by Matt Phelan
“That’s good,” said Bors. “Since no one else can stand you two.”
“Tut, tut, Sir Bors,” said Tristan with a wide smile. “We are all friends here. We are Knights of the Round Table. Except for you,” he said, pointing at Mel.
Tristan and Lamorack took seats at the table.
“Lamorack and I were just discussing some scuttlebutt we heard last night. Something about you lot failing to bring in Queen Morgause when you had the chance. Also something about an impending war with the Good Folk?”
“Who told you all that?” asked Erec.
“Uh . . . ,” began Bors. “Well, I may have mentioned something about it last night over some mead in the Great Hall.”
“Everyone is talking about it,” said Lamorack. “That and Merlin’s disappearance. I’m sure that was a blunder of yours in some way as well.”
Mel raised her gaze. After only a brief moment, Lamorack looked away.
Tristan began to eat his breakfast. “It seems you have been a little . . . off for quite some time,” he said, chewing. “I mean to say, for a long time you were all anyone talked about. Fighting giants and trolls and all sorts of scary creatures. Villages saved left and right. Practically nothing left for the rest of us to do.”
“Do you want us to apologize for being exceptionally good at our work?” asked Erec.
“Of course not!” said Tristan. “You are brave and humble, Sir Erec. At least that is what all of the songs say.”
Lamorack chuckled.
“But perhaps, Band of the Terrible Lizards, your glory days are coming to a close.” Tristan finished his breakfast and stood.
“We will stop Morgause and the faerie folk, Tristan. Mark my words,” said Erec.
“Hmm. By all means go out and try. But if you fail . . .” Tristan and Lamorack strolled to the door. “Know that Camelot will always be protected by King Arthur’s knights. Lancelot, Galahad, and yes, Tristan and Lamorack. We will never fail King Arthur.”
“I should hope not, Tristan,” said King Arthur, entering the hall. He was dressed in a riding cloak with thick, fur-lined boots and gloves.
“Sire!” Tristan and Lamorack fell to their knees.
“Remain as you were. Except for you, Mel. If you please, I would like you to accompany me,” said Arthur.
“Anything we can do, my liege? Our swords are yours to command,” said Lamorack.
“Thank you, no. Mel here will more than suffice.”
Mel rose and dragged on her own cloak. Together, she and Arthur exited without another word.
“Mel’s part of our band, you know,” Erec said, munching his bacon.
A light snow fell as King Arthur and Mel rode silently out of the gates of Camelot. Mel wished she had time to find a new bow, but all she carried with her now was a knife. Then again, she was riding with King Arthur himself, who was armed with the magical sword Excalibur. King Arthur could surely rescue Merlin.
Mel studied Arthur as he rode ahead of her. So regal, so good. She could not say his age, but she had the strangest feeling, looking at him, that she could see a boy still in the man. A boy who knew more than he wanted to know. There was something about Arthur, especially today. Was it sadness? No, she realized.
Melancholy.
She thought about her own name. It was her mother’s idea, apparently. Both of her parents had died before she was three, so she never asked her mother why she chose that name. The next family that took her on—raised her would not be the best way to describe it—never said anything about her parents. She had kept the name but shortened it to Mel, first to aid her as she disguised herself as a boy squire for Sir Bors, then simply because she had become used to it. She didn’t often think about her full name these days. But it did seem to describe a deep part of her king.
They rode for a long time, the woods becoming thicker. Even covered in snow, the landscape seemed to hold mystery and uncertainty. She did not like these woods.
Arthur whispered a command, and his horse halted. He dismounted.
“Leave your horse here. She will not wander. We walk the rest of the way,” said Arthur.
Mel climbed down, patted her horse, then joined Arthur. Together they trudged through the snow, down a hill, and into a small, secluded valley. Trees grew up the sides of the hills, towering above them. Arthur approached a solitary tree. It was thick and gnarled with great roots sunken into the ground. Its bark was a pale gray. It was both distinctive and strangely ordinary at the same time.
Mel stared at the tree and then at Arthur, who was also looking at it intensely.
“Is this . . . is this the tree?” asked Mel.
“Yes,” said Arthur simply.
“Merlin is imprisoned in this tree?”
“I would not use that word myself. But, yes, this is where Merlin is now.”
Mel approached the tree slowly. She reached out and placed a hand on the trunk.
“Do you feel anything?” asked Arthur.
“No,” said Mel.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s just a tree.”
“Hmm,” said Arthur in a vague way.
“Sire,” said Mel. “What are we to do?”
“Do?” asked Arthur.
“To save Merlin.”
Arthur smiled and said gently, “There is nothing we can do, Mel. But Merlin is still with us.”
“You mean this tree?”
“No. I mean in here.” He pointed to his head. “And here,” he said, placing a hand over his heart.
Mel turned back to the tree.
“Merlin was my boyhood tutor,” said Arthur. “He taught me all sorts of things, more than I thought I needed to know, since my future seemed destined to be serving as a squire for Sir Kay.”
Mel looked at Arthur.
“Yes. I was a squire like you, Mel. Actually, I was not particularly good, so I was not like you at all, I suppose.”
“You were not meant to be a squire,” said Mel.
“No, it seems I was not,” said Arthur quietly.
He fell silent for a minute or two.
“Merlin was a great believer in teaching by experience,” Arthur began again. “As you well know by your adventure with the . . . uh . . . large lizards.”
“Yes.” Mel smiled. “That was indeed an experience.”
“Merlin never made me do anything like that, of course.” Arthur chuckled. “Though he did turn me into an ant once. That was very eye-opening.”
They drifted into silence. Mel couldn’t help picturing her great king as an ant.
“This is another experience, Mel. One that we must face. And having faced it, we must move on with our lives, keeping this experience inside. It is part of us now. An important part.”
Mel patted the tree again.
“And I suppose that for those who did not know Merlin, there will be stories of his deeds. He liked stories.”
“Yes, he did,” said Arthur, grinning. “We need not worry about Merlin in that regard. His legend will continue. He would have it no other way.”
Arthur tilted his head up, taking in the entire tree. “But . . . I do hope that this tree might be forgotten. Give the old charlatan his peace and rest. His great holiday.”
Arthur turned. “Come on, Mel. Let’s get back to it.”
Mel gave the tree a sad—no, melancholy—smile. Then she followed King Arthur back up the hill.
Chapter Seven
What Now?
Mel and Arthur returned to Camelot at midday. Mel took the horses to the stables, where she found her companions busy packing provisions for a long adventure. Erec saw Mel first and approached her.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Mel with a nod.
“Merlin was quite a character. Irascible old trickster but . . . he did bring us together. I shall miss him,” said Erec.
“So will I,” said Mel, looking down.
“Well, we need to deal with this faerie invasion nonsense. If y
ou want a break from your magical studies, we could sure use you.”
“I am without a tutor. I’m afraid magic will need to wait for some time,” said Mel. “Count me in.”
“Splendid!”
Mel followed Erec. Bors, carrying a satchel of food, looked up as she approached.
“Good lad, er, lass,” he said.
Mel laughed. Picking up another satchel, Mel caught sight of Magdalena strapping a saddle onto one of the horses. Magdalena looked up. She cleared her throat. She began to say something, but nothing came. Instead, she gave Mel a quick nod.
Mel nodded back and continued on. She passed Hector and patted him on the back.
“We have enough here for quite a long time,” said Hector.
“As long as it takes,” said Erec.
“Yes, well,” Hector said, “let’s hope it won’t take too long.”
They set off soon after. The immediate goal was to find an entrance into the faerie realm. The Green Knight had wandered off to who knows where, but there were other supernatural creatures about these days. You just had to know where to look. Erec had an idea.
“There it is!” he proclaimed as the band halted on top of a hill overlooking a small village.
“That’s a people village,” said Bors.
“No, not the village. There.” Erec pointed.
An ancient stone bridge crossed a stream below them. It was rather plain, but wide enough for a cart to cross. The arch beneath the bridge was dark and foreboding.
“I understand there is a troll living under this bridge. Some villagers asked if we could sort it out for them.”
“When did they ask?” said Magdalena.
“Oh, several months ago,” answered Erec.
“Several months?” said Hector.
“We have been busy,” explained Erec. “Some requests get, you know, lost in the shuffle, as it were. However, we are here now, and I believe this creature can be of service.” Erec urged his horse forward.
“Do trolls eat horses?” asked Mel. None of the others had moved.
“Goats, I think,” said Hector.
Erec reined his horse to a stop.
“Good thinking. Let’s not take any chances with the horses. On foot, everyone.”
They all dismounted and ambled down the road. They crossed the bridge. Nothing happened. They walked back over the bridge. Still nothing. Bors tried stomping his feet as he walked.
“Trip, trip, trip!” he bellowed.
Erec peered over the side of the bridge. The arch below was deserted and unwelcoming.
“Maybe we should go down there.”
“After you,” said Hector.
Erec made his way down the slope to the edge of the water. Nothing but darkness under the bridge. Too much darkness, actually. No light whatsoever was visible, despite it being the afternoon.
“Hello!” he called.
No answer.
“Any trolls at home? We would like a word,” tried Erec.
The others watched from above.
“We have a goat!” lied Erec.
The sound of shifting rock echoed from under the bridge.
A large, shaggy troll emerged from the darkness. “You woke me,” he growled.
“Sorry,” said Erec.
“It is winter,” said the troll.
“Yes, it is. We need—”
“Don’t you know that trolls hibernate?”
“No. I did not know that,” said Erec, after a moment’s thought.
“For how long?” Hector called down.
“Till I wake up!” barked the troll, stepping out from the arch and looking up. “How many of you are there?”
“Five,” said Mel.
“Did you each bring a goat?”
“Ask him,” said Magdalena, pointing at Erec.
“About that. What I meant to say is we will give you a goat or two if you answer our questions.”
The troll straightened up. He was big. He was clearly not amused. Erec stumbled a bit, heading backward up the hill, followed by the lumbering troll.
“Questions?” the troll growled.
Erec hurried to rejoin the others.
“Weapons, I think,” Erec whispered to the others.
The troll scaled the rest of the bridge. His head rested above the ledge. He took in the assembled company.
“Three questions?” the troll asked in a calmer voice.
“What?” asked Erec.
“Questions Three is traditional in my occupation,” said the troll.
“All right. Sure. Just give us a second,” said Erec.
The knights and Mel huddled and murmured among themselves. They broke.
“How do we get to the faerie realm?” asked Erec, holding up one finger.
“Do I look like a faerie? I am a bridge troll. We are completely different. I am offended, frankly,” said the troll.
“But you all know one another, right?” blurted Bors.
“Oh! Sure! All the nonhumans know one another! Of course,” said the troll sarcastically. “Very rude. And that was question number two.”
“What—” Erec began, but Magdalena held up a hand to stop him.
They went back into a huddle.
Bors opened his mouth: “How—”
“Shh!” said the others.
They conferred again. A consensus was reached.
Erec approached slowly and very carefully asked, “If you were to contact the faerie realm, how would you do that?”
“Sleep,” said the troll.
“Come again?” said Erec.
“That’s four,” grumbled the troll as he began to climb back down.
“No!” shouted Erec. “That was merely a request for clarification!”
The troll paused.
“Very well. I would go to sleep and dream. Dreams are sometimes a gateway into Faerie. That’s it. I’ll expect five goats by the morning. Thank you for your business.”
The troll returned to the darkness beneath his bridge.
“Well, that was useless,” grumbled Bors. “I’m not paying a goat for that,” he added in a whisper.
“Sleeping,” said Erec. “Great. He might as well have told us to look around until we found it.”
“How would all of us get in through a dream?” pondered Hector. “We would all need to be having the same dream at the same time. That seems unlikely.”
“I am glad you see the flaw in the plan, Hector,” said Erec, sitting on the bridge wall.
“It will be dark soon,” said Magdalena, heading back to the horses. “Let us seek lodging in the village for the night. Perhaps we will be lucky and dream our way to victory.”
The others sighed and followed. Erec stayed behind for a moment to give the bridge a kick. For the first time he noticed a strange vine growing up the bridge. It was purple with deep crimson leaves. After a moment, he joined his companions.
Chapter Eight
The Punch & Punchy Show
The knights and Mel made their way through the village and secured rooms at a ramshackle inn. Having stabled the horses, the band decided to take a stroll. Though small, the village had quite a few two-story wooden structures and a bustling atmosphere. There were open fires aplenty to warm passersby as the evening drew closer.
Walking down the narrow streets, they all kept quiet for the most part, each pondering the matters at hand. For Erec, Mel, Magdalena, and Hector, that meant the faerie problem. Bors was wondering about dinner. Turning a corner, they heard peals of laughter, both adult and child. A puppet theater had been set up in a square, and the show was in full motion.
Simple hand puppets spoke in comically high-pitched voices, and there was a lot of shouting and hitting involved. Each smack brought applause and laughter, so the puppets smacked often and well. On closer look, this was not the typical show featuring a rude and ugly married couple arguing about the baby. Instead, this show starred knights. Four knights. One was dressed entirely in black armor. One was on th
e stout side with a grotesquely large balding head and a bushy mustache. That puppet did the bulk of the squeaky yelling and hitting.
“How do they think of these things?” wondered Bors aloud.
Mel glanced up at him. She was about to offer some theatrical insight, but at that moment there was a great roar from the stage, and a crude lizardlike puppet started attacking the other puppets.
“Hang on,” said Bors.
“Yes, it appears to be us,” confirmed Hector.
The audience screamed with laughter. Occasionally the knights hit back, but the lizard was clearly the crowd favorite. It chased the knight puppets in a circle.
“It wasn’t like that at all!” protested Erec.
Another, larger lizard puppet popped up and swallowed the knight puppets whole. The audience burst into applause.
“Honestly,” grumbled Erec, “what passes for entertainment these days.”
After a few moments’ intermission, the puppet play began act two. The scenery was a barren moor. Powder was blown up from below, giving the illusion of mist.
“That is a good effect,” said Magdalena approvingly.
The knight puppets reappeared to jeers and boos. A monstrous puppet popped up and scared the knights so badly that they all fainted over the side of the proscenium.
“I say,” observed Hector, “we do not seem to be the heroes of this drama.”
The monster puppet gobbled up the knights to tremendous laughter and applause. The curtain of the puppet theater fell. When the audience quieted down, the curtain opened once more. The knight puppets were gone. In their place was a small puppet of a girl with a quiver. She was trembling with fear.
A few chuckles came from the crowd, but as the puppet continued to quake, the laughter subsided. A greenish light shone on the puppet, and as it flickered, purple vines attached to rods began to crawl up from below and encircle the puppet.
Mel watched, hypnotized. Magdalena glanced sideways at her, then scowled at the stage.
A new puppet appeared in regal clothes of leaves, vines, and flowers. The puppet’s painted face had the cruelest of smiles. When it spoke, its voice was low, melodic, and enticing, not the squeaky sound of the others.