The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  Merlin grimaced but nodded in understanding.

  He simply shook his head with sudden dread. They could have flown to Forlorn and been there in days, now it would take weeks? Did they have that kind of time? Would Willow be forced to have their baby in the wild? He couldn’t allow that.

  “Any sign of Wyrddlin?” Merlin asked the griffin and he realized he hadn’t seen the dragon since he’d flown after the fleeing red.

  “He hasn’t returned from the chase. I hope he had a good hunt,” Kallen responded, then turned and stalked away.

  He looked to the mage. “Did you know about Jared?”

  Merlin’s eyes were on the griffin, and only after a moment did the man take a deep breath and turn them on him. “No. Despite what Reyna thinks, I had no idea. That orc that killed him was transformed by the Phoenix herself into the Horsemen of War, and as such was afforded some degree of protection from my sight. I knew something would happen, but not what nor by whom. The only thing I saw for certain was Kylee leaping at Clint and both of them tumbling out of that tower to their deaths below. And as you can see,” Merlin offered, waving at the ranger who was busy fixing breakfast, “I am not always right. From the second I met her, I knew this day would come, that she would meet the man that killed her family and she’d get her revenge. And yes, I did know that it came with a price, but I took a chance that something would change along the way, that she’d be saved from a pointless death. It has. You and Willow bonded with her, gave her a strength that she hadn’t known for a long time; love. It was that, and that alone, that kept her from making that plunge. And though she is angry at missing her chance at getting her revenge, she’s alive and has the two of you to fall back on.”

  “Will she get the chance again?” he pushed, looking at Kylee as he did so. She glanced his way and knew that she was hearing every word they spoke. Her face seemed passive and he doubted he’d be that calm after finding out that she was supposed to die, and Merlin knew it the entire time.

  “It’s uncertain. He has become clouded from my sight, protected by the Phoenix, and nothing I can do will give you the answers you seek. Either of you,” Merlin responded, looking to him, then the ranger. “I make no promises. I will tell you that none of you are expendable. I grieve with every loss and moving forward is not a sign of indifference, but of respect. If we stopped now and walked away, then what was the point of Jared’s death? What purpose would it serve but to kill any chance the world has at survival? And yes, that sounds dramatic, I get that, but I can’t sugar coat or belittle what’s at stake. Too much hinges on finding the sword and giving it to Erik. Once that’s done, maybe things will not seem so dire, but to be frank, this is war. People will die before this all over and nothing I can do or say will prevent that. How we go out though, that’s up to us to decide. On our knees or on our feet.” Merlin rose and looked down at him. “I choose to meet our fate standing up and moving forward. Now, let’s go find Excalibur.”

  Chapter 7

  Sherwood

  I

  Before they’d taken off, Tristan threw one last glance towards the palace and he almost wished he hadn’t; Reyna had been busy the night before. The dragon had been stripped and desecrated, its giant ribs used as spikes, which now lined the outside of the palace, an orc head speared on each in a grotesque display of gore. The rest of the corpses had been completely dismembered and thrown down as a barrier before the ribs, the grisly scene making him hope that Kore didn’t see it. Had those been human bodies—there was no sign of Jared but judging by the work Reyna had done, he could guess that he’d been laid down within the palace walls.

  They flew north for the remainder of the morning; no one having spoken since their conversation with Merlin that morning. A cloud hung over the group now and though they all moved with renewed determination. There were no smiles, only grim “let’s get it done” looks. They were all grieving over Jared’s loss in their own way.

  Even Kore moved slower, as if feeling responsible for the young boy’s death at the hands of his kin. He looked at the orc riding the griffin on his right and felt an odd stirring in his head. He had grown so accustomed to the orc’s presence that he no longer saw him as anything other than Kore. When he had looked at the corpses in front of the palace, it had been in a satisfied detached way. It wasn’t the same when he looked at the tall warrior. Kore had somehow grown apart in his mind and was no longer just an orc, he was his friend.

  They landed on the edge of a dark forbidding forest at the base of the Drago Mountains, and though he felt excited at the prospect of what was coming next, he couldn’t help but feel regret that they were saying goodbye to their griffin companions. Though they had kept to themselves and rarely spoke, deferring to the head of their clan to speak on their behalf, they were extremely intelligent and friendly.

  He removed his saddlebags, resting his bundled armor on the ground so that he could walk around to speak to the griffin unencumbered. “Thank you for rescuing me and for giving us a ride,” he told the large beast as the eagle head swung his way, a large eye taking his measure.

  The griffin’s head bounced in a bird-like fashion, then he spoke for the first time since that horrible night in Kershaw. “You’re welcome. Thank you for recognizing that I am more than just a horse.”

  He chuckled. “That’d be hard to do. What’s your name?”

  “Jebediah,” the griffin responded, then eyed him one last time before turning to meet with the rest of his brethren, Kallen signaling that it was time to take their leave.

  “Have a safe journey!” he called, but he wasn’t sure if he had been heard as the gigantic creatures spread their wings and plunged into the air. He was sad to see them go. Token had their horses and that meant from here on they were on foot. Lugging their supplies and armor was going to get old, very fast.

  He looked to the countryside and saw smoke to the north. Were there any settlements in that direction? For the life of him he couldn’t remember. To the east were endless plains and along the entire western horizon, stretching from the mountains to his rear, was a dense and dark forest. He’d heard tales of Sherwood as a child and he got a chill as a sudden gust of wind created a whistling noise in the trees that almost sounded like a scream. The woods were supposed to be haunted; specters lingering since their violent deaths during the Dark Ages, seeking their vengeance upon any who dare intrude upon their land. To say the least, no one had dared to settle within. Even when the Phoenix had supposedly been destroyed and the world filled with hope, it remained a dark remnant of the past and avoided at all cost.

  Willow came up behind him and he startled at her touch. He still hadn’t gotten over what had happened in Kershaw and though they’d talked about it, he had not been able to bring himself to be intimate with her since. Her hand forced itself around his waist and yanked him around. “What is it?” she asked, concerned eyes studying him.

  She had to know the answer; he’d been skittish at being touched for days. “Place gives me the willies,” he muttered, avoiding the real problem with a bluff. The others were waiting near the edge of the forest and he bent over to pick up his gear. “We’ll talk about it later, let’s go.” He set his bundle down in front of the others and while they talked, he followed Reyna’s lead and began putting his armor on. Not only would it make it easier to carry, but he was not going into that forest unprotected.

  Willow was following suit and the others waited patiently for them to finish. He rose and strapped Dragonslayer and Justice around his waist. He noticed that Merlin had Richter on his back as well. Willow was fastening Madera to her side and for the first time in two thousand years; the swords were together once more. His arm hairs rose on his arms, the air feeling like electricity was coursing through it. He thought he heard a slight buzzing in the background, eating at his concentration, worse than a fly that wouldn’t stop landing on your arm until its dead.

  “So, we’re here, now what?” Willow asked, eyeing the two magicians closely
. They’d been silent most of the morning and nothing had been said of what actually came next.

  Melissa turned from the forest and looked at them. “When my sisters and I first came here it was before the Dark Ages, back when the entire world was bursting with people and the wars had only just begun. This forest wasn’t here then. I can only tell you what will happen when we get there, not what lies between. I have not been back since the day we split up and went our separate ways. And now that I am, I wish I had waited longer.”

  “I have been here, we should be fine, just follow my lead,” Merlin told them, nodding to Kylee. “Do not forage ahead without us. Even with your tracking skills, you can easily get lost and we may never find you. Keep Tuskar on a short leash. Melissa and I will lead from the front, Reyna can take the rear. Kore, watch over these two,” the mage said nodding in their direction, like they were children.

  Trek came forward and he noticed that someone had made a miniature saddle and placed it on the cat’s back for Bleak to ride on. How did the shapeshifter ever agree to that?

  “We shouldn’t be ‘eadin’ in dare,” the tiny brownie told them. “Oi warned yer aboyt de orcs, but naw wan wud listen ter me. Yer shud listen ter me nigh.” It was as if the mages hadn’t heard him as they turned and began walking into the forest; the brownies protestations dismissed like they’d never happened.

  He didn’t want to chance losing sight of them even for a second, so he quickly stepped in after them. If it weren’t for the forbidding feeling in the air screaming for him to flee, it would have been no different than hunting with his brother back home. Willow gripped his hand and together they followed Merlin deeper in, the light fading as shadows quickly swept in and raced to enfold them in their embrace.

  II

  “We have a problem,” Jarel told him as Revan sat at his King’s side. Erik had been asleep for days, the battle for his soul exhausting him to the point of inaction.

  His back was sore and he got up to stretch as the aide approached from the shadowy doorway. “What’s wrong?” he asked, barely paying attention as he studied the toll that being bed-ridden was having on his monarch’s body. Erik’s strength was slowly leeching away and no matter how much magic he employed, or food they tried to force in him, nothing could make up for physically getting out of bed and moving about. If the king didn’t snap out of it soon, he’d either wake up to a shriveled husk of a body or would simply never wake again.

  Jarel coughed, as if to get his full attention. “Larahredhel knows about the king’s condition; the Seers have had a vision. Word has begun to spread and Haymdal has called for a council meeting. I’ve been commanded to make sure that Erik is there.”

  Well, shit. “Commanded? You serve the king, not the Council. How do you suggest we get him there?” he asked the aide, not even entertaining the thought of carrying the unconscious king into the council chambers. Why couldn’t this have waited just a bit longer?

  “Get me where?” a voice croaked from the bed, giving him a start.

  Jarel pushed forward. “Sire, the Council has called a meeting and they have asked for you to join them.”

  “Jarel, he’s in no shape—,” he began.

  Erik cut him off. “I’ll be the judge of what shape I am in. Get me my clothes,” the king commanded his aide, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I’m so weak, how long have I been out?”

  He couldn’t help but snort. “Altogether or just this time?”

  Erik’s hand rose to his temple and slowly massaged the side of his head. “I’ve still got a massive headache. I take it it’s been a few days, judging by the smell. I need a bath.”

  “There’s no time for that, Sire,” Jarel pushed, gathering Erik’s clothing.

  He stepped forward and put a hand on the aide’s shoulder, making the elf look him in the face. “He is the king, make the time. They can wait.”

  “Uh,” Jarel, stuttered, looking between the frail monarch and his magister.

  He pushed the aide towards the door. “Summon the stewards, tell them that their King needs tending to. Don’t treat this different than any normal day. If I find otherwise, I’ll turn you into a toad and let some of my students practice their anatomy lessons on your wiggling corpse.” The aide didn’t need any more incentive as he rushed from the room and disappeared from view.

  Erik was laughing. “You sound just like Merlin.”

  Fuck me.

  The king waved him off, then slowly got to his feet. He was unsteady, and Revan was forced to step forward and let the thinning elf lean on him. “Don’t worry elf, I’m more aware of myself since the last time we talked and have had a lot of time to remember and reflect. You told me that Guinevere was coming, but that couldn’t be true. You see, she ran off with Lancelot. I remember that now. And Merlin? I haven’t seen or heard from him since the night that witch sister of mine came to my bed and cast her spell. So, he couldn’t very well be brewing me a tonic. It’s strange. Even though I hear the words coming from thine lips, hard to understand how easily they flow.”

  “Sire,” he began, not sure how to explain. Erik’s mind had to be mingling with Arthur’s blending their thoughts and languages into a common voice. And though this was obviously not his King, current circumstances gave him little choice than to act like he was.

  “I don’t know how it is that I’m here, because I remember dying. I remember my son lying on the ground and a spear sticking through my gut. There was a boat, I think, and white robed women taking me away. I don’t know what came after that, I fell into darkness. Until I woke up here. This,” the king said, looking down at his body. “Feels like my body, but it isn’t. I don’t know how this is happening, but I can feel someone in my head, trying to speak to me. And I’ve come to realize I don’t belong here. I don’t know how to leave, or even if I can. But if there is one thing I do know, it’s that look upon your face and what this council meeting must be about. And though I am not your King, I am a king nonetheless, and know how to deal with this mounting insurrection. If that’s what I’m understanding this is.”

  He could only nod, not sure of what else to say.

  “Good, now bring me up to speed. Who are we dealing with?” Arthur/Erik asked as the stewards entered and started leading him towards the bathroom.

  He eyed them wearily, but he had no choice but to follow his King’s command. If they had any hope of getting through this, then an informed ruse was better than the alternative. Slowly, he began instructing the soaking king on the council members and a brief summation of what was going on in the world. He eyed the elf, sure that at any instant he might relapse back into his coma, but the longer the water soaked in, the brighter the life returned to the king’s eyes. He knew there would be no going back this time. His chief concern was that the longer Arthur was awake, the stronger he became. What did that mean for his true king and friend? Was he being pushed further away with every passing second? He gritted his teeth and as Erik climbed out of the bathtub and allowed himself to be clothed, he knew that he was out of options either way.

  “So, this Haymdal wants to be king?” Erik asked as the stewards were dismissed and his cloak was brought around and fastened about his neck.

  He was stunned; he didn’t think the man was truly listening.

  The man within Erik smiled at him. “I’m a quick study. I had a good teacher. Old and senile, but still good enough to keep me on my toes.” The king turned and walked towards the mirror, eyeing the sickened elven reflection staring back at him. Eyes wandered over his facial features and hands slowly worked across his cheeks and brow. “I can almost see myself in here. Are we related?”

  He’d thought long and hard about that in the last week and though he’d had Jarel bring him the archives, there hadn’t been anything definitive within those sparse scrolls from that time. “That’s not certain. Though, my King is a Pendragon as well. Whether through lineage or an assumed name from earlier times, I don’t know. Not much has survived the ravag
es of time.”

  The king twisted his neck to the left and right and Revan heard the crack of the elf’s neck bones. “A Pendragon huh? My father would’ve loved that. What’s his name?”

  “Erik, Sire,” he answered with a bow of his head. Saying the name pained the elf, making him even more aware of the imposter standing in his friend’s body.

  Erik swung around and faced him, some of his strength apparently returning. “Right, now let’s go save Erik’s kingdom from civil war, shall we?” Arthur/Erik walked through the open doorway and stood looking to either side of the hall. “Uh, which way?”

  “This way, my Lord,” he sighed, reluctantly leading the elf down the northern passage. What they were doing was risky. If Haymdal suspected that Erik was not himself—actually, he couldn’t imagine what would happen then and that might prove to be the more frightening prospect.

  They strode through the council chambers a few minutes later and he watched as the monarch pushed his way forward and came to stand behind his accustomed seat. How had he known which chair to go to? Erik’s eyes swept the room at those seated and a smile formed on his face when it fell on the round table before him. Fingers stroked the back of the chair as he slowly pulled out his seat and took his place at the table.

  Whispered conversation between Haymdal and Caleb suddenly ended when their eyes fell upon the sovereign staring daggers in their direction.

  He was hesitant to move away, almost afraid the illusion would shatter the instant he left, but he had a seat to take and for appearances; he couldn’t hover like an old nanny. It would not work to their advantage. With Pendoran and Uriens in the field, Erik’s side of the table felt a little light and he would’ve preferred the ill king have more support from his commanders against the greedy politicians eyeing their prey.