The Welsh Knight

by Candace Sams

  It was Frankie who, in her on indomitable way, chose to change the subject, and to something more positive and even productive.

  “For better or worse, we’re partners. We need to know each other’s capabilities,” she told him. “Care to get in a little sword practice? As the good immortals we are, neither of us goes anywhere without the damned things, so…” her words trailed away.

  “I think that’s a good idea. We should focus on business.”

  “Okay then. Get your weapon.”

  He regarded her closely for a moment. Then, he saw that tell-tale gleam of amusement that seemed to come back into her eyes, no matter what tragedy or hardship had been discussed.

  “Maybe you’ll learn something…Little John.”

  Chapter 7

  Frankie put the plate of hot rolls on the center island of the colossal kitchen. She’d seen a skeleton crew taking care of the landscaping and large livestock. One of the crew members told her that Garrett Bloodnight’s pets were being cared for in the nearby village, by those who normally worked on the estate. Given Mac’s description of events, Garrett and his immortal staff would stay gone until some normalization between Merlin and Garrett took place.

  Merlin had no right keeping facts from Garrett Bloodnight. When she sensed the subject of such turmoil standing behind her, she turned to face the wizard. He stood there in an old flannel shirt, jeans, and a hiking vest. His long white hair had been uncharacteristically tied back, his blue eyes were considering her carefully.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked.

  “About two hours a night is all I need these days. I use the rest of the day checking my emails and writing reports that go back to Washington. Encrypted, of course. Then, I head up the hillside after cooking.”

  “With the kitchen staff off for as long as Garrett is gone, I’m glad you took over, Frankie. The food is excellent. Thank you for leaving me portions in the fridge.”

  “I like cooking for anyone who appreciates it.”

  “I daresay my culinary skills amount to no more than opening cans of tinned soup.”

  “It’s just as easy to cook for three as for two.” She turned back to packing the large carryall she used to haul food up the hillside. On the other side of the kitchen island, her sword and its baldric waited.

  “You know, Mac doesn’t need to stand guard every night. I’ve told him so on numerous occasions. That means you shouldn’t have to take him food, which goes without saying in any instance.”

  She put a plastic lid on a large container of macaroni and cheese. “He likes it. Actually, so do I.”

  “I daresay you two appear to be getting along at last. At least enough to form a working relationship. I didn’t think Mac would accept your presence as readily as he has. But then, I know you, and you seem to have worked your charms on the big blackguard.”

  She waited for a long moment before plunging into the question that had been on her mind since speaking with Mac. “What am I really here for, Merlin? There must be at least a dozen other US agents who know about the Arthurian legend being true; that Ethereals exist, and that you and Morgan LeFey exist. So…why me particularly.”

  “You are the best your country has to offer. At least for this mission, Frankie.”

  “How many Ethereals does America actually have?”

  “My dear, that’s highly classified. I wouldn’t mind sharing that information, but if your government hasn’t told you, perhaps you should go to your superiors for the answer.”

  “Since you’re the recognized authority on magic, for the entire planet, how would any Ethereal from a country other than Britain get the kind of training they need? They’d have to come to you, right?”

  “Indeed. There are so few Ethereals in existence at all, that having them sent to me makes sense. The few political factions who know of them have separate arrangements as to my training them. Obviously, as we both know, none have ever gone rogue. It works out. The few bureaucrats who know of them cooperate quite pleasantly. Regarding training magical immortals, that is.”

  “Why?”

  He blinked. “Why what? I don’t understand?”

  “Why would they cooperate? They hardly do on anything else,” she questioned.

  “My dear, it’s simply a matter of necessity. An immortal who shows any capacity for magic might easily do themselves or someone else harm, if they aren’t taught how and when to use their magic. Since I am the recognized expert in the field…due in no small part to my longevity and my capabilities…these new Ethereals are sent to me for a modicum of training, then return on occasion, for follow-up drills that’re more advanced. Each country’s precise rules regarding all this are slightly different, but it all works out. It’s been done this way for many centuries.”

  “So…they all come to you, are trained by you, then sent back to their respective lands, no matter where they’re from. Don’t their governments make demands of them that might not be copacetic with western allied interests?”

  “Frankie…why all the questions? There are so few magical entities in the world that, in exchange for training them, their leaders simply must agree to a general code of ethics.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  “Disregarding them has never happened. Ethereals are beings of light and creativity. Using magic unwisely would like doom them to the same fate Morgan must now endure. Wherever she is, she is nothing but a very evil caricature of her former self. She must keep finding and draining magical objects to keep her powers. She’s likely nothing more now than a monster; a poisonous destroyer with power enough to take what she wants if we aren’t very careful. That she cannot show herself in this world does not denigrate her powers.”

  “But that hasn’t happened to others like you, because the Ethereals are just somehow more…more…evolved. Is that the word I’m looking for?”

  “We have more power, but that doesn’t make us better. Don’t confuse the issue. Any Ethereal facing pressure from any government agency or ruler, to use powers unwisely, is welcome to defect and come to England. With the powers they have, this is not only possible, but remains a threat to their respective governing bodies to leave them alone. They simply cannot and will not be pushed into doing anything to harm humanity. Surely, you know this and have for a very long time now.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.” She continued packing and gathering paraphernalia for her time with Mac.

  “Frankie…what has Mac been telling you?”

  She gazed at him for a long moment before responding. “What makes you think he has anything to do with my questions? I’m just asking shit that I’ve never asked before, because it’s always been on my mind. Now seems as good a time as any to clear up loose ends.” She moved closer to him. “How Ethereals move around the planet is a highly guarded secret. As much clearance as I have, I don’t know that I’ve even met any of them that you haven’t introduced me to. My own supervisors never talk about the subject. And if I’m going to get into trouble for asking, I’d rather go straight to the source of all that power…you.”

  “You certainly aren’t in any trouble for asking,” he mollified. “You know that protecting the Ethereals has been one of my goals for as long as I’ve been in this world. Their powers are so great, collectively, that any criminal power could threaten those whom the Ethereals care for, just to force one of them, or any group of them, to do heinous things. You know all this. So, again I ask…what has Mac been saying?”

  “Why do you assume he’s told me anything? What’s with you two?”

  Merlin sighed and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Mac has always had a very dour personality. He sees little joy in life. He is a man who is…well…he is seeking.”

  “Seeking what?”

  “Perfection. And I’m afraid that’s a trait he’ll never find, my girl. He is a man who has spent most of his existence outside the law, until he was finally convinced there was someone on the throne that he could trust. Indeed, he still
has trust issues and likely always will. All that being said, he is one of the best tacticians on the planet. Garrett Bloodnight trusts him implicitly and, despite the big Welshman’s moaning and his cynical rantings, I trust Mac as well. If nothing else, he’ll certainly tell you the truth, and in ways not always so tactful!”

  “He’s afraid for the queen, and what might happen to her if the existence of magical immortals comes to light. In truth, it won’t just be the queen who’ll take the consequences. It’ll be every leader on earth who has hidden Ethereals from humankind. We’re talking anarchy. On a scale that will destroy trust in every government official, regardless of whether they knew these secrets or not.” She shook her head. “I realize the reason for hiding Ethereals, Merlin. I’m just looking at the big picture; playing devil’s advocate, and wondering what would happen if all this Arthurian drama ends up in the news. Immortals all over the world will also feel the brunt of distrust. People won’t know who to believe any more.”

  “If we work together, and Morgan is stopped here…in this remote place…you need fear nothing. If Morgan wins, then it won’t matter a damn who knows what, Frankie! If Morgan wins, I can assure you, the people of the world will have much bigger problems on their hands than who hid what from whom!”

  “But you’re so sure we’ll win.”

  “I’m sure we’ll win if I can control—”

  “The pieces on your chessboard. Yeah, I get it,” Frankie relayed.

  “I am not your enemy, dear girl. I never have been.”

  She briefly hung her head. “I-I’m sorry, Merlin. It’s just that, things during the war years were very clear. Morgan hid behind a dictator everyone could hate. Why? She could have taken us all on, and with much better results than using a bunch of goose-stepping bastards.”

  “It’s my belief that she has to hide and use others to do her dirty work because no one would trust the entity she’s probably become. She has used her powers in such profane ways that they are, at this point, eating her alive. Still, she is and will remain a force to be reckoned with, until she is destroyed.”

  “You’ve seen some omen or some portent, haven’t you? You know what she has become.”

  “My dear, there are reasons for what I do. That information is not to be shared, even as much as I trust you. Just speaking of such issues could alter my visions and reveal Garrett Bloodnight’s true heritage. One doesn’t meddle and moil with visions of the future. They are changeable, and in ways that I might not be able to counter.”

  She simply nodded. “I’ve left you some dinner in the fridge.”

  “Frankie…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know how exasperating this is for you. It’s maddening for everyone, believe me. I hear your same concerns daily…from very secretive government officials all over the world. There are simply things that I cannot tell anyone. I cannot take a chance on the very words I speak being gleaned by Morgan in one of her scrying sessions. I can’t even tell that big Wolf’s Head up on the hill, either, though he seems to think that he is more entitled to know secrets than anyone else!”

  She sighed. “Mac has nothing to do with —”

  “Frankie, asking questions is a good thing. But do not be discouraged if I cannot answer them. Don’t let your heart turn into a cynical icicle like Mac’s. He’s been alone far too long, and that’s his biggest fault. He can no longer sleep at all because he worries over things that are my business to handle. His job is to fight. Mine is to do the thinking.”

  She stifled a smile before turning back to her chores.

  Magic was magic, and Merlin could use it on her as well as he could use it on any human. She had a strong suspicion that he’d used it on many sources on the world scene, hence his ability to make certain argumentative government agencies in the world more acquiescent. But the wizard of wizards wasn’t going to admit to that.

  After having spoken to Merlin, she had a gut feeling that Mac was right. Something was up. She just didn’t know what, and Merlin was never going to spill any beans.

  Merlin rubbed his hands together. “I think I’ll eat my supper now, if you don’t mind. May I ask what’s on the menu?”

  “Pork chops, homemade mac and cheese, garden salad, and lemon cookies for dessert.”

  “Grand!” he happily replied. “We’re lucky that Garrett isn’t here. He is a devout Vegetarian.”

  “And the wizard of nature isn’t?” she quipped.

  “Oh, my dear…I consider myself a part of all nature. Not above it or below it, just meandering through the ages with it. I am as much a predator as any other creature. I simply thank the Goddess for the gift of the food, and offer up blessing for the animals whose lives were taken. I will confess that there were many Celts in the old days who sacrificed and killed, in the most horrific ways. We are above all that. Or should be. But I still eat as I always have…as one of Mother Nature’s many minions.”

  In five minutes, she put his plate in front of him. His use of the word predator didn’t make her feel any better, but she said nothing.

  “Will you open a bottle of that white wine on the counter there, and pour me a glass, my dear? After that, I’ll let you get back to that big, skeptical hero from the Robin Hood epics.”

  As far as the wizard was concerned, the matter was closed. As congenial as he’d been during her interrogation, she didn’t dare push it.

  A man she’d only known a few days had changed so much of her perception. She hadn’t asked so many questions during all the war years. She’d assumed she didn’t need to know more than she’d been told. If captured, she couldn’t tell information never provided. More to the self-serving point, she hadn’t wanted to be pulled from the field for insubordinate interrogation of superiors.

  It’d taken a long time to prove an immortal woman from Galveston, Texas could do the job any man could, and even better because no one suspected femininity the way men were suspected. She simply hadn’t wanted to go back to filing artifacts in a vault.

  Things were quite different now.

  Merlin was hiding things, but he always had. There was no need to be more concerned about his behavior than before.

  Mac might be right, but he needed to lighten up. She needed to take him less seriously, and trust Merlin as she had before.

  Feeling somewhat like a recalcitrant child who’d just been lectured, she left the kitchen and made her way up the hill.

  * * *

  “You seem unusually quiet,” Mac offered as he helped her pack away the last of the food containers.

  “I had a talk with Merlin!”

  “And?”

  “He is what he is…and always has been. There’s nothing either of us can do about it. Getting worked up over his shenanigans isn’t going to help us focus. So, for the sake of peace, can we just drop the subject of what he’s up to?”

  “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “It is.” She put her hands on her hips, then crossed them over her chest in a gesture of futile frustration. “Let’s get some more sword practice in. In the event Morgan shows up sometime in the next century,” she sarcastically declared, “we need to develop a communication system if we get separated. There’s no cell service in these hills, and who the hell uses a phone during a fight any —”

  “Frankie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The food was excellent. Again…you have my grateful thanks. It means a great deal to have someone care if you eat or not. Not to mention eat so well.”

  That made her heart hurt. Instead of responding with words that wouldn’t have been adequate, she simply half-smiled and drew her sword from her baldric.

  She didn’t want to be in a position of choosing between Merlin or Macsen Rhys. They were all here. All had a purpose. Hers and Mac’s was simply to fight when the time came.

  * * *

  Days went by and turned into weeks. With Merlin conveniently ensconced in his room, likely perusing his scrying mirrors, candles, crysta
ls, and other magical paraphernalia, Frankie was left to get on with breaking in her new partner.

  As far as their training went, Mac moved like a martial artist. As large as he was, she’d have never believed the big man capable of the kind of grace he displayed. Surprisingly, she learned a great deal from what she soon believed was a master of weaponry. The big, former denizen of Sherwood taught her techniques that were small, but refined. Because of that attention to detail, her skills grew immeasurably; a fact she found disconcerting given the training she’d had from so many sources. Then again, none of them had Mac’s experience. Or his commanding presence.

  On a cold, blustery night some weeks later, they’d eaten a hearty meal of soup and homemade bread. The hillside was wet with rain, but their nightly training began with clearer skies. The temperature dropped, but they battled on.

  “Watch your expression,” Mac instructed. “It might be visible only to someone who can see so well in the dark, like us, but you’re doing the same thing in the daylight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You wince, ever so slightly, right before you attack. Some rogue with a lot of experience might note it. You don’t want to give an enemy any advantage whatsoever.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  He grinned. “Yes, you will. Right now.”

  With that warning, he lunged forward with a powerful thrust of his sword. He kept up the same movement, over and over, to get her to stop telegraphing her moves with her expression. The repetitive, Freudian-like propelling got to her. She backed up, let her sword fall and burst out laughing.

  He lowered his weapon and tilted his head while staring at her. “What’s so funny?”

  “The symbolism of what you were…I just had this mental image…never mind,” she joyfully finished.