by Matt Phelan
At that moment Bors opened his weary eyes.
“Mel!” he called.
He launched himself from his own raft to swim after Mel. Knights, however, are lousy swimmers. It has a lot to do with the chain mail they wear. And the weapons. Nevertheless, Bors flailed his arms in a frenzied approximation of swimming without concern for his own safety.
He went under.
And his belly immediately touched the sandy bottom. The waves rolled over his back, and Bors sat up in surprise. Sitting there, the water only came up to his chest.
He peered into the darkness. Mel was about twenty feet away. Standing. They had reached land.
They all trudged out of the surf and stumbled up the sandy beach out of the tide before collapsing once again from sheer exhaustion.
Sometime later a boot to the ribs stirred Sir Erec.
“Ow!” he groused.
Erec looked up. Three men were standing over the knights. It was morning, but a gray, bleak sort of morning.
Erec sat up slowly. He squinted at the tallest of the men.
“Agravaine?”
He turned to the second man.
“Gareth?”
Erec looked up at the brute who had kicked him. He was the roughest looking of the bunch.
“I don’t know you.”
The brute kicked him again.
“Stop it! I can tell from your manners that you’re related. Don’t tell me. We’re in Orkney.”
Agravaine took a step closer.
“The Orkney Isles. A place of wild beauty and noble history. A land of—”
“Save it for the tourists, Agravaine,” grumbled Bors. “We need a ship to take us back to civilization.”
The brutish one took a menacing stomp toward Bors. Agravaine held up a hand.
“No, Gorp. Perhaps you do not know. This band is the very same that battled the so-called terrible lizards. They are honored guests.”
“Guests of whom?” asked Magdalena.
Agravaine faced her with a smile.
“Why, Queen Morgause, of course. Come, Black Knight. She is expecting you.”
The knights and Mel got to their feet and followed the Orkneys up a path from the shore. No one spoke, but all were alert to their surroundings, and more importantly, to their company.
A word about the Orkneys. The Orkney Isles are located north of Scotland. They are wild, untamed islands with a long history of magic and legendary heroes. King Lot ruled them with Queen Morgause until his rebellion was put to an end by a young King Arthur. Arthur’s father also had run-ins with the Orkney Clan, with mostly bad results. So although Gawain, Agravaine, and Gareth were all Knights of the Round Table, plenty of “bad blood” and old grudges were still in the mix. Sir Gawain was an exemplary knight, the others less so.
They entered a village that sat below the dark keep of a castle. The homes were small and modest, dried mud or stone structures with wood doors, shuttered windows, and thatched roofs. As the company passed, a few villagers peered out of windows or doorways. None waved. Not one smiled. It was strangely quiet.
“Hello, villagers!” said Hector pleasantly.
Bors eyed a couple of the men. They stared back with hardened faces. The women held their children close.
“They don’t seem pleased to see us,” whispered Mel.
“Oh, you know how it is in places like Orkney,” said Erec. “‘Remote’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. They’re not used to visitors. Especially Knights of the Round Table.”
“Hail, Sir Gawain!” one of the village women called out.
“No, I am Sir Erec. Gawain is back in Camelot,” called Erec to blank stares. “Cam-e-lot.”
“Our brother Gawain is much loved, Sir Erec,” said Agravaine. “Even when he is forced to be in England, his heart remains here in Orkney.”
“Oh, right,” said Erec. “Of course.”
They continued on the muddy road toward the castle. It was foreboding but simple, no flourishes like spires or even banners. The castle was the same dark gray of the Orkney sky. Mysterious, cold, and unwelcoming.
“Home,” grunted Gorp.
A long rectangular table had been set in a drafty hall lit by a few torches and a hearth fire. A smaller table sat in the corner. A very somber boy sat at that one. He was a few years younger than Mel, well dressed in black velvet with eyes that matched his garment. He was pasty pale and rather thin. The boy stood as they approached.
Agravaine gestured to Mel.
“You. You are to sit with our youngest brother, Mordred.”
“Mel is one of us,” said Magdalena.
“Mother’s request,” answered Agravaine. “She thinks Mordred and . . . Mel . . . will amuse each other.”
Mel eyed Mordred. Mordred’s lips spread awkwardly in an attempt at a smile. Mel glanced at Magdalena, who nodded. Mel trudged over to the small table.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mordred, pulling out a chair. “I am Mordred. I am the special one.”
“Oh?” said Mel. “That’s nice for you. Why are you special?”
“Mother says so,” he said simply. “Isn’t that right, Brother Agravaine?”
Agravaine eyed his youngest brother.
“Yes,” said Agravaine. “For some reason.”
A feast was laid out for the company. But it was not festive. The knights made stabs at conversation, but the Orkney Boys spoke only sparingly. There was neither music nor jester. The hours crawled.
“So,” said Hector, finally, “will we be meeting Morgause this evening?”
Gorp and Gareth paused mid-chew.
“Queen Morgause,” said Gareth. “She is still queen to all on this isle, regardless of current circumstances.”
“But she does not dine with you?” asked Bors. “Arthur always eats with the knights.”
“Mother is not Arthur,” said Gareth.
“Obviously,” said Bors.
“If she summons us, we will go,” said Agravaine. “If.”
Mel ate in silence, occasionally glancing at Mordred, who for the most part simply stared back at Mel.
“What is it?” demanded Mel.
Mordred tipped his head.
“Say something,” said Mel.
“You are unusual.”
“Maybe I’m special, like you.”
“No, not special. Unusual.”
Mel rolled her eyes and sipped her drink.
“You are a peasant,” said Mordred. “Yet you do not dress like a squire.”
“I am not a squire. I am an archer.”
“You are a child.”
Mel set her cup down.
“I have seen things you cannot imagine. I may be young, but I am an adventurer, I assure you.”
Mordred leaned in, squinting.
“Very interesting,” he whispered.
“Most of the time,” said Mel, looking longingly across the room.
Things were heating up at the big table.
“He didn’t mean there was something wrong with the table,” offered Erec. “Bors just pointed out that it is rectangular in shape.”
“Which is factually correct,” added Hector.
“And therefore it is inferior to a round table,” said Bors.
Erec put his hand to his head.
“Inferior? How dare thee!” barked Gareth.
“I do dare,” said Bors.
Gorp rose.
Bors rose.
“Enough!” shouted Agravaine.
“It took longer than I would have wagered to get to this point, Sir Agravaine,” said Erec. “Perhaps, if the queen is tired, we could go to our lodging and—”
A great gong sounded through the chamber. The Orkneys turned in unison to an enormous black door. They looked uncertain and a bit uneasy.
“The queen will see you now,” said Agravaine quietly.
Chapter Four
Bad Playdate
As the group marched down the hallway, Mordred grasped Mel’s arm with his b
ony little fingers.
“You are to come with me!”
“No,” said Mel, removing the fingers. “I am to stay with my companions.”
“That’s just it,” hissed Mordred. “Mother says that you are to be my companion!”
“But . . .”
“You’d better go, Mel,” said Erec. “We do not wish to offend Queen Morgause. We will find you later.”
Mel fumed but followed Mordred down a different hall.
Mordred led Mel into a large chamber.
“This is my nursery,” Mordred said proudly. “My room.”
Mel looked around the torchlit chamber.
“Are those . . . skulls?” she asked.
“The mist will come soon!” said Mordred with excitement.
Mel was still eyeing the skulls that decorated the playroom. There were also several stuffed animal specimens, books, and crystals of all sizes.
“There is always mist in Scotland,” said Mel.
“Not like this,” he chuckled. “Have you ever seen a monster? A real live monster?”
“Yes,” said Mel.
“You have seen animals of great size, Melancholy.” He laughed. “But you have not seen a monster.”
“What is going on?” demanded Mel.
“Mother’s wonderful plan is beginning. It is the reason she brought those knights to Orkney. Monsters, Mel. Real monsters.”
Mel was at the door.
“It’s locked. Open it, Mordred.”
“You don’t want to go out there.”
“Open it!”
“Stay here with me. We can listen to the screams together.”
Chapter Five
Welcome to the Nightmare!
The throne room of Castle Lot was not large, but the high ceilings and few torches made it imposing. Stone stairs led up to a dais in the far corner of the room to the throne.
“Approach,” said Morgause quietly. The knights knelt at the foot of the stairs.
“So. Arthur’s bravest knights.”
“Queen Morgause, we bring greetings and respect. We are in need of a ship so that we might return to England,” said Erec, bowing his head.
“Return to England,” repeated the queen.
“Yes,” said Erec. “Please.”
Morgause stared intensely at Magdalena. The Black Knight held her gaze.
“We have not properly met,” said Morgause.
“I am Sir Bors. You must have heard of—”
“SILENCE!” Morgause’s voice rose and stung like a wasp. “I was not speaking to you, knight.”
“I am Magdalena, the Black Knight, Your Highness,” said Magdalena calmly.
“The Black Knight of . . . Camelot.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Ah, Your Majesty? About that boat?” began Erec.
“I have already provided you with a ship, good knight.”
“Um . . .”
“The enchanted boat, Sir Erec,” explained Magdalena. “Queen Morgause sent it.”
“Good gracious. How could she?” said Hector. “One would need to know sorcery to . . .” He trailed off, looking up at Morgause. “Ohhhh.”
Morgause smiled coolly, then stood and crossed the dais to a window.
“I have summoned you, the knights who battled the terrible lizards, the bravest knights of the Round Table. I have a task for you,” continued Morgause. “The creatures of nightmare are loose in the mist and darkness. They are coming. For you.”
“Coming for us?” scoffed Bors. “Fine!”
“You said ‘in the mist,’” said Hector. “What if we just stay inside? Until the mist clears?”
Morgause gazed out the window. The mist blew from the ocean, obscuring the full moon.
“The mist seems to be heading for the village. How unfortunate,” she said.
“But . . . those are your own subjects,” said Erec.
Morgause returned to her throne.
“I shall have new subjects very soon. More than you can count,” said Morgause.
The flames in the great hall flickered. Silence. The Orkney Boys opened the chamber doors. A scream, faint but clear, sounded from the village below. The knights rushed out without another word.
Morgause smiled, closed her eyes, and listened.
Chapter Six
Thick as Soup and Twice as Deadly
Erec, Bors, Hector, and Magdalena stormed out of the castle and hurried down the road toward the village. The mist had engulfed the houses. Screams, yells, gasps, and various breaking noises filled the thick air.
They approached the village gate, and the strange mist immediately swallowed them. It was difficult to see anything. Cries for help seemed to come from every direction.
“Split up,” said Erec.
Each knight darted in a different direction, swords at the ready.
Bors stumbled on a rock.
“Blast it,” he grunted, and kicked the stone.
Silence.
Then the stone was kicked back at Bors.
Bors peered into the impenetrable mist.
“I have neither time nor patience for games. Show yourself now!”
The unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn came from somewhere close.
Bors stood ready. A shape formed in the mist: large, bulky. Two legs. The shadow approached.
“Ah, good. A warrior of some kind. Knight?”
No answer.
“Of course not. Berserker, I wager. One of those fellows who put paint on their faces and hollers a lot? I knew the talk of ‘monsters’ was an exaggeration.”
The figure stepped out of the gloom. It wore armor. It held a sword and an ax. But this was no human. It was huge and incredibly ugly, with a thick jaw and massive sharp teeth. Horns poked through its helmet. It smelled horrible.
“Oh . . . ,” said Bors.
The hideous warrior roared.
“Whatever,” said Bors as he raised his sword for battle.
Mel banged on the heavy door of the playroom.
Mordred stood across the room near the window, his thin, pale face lit by candles.
“Mother wants only Arthur’s knights to fight the monsters, you see. You are not a knight. You may stay here with Mordred. Lucky, lucky girl.”
“Stop talking and give me the key, Mordred.”
“I wonder what sort of monsters will come out of the mist. I do wish I could see for myself.”
“I can arrange that. The key, Mordred.”
“Imagine the wonderful horror—”
THWISH! THWUNK!
Mel’s arrow pinned Mordred’s sleeve to the oak wardrobe behind him.
And she had another arrow poised to fly.
“The key, Mordred,” said Mel.
“Third drawer on the left,” whimpered Mordred.
Sir Erec felt his way along a stone wall. He knew he was close to the small huts. He hoped the villagers were locked in safely.
A low growl came from behind the wall. Erec stopped.
Slowly, slowly, he looked over the top of the wall.
A small, furry creature with large eyes and large feet crouched in the heather. It bared its tiny sharp teeth but dug into the heather a bit more.
Then something chattered behind Erec. He turned as the chattering gained in intensity, a cacophony of guttural noises and an unrecognizable language.
Erec wasn’t sure where to look.
“Pipe down!” he bellowed.
The noise ceased. Erec paused, pleased.
“Now I want you all to gather where I can see you. I am Sir Erec of the—”
What happened next was breathtaking in its speed. Hundreds of small, big-eyed, biting creatures swarmed Erec, pulling his clothes, nibbling his ears, and dragging him backward until he tumbled over the wall.
“Stop it!”
Erec thrashed, tossing several beasties against the wall. But more came.
More always came.
Mel locked Mordred in his chamb
er and hurried down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. She tried to retrace her steps, but every hall looked similar in the dark. She found herself in a passage that looked out over the feasting hall. Agravaine, Gareth, and Gorp sat, huddled by the fire. Mel crept to the edge of the parapet, hidden behind a curtain. She listened.
“How many hours, do you reckon?” asked Gareth.
“No idea,” said Agravaine. “They are knights, after all. And they have fought against monstrous creatures before.”
“You sound like you admire them,” spat Gareth.
“I do not underestimate them. Believe me, brother. I am confident in Mother’s plan. The Band of the Terrible Lizards will not last long.”
“When can we see?” asked Gorp. “But Gorp does not want to see the monsters,” he added quickly.
“Of course not, Gorp,” said Agravaine. “We shall wait until morning. Mother says when the dawn breaks, the mist and monsters will retreat until the next nightfall.”
“We will go to the village and gather the remains of King Arthur’s bravest knights,” began Gareth.
“And sail with the bodies to Camelot as a message from the great and terrible Queen Morgause,” said Agravaine.
He tossed another log onto the blazing fire. It sparked and spat.
Hector was unsettled. He was never one for night escapades to begin with. Add on this supernatural mist and the thought of lurking monsters and well . . . the conditions were less than ideal.
Still, villagers needed protection, and he was a brave knight. He wandered off the road, stepping gingerly on the moor. For a brief moment, the clouds cleared and a full moon shone down on him. He was not alone.
A small, skinny villager stood there.
“Oh, hello,” said Hector. “Don’t be frightened. I am Sir Hector. I shall escort you back to the village.”
The man stared at Hector, wide-eyed and silent. He trembled violently.
“Cold, eh?” asked Hector. “It does get a bit nippy on these islands. You should know that. Where is your cloak?”
A clank of swords and grunts sounded from somewhere in the mist. Hector peered around but could not see the source of the commotion.
