The Bastard 2

by Jack Porter

  Yet she knew what he was.

  “He called you Mordie,” she said, her tone filled with suspicion. She looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to draw her dagger again or to simply turn and run.

  I hesitated. Anwen didn’t know me. Didn’t recognize my new face.

  But she did know my name.

  I looked through the rain behind her to the chapel entrance, and saw it was still blessedly free of Blackcoats. How long it would remain so, I couldn’t say. But I didn’t think it would be long, and not with the old monk still shouting from within.

  The fight with Rolf had taken too much time already. We couldn’t afford any further delays if we wanted to get away.

  At the same time, I had lied to Anwen once before, and didn’t want to do so again.

  I nodded. “You heard him right,” I said.

  Her expression hardened, and her hand went to the hilt of her knife. “You have a different face,” she said, her voice fighting through teeth that were clenched.

  I drew a deep breath. “It is true,” I said. “I am the man who lured you to be captured.”

  As fast as thought, Anwen’s dagger was back in her hand. But still she hesitated, caught between attack and escape. And my instinct for understanding people didn’t let me down.

  A lot had happened since I’d lured her away from the market. She had seen me fight in her defense. And had seen me hanging – or at least heard of it – for my part in the crime.

  At the same time, she was desperate. She was on the run from the Blackcoats who even now might have been moments away from finding her.

  “How is it that you live?” the merchant’s daughter demanded.

  “It is a long story,” I said. I knew instinctively that she wasn’t looking for a reason to kill me, but for a reason to trust. “And we don’t have time to tell it. But I tell you truly, we are here to help. I am no longer working for the man who paid me to lure you into his trap. In fact, that’s him over there. He won’t be hurting you or anyone else ever again.”

  I could see the conflict in Anwen’s eyes. She wanted to believe me, but needed more to know she was safe.

  Quite deliberately, I sheathed my sword. “If you wish, you can use that knife. Plunge it into my heart. I won’t stop you. What I did to you was a betrayal, but know that I fought for you then, and still fight for you now.”

  I could sense Anwen’s hesitation. She shot quick glances at Galahad, and back to the chapel. Almost, she took a step toward me, and I knew she still held significant anger toward me.

  Deliberately, I closed my eyes and held my hands behind my back. Should she choose, she could stab me as I suggested, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her. Then I counted the seconds.

  One.

  Nothing.

  Two.

  Still nothing.

  Three.

  All of a sudden, there was a flurry of movement. I opened my eyes and saw it wasn’t from Anwen, nor from the others.

  The Blackcoats had finally made their way back through the chapel and were spilling out into the street.

  43

  It took them less than a heartbeat to decide that we were the ones they sought. “You there!” one of them bellowed into the rain. “Remain in your places! This is by Order of the Kingdom!”

  Suddenly, Anwen decided to trust me. Or perhaps it was simply desperation. She turned about, dagger still at hand, as the Blackcoats came closer. Blackcoats faced us through the rain, caught in indecision about how to approach.

  Rolf wasn’t the only Blackcoat to favor crossbows. Two of those who faced us carried them as well, slung across their backs. As if on some unspoken order, both of them brought their weapons to bear and worked the mechanism to pull the string.

  But I was already moving. As soon as the Blackcoat shouted, Galahad started to struggle, trying to climb to his feet. I was with him in an instant, and with the girls’ help, got the old man standing despite the wound in his side.

  “We have to go!” I hissed, knowing even as I said it that we couldn’t win. Not with Galahad slowing us down. But there was no other choice.

  Galahad’s wound might be serious. It might even be fatal. But at that time, he still lived, still breathed, and I would not leave him behind.

  “Come on!” I said, supporting as much as I could of the old man’s weight. But with surprising strength, he put a halt to my effort, standing his ground.

  “No!” he said. “It is too late.”

  And he was right. Along with the crossbowmen, the other Blackcoats were drawing closer. “I said don’t move!” one of them bellowed, his sword drawn and ready. Yet he wasn’t charging at us, not exactly, but was instead stalking, like a fox in a hen house, not wanting to risk his prey choosing to flee. He kept an eye on Anwen, and on the rest of us as well, preparing to run if he had to, but obviously hoping that we would not make him chase.

  “We have to go now!” Elaine said, talking to her father.

  But the old man knew better than any of us what was at stake. He spoke to his daughter calmly, as if all was right in the world. “Elaine, I will not have my last moments be filled with the same cowardice I have shown for most of my life. What we have here are two people who can make a real difference. Mordred, because of the blood in his veins, and Anwen, who had the courage to take action. My only regret is that it took me so long to understand.”

  “But father,” Elaine began, but the old man was having none of it. With surprising strength for someone with a crossbow bolt in his side, he shoved me and his daughter both out of the way and stumbled toward the approaching Blackcoats with his hands on display.

  “You’ve got me,” he said calmly. “I’m coming peacefully,”

  It was enough to make the approaching Blackcoats hesitate, and the old man used the moment to his greatest advantage. He took three more paces toward them, then suddenly drew his own sword and rushed the rest of the way.

  “Go!” he called over his shoulder, then raised his voice in an animalistic howl, and attacked the nearest Blackcoats with everything he had.

  “No!” Elaine cried, and I knew she was about to fling herself after her father. But I caught her, and with Meghan’s help, turned her away. Between the two of us, we half-carried Elaine away from the sounds of her father fighting the Blackcoat, and to my relief, Elaine came with us.

  It was a desperate gamble, this much I understood. Galahad had to keep all the Blackcoats occupied for long enough to give us a chance. The only thing we had in our favor was the weather. If anything, it was raining even harder than before.

  Elaine didn’t want to leave. That much was clear. At first, she fought against me with her fists, but Meghan shouted at her that this was what her father wanted, and that proved the difference.

  Elaine stopped fighting, stopped trying to turn back to where her father battled the Blackcoats, and together, the four of us ran through the rain.

  The sounds of the fight followed us as we came to the first corner. I knew that Galahad, despite his injury, was giving us the chance that we needed. Yet I knew as well as Elaine, Meghan, and Anwen that it would never be enough.

  Not counting the crossbowmen, Galahad had pitted himself against three Blackcoats, with two more having appeared in the doorway before we fled. There was no way an old man like him, not known for his skill with the sword, could stand against so many for so long.

  All he could do was buy some time.

  And then, as we reached another corner, we all heard the fight coming to an end. It wasn’t a scream so much as a wail, and then it was followed by a grunt of effort and a curse, and the sound of a body falling into the wet.

  Indistinct sounds, heard over a distance, more imagination than real. And yet, I knew what I heard, and what I heard next seemed to confirm it.

  “After them!” came the lead Blackcoat’s bellow.

  We didn’t pause for even a moment. We kept going, had to keep going. Losing them in the rain was our only real chance. And yet, as
each of us hurried along, doing our best to support one another, with me keeping a close eye on Elaine to make sure she had the will to continue, I couldn’t help but feel a lump in my throat.

  I had admired Galahad from the moment I first met him. Circumstances had put us at odds for a while, but his story had resonated with me. And that he was Elaine’s father had only endeared him to me more.

  His goals were not the same as my own. But he was a man of character, true to his nature, and brave to the end.

  And he had died on my watch.

  Rescuing Anwen wasn’t Galahad’s purpose. It was my own. And the old man had given his life to achieve it.

  As the four of us hurried along, it became increasingly hard for me to see. I told myself it was because of the rain getting in my eyes, and while it was true that it was, that was only part of the story. The rain wasn’t making it hard for me to see. If anything, it was my own tears doing that.

  44

  We made our way back to the basement beneath the ruined church. Galahad’s basement. I felt the lack of the man’s presence keenly, and knew without the slightest hint of doubt that Elaine felt it even more so. The beautiful swordswoman hadn’t said a lot as we made our way through the rain, sticking to dark alleys and shadows, ignoring the wet as best we could.

  Now, she seemed to drift around the basement, ostensibly lighting the candles, but to me it was like she was trying to hold on to Galahad’s spirit. Her eyes were too wide, her breathing too shallow, and I watched for only a few moments before crossing the length of the room and holding her tight.

  At first, she stood in place, as if not quite understanding what I was doing. Then she melted against me, drew a deep, shuddering breath, and let out a sob.

  For long minutes, we stood there, holding each other. I found myself murmuring wordless noises of comfort, and stroking her hair, rocking ever so slightly.

  As we held onto each other, Meghan busied herself stoking the fire, and setting one of the pots to the flames to heat water.

  It must have been several minutes later when the smell of cinnamon tea filled the air, although to me, it felt as if no time had passed.

  Then Meghan was drawing Elaine and me apart, forcing mugs of hot tea into our hands, and guiding us to Galahad’s chairs.

  I found myself drinking automatically, and while this cinnamon tea couldn’t compare to the hot cocoa drink Ember made at the Goose and Quill, the cinnamon taste was delicious in its own right. Almost despite myself, I started to relax, beginning to warm up in my wet clothes.

  Anwen was studying each of us in turn.

  She had a drink of her own, but was largely ignoring it. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, offering her condolences mostly to Elaine, but to me as well. She didn’t know who Galahad was, or what he meant to either of us. But the impact his death had was obvious.

  “And thank you for saving me from the Blackcoats,” she added, even though it was no sure thing that we had done it. For all any of us knew, Anwen could have been safe in her bolthole until the Blackcoats had left.

  But there was an equal chance that the Blackcoats might have found her as well, and I held onto that thought as I took another sip of tea.

  Because to think that we might have lost Galahad through a wasted effort was beyond contemplation.

  “But now what?” Anwen asked. “What happens next?”

  It was a question to which I didn’t really have an answer.

  I offered a shrug. “That’s up to you,” I said. “Whatever you wish to do, I am here to help. To make up for my actions when we last met–”

  But Elaine wasn’t happy with my answer. Perhaps it was too imprecise. Too passive for her liking. Or perhaps the loss of her father had changed her opinion about certain fundamental things.

  “Now we hide,” she said, interrupting me. “But not for long. There are people out there, that much is plain, who share the same thoughts and beliefs as my father. He died today still thinking that he could have done better. Still thinking that he should have done more to stand up against the King.”

  I looked at the beautiful but fraught woman, and saw that her eyes were flashing as they did when she was angry. I knew what she was going to say, and felt the cold hand of fate gripping my heart.

  I didn’t want her to say it. I’d fought too long, avoided it with everything I had. And she understood better than anyone the reasons behind my stance.

  But she said it anyway.

  “Here in this room, we have the woman who got closer than anyone to ending King Arthur’s life. And we have his only surviving blood kin.”

  At this last, Anwen looked startled. She glanced at me in confusion, and I realized that she was one of the few people who hadn’t heard the news. But I was growing angry, and didn’t have the freedom to explain.

  “I don’t have access to all of my father’s contacts,” Elaine continued, “but I have access to enough. I can find those who can help us. I can find those who aided Anwen. And others. And we can gather them together.”

  The swordswoman glared hard at me, and at Anwen, and at Meghan le Fay.

  As an afterthought, Elaine nodded. “And we have something else. Something that will even the playing field against King Arthur and his magician, Merlin. We have Morgana le Fay, the only enchantress powerful enough to stand up to Merlin, fighting by our side.”

  At this, Anwen nearly spat out the sip of cinnamon tea she had just drunk. She stared at Meghan in astonishment, and the enchantress gave her a nod. Part of me expected Meghan to deny that she would stand and fight, but she did nothing of the sort. She just sat there, drinking her tea and watching me closely.

  “This was my father’s dream,” Elaine said finally. “Not mine. But who can deny that it isn’t just? The things King Arthur has done, all that he stands for. The Blackcoats are just the surface. We all know that. For the longest time, his rule has been more about him than the people, and the results are clear. Poverty. Crime. Blackcoats acting like bullies, acting like gangs. And the stories we’ve all heard, those of dark magic being employed–”

  “They are true as well,” Meghan supplied. “Ask Mordie what happened to his brothers and sisters. Ask him what the King keeps in the bowels of the castle, and what foul treatment Merlin might be putting it to.”

  Elaine didn’t seem pleased with the interruption, but she let Meghan finish what she was saying. And when she was done, all that was left was to nod in agreement.

  But I wasn’t content.

  Anwen, Elaine, and even Meghan seemed ready to start some sort of group rebellion, but their plans already had one giant flaw.

  “I don’t want this,” I said. “I don’t want any of it.”

  I was going to explain my reasons even though Meghan and Elaine had heard them before. That revolution, that usurping the King was too far out of my world. That I was no more than a thief trying to get by. And I didn’t see how Galahad’s death changed that one.

  Part of me knew that my arguments were shallow. That they were insufficient in the face of everything I had seen, everything I knew.

  But I didn’t even get a chance to voice them.

  Elaine rounded on me. “Who cares what you want?” she bellowed. “Do you think my father wanted to die out there in the mud? Do you think he toiled for these twenty years to watch his dreams remain unfulfilled, and to see King Arthur remain on his throne despite everything he has done? Do you think the people of Camelot should continue to suffer just because you don’t want to take part in this?”

  The swordswoman hadn’t moved from her seat, for which I was grateful. She hadn’t stood up, hadn’t even put aside her tea, and was a long way from drawing her sword.

  Yet, I couldn’t help but think she was more dangerous in that moment than she had ever been.

  She was a whip ready to strike. A scorpion locked onto a target. A viper with her prey in range.

  “Mordred Pendragon,” she said, pronouncing a name I had never had, “you are a t
hief. A liar, a conman, and a bounder. If you think I don’t understand who you are, you are mistaken. It is clear in your every action, in the way that you look at Anwen, and Meghan, and even that bartender Ember. If this was all I knew of you, then still it would be enough. Because King Arthur is malignant. He is a cancer, and together with Merlin and Lancelot, he needs to be cut out.”

  I started to say something in my defense, but hadn’t formed the first word when Elaine raised a quick hand and stopped me.

  “But that is not all who you are,” she said fiercely. “You are passionate, courageous, and more skilled with the sword than you have any right to be given how little you have put into learning the art. You understand people without even trying, comprehending their needs and what drives them. And people love you. Not just me,” she admitted, “but Meghan as well. I can see it. Even Anwen, who from all telling should despise you, she can’t help looking at you.”

  With effort, Elaine reigned herself in. “I’m not saying that these are all of the skills you would need to be King. I’m not saying that you would instantly know how to govern. But it is this empathy, this ability to really connect with all sorts of people that King Arthur lacks. Or if he doesn’t lack it exactly, then at least he doesn’t value it as he should.”

  Elaine shook her head bitterly. “King Arthur acts according to his own interest even when he can see that it hurts others. To me, that is the definition of evil. For someone with his power to do that.”

  She lapsed into silence for a moment. “Mordred Pendragon. You have the blood of a king in your veins. And you can make people love you. That is a start. With that, we have a chance to change history. We have a chance to take the crown from a monster and usher in an age of fairness and prosperity for all.”

  Galahad’s daughter lapsed into silence. And instead of simply reacting with anger, I found myself thinking about what she had said.