When I fed next, it would be vicious and bloody. Besides, I had another in mind. No, I would leave John Faraday as I found him, alive and pining for the past. I needed to prepare for my inevitable journey.
Just then, I spotted the sword of Britain on full display. Although coupled with other historic reproductions and incorrectly labeled as a sword of undetermined ownership, I knew it as well as I knew one of my own children. Excalibur!
Reaching for it, I touched the hilt. It wasn’t housed in glass as I expected it would be. It was in full view, and presumably anyone could touch it as I did now. When I put my hand on the weapon, I immediately knew it was not the true sword. It held no life, no magic. What I held in my hand was a fantastic reproduction; the weight was wrong, the craftsmanship shoddy upon closer inspection and the renowned energy of the magical sword certainly absent. I put it back.
Then I realized the truth.
If this was a reproduction, then someone had seen the original. No one could have imagined so precise a copy without having laid eyes upon Excalibur. Plainly scripted in the runes of Avalon was Arthur’s motto on the blade. I could no longer delay my duty. Morgan had been wrong about Excalibur and me. I remembered full well where the sword lay hidden, and I knew exactly where I placed it.
But what if her theory about Excalibur and Arthur was correct? What if the sword was trying to find its way back to him? It was not yet in her possession, but she would find a way—Morgan was a resourceful woman. There was only one way to find out, and if I did this, I would not be able to turn back. I would have to see it through and abandon my resting place…and hope that I could find something suitable to replace it.
Hunger cramped my stomach, I felt cold and tired, as I always did when I failed to take life. With the last of my strength, I slipped out of the museum and into the smelly streets of Old Thistledown.
Hungry or not, I needed to see Excalibur with my own eyes. And ready or not, eventually I would have to find Arthur. I had to protect him, serve him, as I always had. Just as Lancelot always had.
No matter what it cost me.
Chapter Four—Luke Ryan
The ground shook, and for one horrible moment I imagined the worst. The screams echoing from the chamber confirmed that I wasn’t just imagining the worst—it had probably happened. One of my crew was in danger—Markie, Wheeler’s kid, a newbie but a valuable member of our tight-knit team. Markie was full of spit and vinegar, as my old man would say, always anxious to prove himself to the older, more experienced miners. Especially his father. But I’d made the wrong decision, buckled under pressure and allowed Markie the chance to prove his toughness. The kid had no business handling the dud—that had been my task. I’d been the one to send him in, too. We should have told McAllister to screw off; we should have waited for the robot. It would have taken a day to get here, and the company would have lost money, but I didn’t give a damn about that. Nothing was more important to me than my guys. They were my family.
Barreling past Buddy and Pint, I ran pell-mell through the cloud of smoke that billowed from the mine’s portal. What the hell had I been thinking? “Markie!” I yelled as I ignored Buddy’s warning and ran to the end of the passage, taking a left at the fork. Another scream issued from somewhere deeper in the mine, which got my adrenaline and legs pumping faster. I covered my mouth with a rag from my pocket as thick dust and heat assaulted my throat. I sweated as I ran—I had to be getting close to the newbie now, but I couldn’t see a damn thing. I came to an obstruction that I couldn’t navigate, a rock pile. Make that multiple rock piles. They littered the cave floor so it looked like I was walking on a strange, Martian landscape. Or in Dante’s inferno. “Mark!” I yelled, tucking the rag in my back pocket and coughing my brains out.
A moan echoed through the chamber, and I raced toward the sound. Markie Wheeler was sprawled out in front of me, a cascade of rocks across his back and legs. I knelt down beside him, radioed back for more helping hands and began digging my guy out.
“Talk to me, kid. Can you hear me? Talk to me, Markie!”
He coughed and moaned and said, “I would if you’d shut up…sir.”
I couldn’t help but grin at hearing his attitude. “That’s great, Markie. Keep it up. Don’t move, though. We’ve got a medic right outside; we’ll get you out.” And then the cave shook. The Cavanaugh Mine threatened to seal us both in, putting an end to any further gold extraction—or human extraction, for that matter.
“I’m sorry, boss. The thing just blew before I could get to it.” He was crying now, his courage gone, and I wanted to cry along with him.
“Cut that bull out. You don’t have any reason to apologize, Markie. It should have been me in here, not you.”
I could hear voices approaching us from the entrance. It was Wheeler, Pint and Buddy, along with the rest of the guys who were brave enough to enter this death trap. They fearlessly faced the danger to rescue their brother…or in Wheeler’s case, his son. Although they were father and son, Norman Wheeler and Markie looked nothing alike. Wheeler was short and bald with serious black eyebrows that were easily his most notable feature. Markie was as light as his father was dark, with pale skin, white-blond hair and light blue eyes. He was an oddity, or so I’d thought when I first met him. He looked like a creature you might expect to find living in a cave that had never seen the light of day. But Markie took the ribbing about his looks good-naturedly, and he worked hard. And today when the dynamite didn’t explode, he demanded the opportunity to fix the problem. The kid had the chops to replace the wick and reset the charge, but something had gone horribly wrong.
As I moved the rocks from his body, I could plainly see that Markie was seriously hurt. He looked like someone who’d been stoned by an angry mob of giants. I was sure parts of him were crushed; he was bleeding at his temple and from his nose. Some of his fingers were mangled, and he had the wide-eyed look of someone in shock.
“Son, speak to me,” Wheeler said as he got down beside Markie. I called the medics in, and we set about securing the room as best we could so the team could evacuate the kid safely. After we had worked for what seemed like an eternity, the rescue team was finally carrying Markie out.
As I walked beside him and his father, I knew I had made a serious mistake. “Wheeler, I am so sorry. I truly am.”
“No sense in being sorry. This is the way he wanted it. You know Markie; he had to prove to everyone that he was a true-blue miner.”
“He’s done that. He’s true blue to the bone. Like his old man.”
The emergency workers would not allow me to ride with the guys to the hospital; Wheeler would ride inside. And although the rest of the crew assured me I had done nothing wrong, I knew the truth. I shouldn’t have let Markie go in, but I did. And now I would have to live with that for the rest of my life. Come on, kid. You have to make it!
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Buddy said as we watched the truck leave, the red lights flashing and siren screaming. That seemed an odd thing to say to me right now.
“What?”
“It’s not important. Come on. Let’s go to the Questing Beast. They have a special on burgers and beers tonight. Wheeler will call us when he learns something.”
“I’m not hungry. Besides, I think I need to go to the hospital. I need to be there for Markie.”
“Leave it be. Leave it be, Ryan. Let Markie and Wheeler have their time together. You go see him tomorrow.”
You mean whatever time they have together. What if there is no tomorrow for Markie?
Of course, I kept that thought to myself. I climbed in Buddy’s van, and we headed to the local pub, a place called the Questing Beast Tavern. As we pulled up, I could see some of my guys had already arrived. With glum greetings, they set about drinking the day’s horrible events away, and I joined them at the bar. I always sat near the door, and tonight I could hear the wooden sign swing in the breeze. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I liked sitting in this spo
t so much. We sat quietly, none of us talking much as we waited for a call from Wheeler. And while we waited, we drank. I passed on the burgers but drank until I was bleary-eyed. My heart broke for Markie, and I couldn’t help but replay the day’s events again in my mind. I recalled every detail of this morning, of drilling the hole, packing the dynamite, running the lines. We had followed every procedure; we had done everything right, and it still hadn’t mattered. Misfires happened from time to time, but I should never have sent a greenhorn into the mine—that should always be my job. If anyone was going to die for the Cavanaugh Mining Company, it should have been me.
“Accidents happen, Ryan. Beating yourself up over it isn’t doing that young man any good. What could you have done to prevent it? See the future?” As always, Buddy Moran stood by me in word and deed, but even he hadn’t liked the idea of Markie going in.
“You knew, I think. You told me not to send him.”
Buddy shook his head as if he disagreed with my memory. “You can’t change the past, my friend. I just hope…”
“Stop right there. Don’t say out loud what you don’t want to see happen.” We didn’t talk much after that. It was so quiet that we could hear the clock tick on the wall. Murray continued to pull beers from the draught. I don’t think anyone ordered food.
No one called to give us any news, and I feared the worst with every passing minute. How many people could survive an explosion like that? None that I’d ever heard of. It would take nothing short of a miracle for Markie to survive the crushing and pounding of a half-ton of stones. And where had Buddy gone to? He was just here beside me at the bar, and now the old man was gone.
“Buddy?” I called toward the half-open door of the only restroom. There was no light on inside the dank bathroom, and he didn’t answer me. That’s great. He was my ride.
I glanced up at the clock; it was half past nine. And then I remembered Michelle. Damn! I had a date tonight…it was our one-year anniversary, and I’d forgotten all about it. Some part of me wanted to call her and explain, but I knew she wouldn’t understand. Besides, I couldn’t for the life of me remember when I last saw my phone today, and the phone on the wall demanded a pocket full of change that I didn’t have. A perfumed stirring of air beside me drew my attention away from the muted television. Every eye in the room was on the exotic-looking woman who made herself at home beside me.
“Mister Ryan. Just the man I was looking for.”
“Do I know you, lady?”
With a mysterious smile, she answered, “I don’t know. Do you?”
How to answer that? I couldn’t imagine what she wanted, but I knew one thing for sure—she was going to be trouble. Pretty faces like hers always came with a big helping of that, and I had no mind for games.
“McAllister send you?”
“No, Mr. Ryan. Mr. McAllister did not send me.”
“Lawyer, then?”
She laughed, but it didn’t sound genuine. No, this woman had an agenda. “Short and sweet. That’s how you like it, isn’t it? I like that.” She nodded once and offered me her hand. I shook it, but only so I could spur this conversation along.
She dropped my hand and gave me a soul-piercing look. “Let’s try this again. Are you Luke Ryan?”
Chapter Five—Morgan LeFay
The man I once called brother looked at me; his empty expression humored me no end, but laughing in his face would not help my cause. Here was the Bear of Britain, the son of the Dragon, drowning himself in stale beer surrounded by human fools and the common trappings of modern life. Gone were his red banners embroidered with gold dragons. His great hall had fallen to the ground long ago, the timbers rotten, and even the mighty stones that supported the weight of the keep had broken. I wished he could see it. Such a sight would break his heart if I could trigger his past life memory. And I wanted him to feel broken as I felt broken. I wanted him to know the pain of losing everything for a second time.
“My, how the mighty have fallen!” I murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just an unimportant observation, Mr. Ryan. Bartender, may I have something to drink? A whiskey, please? No ice.” Within seconds, a stringy-haired man set an amber-colored drink in front of me. “My name is Morrigan, Lucy Morrigan. I am here with a proposal for you, Mr. Ryan.”
He gave me a perturbed frown and said, “I’ll be honest, Lucy. I’m not looking for company—or any other type of proposal. So if you don’t mind…”
So like Arthur to think every woman in the world wanted him. Even his own sister. Strange…I had imagined that I would relish this introduction much more than I actually was. All I felt at the moment was frustration. How could he so easily forget me? Forget who he was? I never could. Not in a hundred lifetimes. Didn’t that prove my claim that I should have the sword—that I was the true Pendragon? My allies agreed with me, and they were gathering closer. Soon they would be strong enough to slip through the veil and into this world.
And then what fun we would have!
“There is a rumor that you may soon need a job, Luke. May I call you Luke, or do you prefer Mr. Ryan?”
His face crumpled, and he turned away from me and stared at the television while he sipped his beer. Oh my, how easily I struck at your pride, brother. At least that has not changed. “Who told you I needed a job?”
“It stands to reason, doesn’t it, Mr. Ryan? You had a misfire today, and a sacrifice was made. Now, I’m not assigning blame. I understand these things, Luke. Some people are expendable, but the Cavanaugh Mining Company understands that too. And they aren’t going to support you if the tide turns against you. Cavanaugh will always put their best interests first. That’s the law of the corporate jungle, Mr. Ryan.”
“I didn’t sacrifice anyone. It was an accident. And if I’m such a screw-up, why are you here? If you think I’m damaged goods, if I’m willing to sacrifice someone to get the job done, why would your company want me? Seems kind of counterintuitive for someone who knows the law of the corporate jungle.” He drained the remainder of the beer from his glass and raised it for a refill. Arthur cut his hazel eyes at me and clenched his jaw. How alike he was to the man I knew as king! Oh yes, this would be delightful. I could not wait to tell him how much I enjoyed spending time with Alwen before she died. Poor fool of a girl. Loyal until the end, even when her mother’s crimes were laid before her.
“I didn’t say you purposefully put anyone in harm’s way, Mr. Ryan. My apologies. I can see that you are the kind of man who feels responsible for his crew. To be honest with you, that’s one of the reasons why the company I represent, Malvin Enterprises,” I said with another smile as if my lie were the truth, “would like to hire you. We have a silver mine, small but incredibly lucrative with a newly discovered vein. This is a once-in-a-lifetime deal, Luke.”
“Silver? How come this is the first I’ve heard of it? And I’ve never heard of Malvin Enterprises.” As he appraised me, I could see he didn’t quite believe me. Shrewd man, less trusting now. as to be expected.
“Nevertheless, I was sent to meet with you, and here I am. I’ve got a huge vein of silver to move, Mr. Ryan, but if you’re not interested, I understand.” I dug in my jacket pocket and removed a business card. Placing it in front of him, I swallowed the whiskey. It burned my throat, but I didn’t flinch. The warmth it created excited me. I felt my cheeks warm and wondered if it looked like I was blushing. I hoped so, as that would help my attempt at appearing human. How long had it been since I’d had a good blush? Blushing exuded weakness, and I was nothing if not strong. I’d had to be strong and demanding, or else I would have been left behind. Once I had been loved, even celebrated, but then Arthur had come along. The young Dragon had robbed me of my parents’ love…and my birthright. Who would ever believe that Lochlon was the son of Arthur? He looked nothing like him, and that fact was the object of much gossip at court. Lochlon was dark, and Arthur was light. And Guinevere… Well, she had never been true to my brother, and he had been
a fool to think otherwise. Mordred, my own son, Lancelot’s son—the true blood of the Pendragon—should have been presented the sword. They should’ve bent the knee to him while they had a chance.
Arthur… We could have ruled as one, my brother. If only you would’ve put her away. If only you would’ve put Britain first. But here we are now. And I will have Excalibur!
“Hello? Miss Morrigan?”
“Oh, sorry. Daydreaming. It is well past my bedtime, Mr. Ryan. What did you say?”
“I just told you I don’t need a job.” He eyeballed me as if I were a blabbering fool. My patience was wearing thin. And time truly was of the essence; that part had not been a lie. I could feel the strength of my curse waning. Whatever was to be done had to be done now.
“And I told you that I hear things, Luke. You have the reputation of being a risk-taker. I like that characteristic in a leader, and so does the interest I represent. To put it bluntly, Luke Ryan, I want you.”
He sat up stiffly in his seat and stared at me, his eyes red from beer. “Who did you say you were again?”
Masking my rage with a blank smile, I repeated myself as if I were speaking to a small child who had forgotten his lines at a school play. “Lucy Morrigan. I represent Malvin Enterprises. Keep my card, Mr. Ryan. You might need it sooner than you think.” His jaw clenched again, but he didn’t argue with me. I loved these human moments. I had so few of them nowadays. Without waiting for an answer or any further arguments, I left my card in front of him and walked out of the bar. I felt Arthur’s eyes on me as I made my way out the door, and I couldn’t help but smile. I would hear from him soon enough.
Unfortunately, the young man had not died as I had planned, but surely there would be enough damage to the mine that things would go the way I wanted. Yes, my friend would make that happen. I smiled up at the moon as if it were in on my plans. Yes, that had gone well, even if it was a subtler approach than I would have used in years gone by. A less patient version of me would have gone into the Questing Beast with guns blazing, like a villain in an Old West film. I liked the picture shows, and tales of the American West were my favorite. Probably because I had such an affinity for that time period. So much freedom, so little law. Yes, those had been glorious times.
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