Camelot Resurgent

by Galen Wolf

  I’m hacking at the dragon. How much health does the damn thing have?

  Bernard is a bloody mess on the ground; he’s panicking now and rolling and struggling away, not fighting at all as he sense his impending death.

  The dragon bites and closes his jaw on Bernard, lifting him until the alchemist is like a rag doll in its huge crystal jaws. It throws him up like a dog savaging a rat. Friar Tuck heals him, and seeing my chance, I rush in and stick my sword into the dragon’s chest, its luminous blood welling up and running freely.

  Tye yells, ‘It’s regenerating. Every time, it sits in the stream, it glows like it's getting more health.’

  I’m astounded. The ginger mage is almost certainly right. That’s why we can’t do enough damage, each time it bathes in the water of its own glade it heals up.

  Then it crunches down on Bernard. Badly injured, he drops to the floor, unable to move. Fitheach goes to snatch him.

  ‘Fitheach,’ I yell, ‘Concentrate on attacking the dragon. Leave Tuck to do the healing!’

  I slash the side of the dragon’s snake-like neck, but now it’s concentrating on the fleeing Fitheach, who’s dragging Bernard away to safety, as if there is any sanctuary at all in this glade.

  Tuck shouts, ‘I’m out of mana.’

  Bernard should have stocked Friar Tuck up with mana potions before we started. This is a mess. It looks like even with the light damage on our weapons, we can’t damage the beast enough.

  The thing’s breath weapon has recharged. It opens its mouth and blasts a breath of white vapour at the fleeing back of Fitheach and the wounded Bernard. The vapour consumes them and they turn into the drifting seeds of thistles, catching the light of the smiling sun.

  I groan. Looks like we’re done here. Again. More time wasted when we could at least have gone to Caer to help the king.

  The other enemies despatched, the dragon turns to me. I put up my shield and it attacks.

 

 

 

  Stumbling back before it can hit me again, I take out a health potion from my inventory and sip it. It’s one of Bernard’s 200 Health and I’m up to 300. Still, I won’t survive another hit. Then I have an idea. ‘Tye, use your fire spells.’

  Tye grunts. ‘Huh? The dragon’s immune to fire.’

  ‘On the water! Blast the stream of water.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, good idea, boss.’ And within seconds he’s blasted a fireball at the stream. The water goes up in sheets of steam, with an almighty hiss.

  ‘Again,’ I yell and Tye fires again. I can’t see anything because of the clouds of steam and neither can the dragon. I back away in the steam cloud, waiting for my healing potion to come off cool-down.

  ‘Fire again, Tye.’

  ‘Going as fast as I can.’

  I hear the mighty explosion of another fireball, and there’s more steam, but not as much as before. In fact not even half as much as before. Then my potion’s off cool-down and I sip myself up to five hundred. If it hits me now, I’ll be lying unconscious on the floor just waiting for it to finish the job. I really need to wait for another sip so I can survive a hit. I attempt to retreat further, but this glade is circular and there’s only one way out and one way in.

  I back off and away, but then the dragon’s head appears through the clearing steam. A glance to my right shows the stream bed is dry and baked. Tye has scorched away the dragon’s regenerating water. My potion is off cool down so I glug a healing draught and rush the dragon.

  I hit it for three hundred light. I’m wondering why I’ve never got a crit in all the blows I’ve rained on the thing.

  It attacks me.

 

  My 20% Shield Block kicks in. It’s about time I had some luck. I smack it again with my sword.

  The dragon roars, blood is streaming from its chest now and I can see the hack marks where my sword has sliced into it. It’s not regenerating. Our little plan seems to have worked. I rush in and attack for another three hundred.

  It bites me for five hundred.

 

  I sip more health, but if it bites me again and I don’t block, I’m finished. I lock my teeth and rush. This time I crit for 900. The thing roars and falls back. That must have really hurt it. I follow up my attack. I just need to get it before it gets me.

  As I jab, I think that maybe even a good hit won’t be enough. I pray for a crit, but I don’t get one.

  But my sword strikes true.

 

 

 

 

  I hear Tye roar in joy. ‘Hey, I levelled up!’

  The might beast’s corpse lies in the glade. I have really killed the Crystal Dragon. Tye runs up and claps me on the back. ‘Congratulations, boss. I knew you could do it.’

  ‘It was a joint effort, I couldn’t have done it without you boiling away the stream. Or noticing the regeneration.’

  He blushes. ‘Aw, gee thanks.’ Then he looks at the pile of gold. ‘Let’s go see the loot.’

  There is a big pile of coins and jewels. ‘We can use those for Silver Drift,’ Tye says.

  ‘We could give them to the King for the war effort,’ I say.

  He looks like he will argue, but doesn’t. Then Friar Tuck is beside me. ‘Well done, Sir Gorrow. Impressive.’

  ‘Thanks for the heals.’

  ‘I ran out of mana. Don’t think I even threw you one.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I turn and see Fitheach, Bernard and Robin Hood enter the glade.

  Bernard beams in joy. ‘You did it, Gorrow!’

  ‘You did a lot, Bernie, you did a lot.’

  He comes up and gives me a hug.

  Robin is standing by the loot, gazing at the crystal egg.

  ‘There you go,’ I say. ‘Now, can we get our wagons back?’

  He nods quietly. ‘Of course. I may be an outlaw, but I’m an outlaw of my word.’ He reaches down and strokes the egg. ‘And there’s our egg.’

  I hover over it with my targeting reticle and I get the tool tip.

 

  I say, ‘Well if it the hatchling is going to be as mean as its mother, that’s a heck of an item.’

  Robin is looking thoughtful. I can’t tell what’s on his mind. Finally, he says, ‘Listen, you take it, Gorrow.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You killed the dragon.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s been plaguing you for a long time. I thought you—‘

  He puts up his hand. ’No, my mind is set. Listen, I know I’m an outlaw and technically neutral in this battle for Logres, but…’ He pauses. ‘Well, I’ve always had a soft spot for the King. He’s better than the other guy, anyway. So, you take it, and if you can get to Caer in time to do anything to help, give him the dragon’s egg with my regards.’

  I consider the rough looking one-eyed ginger dwarf outlaw. He stands there looking sheepish at his generosity.

  ‘Get away with you then,’ he says. ‘Before I call Morgan.’

  23

  A View of Caer

  When I log back on the next day, people are coming and going in the Forest of Bowland. Green-clad figures bustle around the Outlaws’ glade. They keep looking at us and smiling — both friendly and with sympathy. I think they realise that we’re at the big push before the end.

  Robin Hood and his Merry Men, Friar Tuck, Little John and the rest stand around the clearing by the smoking fire, watching us as we get our shit together. Robin nods at the two wagons of steaming manure as we hitch them up to the draught mules and get ready to pull away. ‘Well, send my reg
ards to King Arthur when you see him.’

  ‘If you ever get there...’ Little John says. He darts a look at Robin Hood and then me. ‘I mean, you know it’s dangerous. I didn’t mean I didn’t want them to get there, just—’

  ‘Shut up, John,’ Robin says, bored already at his comrade’s prattle. He looks back at us. ‘Good luck, dude. I think you’re gonna need it.’

  ‘Just like I said—’ Little John continues.

  Robin growls. ‘Really, John, shut up.’

  Then we’re off trotting out of the glade and down the soft track through the trees until we join the main road. The journey is uneventful up to Clitheroe. The fires that gutted the village have all burned out now. We see the milestone and the sign for Ned Ludd’s diamond mine, but we don’t take that turn and instead head up towards Pendle.

  I turn to Fitheach. ‘You were going to tell me about that rogue.’

  ‘Deathknife you mean.’

  And then it comes back to me. How could I not have realised? Of course it was Deathknife. He was the rogue who had tried to infiltrate Lindisfarne for the evil army, just before the attack. He was a rogue by class.

  Fitheach chuckles. ‘Do you remember how we tortured him with the Tome of Unskilling? What a lot of fun that was!’

  I remember that Deathknife had not really enjoyed having a hundred and fifty skill points removed from a random skillset, but Fitheach’s wrinkly face is crinkled in a kindly grin and I wouldn’t want to remind him that his victim was just a player, a person with feelings. Then again, reminding him of torturing Deathknife might just make him laugh louder. He’s a funny guy for a saint. Except they all seem to be a bit bloodthirsty. All the ones I’ve met anyhow.

  We ride on and I muse. Deathknife wasn’t just a rogue, he was a spy. And that confirmed that the Enemy was taking a keen interest in us. My only comfort was that if he knew exactly what we were doing, he would have ambushed us and taken the wagonfuls of manure. I look back at the wagons with the disguised cargo. This is the first time we’ve been on the road with our cargo since we got ambushed by Robin Hood. The thought makes me wary and I glance around at the trees. They move slightly in the breeze and the foliage is so thick that it’s hard to see through the first trunks and leaves into whatever might lurk in the forest.

  I say, ‘Keep an eye out for an ambush, guys.’

  Tye looks round him in exaggerated gestures of suspicion and worry. I don’t know whether he’s just doing this as a joke or he is actually crazy. Bernard looks relaxed and flashes me a smile. Fitheach says, ‘I think we should capture him again.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Deathknife of course.’ He stares hard at me. ’For a leader of men, Gorrow, you’re slow on the uptake sometimes.’

  ‘So you can torture him again?’

  ‘Oh yes, but not with the Tome as we don’t have that any more, but I’m sure we can think of something nasty to do to him. That’ll teach him the price of being evil.’

  The idea of irony is kind of lost on the kindly old saint. I say, ‘Have you seen him recently?’

  Fitheach nods. ‘Sure. He was skulking around Robin Hood’s camp just before we set off.’

  I’m incredulous. ‘He was?’

  ‘Yeah, just before you logged back on.’

  ‘Didn’t Robin see him? Or the rangers?’

  Fitheach shrugs. ‘Maybe they did.’

  ‘But they didn’t capture him.’

  ‘Guess not.’

  My mind is reeling now. What if Robin Hood was in league with Satanus? Then that meant every step we take is allowed by Satanus, almost controlled by Satanus. Maybe we are his unknowing puppets? Maybe he is just allowing us to think we’re doing what we’re doing of our own free will, but in reality we’re only doing what he wants us to do. I sweat.

  ‘Hey, Gorrow,’ Bernard shouts from the back of Henry as we clip-clop along the forest trail.

  ‘What?’ I say. I can hear the tetchiness in my voice. I’m really worried about the safety of our mission now. Satanus’s spies are everywhere. A raven croaks up overhead as if to confirm my suspicions.

  ‘You’re looking really paranoid,’ Bernard continues. He waves his hand airily. ‘These woods are safe. We’ve been through them a thousand times. Or maybe five, but still — they’re known.’

  Bernard’s words don’t calm me much, but I think hard about Robin. How could he be on Satanus’s side? He gave us the dragon’s egg. He gave us our wagons back so we could continue on our way. But he didn’t capture Deathknife and I don’t think even the best rogue could sneak around a camp full of rangers and none of them spot him. No, it must be all right. We just need to hurry.

  We pass the witches’ cottage and the clearing with the walled pool, the cottage and the gaslight. The trail goes southeast out of the trees and climbs more steeply.

  We ascend the winding path up Pendle Hill. After a while, I see the old sign that points out Mr Treacle’s Treacle Mine and I shudder and urge Spirit forward with my knees until we’re past the mine and on the flank of the hill. I look back and see Clitheroe and the Forest of Bowland. In the distance, misty and blue, I see the Eastern Fellside that leads up to Silver Drift and home. Black and red flickers over the whole scene. It belongs to Satanus, and maybe soon Caer will too.

  Eventually, we crest the last climb and we stand on the broad flat top of Pendle Hill. It’s late afternoon now. For the first time we can view the south. The land slopes down to a tree covered plain interspersed with rolling hills. Far in the distance are the mountains of Wales, but before them a whole area of land is covered by a gleaming black dome about two hundred feet high.

  ‘What the heck is that?’ Bernard asks, coming up alongside me on Henry.

  ‘Yes, what the heck is that?’ The mule echoes.

  The dome is like half a ball that goes flat to the ground on all sides, looking like there’s not a gap at all in it. It is shiny like polished obsidian and streaked with veins of white marble that shift and stutter like a picture phasing in and out of reality. It looks charged with an evil energy.

  ‘I’m guessing Caer is under that,’ I say, sitting forward thoughtfully on my saddle. Spirit neighs quietly as if sensing my unease.

  ‘How the heck are we going to get in?’ Tye asks. I don’t answer, and he looks around at everyone. ‘I mean really though.’

  The four of us sit mounted in a line astride on the hilltop gazing down at the unnatural sight in front of us. Behind us are our two wagons loaded with the makings of the weapons that will turn the war in favour of King Arthur. But King Arthur is under that evil magic dome placed there by Satanus.

  Tye is right: really, how on earth are we going to get inside that?

  24

  Alderley Edge

  It takes time for us to wend our way down the south slopes of Pendle Hill and cross the shattered countryside. All around are signs of war — crops burning in the fields, smashed cottages and broken bridges. We wade through a wide shallow river to come up into woods on the other side. It’s a perfect spot for an ambush, but no ambush comes.

  There are signs that Enemy forces have been here recently, but they’re hurrying somewhere else, leaving a trail of death behind them. They’ve destroyed ancient village churches and desecrated the graves of country elders, all around the wheel ruts of their war wagons mark the country roads, all heading towards Caer and the downfall of King Arthur.

  I look up. Even the sky promises fire. Away to the west, the air glows red and orange as if there is a firestorm over the horizon. The black specks of cockatrices and wheeling dragons show where the Enemy’s forces are concentrated. Even if we got to the King, even if we managed to make our vorpal weapons, would it be enough? Would it be in time?

  We force our way onward through the ruins and desolation and keep on going. We are on the heels of the enemy army. This isn’t even their main army; they have troops already inside the outer walls of Caer, or maybe even the inner walls by now.

  My heart grows hea
vy and I sigh. I taste failure. My mood seems to effect my comrades in arms and we all ride onwards in silence. Even Henry is silent and Bessie watches him with concerned eyes.

  A hill rises in front of us in the middle distance — a long wooded ridge that stands out against the reddened sky. There’s something strange about it and at first I can’t say why, then Tye says, ‘Hey, that hill’s got a kinda silvery bluey greeny colour.’

  And he’s right, there’s a weird light hanging in the sky and, because it’s been so long since I saw anything like it in these desolate and overrun northlands, I don’t remember what it signifies.

  Fitheach breaks out into a broad grin. ‘Good zone of control!’

  I can hardly believe it. Here — with all the enemy armies running around there is one hill, and it looks like it’s just one hill, even though it’s the tallest and most significant hill hereabouts, but there’s one hill that hasn’t yet been taken by Satanus’s forces.

  ‘Well, blow me down,’ Bernard says. ‘Let’s get there quick before it falls to the enemy.’

  I’m about to say something about bad jokes but instead of talking, I spur Spirit and we head along the rutted road; the mule carts with their loads of steaming ordure rattling along behind us. Then we hear noises off to the right — the gruff voices of orcs and ogres. Bernard hisses, ‘Enemy camp.’ On the slopes of a slight raise, between a burned out wood and a dried-up stream, set up in the muddy filth that they make wherever they go, is an enemy battalion. They look like NPC spearmen and archers, but there are a few cavalry and they are camped out. There are also at least four player characters — enemy guildsmen leading Satanus’s troops towards their final assault.

  ‘They must be planning to take the hill,’ Bernard says. Luckily, they haven’t noticed us and I direct the guys and the carts to go slower and make less noise. There’s a hedge between us and them which cuts off their view of the road, but if they have any guards posted, they’re bound to see us. It’s possible we could take on the player characters and make a hole in the enemy NPC troops, but I don’t want to risk losing our precious cargo. Or lose any more time.