Tales of the Once and Future King

by Anthony Marchetta

  Knights were everywhere, in colorful court tabards. Of course the Knights of the Round Table were there, but most knights that could be spared from the Wall had also come. I supposed I was now a war hero, and how many of those were there? I thought of Sir Richard. Many indeed.

  But enough thought. Here was the king himself, enthroned in golden splendor. King Arthur Pendragon IV, Captain of the Knights of the Round Table, Defender of the Wall, Bearer of Humanity’s Hope.

  Rolf, two from the right flank, and myself came to the throne and knelt. I felt wretched at how few of us had survived. How Shigeru, who I had imagined invincible in his Kusanagi, had died by repeated impacts. How even Oscar, who I wished would never become a knight, now received his accolade posthumously. How trivial our differences had been, in the end.

  Though I had dreamed of this moment, I could barely pay attention. The Arthur made a short speech, and we said our oaths in unison. One by one he gave the accolade, and as he approached me, I was terrified something would go wrong.

  But it did not. The Arthur touched his sword on one of my shoulders, then the other. “Arise, Sir Tristan.” The throne room cheered.

  I could not help but tremble on the stage, and I wished I had not eaten so much at the feast. Only the Knights of the Table could actually sit at said table, and everyone else but myself stood around the room. The Silver Lady was there for obvious reasons, but I did not know why Archbishop Paul was.

  I told the story as well as I could. Multiple times, I drifted off. As much as I hated to remember what happened, they needed to know. After all, was I not one of the only pilots to survive a combat with a black armor?

  But why had one attacked the Wall, so poorly defended? No one could answer.

  “My lady?” the king asked. “What do you say of their strategy?”

  The Silver Lady looked fatigued, as if the mere memory of the past tired her. Her voice was that of a penitent, not the legendary whip. “When we planned an assault, we would consult an augury. Not merely to determine what we would encounter, but what would happen afterwards.”

  “Knowledge of the future is the province of God alone,” the archbishop said.

  “Perhaps, but we seemed to have better knowledge than not, especially when... humans were used.” She looked away from the knights, and I tried to look at my feet.

  “But what would they possibly find valuable in sending a black armor against the Wall?” the Lancelot asked. “They lost their entire force, for what gain?”

  “As I said, perhaps they consulted an augury, and the results told that some future benefit would come from their battle. I do not know what it would be.”

  “Hypothetical atop hypothetical,” the archbishop said. “We must first assume that their augury advised them to this, and second that this advisory was true.”

  “We needn’t assume the latter,” the Arthur said. His voice was gentle even in disagreement. “If they wrongly thought they would have some success, that would not stop them from attempting it at all.”

  The meeting continued with little more progress. I would have thought it any other discussion, were it not that their table was round. Yet seeing that they, too, were but human, strengthened rather than distressed me. For since I, too, was human, could I not do the same as they did?

  As I was dismissed, and left, I overheard the Galahad say, “On the subject of the quest to Fort Northern, the last scouts returned intact. Perhaps the darkness has abandoned the ruins. Nonetheless...”

  It was as if I was a great armor, arms and legs piloted by some inner knight, that forced myself back inside. “Sirs,” I said. I could not but speak, no matter if it was out of turn. “If there is a quest to Fort Northern... I... I would wish to come on this quest.”

  “Ah, yes, you had lived there before it fell,” the Galahad said. “And you knew someone who lived there?”

  “I knew someone, yes sir,” I said. My heart was beating hard. “If... if there is any chance at all that she survived...” And I knew how unlikely. She could not have walked out of her bed, let alone into the shelters. Any survivors would have starved by now. And if they hadn’t, they would have run out of medicine long before.

  And yet hope was hope.

  “Sirs?” I asked. “I apologize. It—it is simply that this is the reason I sought to become a knight.” Indeed, how much I, an older commoner, had fought to be even accepted as a page, and fought further to be selected as a junker. That I had received the accolade but hours ago had yet to reach my full consciousness.

  “By all means you may come,” the Galahad said. “No matter how little your hope, I would never turn away a knight on a quest in the first place. You needn’t convince us here.”

  I bowed again and left.

  I came to the Silver Lady’s quarters the first thing after breakfast. I knocked on the silver-gilded door. “Come in!” Her voice answered behind it. “The door’s unlocked.”

  The Silver Lady’s room contained more silver than I had ever seen before in my life. The windows were silvered, the walls were adorned with silver, even the furnishing had silver thread. The Silver Lady herself drank from a silver cup, and inclined her head slightly at my approach. “Ah. I see you know not to keep a lady waiting.”

  “Of course, my lady,” I said. I bent and kissed her silver ring. As I rose I saw the cup she held contained a murky black liquid: alchemical blood.

  “I am afraid I must be brief,” the Silver Lady said, and took out from a pocket in her dress a small silver dagger. Her hand, I noticed, trembled slightly. “I finished this yesterwaking. A fine weapon for someone who might find himself in hand-to-hand combat, again, no?”

  “Of course, my lady.” I carefully took the dagger. I had never seen work so fine, nor such silver put into the same place. I did not dare consider how much scrip it would be worth, if I could even imagine selling the gift. Neither did I dare to ask if it was completely silver. But another question bubbled within me like steam pushed through control pipes. “My lady, may I ask the boon of a question?” I asked.

  The Silver Lady nodded. “Of course you may ask.”

  “I have... well, fought a vampire in the most recent time,” I said, and mentally chided myself for stumbling over my words. “When I... erm, used silver on him, he... well, died. Writhing.”

  She smiled, perhaps deliberately to show her silver incisors. “And you wonder why I still live?”

  “Well, the Merlin of course, well... of course he... the alchemical blood...”

  “Ah, perhaps you wonder if I am in agony, as you saw the end of that vampire?”

  I could nod, but no more.

  “I am in terrible pain indeed,” The Silver Lady said. “The bracelets and anklets I wear feel like white-hot brands, and the silver where my fangs once were are like spikes in my mouth, burning my tongue.”

  “My lady! I am...” I began, but could find no other word than, “Sorry.”

  “But is it my pain about which you are curious, or why I submit to it?”

  How quickly had she seen through my words. “The latter, my lady.”

  “Suppose Polaris above were to go out.” At her calm words I shuddered. “The Last Star, now dark. Perhaps you could fight off the darkness, perhaps despair would do what the darkness could not. Perhaps you still fought on, for years. And then one waking, someone came to you and gave you this offer: Be chained with glowing-red iron and suffer without ceasing, but the One Star would return. Would you take this offer?”

  “Of course, my lady. I... believe I understand.”

  “You do not,” she said without anger. “You have not the choice, nor do you suffer the price. But you asked why, and I have answered. Now go. I am certain the Merlin is eagerly waiting.”

  I bowed, and with an odd sorrow I cannot name, left.

  I give the same diagnosis to the engineers that most knights do: complete, incurable, insanity. The Merlin himself did not prove an exception in the slightest. The moment I entered the workshop the
chief engineer cheerfully shouted over the hammering: “Ah, my boy, I’m glad to see you survived talking to her, completely intact! Would you like to stay that way?”

  “Um... perhaps, sir?” I asked.

  “So unfortunate,” the Merlin sighed. “No one to test the latest models, no one at all.”

  “Latest models?” I asked.

  “Of course, my boy! So many knights would rather risk their lives in battle in antiquated equipment, when they could risk their lives in testing the latest equipment beforehand!” The Merlin clapped. “Are you sure you won’t prefer a different form of mortal danger?”

  “Well, I don’t really know, sir,” I said.

  “That’s the whole point of asking questions: Science!”

  “I am still unsure what precisely you ask, sir.”

  “Ah, perhaps I could explain. The first thing so many new knights want is a new armor, but not a new new armor. No, they want a Durendal IV, or a Sacnoth. Or even a Caliburn, and we don’t even make those anymore! Old standbys, yes, but once they were new standbys, no?” The Merlin asked. He scratched his singed beard. “Runbys? Runwiths?”

  “I suppose so, sir.”

  “Well, how do they stop running and change their preposition? Use, my boy! Someone has to be the first to risk hideous death so that others’ risk of hideous death is less risky!”

  Perhaps the chemical taint in the air had some intoxicating effect, for I found myself agreeing. “It does seem so, sir, but won’t older knights try new things?”

  “Of course not! They’ve already grown attached to their old armor, and by the time they could afford several, they’ve gotten promoted far too many times to be allowed to attempt things. No, new breakthroughs must come the only way they have: through the new!”

  I found it hard to disagree. “But... what specifically are you proposing?”

  “Ah, you are fond of the Durendal series, yes? I have a new prototype Durendal VI waiting for a brave new master. One as brave as you!”

  “I thank you for the compliment, sir, but I was understanding that the latest prototypes were Durendal Vs.”

  “The old prototypes! This is the first of the first! A brand new era!”

  Some sense must have stayed in my head, even if the insanity had become infectious. “Is it safe, sir? Will I be broiled alive?”

  “Of course not!” the Merlin proclaimed. “If it was safe, the preposition and ambulation would be changed already! But don’t worry about that kind of hideous death, my boy! There hasn’t been a steam leak in our armors for at least... well, my memory must be going. It’s been a while, certainly.”

  “I suppose I’d... well, I suppose it’d be worth trying...”

  “Wonderful! You won’t regret your potential death! Not that you would regret it if you did die. You wouldn’t be alive to regret it!” The chief engineer laughed at this and led me through the workshop.

  The next morning, I woke with such a headache that I immediately concluded that some chemical had indeed been intoxicating, and thus now had a hangover. Intoxication would also explain why I had agreed to purchase the expensive new Durendal without even setting foot inside. But no, I really only had myself to blame. At worst, I supposed, I would advance the cause of science, if not the extent of my lifespan.

  I had imagined the quest would begin immediately. I had not imagined the logistics involved. No one but a logistics knight could possibly comprehend the incessant flood of details that made the quest possible at all. In impatience I had asked Dame Opal if I could help. Her uninterruptable and shortly uninterpretable rant about cocky young pilots who thought they could do everything themselves had the volume approaching that of a siege gun. I later asked Dame Alice the same, who smiled brightly and handed me a stack of parchment deeper than my forearm. An hour and two sheets later, I begged her pardon to do other work.

  And other work I had.

  Every knight had pages, even if they did not have the old armors necessary to supply junkers. I decided to select as many commoners as possible. I changed my mind when realizing that there simply weren’t enough. In the end, of my twelve, I had only two who were not of gentle birth.

  I found myself giving the same lectures as I once received. Albeit, their inexperience mattered little. The Durendal VI was unique, with critical technical differences than other armors with which I will not bore you. Most importantly, it had its pilot in the helm rather than the chest. This allowed the pilot to look through the one hundred fifty degrees of alchemically treated glass and two rear mirrors with nearly perfect vision. This also meant that the already-complicated harness was completely different than others, not helped by the continual alterations necessary resolving sometimes literal kinks. The Merlin, my pages, and myself spent many frustrating hours finding them.

  Yet we had time. It was at the end of the fifth week that the quest was finally ready to begin. Friends and wives gave tearful hugs to those about to embark. I said farewell to my brothers-in-arms, who had decided to put their new knighthood at use on the Wall. Two hours later, the mobile castle shook to a start and slowly marched through the massive gate.

  I could feel immediately why few knights ever went outside Neo Logres for more than a sortie. How much, subconsciously, did the Wall serve as our sign of safety. Of hope? Indeed, there was nowhere to see Polaris here, only the dark clouds.

  Yet I had greater hope.

  The quest, for the great effort in its commencement, consisted almost entirely of the mobile castle’s march. Its otherwise-endless walk was only broken by the occasional leg falling into a rut, whence we would sortie to remove it. My Durendal VI’s dexterity became far more useful than I conceived it could be in combat.

  The boredom was hardly the only unpleasant feature of quest. It took wakings before I could sleep with the bizarre motion of the mobile castle’s moving floors. There was no waking to leave for recreation, for there was simply nothing out there. Food and candles were strictly rationed by Dame Opal, who had to my distress come along. Dame Alice had also come along and was equally strict, only sweeter about it.

  The junkers of other knights occasionally came to me, asking about my battle with the black knight. I did not know what to tell them. The truth? A romanticized account? The technical details? I found I simply did not speak of it at all, and they stopped coming.

  Yet for all the many miseries, as the wakings passed, I felt a stronger and stronger feeling. I would not call it hope, but perhaps belief, belief that perhaps Isolde was not dead. Perhaps even then, I knew.

  Even if I desired to be the first one through the long since breached and crumbled walls—no sane knight truly desired to be in the front—my Durendal was simply not equipped. Sir Kelvin the Bulwark lead the way forward in an ancient Caliburn R-c2, that obscure model that had more plating than any great armor should ever reasonably possess.

  I was, not unwillingly, in the right flank. There was little other place. The Galahad had developed this formation, where the junkers formed the core and their knights formed the periphery, based on my experience against the black armor. Ergo, without junkers, I was even further on the periphery. The Galahad had asked me frequently about what had happened to develop the formation further, and I thought a lesser knight would have contrived some imaginary experience to put himself wherever he pleased. But I found nothing ignoble about guarding a flank. Albeit I could hardly answer if this would be any better than a standard formation against a black armor, but why not try?

  “On your watch, all. This smells like a trap,” the Galahad said, and his armor’s boomed repetition of the warning could be heard clearly from the distance I was from the vanguard. No matter if any ambusher heard it, for if it provoked them into carelessness, all the better.

  The mere fact that we had not encountered the slightest resistance on the way to the ruins had brought no few discussions, then arguments among us. It was unheard of that the darkness would have let us so far from Neo Logres without a single attack. Perhaps
they had pillaged the fort so thoroughly that they had not bothered to place even the most trivial guard after they left. I felt it bizarre that I somehow wanted there to be an ambush.

  And there was.

  The shadow serpents had come in perfect silence behind us, and it was only my armor’s rear vision that saved us. Had I shouted the warning one moment later, a junker’s great armor would have been torn apart by the spiked tail. It only lost a limb, and then there was too much chaos to concentrate on anything but survival.

  Shadow serpents can only fight with surprise. They simply have too little protection in a direct fight. Even their agility will soon become insufficient, with the modern focus on our own agility in great armors. A shadow serpent dodged my sword, but a twist of my hand and the sword cut downwards and severed it. It dissolved in shadow.

  But the shadow serpents themselves were a distraction, and my armor saved my life again. The black armor narrowly missed me with one sword, and as I shouted a warning it had already sliced through a Durendal IV and a Snickersnee. I screamed a battle cry and charged.

  The black armor turned with incredible dexterity, and ran over rubble with ease as it fled. I could not let it escape, no matter what sense I possessed that chasing it alone was madness. We chased through building and over broken structures. We passed through a park I once played in, but it could not have had any life for years.

  The black armor stopped and turned, and I nearly crashed into a building. It held its arms up, dropped its swords, and fell down backwards.

  I did not know what to do. Had he surrendered? I could hardly kill a surrendered foe.

  Yet, whether the occupant of the black armor had truly surrendered, and whether I accepted it, I had no obligation to preserve the black armor itself. With the Durendal VI’s strong arms, I cut every limb off in moments. I belatedly realized that if the red pouring outside was the vampire’s own, the pilot would not be unharmed. I did not care.