I noticed Arthur and Gwenivere stare warily at the doors for a moment. Our leaders exchanged an odd glance, but after a second of hesitation they asked Blue to move aside and kicked open the doors together.
The huge, unfurnished room we entered had oak floors, walls with peeling, pale-yellow paint, and big dirty windows partially covered by sagging, dusty drapes. It was as if no one—not even the castle cleaning staff—had been in here for some time.
Speaking of the castle staff, about twenty of them, along with some courtiers, were corralled in the corner of the room. Rampart’s men guarded them. Several of the knights held servants by an arm or had swords trained on their captives’ chests.
Rampart’s trophy wife—the redhead whose name I didn’t know and didn’t care about—stood in front of them. She was trembling and appeared frail and afraid, not worthy of the glittering gold and sapphire crown she wore upon her head.
Rampart stood a few feet in front of her with his hands behind his back. His expression was calm, but the mere fact that Blue had sensed him with her Questor Beast powers was a tell that he was anything but.
“Nice entrance,” Rampart said to Arthur. “For a man back from the dead, I would have considered something a little more subtle.”
“Nice place to hide,” Arthur returned. “For a king, I would have considered something a little less distasteful.”
“What, this?” Rampart feigned surprise, gesturing around the room. “Oh, that’s right . . .” He strode forward. “This was your son’s room before he died. I never got around to refurbishing it during my reign, but it’s such a big castle. Gwenivere, I don’t know how you managed. Perhaps it was for the best that you never had more children to distract you from overseeing the help.”
Gwenivere didn’t say anything, but I could feel the rage radiating off her. She raised her sword, but the moment she did, the enemy knights lifted their blades to the throats of their hostages. Rampart made a tsk tsk sound and wagged his finger.
“Now, now, Gwenivere. What kind of queen would you be if you let all these innocent people die just to settle a score with me? Not the kind of queen that your people would support as my replacement.”
He nodded to our right, alluding to a dodgeball-sized translucent orb floating in the corner. It was a projection orb—like the kind we used during Twenty-Three Skidd matches in Book to capture the action in the sky and display it for the arena below. I spotted four more throughout the room.
“This scene can be seen all across the citadel,” Rampart explained. “You pretend you’re such worthy leaders—Gwen, Arthur—but you are as ruthless as I am. My wife has a charge in her hand.” He gestured to the redhead and she meekly opened her fist to reveal a small metallic contraption. “In addition to the good folks here,” Rampart continued, waving at the prisoners, “the rest of the castle staff are in the dungeons, which are rigged to blow with explosives. Take me out and they’ll be buried beneath the mountain.”
“Dude, you really suck,” Peter said.
Rampart glared irritably at the kid but continued to address Arthur and Gwenivere. “So go ahead, your majesties. Take your shot and show Camelot who you are. You’ll let all these innocent people die just to get to me and claim the throne.”
“No,” Arthur said, stepping forward.
“No?” Rampart repeated mockingly. “Then what, Arthur?”
“You and me,” Arthur said. “We fight alone, like honorable knights once did. The innocent go unharmed. Whoever wins is the rightful king. If I kill you, then your wife and your men let all these people go. If you kill me, our army stands down and surrenders to you, pledging allegiance and vowing never to take revenge.”
I saw Ormé’s eyes widen in disbelief, but she remained quiet.
Rampart huffed in amusement. “A fine offer if it wasn’t coated in deceit. I could best you in normal combat, Arthur, but you wield Excalibur. That blade enhances the skill of any man who possesses it. You speak of honor but you would win this kingdom through an unfair fight.”
“Not at all.” Arthur stepped forward with Excalibur raised. Its blue glow caused Rampart to flinch. “In fact, I say this to you.” He regarded the projection orbs. “I say this to all of you. I was never your king because I wielded Excalibur, or because I had Merlin’s power of foresight, or because of the Pendragon blood in my veins. None of that matters in the end. All it comes down to is honor and a willingness to fight for what you believe in and the people you wish to protect.”
Our king placed Excalibur on the floor. “Unlike you, Rampart, I fight to protect this realm’s people, as well as those in service to me. And as to what I believe in, I believe in this kingdom, and that I am a better man than you. So here.”
Arthur kicked Excalibur across the smooth wooden floor and it skidded to a stop at Rampart’s feet.
“You fight with Excalibur,” Arthur said. “I don’t need it.”
Several mouths—including mine—dropped. Rampart slowly bent to pick up the superior blade, keeping his eyes on Arthur. Only when he was fully upright again did he take a moment to admire the sword as it shimmered in his wicked hands.
“Do we have a duel?” Arthur asked.
Rampart’s expression sharpened with confidence and darkness. “We do.”
Gwenivere opened her mouth to protest, but Arthur shook his head gently. “I know what you are thinking,” he said solemnly. “But you know it’s right. And there is no other way.” He held out his hand to her. “May I borrow your sword?”
The queen placed the handle of her blade in Arthur’s palm. Then she grabbed him around the back of the neck and kissed him deeply. It was so sincere it made me tingle with all sorts of girl feelings. Upon seeing their kiss, Rampart kissed the free hand of his redheaded wife, but their performance was nothing in comparison. It kind of made me want to roll my eyes.
“To the death,” Rampart said as he twirled Excalibur and strutted to the center of the room, squaring off our king.
“That might come sooner than you think,” Arthur responded, walking forward.
Rampart grinned maliciously and charged. Arthur moved to counter his strike. The fight was on and it was brutal. The kings’ blades collided again and again and again. Sparks flew as steel impacted steel. Both men were powerful, but soon I saw Rampart’s confidence begin to waver. The tide was turning. Despite Excalibur’s powerful magic, Arthur soon shifted from defense to offense, advancing. He backed Rampart across the room.
Rampart spun to his knees with the intention of striking Arthur’s legs, but Arthur anticipated the move and did the same. With a fluid sweep, our king blocked his enemy’s strike then plunged his sword down to block a follow-up stab. Rampart abruptly lunged into Arthur, tackling him in a way that thrust our king over Rampart’s back. But as Arthur was thrown, he wrapped his legs around Rampart and took the false king with him, tossing him to the side with force.
The projection orbs zipped around to get better angles of the action.
Arthur was on the ground in a lower position when both men landed, but was ready when Rampart attempted to drive Excalibur through him. Arthur blocked then thrust his sword against Rampart’s armored chest. It didn’t penetrate the armor, but the strike was so strong it knocked the false king back several feet, giving Arthur a chance to jump up.
It felt as though the kings were moving faster and faster—striking, ducking, and changing sides with such speed that it was difficult to keep up.
Arthur turned. It looked like he was going to slash his sword, but instead he sent a powerful reverse kick into Rampart’s chest. Rampart fell against the wall and Arthur rushed in. Rampart scarcely had time to raise Excalibur to block. The two men collided—each with an arm and a sword gridlocked in stalemate, and so close to one another’s necks that a single faltering move would end the fight.
Arthur pressed Rampart against the wall so hard I thought it might crack. The projection orbs zoomed in.
“You won’t win,” Rampart said thro
ugh gritted teeth. “No matter what happens today, antagonists like me will always keep coming until you die.”
Arthur stole a glance at Peter. “To quote a friend of mine, ‘To die would be a great adventure.’ I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.”
Arthur suddenly diverted his weapon. He grasped Rampart’s sword hand and wrapped his right arm around Rampart’s neck. Then our king hurled his enemy to the ground in the center of the room.
Arthur walked toward him slowly. The false king got to his knees. He raised Excalibur to lash out, but Arthur kicked his hand away, lunged in, and punched him in the face. Rampart attempted to strike again, but this time Arthur cut down with the full weight of his sword and knocked Excalibur clean from Rampart’s grip. It clattered to the floor and slid out of reach.
I caught a split-second glimpse of the fear in Rampart’s eyes. He knew it was over. We all did. I looked away just as Arthur delivered the final blow and ended the false king once and forever.
THUD.
I opened my eyes. Arthur stepped around Rampart’s fallen body. He retrieved Excalibur from the ground and gestured for Gwenivere to join him in the center of the room. He returned her sword, took her hand, and pivoted to address the knights and innocents of the room, as well as our team assembled at the door and the projection orbs.
“A long time ago, Merlin uttered the Great Lights Prophecy. I know it line for line as most people do:
A game of four kings
Three of them lost
A struggle for the realm
Where one king pays the cost.
This fate will be forged
By one Knight alone
Born of royal blood
Heir to the lion’s throne.
The Oath pledged to Camelot’s king
Endowed with the quest
And blessed by the Boar’s Mouth
With strength to pass the test.
The Lake shall be crossed
And the Sword will be found
To the rightful king returned
When Great Lights strike the ground.
“Tonight, one king paid the cost.” Arthur gestured to Rampart’s body. “And as prophecy foretold, a Knight of royal blood took The Pentecostal Oath to restore Excalibur to the rightful king of this land when the Great Lights were inbound for our world.” Arthur pointed his sword at me and gave me a solemn nod.
“Now I say this to all of you, a mere hour before the Great Lights collide with us. I am Arthur Pendragon and this is my wife Gwenivere Pendragon. If you’ll have us, we will rule Camelot together and return it to the beacon of prosperity and honor it once was. So I ask you, will you stand with us?”
The room was silent at first. But then I heard a faraway sound.
“What’s that?” Blue asked.
Peter flew across the room and began to throw open the curtains and then the windows. The moment he did, the sound amplified. It was cheering. My friends and I stepped closer. Through the windows we could see the enormous holographic screens produced by the projection orbs floating in the sky over the citadel. They all focused on images of Arthur. Everyone in the citadel had heard the king’s words and his question, and now they were giving him their response.
Loud clangs of metal against wood drew my attention back into the room. Rampart’s knights had dropped their weapons and fallen to their knees. The castle staff and courtiers were surprised to be free initially, but then they knelt as well, bowing their heads to Arthur and Gwenivere.
The only one who didn’t kneel was Rampart’s wife. As the cheers persisted outside, she strode across the room in full view of the projection orbs. Her shaking had ceased and she no longer appeared frail. The woman stopped in front of Arthur and Gwenivere and handed the activation device in her palm to the king. Then she removed the crown from her head and presented it to Gwenivere without remorse or hesitation.
“I believe this belongs to you,” she said.
he war in Camelot wrapped up quickly.
Anyone who’d seen the Arthur-Rampart duel was on board with Arthur and Gwenivere’s return to rule. Most of Rampart’s knights were already dead, and I didn’t know how Arthur and Gwenivere were going to deal with the ones who were still alive, including the ones who’d just bowed and pledged allegiance to them. Getting off scot-free didn’t seem like an option. But then, cleaning house wasn’t my job.
“That was a very wise, but very stupid thing you did, dear,” Gwenivere chided Arthur as we strode down the final flight of stairs to the ground floor. She had her arm linked through his.
“Do you regret how I handled it?” Arthur replied.
“Only one aspect.”
“What’s that?”
We arrived in the spacious foyer of gray tile and marble columns at the bottom of the stairs. There was a significant crack in the ground where Morgause had landed, but her body had been taken away. Navy knights, Gwenivere Brigade girls, and castle staff had already started on post-battle chores, cleaning up the warzone.
Gwenivere nodded to those that bowed to her and Arthur as they passed. “Well, I would have liked to have stabbed Rampart once or twice before you killed him,” she said.
“Naturally.” Arthur smiled. “I hope you can forgive me. We’ll find you another antagonist to stab soon, I promise.”
I can make a few suggestions.
As our main party—consisting of the king, queen, Ormé, Blue, Peter, and I—had descended, various Gwenivere Brigade girls, Morgan, and navy knights had joined the procession. We also had the freed castle staff and courtiers from upstairs in tow, along with the newly reformed remaining knights from Rampart’s army.
Most of the group parted ways when we arrived in the foyer. Members of the castle staff led a team of our allies to the dungeons to disarm the charges and free the servants and courtiers Rampart had locked away. Gwenivere Brigade girls escorted the enemy knights who’d surrendered to a different part of the castle. The rest of the ensemble characters scurried off to help with the cleanup, care for the wounded, and re-establish order—basically take care of any of the many things that needed doing after a major siege. Meanwhile, the redheaded wife of Rampart—whose name was Melonie—and some courtiers helped Morgan to the castle infirmary to rest.
After the duel, Melonie had told us her story. Rampart had forced her to marry him six months ago because his close relationship with Morgause was giving him a reputation as a “Grandma’s Boy” and he felt the need to counteract that image by choosing a wife. The castle staff and courtiers backed up her story. They actually felt sorry for her, saying that she’d been as much a prisoner here as anyone else.
Speaking of prisoners . . .
“I almost forgot! We need to free Ozma!” I said.
My friends turned to look at me. They all knew about her; I had shared exposition about the captured little queen earlier when we were portal-hopping.
“She’s in the dungeon,” I said. “I forgot to mention it before the staff took our people downstairs. I should go tell them.”
“The sun is going down Crisa,” Blue interjected. “We have to go. We need to be in Oz when the Vicennalia Aurora hits. That’s less than an hour from now.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “But I’m sure we’ll make it.” I turned on my Hole Tracker and gazed at the map. “See, now that the Aurora is so close, there are tons of wormholes opening. We’ll just portal-hop like we did before. Freeing Ozma will only take a minute.”
“Ah, Crisanta Knight. Always trying to save everyone . . .” Merlin’s voice echoed through the room. I pivoted around and saw him approaching—staff in hand, expression mischievous.
Arthur’s face lit up. “Merlin, you wonderful weirdo,” he said. In a very un-kingly display of affection, Arthur gave the wizard a solid hug, which Merlin reciprocated.
“It’s good to see you, Artie,” Merlin said. “You haven’t aged a day.”
“Neverland has its benefits.” Arthur shrugged. “Though I’m glad to be out of t
here, thanks to Crisa.”
I stood frozen, staring at the wizard. My fists clenched involuntarily.
“Yes,” Merlin agreed, walking over to me. “And as I was saying, Crisanta, you and your friends must leave. Don’t worry about Ozma, you have to—”
I punched him in the face.
“Crisa!” Gwenivere gasped.
I hadn’t meant to do it. But all that rage and regret and helplessness Merlin had forced upon me by not letting me save those people earlier sort of exploded when I saw him. My emotions washed over my good sense.
The wizard stumbled back a few steps. I shook my hand, which hurt from hitting him so hard. Despite everything they’d seen today, I was sure the members of our team had not been more shocked than in that moment. Or maybe it was the moment after. When Merlin laughed.
“You think this is funny?” I said angrily. “You can’t decide what I can and can’t use my magic for, Merlin. I could have saved those people in the ballroom and you took that away from me!”
“But with good reason,” Merlin said calmly. “I foresaw you needing your powers later. If I’d let you use them in the ballroom, you wouldn’t have the strength for a more important task in the near future.”
“You don’t have the right to manipulate people based on what you’ve foreseen in your visions.”
“Don’t you do the same?” Merlin countered.
I had no reply. Merlin took advantage. He put his hand on my shoulder, which I bitterly shrugged off.
“Crisanta, hate me if you want. But I did it for the greater good and for your own good. And now is not the time for us to argue about it. Like your friend Blue said, you shouldn’t waste any more time. Nor do you need to. I have already freed Ozma. I just came from the dungeons with SJ.”
“Where is Ozma now?” Peter asked from where he was floating by the stairs. He’d been fiddling with the Hole Tracker he’d taken off Rampart’s body, but now stopped and landed beside me.
“The remarkable Peter Pan,” Merlin said. “I was hoping to meet you one day. To answer your question, Ozma is in the infirmary. Rampart had her contained in some kind of life-sustaining fluid. She should wake in about half an hour. Daniel’s girlfriend Kai is resting in the infirmary too. That magic she absorbed from Morgause was a lot to take in. Daniel and Jason are with her.”
Crisanta Knight: The Lost King Page 14
