Return of the Grail King

by Theresa Crater

  “Didn’t they say it was Mordred—” Leo scrunched his shoulders in discomfort “—talking through the crystal.”

  Arnold smiled. “Something like that.”

  Leo pointed to the laptop screen he was perusing, returning to the world of verifiable facts. “She recently traveled to England. Rented a car in Salisbury. Had to show a driver’s license, so she used the Viviane Lake identity. That’s how we found this record.”

  “Did she leave a trail?”

  “Nothing I can find. Must have used cash. Think it’s worth it to ask one of the hackers to look on security cams?”

  Just then Tyrone rushed into the room. “We’ve got a location for the van.”

  Arnold and Leo jumped up and followed Tyrone back to the security office.

  Sylvia turned the monitor so they could all see. “This was the best image we could find of the license plate of the van.”

  A close-up of the plate showed it covered with mud.

  “We kept changing the colors until we came up with this.” AP-016- popped out in the image.

  “We couldn’t make out the last number, so we ran all ten possibilities. Five of these numbers belong to a laundry service. Those trucks were all at hotels in the greater DC area picking up loads.” Sylvia flashed through pictures so fast he lost track.

  “Two belong to a food delivery service. They delivered to an Indian restaurant called Indigo and Bistro Bohem, serving Czech food. They were parked behind the business all night.”

  Tyrone shifted his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet, apparently eager to get on with finding Knight.

  “The other three belong to Hertz. Only one has been rented in the last week, by—”

  “Viviane Lake,” Arnold and Leo said in unison.

  “Right,” Sylvia said. “How did you guess?”

  “Never mind. Where’s the van now?”

  Sylvia hit a key and an image of the van parked beside a ramshackle warehouse. “On the outskirts of the city on the way to Baltimore.”

  “Any cams we can hack into?”

  “Nothing close enough, sir.”

  “Who owns the building?”

  “A company called Clas Myrddin. It’s Gaelic for Merlin’s Enclosure,” Sylvia said. “We haven’t done a background check on it yet.”

  “More Arthurian references,” Leo said. “We can guess what you’ll find.”

  Tyrone nodded. “We’re headed out. Keep us alert to any change at the warehouse.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They headed for the door, but Preston flagged them down. “The money. It’s not in Knight’s accounts anywhere. It was transferred to accounts in Switzerland and Antiqua.”

  “Any names?” Arnold asked.

  “No, but I did run across a strange company name. Or maybe it’s an on-line fantasy game?”

  “Let me guess. Clas Myrddin?”

  Preston looked annoyed that Leo had stolen his thunder. “How’d you guess?”

  “They own a warehouse near Baltimore. They’re holding Knight there.”

  “You found him?”

  “We’re headed out. Keep trying to get that money back.”

  “No problem,” Preston said.

  Arnold imagined there would be all kinds of problems ahead, but patted Preston’s shoulder. “Good man.”

  Preston watched him leave, his mouth open in surprise.

  Nina waited a good half hour, watching Knight carefully. He continued to test the walls of the room, moving around randomly at first. Then his movements became more systematic. He went back to one corner and walked the entire perimeter of the room, pushing the mirrors, inspecting the seams between them. Finally, he sat cross-legged in front of a large faceted rainbow quartz about three feet high, placed his hands on either side, and began to tone. He was coming around. She didn’t want him fully awake.

  Nina took the sacrificial knife from the altar, her fingers running over the gems on the handle. It had been the first item she’d bought on the black market. Another famous artifact, supposedly used to end the life of Pythagoras by one of his disciples. Since then, several dark lodges had used it in ritual sacrifices.

  She slipped into the room she’d built to simulate the crystal cave of old and locked the door behind her. Gregor stood guard outside. She walked to Knight’s side and crouched beside him, matching his soft chant, harmonizing her breath to his, coming into sync with him. He looked into her face. She sat cross-legged across from him, maintaining eye contact, laying the knife across her lap. The chant softened, then fell away completely.

  She reached out and pulled Knight’s hands onto his knees, right palm up, left palm down, then matched her palms to his. Pushing forward, knees touching, she stared into his eyes, probing psychically. She found no defenses, only confusion and a soft love for her. Surprised, her heart softened for a moment, but she shrugged it off. This man had refused to teach her what she wanted in the past all because he did not approve of her ambition. She continued penetrating his psyche, diving deeper, searching for the key to unlock his knowledge, to let it spill out like a child come to term, bursting out of the birth canal with a rush of water and blood.

  First she found childhood memories, both Merlin’s and Valentin’s, playing with his brother in the local creek, the Druids riding in, choosing him, taking him away. Valentin being taught by his own parents the basics of magic, the ethical rules. For Merlin, at first lonely nights, his secret crying in his bed, sobbing into his cover. But the growing fascination of lessons. She watched him learn the rudiments of magic, then quickly grow proficient.

  Valentin was initiated into a lodge. Nights spent studying, meditating on the Qabalistic Tree. Venturing into eastern methods. She watched the two learn spells for healing, communicating with animals, for invisibility. Divination through water and crystal, sigils and their meaning, the uses of sound. She watched his visions pour out—as Merlin, the need for Arthur’s parentage, listened to the chant he used to change the appearance of Uther, saw the once and future king be born, the patient tutoring, coming and going to check on the child. Watching as he grew into a young man.

  Valentin’s love for all things Arthurian. His lifelong feeling that somehow the once and future king would come again. Merlin’s vision of Arthur’s marriage to—wait, it was not Guinevere, but some dark-haired beauty she did not recognize. So, was this where the mistake had been made? Then Guinevere and Lancelot locked in passionate throes of lovemaking and Arthur’s heart broken at losing them both. The knowledge that Nimué would betray him.

  Wait. He’d known?

  “Yes, my love, I knew.”

  Nina jumped, but didn’t break contact with Valentin. She opened her eyes.

  He was watching her, his gray eyes soft, a sad look on his face. “For this. So that Mordred would come to you. So you would try again.”

  “No, I did this for myself. I did this to gain your power.”

  Nina took the knife into her hand and held the point over Knight’s heart, pressing hard enough to bring up a ruby red drop of blood. Knight looked down, impassive, then back up at her, pity written on his face. Nina flinched, then redoubled her chant, pouring her desire into it, louder this time. Fueling the spell with her fury at learning that Merlin had submitted to her willingly. A willing sacrifice. This could undo it all. If he died, the benefit would rebound to his spiritual progress and the world at large. But perhaps she could still win his power. She would wound him, leave him alive, her prisoner, until his will broke. He was old. How long could he hold out?

  She heard a rustle behind her. “Not now, Gregor,” she said between clinched teeth.

  She felt the prick of something sharp at her throat.

  “Let him go,” someone whispered.

  Her eyes flew wide. This wasn’t Gregor. What was happening?

  “Now.”

  “Never!” Nina turned the sacrificial blade around and slashed at the unseen figure behind her. But
the knife found only thin air.

  The stiletto at her throat slipped in and severed her carotid artery.

  Nina dropped the dagger and grabbed her neck, hot blood spurting over her hand. She looked up.

  In the mirror she saw a woman, dressed all in black, a balaclava covering her face. Hazel eyes watched her with detached envy.

  Nina panted as more blood ran down the arm onto the floor. Dizzy, she put an arm out to hold herself up, but it slipped and she fell to her side.

  Her killer caught her before her head hit the floor and laid her down gently.

  “Enjoy your homecoming” the woman whispered.

  Nina’s breath stopped. Her body shuddered, then went still.

  A light opened above her and with a huge surge of joy, she flew toward it.

  Chapter 23

  Michael crouched down behind a dead horse and tried to get control of his breathing. The animal’s mouth was open in a scream, and he unconsciously reached out to stroke its neck. It was one thing to travel back in time and meld with Sir Lancelot du Lac, then find himself in the middle of the final battle that ended Camelot. But Egyptian warriors? The Neter Set? This was some Alice in Wonderland stuff. He had to focus. His job was to retrieve his crystal from Mordred. He had to ignore everything else.

  Standing, he searched the battlefield for any sign of the renegade. The Egyptian battalion of foot soldiers fought right in front of him and they seemed to be on the wrong side. This group was making mincemeat out of a cluster of Arthur’s soldiers.

  Focus. Anne and the baby are depending on you.

  But just as he narrowed his vision, none other than Grandmother Elizabeth stood before him, a dagger in one hand, shield in the other, looking quite comfortable with them.

  He just stared.

  “Michael, is that you?”

  She must be here on the astral plane, he thought, her body safe back in the temple.

  Then she poked him with the flat of her blade. He felt the cold steel on his arm.

  “You’re really here?”

  “Yes, Mordred and Set pulled us through.”

  “How— What— This is impossible.”

  She chuckled, and with a nod said, “Nevertheless, it is happening.”

  One of Mordred’s men loomed up behind Elizabeth, but before Michael could react, an arrow pierced his throat and he fell.

  “I must tell you.” Elizabeth grabbed his attention again. “Anne is in labor. We have to end this battle correctly.”

  Guinevere pregnant? With my child? Lancelot’s thoughts pushed forward.

  Michael shook his head against the tumult of emotion from the knight. “In labor?” he asked.

  “Yes. I can’t say how long it will be, but labor is progressing rapidly.” She looked deep into Michael’s eyes, then emphasized each word. “We must stop Mordred from trying to inhabit the child.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Lancelot yelled.

  “Yes, but that won’t be enough,” Elizabeth said.

  “I’ll get the crystal,” Michael said.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” she answered.

  Michael scanned the sea of men and horses, schooling himself to stop reacting to the bizarre mix of cultures battling before him. His eyes lighted on the purple shield again behind a group of Arthur’s men. Gathering his courage, he strode toward it, dodging an arrow on the way. A man came at him with a long knife and he grabbed his forearm and twisted at an extreme angle. The man fell to his knees. Arnold’s martial arts training was becoming automatic now. He whirled around.

  Mordred was right in front of him, locked in combat with Arthur. Rage filled him, the rage of a husband fighting for the life of his wife and baby. The rage of a lover, fighting the man who’d forced him to leave his beloved. But he was not here to kill him. He was here to steal his power, to take back the powerful crystal key that had already opened too many doors. He reached out to grasp a gleam of silver he saw at the back of Mordred’s neck, but he missed his chance as Mordred surged forward, his sword reaching under Arthur’s armor and piercing his side.

  Arthur screamed, his face etched with agony, and fell to his knees.

  Mordred let out a shout of victory. “He is down. Arthur is down.”

  He closed in to finish the job, but Arthur struggled and raised Excalibur at the last minute, impaling Mordred on the blade. His eyes went wide with pain and shock. His mouth gaped, but no sound came.

  Set strode toward them, his long legs eating up the distance.

  Mordred pushed at the sword, but his movements were weak and ineffectual. He tried to speak once more, then he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Michael rushed up behind Mordred, reached beneath his helmet, and grabbing the silver chain, yanked it off.

  Set’s eyes went wide and he evaporated like mist under the Egyptian sun.

  Arthur looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you, Lance,” but before Michael could answer, he was caught up in a whirlwind that blotted out the scene. He felt himself flying up, then he landed with a heavy thud. He lay there, trying to catch his breath. Stretching out his hand, he felt sand.

  He squinted into the gloom, but couldn’t make out anything. Then he saw a figure approaching him, taller than any human. The figure extended something long toward him and Michael flinched away, trying to evade what he took to be a sword. But the end was rounded and shone a dull gold in the darkness. In the gleam, Michael saw it more clearly. It was a large ankh.

  He looked up at the figure and in the gloom made out pointed ears and a snout. Grasping the offered staff, Anubis pulled Michael to his feet.

  Anubis leaned down and said, “You did it.”

  “I did?” Michael asked, but the Great Opener did not answer. He turned and led Michael to the chapel below the sands of the Sphinx where they’d begun this journey.

  “But I was in the Serapeum,” Michael said.

  Anubis walked up the three steps of his pedestal and turned back into stone.

  Michael touched the feet of the statue, thanking the Neter, then made his way through the temple, noting that the gold solar disk above Sekhmet’s head was missing now. The thieves had been busy while he was away.

  He walked up the ramp out into the night. The stars stretched above him, a gibbous moon dimming their glory only a little. Michael headed to Tahir’s house, wondering how long he’d been gone. Once he reached the street, a low rumbling came from behind him. The earth trembled. The sound of an avalanche, rocks crashing against each other.

  He turned and saw a huge plume of dust rising from what had been the newly opened temple, now choked with rock, sand, and rubble.

  Elizabeth stepped toward Arthur and Mordred, but three of his knights surrounded him. Percival moved the quilted padding under Arthur’s armor aside. The gash oozed blood when he pulled the fabric up. Elizabeth pushed forward to inspect the wound.

  “My Lady,” Percival said, “what are you doing here?”

  She didn’t answer him. Just checked Arthur’s vitals. His pulse was weak, his breathing shallow.

  Beside her, Gawain took hold of the hilt of Excalibur and pushed Mordred’s body off it with his foot. The usurper was dead, but it didn’t mean his spirit had left the crystal in her temple back at The Oaks.

  Arthur gestured for Sir Bedivere to step closer. Arthur grimaced at the effort to sit up, then said, “Take Excalibur to the lake and throw it into the water. Ride back as soon as you can and tell me what you see.”

  “But, sire, you cannot mean for me to throw this sword away.”

  Arthur clasped Bedivere’s hand. “Do as I ask, my friend. You will see why once you have done it.”

  Bedivere took the sword from Gawain and went for his horse.

  The fighting around them was drawing down. Word had spread of Mordred’s death and many of his men had fled. Some few remained, determined to die with him it seemed.

  Elizabeth looked out over the meadow to the edge of the lake and there in the distance, she saw a smud
ge that grew more distinct as she watched. She laid Arthur back down in the grass, telling Percival to apply pressure to the wound.

  “Are you sure, My Lady?”

  “Yes, this will save him.” She looked around for water, but finding only ale, gave Arthur small sips. After some time had passed, Bedivere ran up to Arthur’s side, winded from his ride, and knelt beside him. “I am here, my king.”

  Arthur’s eyes fluttered open. He winced as he took a breath. “Is it done?”

  “It is, my liege.”

  “Tell me what you saw.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “The sword cleaved the waters and sank, hilt first.”

  Arthur shook his head. “This tells me you have not done what I asked. Go back and throw Excalibur into the lake.” He pushed Bedivere away with surprising strength.

  What is taking the priestesses of Avalon so long to arrive? Elizabeth wondered. And where is Merlin?

  Elizabeth rose and put her hand above her eyes to block out the sun. She searched the lake. The smudge had grown into the shape of a barge. How long would it take them?

  Around her the men were treating the wounded while others stripped Mordred’s soldiers of their arms and piled the bodies. She wished there was more she could do, but this was the past. These men, the moaning horses, they had all died hundreds of years ago.

  She walked back to Arthur’s side and was surprised to see Bedivere getting up from Arthur’s side once again shaking his head. He could not have ridden to the lake and back. But this was his third time. Legend had it that this time he would throw Excalibur into the lake.

  Mordred’s body had been laid out with his sword between his dead hands, his eyes closed. The blood had been washed from his armor.

  Arthur stared at him, then looked at Elizabeth with haunted eyes. “What could I have done, My Lady?”

  They all thought she was the high priestess of Avalon. “You did your best,” she said, kneeling beside him. Gawain had taken off Arthur’s helmet. She pushed his hair back from his face. Sweat beaded his forehead.