Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  “I don’t see why you won’t live in the village. I thought that’s what you wanted,” I say.

  “I only wished the villagers to accept me.” He pulls his bear pelt tighter around him. “I prefer to stay out here, close to the world.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I prefer to be someplace where I don’t have to worry about being eaten by wolves.”

  “No harm will come to us here.”

  “I suppose.” As I curl up beneath my bear pelt, I put a hand on my midsection, where Greetha cut me. Merlin healed the wound with a wave of his hand, but I can still feel some pain every now and then. We didn’t have psychology back then to understand the concept of “phantom pain.”

  “I don’t suppose with all that power of yours, you could make Beaux decide she doesn’t want to stay with those sheep anymore?”

  “I could, but then she wouldn’t be the woman you love, would she?”

  “Curse your damnable logic,” I grumble.

  I’ve just fallen asleep when a flash of white light wakes me up. I open my eyes to see the glowing form of a young woman. “What are you?” I blurt out.

  My master is far calmer. He looks up at the woman and nods. “Hello, Anybl. I expected to see you soon.”

  “You knew she was coming and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I saw no reason to worry you.” Merlin waves his hand to restart the fire. The girl’s unearthly glow fades. She sits down across from us by the fire. To my surprise, she starts to sob.

  “What’s the matter, woman? I didn’t mean anything—”

  “We’ve failed you, my lord!” Anybl wails.

  Merlin goes over to the girl to wrap her in a hug. She looks so much younger now, practically a child. He strokes her brown hair and says, “It’s all right. You did what you could.”

  “It wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

  “The fault is mine. I underestimated his power.”

  “What are you two talking about?”

  “The Black Demon is on the march. She’s sent him to take me back.”

  “That doesn’t make it any clearer.”

  Merlin sighs. “My former master is a woman named Isis. She believes herself to be a goddess and indeed her powers are as strong as any god, so long as she maintains her strength. She does this by feeding on the souls of the living. The Black Demon is her servant. She created him to retrieve sacrifices for her.”

  “And she was your master?”

  “Yes. I studied under her for a time, until I realized the darkness in her heart. Then I fled to this place. Now she wants me back.”

  “You must stop this demon,” Anybl says. “Only you have the power—”

  “Not even I can destroy her creation.” Merlin shakes his head. In that instant he looks like just a normal man, not the greatest conjurer in the land. “To defeat the Demon, we need a warrior, one who is brave, strong, and most importantly pure of heart.”

  “How do we do that?”

  Merlin claps me on the shoulder. “Go to the village and search among the warriors there.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have other business to attend to.”

  “What of me, my lord?” Anybl asks.

  “Go back to your coven. They will continue to grow and flourish. When the time comes, I may call on you again.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Anybl says. She gets unsteadily to her feet. “We will be ready next time. I swear it.”

  Merlin nods to her. The girl disappears in another flash of light. I turn to Merlin. “What is this business you’re attending to?”

  “You will find out, in time. For now, we must rest. Tomorrow we have much work to do.”

  I want to argue, but Merlin puts his hand to my forehead. I’m asleep before I even hit the ground. That’s the trouble with having a conjurer as your roommate.

  Chapter 10: The Trial, Part 1

  By the time I wake up the next morning, Merlin has gone. I have no idea where he’s gone, but his instructions from last night come back to me. With a groan I sit up and then look around for some dried meat to snack on for breakfast.

  I’m still eating when Beaux shows up. She doesn’t bother to announce herself; she just dives right through the door. “Figures you wouldn’t be up and about yet,” she says.

  “Care for a bite?” I ask.

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “I’m sure you have, but this is better than some berries and nuts.”

  “I haven’t time and neither do you. You’re supposed to be in the village.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he told me before he left. Now get moving. You can finish eating on the way.”

  I grumble to myself, but soon enough we’re on our way. I try to make small talk, but she has none of that. She’s more concerned about those sheep of hers. By the time she gets back, they’ll probably all have run off or gotten themselves eaten by wolves.

  “I don’t know why you bother with them. They’re just stupid sheep.”

  “At least I’m good at something.”

  “There you go again. I’m the apprentice to the most powerful conjurer in the whole land. What more do you want from me?”

  “You’re his assistant. Or his manservant is more like it.”

  “Manservant? I don’t change his bloody robe for him, woman. I am indispensable to him.”

  “Is that why he left without you?”

  “Bah. There’s no reasoning with you.” I’d like to stomp away from her, but she can easily keep up with me. “Why don’t you just let me handle this?”

  “Because you’ll botch the whole thing, is why.”

  “And what would you know about finding a warrior?”

  “More than you. The only thing you ever fought were Gren’s kittens—and you lost. Just look what happened with Greetha—”

  “Bloody witch took me by surprise is all.”

  Beaux brandishes her club. “I’m a lot closer to a warrior than you’ll ever be.”

  “Fine, you can come along, but I’m the one in charge.”

  She gives me a nasty look, but holds her tongue the rest of the way into the village. Though Elgar is still sore about the last time we met, he escorts us to his father’s hut. “Where is the conjurer?” the chief asks.

  “He’s attending to other business. He’s asked me to come in his stead.”

  “For what? Have you come to claim my title, little man?”

  “Not at all. My master has asked me to seek out the village’s bravest warrior for a special mission.”

  “What sort of mission?”

  “There is a very nasty bloke on his way here. A black demon. He’s going to lay waste to everything unless we find a warrior who can stop him.”

  The chief gets to his feet with a groan. He stands beside Elgar and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You need look no further than my son. He is without equal.”

  “The master has made it very clear I’m supposed to find someone who is brave, strong, and pure of heart. I’m not sure Elgar meets all those qualifications.”

  “What are you saying, old man? My heart is purer than anyone’s in this village!”

  Beaux puts a hand on my arm. “What Marlin is saying is that we want to make sure.”

  “Yes, exactly.” I clap my hands together. “I suppose the simplest way to make sure would be to have a tournament.”

  “What sort of tournament?” the chief asks.

  “We’ll have every able-bodied man in the village duel to determine who is the best.”

  Elgar grins at us. “That sounds amusing. Then you will see without a doubt that I am the best warrior in this village.”

  “What about being pure of heart?” Beaux asks me once we’re outside.

  “We’ll worry about that later,” I say. I hope the master is done by that time, because I have no idea what he means; I only know Elgar can’t be what he has in mind.

  The chief makes the announcement to the rest of th
e village. There are twenty men in total; the chief does not include himself. Only after the announcement does young Artr pull his father aside. “Father, what about me?”

  “What about you? He said able-bodied men.”

  “But I’m sixteen. I’m old enough to go to war.”

  The chief stares at his son for a moment and then sighs. “Very well. Add the boy to your list.”

  I nod at the chief, though I know the boy has no chance. He’ll be lucky if one of the others doesn’t snap him in half. Well, it’s his funeral.

  I turn to Beaux and say, “Now that that’s settled, how about we get some decent food?”

  “You and your stomach,” she grumbles, but she follows me to get a joint of mutton. We eat it together beneath a tree. Maybe there’s a good side to this job after all.

  Chapter 11: Into the Fire

  The volcano isn’t on any maps. It doesn’t exist in this world; you can only find it on another plane of existence, one where mortal man can never go. But Merlin is no mortal man, so it’s as easy for him to enter this realm as walking to the local pub.

  He steps through the opening from one world to another and enters a field of daisies. He remembers the last time he saw a field of daisies, on his long trip from Egypt to Britain. Such a sight was unlike anything in Egypt with all that sand and heat that made it impossible for wildflowers to grow.

  A horse nibbles on some grass in the field. It’s not a normal horse, though; it’s got feathered wings like those of a giant bird. In modern parlance it’s a Pegasus. The winged horse looks up from its feeding to glare at Merlin. It whinnies a challenge.

  “I’ve come to see your master,” Merlin says.

  The horse continues to glare. It allows Merlin to get close enough to put a hand on its neck. “I promise you have nothing to fear from me.”

  The horse snorts. Still, it allows Merlin to swing onto it. The moment Merlin steadies himself, the Pegasus extends its wings. It flaps the wings as it runs across the field. After a few moments, it achieves enough lift to take flight.

  Though he’s been from one end of the earth to the other and beyond, he still can’t help but grab the horse’s mane as it gets airborne. He grabs it even tighter as the Pegasus sails past the land and over the ocean. Merlin is dignified enough not to get airsick, though he does feel a bit queasy.

  After what feels like hours, the volcano appears. There’s nothing around it except a mile-high volcano that seems to rise straight out of the water. Merlin takes a deep breath as the Pegasus dives into the opening of the volcano. Not even Merlin can help but scream as the horse plunges into a lake of molten rock.

  The lava is just an illusion. The horse comes through the other side of it without a hair singed, as does Merlin. He lets out a sigh as the horse begins a gentler descent into a temple of white marble.

  Waiting for him is a man at least ten feet tall with biceps bigger around than Merlin’s waist. His thick sandy beard has dried and scorched patches indicative of someone who spends a lot of time near an open flame. Indeed he does spend a lot of time near an open flame, as he is the world’s greatest blacksmith.

  “I should have known it would be you,” the giant growls.

  “Forgive my intrusion, Heph. I’ve come on a matter of great importance.”

  “It had better be. Odin keeps badgering me to finish this hammer for his no-account son. The last thing a spoiled princeling needs is a magic weapon, if you ask me, but it’s not my place to interfere. Come, we can discuss what you need along the way.”

  Heph’s house is sized to fit him, which made any mortal man feel like a mouse scurrying about. Most of the house is deserted, a layer of dust covering the furniture. “I heard what happened with Aphrodite—”

  “Do not speak her name!” Heph roars. “Traitorous wench. She dares to leave me for that preening fool Ares? God of war. Hah! He wouldn’t know what to do with a sword if it bit him in the arse.”

  “Very true. I’m afraid I have a bit of woman trouble myself.”

  “Ah, yes, the false goddess. Isis. I knew that would go badly. Why Anubis ever thought to give her such power is beyond me. And that demon of hers with those claws. If she wanted real weapons, she should have come to me. But I suppose that’s what brings you here. You want me to design something to kill her?”

  “I’m afraid such a thing is beyond even your skill, not with the protection of a god of the underworld.”

  “You could let me at least try. I would enjoy the challenge.”

  “For now I only need something to slay her servant, the demon.”

  Heph snorts at that. “And I thought you had a real challenge for me.”

  “There are a few other items I will require. Do you have boots around here? Perhaps a spare tunic and loincloth?”

  “I’m sure I can find something. What else do you need?”

  “I’ll need a helmet.”

  “Well, that’s still not much of a challenge, but it’ll have to do.” Heph bends down to tap Merlin on the shoulder with one huge finger. “Come, let us see what we can find.”

  Chapter 12: The Trial, Part 2

  The tournament is held in a field outside the village. Everyone capable of dragging themselves out there attends. We don’t have currency, but people make wagers with food and livestock. If I weren’t in charge of the thing, I would put Beaux’s entire herd of sheep on Elgar.

  By random lot we pair the men up, all except young Artr. He gets what in modern terminology would be called a “bye.” I see him off by himself, practicing his skills, such as they are. He doesn’t have a prayer.

  The chief, his wife, Beaux, and I sit together to oversee the tournament. There aren’t much in the way of rules except to forbid killing anyone; the village can’t afford to lose all its able-bodied men in a contest like this. Instead, the opponents will try to beat each other into submission, until one finally yields.

  I munch on a half of chicken while the combat begins. As you would expect, it’s not a civilized affair. There’s a lot of bruising and blood. Elgar of course draws the most amount of blood; his opponent will probably never walk properly again, not unless Merlin uses magic to fix both of his legs.

  I have to look away as Elgar finishes his match. The poor man he fought is dragged away screaming and crying. If he’s lucky, he’ll survive the night. “Bring me another!” Elgar roars.

  For the sake of the rest of the village, I award Elgar a bye for the next round while his brother gets into it. Artr is much scrawnier than his brother, but he’s quick. Apparently he’s been practicing with his spear as well. He draws a cut on Bleeth’s left pectoral before Bleeth can even move. Then Artr whips the end of the spear around to bash the other man in the stomach. Bleeth crumples to the ground. While he gasps for air, he pleads for mercy.

  “Perhaps the boy is more ready than I thought,” the chief says.

  By the time we’ve winnowed it down to two, there’s no doubt Artr can handle himself. There’s also no doubt for a fat slob the chief has some good DNA; only his sons remain. The chief’s wife—and mother to Artr—takes her husband’s arm. “You can’t let them fight each other.”

  “Why not? It was bound to happen eventually. It might as well be now.”

  “But Elgar will kill Artr. You must know that.”

  “He won’t kill him. He’ll just break a few bones.”

  The chief’s wife wails at this and then runs off, unable to watch. “She’s right,” Beaux whispers into my ear. “You know what will happen.”

  “What am I supposed to do about it?” I ask. “The boy wants to be a warrior. This is what it means to be one.”

  “As if you would know.”

  “It’s out of my hands. Let the boys decide it for themselves.”

  They march into the circle, each armed with a club similar to Beaux’s. “You might as well scurry back to Mother’s bosom,” Elgar says. “You’ll save yourself a lot of pain that way.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,�
�� Artr says, though his voice quivers.

  Without further preamble, they have at it. Elgar presses his advantage in height, weight, and strength by charging right at Artr, swinging his club. The more nimble Artr dances out of the way. He manages hit Elgar in the back of the leg, but the blow doesn’t faze him. He spins around to hit Artr in the back with his club; the boy sprawls on the ground.

  Artr is quick enough to roll out of the way before Elgar’s club can cave in his skull. Artr hits Elgar in the back of the leg again, this time in that sweet spot behind the knee. Elgar shouts with pain and staggers. Artr hits him in the back, but it’s too late.

  Elgar spins around with his club. He swings it from underneath to knock the club from his brother’s hands. Another blow sends Artr to the ground, on his back. Elgar lands a flurry of blows that leave Artr bloodied and bruised.

  “That’s enough,” I say. “The fight is over.”

  “It’s over when I say it is,” Elgar growls.

  “It is over, son,” the chief says. “You have won.”

  “It’s over when I say it is, old man.” He resumes beating on his brother, who by now should be unconscious and yet somehow the lad is still trying to fetch his club. The chief and I should try to stop Elgar, but neither of us has the courage for it.

  Beaux gets to her feet. “If you won’t stop him, then I will!”

  Before she can try, I see our salvation on its way. It’s a streak of gold light whizzing towards us from the south. As it gets closer, I see it’s a spear made entirely of gold. Like a cruise missile nowadays, it circles over the battlefield, where Elgar continues to pummel his brother. Then the spear dives straight to the ground to land within Artr’s reach.

  The boy is no dummy; he immediately grabs the spear. He whips the end of the spear around to hit his brother in the side of the head. Elgar staggers to the ground. A kick to the midsection and Elgar ends up on his back. Artr holds the spear point at his throat. “It is finished. Yield.”

  “I will not.” Elgar spits blood and then grins. “You’ll have to kill me.”