The Camelot Kids

by Ben Zackheim

  Rukkush’s dry laughter filled the courtyard. Thadeus glanced nervously between the dragon and the wizard’s ancient apprentice. Simon was on the right track.

  “That’s what I thought. You’re all hot air.”

  Maille let out a laugh, even as her face filled with terror. “Simon, what the hell are...”

  “ENOUGH!” the dragon roared. Josh fell down on his butt from the force of the howl.

  “You kill the boy, you don’t get anything!” Thadeus once again stood in front of his son. “Either of you! You understand me?”

  “I understand, yes,” Rukkush said. “How about you, lizard?”

  Trejure let loose the flame from his throat so fast that they didn’t have a chance to close their eyes. In an instant, the courtyard was as hot as an oven. The heat dissipated as fast as it had ignited, but no one could see straight. Their eyes were singed dry. One by one they lost their balance and fell to the floor.

  Simon recovered fast. Gwen and Chester were the only other ones on their feet. All three vambraces emitted a soft purple light that surrounded them. Had they been protected by the vambraces’ magic?

  A fierce battle erupted in the sky above them. Rukkush took hold of Trejure’s neck and cast spells from his hands. Trejure’s head was ensnared in a web of magic. Whatever Rukkush’s spell was doing, it sent spurts of dragon blood onto the cobblestone floor. Yet Trejure snapped at his foe, as if he felt no pain. His strategy was simple. One bite would end the fight fast.

  “Stop! You’ll ruin everything, you fools!” Thadeus screamed over the battle’s din.

  Simon had done it. He’d bought them time to escape. “Caradoc, can you see?” he asked.

  “Out of one eye, kind of,” the troll answered, stumbling to his feet.

  “Pick them up.” He pointed to his injured friends.

  “Yes, sir!”

  Caradoc lifted Josh and Russ onto his shoulders. They hung on tight while the troll cradled Maille in his hands.

  “I get to carry you now,” Caradoc said to Maille with a huge grin on his face.

  “Don’t get used to it,” she mumbled.

  They ran for the main gates on the other side of the courtyard as Red’s soldiers struggled to their feet. A few of them were able to take blind swings, but Caradoc simply ran them over.

  Red emerged from the castle with some guards in tow. He realized what was happening and let out such a powerful shriek that the battle above came to an abrupt halt. Simon could recognize magic now, and that shriek had magic behind it.

  “What are you doing? They’re getting away!” Red sounded like a spoiled toddler with a megaphone.

  The dragon and elf forgot each other, spotted Simon and his friends running, and flew at them full force. Trejure’s mouth opened for the deathblow.

  This was it. They’d almost made it. They were so close.

  But Trejure was socked hard in the head by something powerful. He was thrown into a nearby tower, limp. And Rukkush was fine one second, then covered with arrows the next. He pulled at them, screaming in pain.

  The sky went yellow, then red.

  The air was still, then filled with the cries of battle.

  High above the castle, on the hills from which Simon and his party had descended onto Mordred’s castle, a couple dozen of New Camelot’s archers strung their arrows for another fusillade.

  Deafening explosions rocked the party out of its stupor. Nearby towers were bombarded by missiles. The half-blind Shadow army scrambled in a dozen directions.

  “New Camelot is firing the catapults,” Simon yelled. Trejure must have been slammed by one.

  “They’re getting closer! It’s a lightning strike!” Maille yelled.

  “That means the soldiers will swarm any second to scatter the enemy into the ruins,” Russ added.

  “Then they’ll bombard this courtyard next,” Josh said.

  “Run!” Gwen screamed. There was a whistling sound overhead. They sprinted to the gates and made it in time to miss the complete obliteration of the spot they’d just stood on.

  “Or they’ll bombard the courtyard and then the soldiers will swarm,” Russ finished.

  “All of you, get back to New Camelot,” Simon ordered.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Gwen asked, pushing and squirming her way out of Caradoc’s arms.

  “I’m going to get Merlin. He’s in Shadow somewhere.”

  Caradoc intercepted a couple of Mordred’s charging soldiers and knocked their helmets together, knocking them out cold.

  “Pssht. You think I’m letting you go alone?” Maille yelled. “Yeah, right.”

  “We’re all going,” Gwen said.

  “What’s up with that move you pulled, Sharp-head?” Maille digressed, red in the face. “We agreed we would barter the gold for peace, not answers about yer turncoat pop!”

  “Trejure wouldn’t give us peace for a small box of gold,” Simon answered.

  “Small box? My back has something to say to that,” Caradoc grumbled.

  “Was it worth it? Did you get your answers Simon?” Maille pointed her bat at him.

  Simon would have none of it. He pointed at their home. “Look! If you want to be helpful you can make sure New Camelot is safe. Those holes in the wall need to be defended.”

  “Against who? We’re kicking their butts!” Josh declared proudly.

  A song emerged from the mountains around them. It started on a single note, like a trumpet calling troops to battle. But it soon broke into horrifying wails. The party looked around, not sure what it was hearing.

  Caradoc frowned.

  “The dragon army,” he said.

  49

  “It’s just like 1803,” Maille said. “The strongest dragons waited in the hills for their moment to strike.”

  The sky, still red with flames from the catapult missiles, filled with the silhouetted shapes of soaring dragons. They emerged from behind every nearby hill and mountain and cloud.

  The massive beasts swept down upon New Camelot with such ferocity that the once confident Knights of Arthur scrambled into the shadows. The party could only look on as monsters the size of buildings bore into their home’s towers and walls, knocking them over as if they were toy blocks. The red flame of Camelot was overrun with the white-hot flame of Trejure’s elite forces.

  “Go help New Camelot! I’ll find Merlin!” Simon yelled over the heartbreaking crash of a falling wall.

  “We have to keep the vambraces together,” Gwen shouted back. “We’re more powerful that way.” Simon knew she was right. “It’s not coincidence that we were the only three left standing when Trejure hit Rukkush.”

  “She’s right,” Maille responded. “The three of you need to find Merlin.”

  “He can barely move.” Simon pointed at Chester.

  “I’ll be fine,” Chester managed to say through his swollen lips. Red’s guards had beaten him hard.

  “I can carry him,” Caradoc interjected.

  “Fine! Let’s stop talking about it!” Simon said, running before he’d even finished his sentence. Caradoc lifted Chester onto his shoulders and followed Simon and Gwen.

  SIMON, GWEN, CHESTER and Caradoc worked their way over broken stone. Everyone but Simon glanced away when they saw an article of clothing on the ground, because it was likely there was someone dead attached to it. Simon checked all the bodies. He needed to know if his dad had died. Again.

  They walked into the main castle. It was as impressive as New Camelot. The entry hall reached so high they could barely make out the ceiling. Grand columns of marble kept the domed roof upright. The catapults hadn’t destroyed it yet.

  But they quickly noticed one key difference from their beloved castle. New Camelot was tended to by people who cared for it. This dark place was despised by its occupants. Everything was run down, from the paint on the columns, to the grimy steps, to the doorways with missing doors. The art on the walls hung at odd angles. The tapestries were so dirty that the fi
gures looked like people made of mud.

  As the four snuck through Shadow, they were struck by the quiet. Battles raged nearby, but there was no sign of life.

  “Merlin!” Simon cried out. The others were surprised by the loud call. “What?” he asked when he noticed Gwen glaring at him. “If he hears me, he’ll answer, won’t he?”

  “So will everyone else. And they may answer with an arrow in the back,” Caradoc replied.

  “There’s no one here,” Simon said. “Except maybe Red and his guards.”

  “And your father,” Caradoc said, with a surprising amount of confidence.

  “Just keep it down,” Gwen whispered. “Please. For me, Simon?” He nodded and led them up a wide staircase.

  As the walked, Simon’s mind wandered. He remembered a night in New York City when his father had come home drenched to the bone, carrying a cloth sack full of something. What it was, he wouldn’t say. The thing that had disturbed the younger Simon was that the sky was clear in New York that day. There hadn’t been rain for weeks. Now, as he climbed the stairs, Simon realized that his father must have used a Lazy. He’d returned from a rainy place halfway across the world. Probably plotting his son’s misery in some way.

  The betrayal was starting to settle in.

  “Maybe we should go back to help the others,” Gwen whispered after a few minutes of checking empty rooms.

  Simon shook his head. “Can’t you hear that? We’re losing out there. Finding Merlin is our only chance.”

  “Maybe we’re their only chance,” Chester barked. “We’re supposed to be leading New Camelot now. Merlin is just a servant!” Chester could barely speak through his pain, but he still managed to be arrogant and irritating.

  It was Chester’s last comment that finally extracted a response from the ghost town around them. It started as a chuckle.

  At first, Simon thought it was Caradoc. “What’s so funny?” he asked the troll. But someone else was laughing. Somewhere nearby.

  “A servant,” a man’s voice said. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell Merlin you said that. It’s not as if he can do anything to you. You’re the king, after all.” The four of them surveyed the room, swords and wand drawn.

  “Where is Merlin?” Simon asked the shadows.

  “He’s in this tower at the top of the stairs.” The party looked up and saw a spiral staircase leading straight up the tower. The area had been so destroyed that they would have missed it. The stair case was broken off at about the third floor.

  “Caradoc,” Simon said, with obvious urgency. “Can you get me onto that first step up there?”

  “I’ll probably have to throw you,” the troll said.

  “That’s not how this will happen, I’m afraid,” the voice hissed.

  “We don’t have time for games,” Simon yelled. “Thank you for pointing us to him, but stay out of our way. Merlin is our last hope to save New Camelot.”

  “Ah, but he’s not.”

  With that, Simon recognized the voice. Rukkush stepped out of the darkness and into the dim glow of the torches. Everyone raised their weapons. The wizard’s former apprentice was a bloody mess. He’d lost an ear and something was very wrong with one of his eyes, though Simon couldn’t make out what exactly.

  “In fact, your arrogant friend here, the ‘king,’ is correct,” Rukkush continued. “Your time is better spent saving the kingdom from Trejure’s army. Helping Merlin now will do more harm than good.”

  “You mean we should let Merlin die?” Gwen asked, furious.

  “If it saves New Camelot, yes. He’d want that, don’t you think? No matter to me. Thanks to your treacherous father, I have what I came for, boy.” Rukkush held up a small box.

  “What is that?” Caradoc asked.

  “Oh, just the revenge I’ve deserved for a thousand years.”

  And with that, the wall behind Rukkush crumbled and fell. The massive limp form of Trejure, former king of the dragons, smashed through. The bricks below his dead body were ground into a fine dust.

  “His army is now mine,” Rukkush said, surrounded by a cloud of dirt, but safely out of reach of his enemy’s fallen corpse. He opened the box and a small green light emanated from it. Rukkush’s skin began to glow orange. The dragon’s fire now crept just below his flesh. “Now you have a choice, young Simon. You can follow your heart and go up those stairs. Or you can follow your destiny and finish the battle of New Camelot.”

  Without a second’s hesitation, Simon walked up to Caradoc. “Throw me.”

  Caradoc tossed the boy up twenty feet. Simon landed gently on the first step and started to run up. Gwen was next, and finally, Chester. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Caradoc asked the king.

  “Why are you asking me that? You didn’t ask them that!” Chester whined.

  So Caradoc threw him, and enjoyed it. Chester landed as lightly as the others, but almost fell backward. His sister caught his hand and pulled him up.

  They rushed to catch up with Simon, who was already a couple of floors above them.

  As the small footsteps echoed through the tower, Rukkush regarded Caradoc. “You know you’ve sent them to their miserable end,” the old apprentice said.

  “I don’t know the half of you, but yer probably right.”

  “Your master will not be happy if they get to the wizard first.”

  “My master is a coward,” the troll grunted. “And I don’t care about me anymore.”

  Those were the last words of the gentle troll, Caradoc.

  50

  “How did they kidnap you?” Gwen whispered to her brother as they tiptoed over debris.

  Chester’s black eye closed as he frowned. “They snagged me from behind and pushed me through some hole in the air.”

  “Sounds like a Lazy,” Simon said.

  “Who asked you?” Chester sneered.

  Simon’s heart jumped when he heard movement from a nearby room. He moved over the dank cobblestones as lightly as his boots would allow, sword drawn. Gwen and Chester followed.

  A groan emerged from behind a large door. “Quiet,” he whispered, glaring at Chester, whose heavy breath could wake a hibernating bear. Gwen put her hand over her brother’s mouth.

  They all noticed their vambraces at the same time. Each one glowed a dim orange, as if their arms were on fire.

  “What does it mean?” Chester asked.

  “Don’t look at me,” Gwen said. “I know what you guys know.”

  “Ugh,” Chester muttered. “One more thing to worry about. This is all yer fault, Slimeon.”

  “What did you call me?” Hearing Brad’s old nickname for him triggered a fury that made Simon grasp his sword’s hilt. He took one large step toward his king. Chester backed up a step and raised his hands in surrender.

  “Simon,” Gwen whispered, trying to calm him down.

  “Hey. Just a joke, Simon,” Chester said, letting out a nervous laugh.

  Simon moved to the door. He put his ear to it. The shuffling he’d heard a moment ago had stopped. He pushed the door open slowly with the edge of his foot. Someone was on the other side. The certainty of it made him focus. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he entered.

  It was Merlin.

  He lay on the floor of an empty room, bleeding, with a sword stuck into his shoulder, much too close to his heart. The wall had been blown out and they had a spectacular view of New Camelot burning. A dragon flew by, paying them no heed.

  Merlin’s face was whiter than usual. As white as his bushy mustache.

  Simon ran to him.

  “No. You fool,” Merlin managed to whisper before Simon felt a heavy blow on the back of his legs.

  Through sparks of agonizing pain Simon saw Red standing over him. His former friend stuck the point of his sword in Simon’s face.

  But Red failed to consider the big picture.

  Gwen stuck her wand into the nape of Red’s neck. “Get away from him, jerk!” she said.

  Red
held up his hands. “I never liked you,” he said to her.

  “I never knew you existed,” Gwen replied.

  Red stepped sideways quickly and pushed onto the hilt of the sword that stuck out of the old wizard. Merlin hissed in pain.

  “Stay away from me, or I finish him off.” Red moved the sword. Every inch was agony for the old man.

  No one knew what to do, except Merlin, who laughed. Red responded by pushing the sword in deeper.

  “He can’t even lift this sword from the ground,” the old man taunted through gritted, bloody teeth.

  Gwen took a step toward Red. He tried to pull the weapon from the wizard’s shoulder. It didn’t budge.

  Gwen punched him in the jaw. He crumpled to the floor on top of Merlin.

  “Sweet, Sis!” Chester hollered.

  “Kindly get this peon off of me,” Merlin said, barely louder than a whisper. “And remove Excalibur from my shoulder, Arthur. Take your place as rightful ruler of Camelot!”

  Even Simon, whose legs felt broken, forgot about his pain for a second. The sword in Merlin’s shoulder was Excalibur?

  “Don’t stand there like a ninny, boy! Yank it out so Gwen can heal me! Yes, don’t look at me like that girl. I know you’re a healer. Now chop chop.”

  Chester stumbled forward. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt. The orange glow inside the kids’ vambraces grew brighter. Chester savored the moment, as if he’d waited his whole life for it. He pulled…

  The sword didn’t budge.

  “Curious. Try the hand with the vambrace,” Merlin suggested.

  He did. Nothing. Not even the slightest movement.

  “Curiouser,” Merlin mumbled. “Simon! Get up! I have another minute to live, at best.”

  “I can’t get up. I think my legs are broken.”

  Even in his death throes, Merlin managed to roll his eyes. “Why am I the only one who enjoys having an idea around here? Gwen, heal him!”

  “But how did you know I could…”

  “Thirty seconds,” Merlin said. His voice was losing its edge.

  Gwen put her hands on the back of Simon’s legs. There was no blood. Red had hit him with the flat of his sword.