticky blood – all that remained of Big Josh’s oversized body from the dragon’s feast. The wizard moved off to his left to avoid falling in either of the holes and turned back to the witch just in time to see another lightning bolt headed his way. Acting purely on instinct, Merlin held up his scepter like a shield, the enchanted wood taking a direct hit and snapping into splinters in the magician’s scorched hands. The power of the blast hurled Merlin’s burning body fifteen feet through the air, knocking the wind from his lungs as he landed flat on his back in the cool wet grass.
The injured magician still had his wits about him, rolling on the damp grass to put out his smoldering clothes. The flames finally out, Merlin was about to try and stand up, but Morgana was suddenly standing right above him. He scurried backwards in the grass, in pain and more or less defenseless against the powerful witch without his staff.
“There’s nowhere left to run, wizard,” Morgana said coldly, some of her true hideous features starting to show through the cracks in her beautiful veneer. “It’s time to die, old man. Time to suffer!”
Merlin could do nothing but watch the sorceress come closer…
* * *
The dragon looked like it was becoming impatient, not used to feeling pain or being unable to kill its enemies. Blood ran freely from its vacant eye cavity, and the monster kept snapping its jaws at thin air, desperate for revenge and the desire to inflict pain on someone else. King Arthur knew it would make its move soon, its bloodlust too great to wait much longer. It knew nothing other than killing and eating, and although the beast might know it wouldn’t be filling its belly with him today, it would still want to somehow crush or break him to pieces, anything that would steal the life from him.
Maybe its rage is its weakness, Arthur thought.
“Come on, you big ugly brute,” the stone King screame
d, taunting the beast. “Lost your nerve, have you?”
Arthur had no idea if the dragon heard him, or even if it did, whether or not it comprehended his words, but when he shouted the monster tilted its scaly head to listen and roared in anger. Diving to pick up speed, the dragon leveled off and came charging straight at the King, spitting fire and screaming holy hell as it barreled closer at top speed. Arthur stood as tall as he could manage, even going so far as to balance up on his toes to make the dragon misjudge its attack height. The beast kept its mouth closed, looking like it intended to ram Arthur rather than bite him, but at the last possible second the King dropped to his knees and held Excalibur above his bent over body. The stone blade caught the beast under the chin, piercing through its scales and thick reptilian skin, the dragon’s momentum carrying it forward, helplessly gutting itself on the stationary magic sword from throat to belly. A literal river of gore flooded out of the massive wound, the dragon’s internal organs splashing to the ground a second before the beast itself, the monster dead before it could even slide to a shuddering stop.
Arthur stood and barely glanced in the dragon’s direction, the blood and horrendous stench alone more than enough for him to know the battle was over. The stone King’s thoughts – and eyes – turned toward Merlin and the witch, wondering how his most trusted ally was faring with his fight. Not very well, unfortunately, by the looks of things. When Arthur looked to the far side of the cemetery, he saw Merlin lying injured on the grass and Morgana standing above him, ready to deliver the killing blow. Even though he knew he’d never make it in time to help his friend, King Arthur took off running, moving as fast as his powerful stone legs could carry him…
* * *
Morgana was having trouble controlling her outward appearance, her lust for power and the imminent murder of her archenemy an intoxicating mix rushing through her old veins. Her beautiful raven-black hair was greying and drying out at the roots. Her smooth youthful skin was cracking and showing dark lumpy welts that bled freely down her exposed arms and neck. And where normally her smile would reveal perfectly straight white teeth, when the witch opened her mouth to speak all Merlin could see was a set of rotted black stumps.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for centuries,” Morgana said. “I could make this quick and easy on you…but I don’t want to!”
Merlin kept sliding his body backwards along the wet grass, worm-crawling away from the witch but there was nowhere for him to go. The lightning bolt had injured him more than he’d originally thought, burning his clothes and skin, but more importantly messing with his head. His mind was cloudy and he had a splitting headache, finding it nearly impossible to concentrate hard enough to cast spells of any significance. He conjured a small energy sphere of his own and hurled it at Morgana’s chest but she batted his weakened attempt away with a flick of her hand, laughing at his declining strength.
“No, I think I’ll take a more personal approach to this,” the witch said, her hands starting to glow, her fingers starting to extend and curl into long razor-sharp claws. “I’m going to rip your heart out with my own hands, old man!”
Merlin slid back another foot and his right hand hit something hard and made of metal. Without looking down, he felt around in the grass, hope igniting a small fire within him. It was a sword – the Templar Knight’s sword, dropped and forgotten when he’d been attacked by Morgana’s dragon. Merlin concealed the long metal blade with his leg and waited for a chance to strike. Perhaps there was still time to turn the tides of this fight after all. It would all come down to the timing.
“You ready to finally see your precious Avalon, wizard?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Merlin said, and he was surprised to realize he was telling the truth. He’d lived a long, hard life, and if today was to be his last he was okay with that, more than ready to move on to his just reward. Still, the stubborn magician within him held onto the flame of hope, not ready to give in to the witch’s evil. If he fell to Morgana today, the world would be a much darker place in the days and years to come. For that reason alone, he had to win this battle. “Get it over with witch…before you fall apart at the seams. Wouldn’t want anyone to see the ugly hag you really are under that pretty little façade.”
Morgana screamed and lost her mind with rage, running the last few steps toward Merlin with her monstrous hands clawing at the air, aiming for the wizard’s eyes. Merlin rolled to his left, bringing the knight’s sword up in a heartbeat and sat up to meet the witch’s charge. With both hands, Merlin thrust his weapon into Morgana’s belly, shoving it in deep until he heard the blade scrape against her spine. The witch gasped, not yet feeling the pain, shocked that her enemy wasn’t bleeding beneath her fingers by now.
“How…?” she said, but that was as far as she made it.
Merlin twisted the sword’s handle ninety degrees and viciously pulled left, ripping the blade out through the witch’s side, nearly cutting her in half. Blood sprayed into the air first, followed by Morgana’s perforated stomach sack, a chunk of her severed liver, and a mile of ropey, stinking intestines. The witch fell to her knees, trying to hold her insides from falling out but the damage was already done. In the end she looked over at Merlin with wide, fearful eyes.
“But you can’t defeat me. I can’t die…can I?”
Merlin climbed to his feet, seeing the desiccated old witch for what she really was now, her evil unable to mask her hideous appearance any longer. Her flesh was grey and wrinkled, covered in dozens of weeping sores. Her hair was turning white, falling out in huge clumps and the smell of her putrid organs spilling out onto the grass was so nauseating that Merlin couldn’t stand to look at her another second.
“Rot in Hell!” Merlin said, swinging the Templar’s sword in an arc parallel with the ground, severing the evil hag’s head from her shoulders with one smooth stroke. Morgana’s body swayed back and forth for a few seconds but then slumped forward onto the grass and lay still.
The Witch of Lyonesse was finally dead…
* * *
Morgana’s head had landed face up in the grass and King Arthur stopped to take a look at the woman who had ultimately caused his death all those centuries ago. She hadn’t made the horse lose its footing in the bloody grass that day but she had been the reason his army had been there in the first place. With a scowl of disgust, Arthur kicked the head away, sending it flying through the air to bounce and roll into the nearby open grave. “Good riddance, witch!” the stone King said. “Your death was long overdue.”
The rain started to fall hard as Arthur walked over to where Merlin sat recovering in the grass near the rest of Morgana’s bloody corpse. The wizard’s eyes were glazed and he was breathing hard. His clothing was ripped and burned and his long white hair and beard were singed a dirty grey-black in spots.
“You going to be okay, old friend?” Arthur asked, placing one of his huge stone hands on the magician’s shoulder.
“I’ll survive,” Merlin said. “Unfortunately.”
The wizard’s words made the King smile, knowing what the old man was feeling. “Don’t worry, Merlin. Your reward will be waiting for you in paradise. It’s just not your time to claim it yet.”
“I know. But how much longer must I wait. This old bag of bones gets wearier by the year. Some days I’m fine, but to be honest, many of them I pray for rest.”
“And you shall have it, my friend. Just not yet. The world still needs your magic and your wisdom.”
“For what?”
“Well, for one thing, it needs you to make sure the Grail is safe.”
“Yes,” the magician agreed. “I’ll keep it with me from here on out, never letting it out of my sight again.”
“No Merlin,” Arthur said. “That would be a mistake. We hunted the Carpenter’s Cup for years, thinking it could only be safe with us but the Grail is too powerful for anyone to possess. Even for you, my friend. Its vast power cannot be controlled. Today has proven that to me.”
“It has to be re-hidden. Lost again…and hopefully never found.”
Merlin nodded, knowing Arthur was right. If anyone possessed the Grail – even someone pure of heart like him – he’d eventually be tempted to use its power. The dark side of the cup wouldn’t rest until he did. No, it was far better to bury it again and let the world think the Grail was nothing but fiction and fanciful legend, blissfully unaware of the truth.
“You’re right, of course,” Merlin said. “Man was never meant to possess the power of God. I’ll take care of it, my King.”
Arthur helped Merlin to his feet and together they walked in the rain back toward the fallen dragon. With the witch dead and gone, her magic was disappearing from the world too, the massive beast starting to bubble and dissolve in front of their eyes, melting back into the same ground it had come from. By the time the authorities checked the cemetery the dragon would be gone, Arthur would be back in Avalon, the Robert the Bruce statue would be back standing in its original pose, and Merlin would have William fill in the Templar’s grave with Big Josh’s and Morgana’s remains hidden within. If they were lucky, the rain would wash away the blood on the grass and no one would be any the wiser that an epic battle had taken place here today.
“Where’s your friend?” Arthur said, looking around the cemetery but not seeing him by the base of the statue where they’d left him. “Has the coward run off?”
“He’s no friend of mine,” Merlin said, but he couldn’t locate William either. A bad feeling crept into his heart then, and he began to run as fast as his tired, injured body would allow. “Follow me,” he yelled at the King. “And hurry!”
Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls Page 13
