by TJ Green
Excalibur Rises
Vivian stood on the shores of Avalon and watched the dragon-headed prow of the boat break through the mist into the warm sunshine. She could see the cloaked figure gazing out towards her and she waved. Merlin. He didn’t make social calls, so he must need something. A flutter of worry passed through her.
A long wooden jetty ran out into the lake, and as the boat docked, Vivian strolled along it. The boat had barely stopped moving when Merlin leapt ashore, and he hurried to meet her. He never changed. His hair was long and unkempt, his long beard straggled over his chest, and his worn grey cloak flapped around him.
His sharp blue eyes appraised her. “Vivian, my dear. You look radiant. This place is suiting you.”
She smiled and hugged him. He was taller than her, and he stooped as his arms wrapped around her. “Thank you,” she said. “And you look excited, Merlin. You’re up to something.”
He straightened up, looking affronted. “You make it sound suspicious. I can assure you, this is all for the good of Britain.”
Vivian stepped back, her suspicions confirmed. “I sense I will be dragged into whatever it is. You better come in.”
She led Merlin to the long, low stone building that sat a short distance from the lake shore. The Sanctuary of the Goddess. It glowed in the late afternoon sun, and the light reflected off the windows, so that it appeared to blink like a lazy cat. It was surrounded by gardens, a mixture of formal and informal planting; boxed hedges, wild flowers, shrubs, and vegetables. Gravelled paths ran through the gardens, under trees, and around the building to the rear. A line of beehives stood to the side, and the drone of the bees mixed with the soft shushing of the waves on the shore.
Vivian had lived here for a few years now, first as a novice in the service of the Goddess, and now as the Lady of the Lake. She was a guardian of sorts. The Isle of Avalon was a magical gateway between the Realms of the Other and what the fey called the Shadowed Land—what she called Britain. But she wasn’t alone. Another eight priestesses lived here, learning magic, looking after the Isle, and guarding its dark secrets. It was an arrangement that had reached back many years, long before she was born. Not that the priestesses remained here. They travelled across the Realms and back to Britain as needed.
Vivian led Merlin to a table set in the shade beneath some vines and poured them both a glass of wine. She placed a bowl of fruit and a platter of cheeses between them and took a seat across the table. “How is Britain?” she asked.
Merlin looked down at the table for a brief second, and then met her gaze. “It’s in turmoil. Invaders are attacking from across the seas, and we lose ground every day. The Romans have virtually gone, leaving little defences, and the other kings and princes are squabbling over what remains. Wild magics are growing stronger, and dragons are roaming the forests. Other crossing places continue to open between here and there at the usual times. And Uther is dead.”
So that was why Merlin was here. Uther, the only ruler who kept the others in check, had gone. “I’m sorry to hear that. Who do you think will take over?”
“Arthur.”
“Arthur who?” she asked. “I can’t remember any of the local princes called that.”
“That’s because he’s not a prince,” Merlin said a little smugly.
She frowned. “So who is he then? And how can he possibly take over Uther’s throne?”
“He is Uther’s son, conceived many years ago in Tintagel. He has been living with another noble family, where I have ensured that he is trained in fighting and diplomacy.”
“Why is he living with someone else? And does Arthur even know who he is?”
Merlin sipped his wine. “I wanted to protect him, away from the court. And no, he has no idea who his father is.”
Vivian was suddenly annoyed. “Merlin! Why do you have to meddle so?”
Now Merlin was annoyed too, and he slapped the table. “Because I saw it. He will unite the country, make it safe, repel the invaders. But I had to ensure his safety first.”
“How old is he?”
“He turns sixteen in a few months. I need to arrange something that will show everyone who he is.” Merlin leaned back and nibbled on some cheese. After his outburst, he looked tired and a little worried.
“I’m hoping you are going to tell him who his father is soon?”
“All in good time. First, I need you to do something for me.”
“I had a feeling I was going to be involved somehow.”
“Now, now, there’s no need to be like that. Surely you want to see Britain safe?”
Vivian sighed. “Of course I do. I’m just wondering what it will cost me.”
“Nothing, except for your time.” He looked at her intently. “You have connections here. You are respected.”
“Enough of the flattery. What do you want?”
“A sword.”
She laughed. “There are hundreds of forgers in Britain! Why do you need me to get a sword?”
“Because it needs to be powerful. It must have the ability to protect him, to shield him from bloodshed in battle. It must give him an aura of leadership. It must enhance his fighting skills. I am going to place it in a rock, so that only he can pull it free. It will be a sort of competition.”
“Whoever pulls the sword gets the throne?”
“Exactly.”
Vivian leaned back. “It sounds a little simplistic.”
“Trust me. It will work. But first I need the sword. And it must look magnificent. A work of art. Everyone must want it.”
Vivian knew of several forgers in the Realm of Earth, but only one who was exceptional. And Merlin knew of him too. “I presume you want the Forger of Light to make the sword?” Even saying his name made her heart sink.
“Yes. Can you arrange it?”
“It will cost.”
Merlin reached into his cloak and pulled a bag from an inner pocket. He opened it, spilling gold onto the table. “Consider this the first payment.”
Vivian picked up a handful of coins. “He’ll want a lot more than this.”
“I know. I have more.”
“I mean more than gold.” Unfortunately, she had no idea what that may be.
Merlin smiled. “You are resourceful. And I will help, if I can.”
“All right. I’ll see what I can do. I can leave in a couple of days.” It was a long ride to Dragon’s Hollow, and she needed time to prepare for the trip.
They were interrupted by a young, pretty priestess with long dark hair, pale skin, and bright green eyes. She approached the table, bowing her head slightly in respect. “Vivian, I’m sorry to interrupt. I need your help in the temple.”
Vivian smiled. “That’s fine, Nimue. I’ll be finished shortly. I’d like to introduce you to Merlin while you’re here. I don’t think you’ve met him before?” She turned to Merlin. “Nimue arrived here a few months ago. She’s one of our new priestesses. She’s going to be excellent. Her magical knowledge is already exceptional.”
Merlin’s jaw dropped slightly, and he stumbled to his feet, his usual composure gone. “My pleasure, Nimue.”
Nimue moved around the table with catlike grace, curtsying in front of him. “I have heard much of you, Merlin. It is my pleasure to meet you.” She fixed him with her startling eyes, and once more Merlin seemed lost for words.
Vivian suppressed a flash of concern, although she couldn’t place why she was worried. “Thank you, Nimue. Please return to the temple, and I will join you soon.”
Nimue nodded and left them, and for a few seconds Merlin watched her go before turning back to Vivian. “What a very pretty young woman.”
“Very. And one day she will be an incredible witch.”
Merlin nodded, trying to compose himself. “I’m sure you will do an excellent job of educating her. Anyway, I must leave.”
Vivian looked at him, concerned. You don’t have to run off, Merlin. Nimue can wait.”
“No, no. I have done what I needed to. Can you let me know how you fair with the Forger of Light?”
“Of course.”
Merlin nodded and without another word he swept from the table, down the winding path, and back to the boat.
Vivian sat, sipped her wine, and pulled the fruit-filled plate towards her. Surely Nimue couldn’t have upset Merlin. But why else did he leave so abruptly? She sighed. Merlin was always so unpredictable, but she had other things to worry about. In a few days she would have to negotiate with the Forger of Light.
Vivian navigated the streets of Dragon’s Hollow with ease, looking around at the changes since her last visit. She had travelled here many times, sourcing gems and precious metals for spells—this was the best place to get them. The city had changed in the intervening years. More houses and public buildings had been built, and the city glowed with opulence. She turned to Nimue, who rode alongside her, curious at her first impression. “It’s a little different from Avalon, isn’t it?”
Nimue smiled. “It’s certainly busier!”
Vivian laughed and said, “Very diplomatic. You’ll have to get used to it. This is your first visit of many. I travelled here years ago as a novice with my predecessor, and then returned many times on my own. I thought you could take over in the future.”
Nimue looked at her with renewed interest. “I’d like that, thank you.”
Vivian nodded, pleased. “Good. You’re my most promising student, Nimue. But there’s still much to learn.”
Nimue hesitated a second, then she asked, “Did Merlin teach you magic?”
Something about her question made Vivian pause. “Yes, some, but I don’t see him that often. I learnt more from my predecessor. Why do you ask?”
Nimue shrugged. “I’m aware he’s very powerful, that’s all.”
“He is, that’s true. His skills are varied, but his prophecies are god-given. Some things cannot be taught.”
Vivian halted before a large stone building which sat on the road circling the lake, and she slid from her horse to the ground. “Here’s our stop.”
Nimue dismounted, asking, “Why aren’t we staying with Raghnall?”
Vivian laughed. “You’ll know when we meet him later. In fact, you’ll thank me for it. Let’s check in and I’ll take you to meet him.”
After freshening up following their long journey, they headed to Raghnall’s home, the House of the Beloved. It was an ostentatious building, but no more so than any others built in the city. It glittered against the mountain, and they rode up to the entrance dressed in their finest. Vivian wore her dress of dark blue silk trimmed with sable, while Nimue wore a vivid green linen dress with delicate silver embroidery. Nimue grumbled, “It’s so hot in these clothes.”
“It’s important to make an impression with Raghnall, Nimue, never forget that,” Vivian said as she rang the bell.
The sound echoed through the house, and then the door swung open to reveal a long hall with marble floors. A sharp-faced fey looked at them imperiously and then immediately turned and led them to a small but luxurious reception room overlooking the city. They waited only seconds before Raghnall appeared, a well-dressed fey with long, dark hair tied at the nape of his neck and a circlet of silver on his head, giving him a regal air. His clothes were immaculate. He wore a long, pale grey silk jacket, beneath which peeked an exuberantly ruffled shirt, dark trousers, and shiny boots. He glanced inquisitively at both of them. “What a great honour it is to see you again, Vivian, and I see you have brought a friend.”
Vivian stepped forward and held out her hand, at which point Raghnall graciously kissed it rather than shook it. “I am delighted to see you too, Raghnall. I have brought Nimue with me, a priestess who has joined me on Avalon.”
Nimue smiled, a hint of insider knowledge in her response. “A pleasure, Raghnall. I have heard so much about you.”
He beamed and kissed her proffered hand, too. “Excellent. So you are to partake in the mysteries of Avalon?” He raised an eyebrow and waited expectantly, as if Nimue would reveal countless secrets.
“I don’t know about that, Raghnall. I am there in service to the Goddess.”
He narrowed his eyes, and Vivian intervened. “There are no exciting secrets there, Raghnall, as I’m sure you know.”
“I know nothing of the sort, seeing as it is forbidden to visitors.” He stiffened, a flash of fire in his eyes.
“You do not worship the Goddess. I assure you, you miss nothing.” Vivian moved swiftly on. “Have you had any success in contacting Giolladhe, the Forger of Light?”
Raghnall looked as if he were about to argue further and then thought better of it. He walked to a small table filled with glasses, spirits, and wine. He poured three glasses of dark red wine and passed them to Nimue and Vivian, and then took a sip of his own before he spoke. “I have. He is keen to meet you, and requests you meet him in his workshop. But only you, Vivian.” He turned to Nimue. “He’s a little picky about the number of people who attend his workshop.”
Nimue shrugged. “I have much to keep me occupied, and I look forward to seeing the city.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I shall join you, Vivian.”
“There’s no need,” Vivian said quickly, alarmed at the prospect of Raghnall interfering. “As long as you can direct me, I’m happy to go alone.”
His face fell. “But—”
Vivian cut him off. “It’s something I must do alone. I’m sure you appreciate that, Raghnall.”
He looked as if he would argue, but then he turned to Nimue, smiling obsequiously. “Well, in that case, I can give you a tour of the city.”
“How lovely,” she murmured in response, and Vivian hid a smile behind her wine glass.
Giolladhe’s workshop was tucked away, halfway up the shoulder of the mountain, accessed by a winding path edged by stones, small trees, and bushes. As Vivian walked, she noticed wild herbs amongst the scrub, and as her skirts brushed past, the scent of rosemary, sage, oregano, and basil swept around her. The heavy, copper-burnished door of Giolladhe’s workshop stood wide open before her, shrouded beneath a shadowy overhang of rock, and next to it a waterfall tumbled into a small pool. Beyond the open door a long passageway wound into the mountain.
Vivian knocked loudly and shouted, “Giolladhe—it’s Vivian.” But she heard nothing. Looking around the entrance, she couldn’t see any sign of a bell, so she shouted again, before giving up and starting down the passage.
The floor was made of stone and the walls were rough, carved from the rock of the mountain. It quickly became darker as she progressed and she whispered a spell, producing a golden orb of light in front of her. Ahead, a wooden door stood ajar and the clang of hammer on metal resounded down the corridor. Beyond the door was a large room, shadowy and dim except for the blazing fireplace at the centre. In front of it was the outline of a tall man, and she caught a glimpse of blond hair. His back was towards her, and his shoulders were rounded as he bent over the fire. Vivian stepped to the side to get a better view. He was oblivious to her presence, his concentration absolute, and Vivian watched, fascinated.
He wore thick, heavy gloves that ran up to his elbows, and a leather apron that extended almost to the floor. A metal guard like a half-helmet protected his face—and probably blocked his peripheral vision. Using some tongs, he pulled a large metal sheet from the flames, placed it on an anvil, and struck it repeatedly with a hammer, the metal sparking and hissing. He deftly twisted it this way and that, until it curved into the shape of a shield. His movements were sure and he worked quickly, despite the gloves and mask. Vivian also sensed the use of magic, binding supernatural strength within the metal. She could see faint lines coursing across the surface of the shield, layer upon layer, rudimen
tary at this stage, but still powerful.
He was unaware of her for several seconds, finally turning away and dunking the piece into a large container full of water. A loud hiss and steam filled the room, and Vivian stepped back, coughing. He turned quickly, raising the hammer defensively, and Vivian shouted over the din. “Giolladhe, I am Vivian, from Avalon. Raghnall arranged our meeting.”
For several seconds he stared at her, his face still covered by the mask, but then he placed the shield on a bench that ran around the room and pulled his mask up and off his face, allowing her to see him clearly for the first time.
His blond hair was shoulder length with a slight curl to it, and it hung limply due to the steam, a tendril stuck to his face. He had bright green eyes, high cheekbones, a full, firm mouth, and a covering of stubble across his cheeks and chin. Now that he had turned to her, she could see his muscled shoulders and arms. Vivian flushed, aware of an attraction to him that she couldn’t explain. She felt suddenly self-conscious of her appearance, and she desperately kept her hands to her side, despite the urge to run them through her hair. She chided herself. She was the Lady of the Lake, here to negotiate a sword.
He pulled a glove off, smiled, and stepped forward, extending his hand. “My pleasure, Vivian.”
“And mine,” she said, pleased at his firm grip as they shook hands. He was much taller than her, and she again felt overwhelmed. This close she could see the film of sweat across his face, and a small smile played across his lips as he gazed at her, almost as if he sensed her discomfort.
“Come outside, it’s too hot in here.” He abruptly let her hand go, and peeling off his other glove and heavy apron, he led her back outside. He plunged his head under the waterfall next to his front door, sluicing off dirt and sweat, and after squeezing water out of his hair, he pulled two small bottles of beer from the pool beneath. “Would you like one?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” She took the bottle from his hands, trying to avoid his touch, and removing the cork, she took a long drink, conscious of his gaze before he too drank deeply.
He finished his beer in one long drink, and leaned back against the door frame, laughing. “I wasn’t sure the Lady of the Lake would drink beer.”