by Lily Luchesi
Indeed, Morgan could see how it was forged in dragonfire. It glinted with a dark sheen to the steel that nothing else could cause.
“Dragons went extinct four centuries ago,” she said. “The last two were the red and white dragons, which Arthur’s ancestor slew.”
“Not before commissioning a witch to make this sword from their flame,” Nineveh replied. “This is Excalibur.”
“The Sword of Power,” Merlin said. “That’s a myth.”
“Obviously not,” Morgan said, wishing to reach for it and yet loathe to touch it.
“The legend goes that, were there two heirs to Camelot, whomever wielded the sword controlled the kingdom,” Nineveh continued. “By killing the other with this.” She waved the blade as if it were nothing more than a kitchen knife. “You are an heiress, a Princess in your own right.”
Morgan had not stopped to realise that her relation to Arthur meant she was heir to Camelot’s throne, the Crown Princess.
“Morgan, if you face Arthur with this blade, you will win by default. He will concede. One thing about him is that he has honour and respect for his position,” Merlin explained. “You need not use it. Merely hold it.”
“If I never have to use it…” Morgan gingerly reached for it. Nineveh flipped it around, hilt now towards her. “How did you come to have it?”
The mermaid smiled. “The only place it would be safe was deep down, away from humans who would try to wield it. My family has guarded it since it was made. Only you, Arthur, or I can lift it, and were I to try and use it, the blade would not penetrate.”
Morgan took the crudely carved hilt, surprised at the lightness of the dark metal in her hands. She brandished it before her, the blade glinting in the setting moonlight.
“Wow,” was all Merlin seemed to be able to say, his pretty eyes wide and fair face pink.
Morgan smiled a little at him and turned to Nineveh. “Thank you, my friend.”
“Anything to help, my little fairy. Ankh, wedja, seneb.”
“What does that mean?” Merlin asked.
“It is a blessing from my home, back in the Nile,” Nineveh explained. “Life, prosperity, health. I wish you to win the battle, survive, and the Coven to prosper.” With that, she dove back underwater.
“Thank you,” Morgan called after her, still holding the sword as if it were going to come to life and harm her.
Merlin placed his hand on her shoulder and it shook her from her reverie.
“We should go. Aritza is mobilising our Guard. We want to make it to Camelot before them.”
Morgan nodded and quickly tore off a long piece of her cloak. Using a few simple spells, she created a makeshift scabbard and holster, so she didn’t need to continuously carry it in her hand.
With that done, the two of them went into the woods to find Pegasus. Nearby where the clearing was stood a few pure white colts with silvery manes and the same gossamer wings tucked into their sides. They, however, had no horns.
“The babies,” Morgan muttered. “Pegasus!”
“I am here, little fairy.” He stepped out of the shadows, bright and resplendent even in the murky dimness of the forest in the predawn light.
“It’s time. Are you prepared?” she asked.
The unicorn bowed low in acquiescence and to allow her to get onto its back. She climbed on, unsteady without a saddle, and gestured for Merlin to follow.
He was solid and warm behind her as he settled himself on Pegasus’ back. He wrapped his arms around her waist to steady himself and took a breath. It reverberated through Morgan’s chest.
“All right, Pegasus. Let’s go,” she said, closing her eyes as the unicorn flapped its wings and shot almost straight upward.
“Whoa!” Merlin cried, holding her tighter.
Morgan opened her eyes when he felt like Pegasus levelled out and she looked at the brightening sky all around her. Below was the forest, river, and castle, looking like miniatures in a child’s playset.
“I might be sick,” Merlin muttered.
“Not on my cloak!” Morgan scolded.
“Not on me,” Pegasus added. He flew swift and true, and despite the wind that battered at Morgan’s hair and cloak, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It must have been Feyland magic all his own.
His wingspan reached nearly four metres when fully extended, gauzy but thick and feathery at the same time. They didn’t beat any longer now that he was at the proper height and speed desired; they remained outstretched and buoyed by the late spring wind, highlighted in the rising sun and fading starlight.
Camelot appeared in the distance, even smaller than the Coven’s castle had looked. The beacon was lit; war had been called for. But Arthur was not as brash as Fiona or Guinevere. Aside from the small battalion sent to the Coven, the rest of his knights and volunteer warriors remained barricaded within the castle grounds.
“Celare,” Morgan cast, temporarily hiding them from view so they had the element of surprise. All the residents of Camelot would feel would be the beating of Pegasus’ wings as he landed.
“Are you ready?” she asked Merlin.
“With you at my side I am,” he replied, placing the softest of kisses to her head. “Stay safe, my Princess. I will stay with Pegasus and―”
Whatever he was about to say was cut short when the unicorn gave a high pitched whinny, rearing back so far that Morgan was certain she and Merlin would slip off and die. He did it twice more and then began to descend at a rapid pace.
“They saw us!” she cried. “How?”
“Old Catholic magic,” Merlin shouted over the wind as the injured Pegasus tried to regain his power. “They mix magic and religion in some parts of Europe. They must have warding to keep magically hidden and Dark attacks out.” He cursed as a punctuation for the sentence as an arrow narrowly missed his head.
Using his wand, he cast a shield charm on the three of them, just in time, as multiple arrows bounced off of his invisible magic.
Pegasus bucked again and Morgan, who could still see Merlin’s magic, watched it dissipate. Whatever wards they had were strong.
“Hold on tight!” she cried as Pegasus took a sharp downward turn. She cast a last-minute cushioning charm, which prevented either of the witches from breaking their necks.
Pegasus dripped golden blood onto the ground as he landed hard, falling to his knees. Morgan and Merlin tumbled off, dust rising around them.
“Kill it!” a man roared nearby.
A knight came, sword brandished, and it took Morgan a moment to realise what was happening. And by the time she did, it was too late to do anything.
The blade glinted in the rising sunlight before it slashed across Pegasus’ throat. A geyser of golden blood spurted out, eerily similar to the fountain in that very courtyard, splattering the murderer and soaking the cobblestone pathway.
“No!” Morgan cried, hot tears coming to her eyes at the brutal loss of her friend. Magic crackled in her hands, and she grabbed her wand, casting, “Marloweth!”
The knight who killed Pegasus dropped dead on the spot.
And then all Hell broke loose.
Knights converged upon the two witches, but they were ready, wands brandished and shields cast, now too far away for the warding to cancel them out. Morgan and Merlin stood, back to back, prepared for whatever came their way.
Arrows bounced off the shield, and swords split and shattered as they attempted to penetrate it.
“Pegasus was supposed to get us through the initial line of defence,” Morgan admitted.
“We have to improvise, then,” Merlin said, eyes darting all around them.
A splintering crack came from behind them and caused the enemy to stop short. Then another, slightly more keening. Finally, the wall that surrounded the castle burst inward in a blast of stone and dust.
The Coven had arrived.
“Just in bloody time!” Morgan commented. She and Merlin dropped their shields and sent binding spells on the nearest knights, puttin
g them out of commission.
“You have to get to Arthur,” Merlin said, taking her non-wand hand in his. “I’ll cover you. Come on.”
He followed behind, close at her heels. His strong presence was a comfort to her, and his magic seemed to mix with hers when they were so close together.
They came to where the river flowed at its narrowest point through the castle grounds when three flaming arrows hit the ground in front of them, stopping their path.
Smoke rose up from them as they quickly died out in the damp riverbank, obscuring their vision for a moment.
That was when three knights, two men and one woman, appeared, swords drawn.
“Flipendo!” Morgan cast, sending the woman into the water. She knew the few merpeople left and other aquatic creatures would finish the job for her.
One man tried to stab her, but she was quicker, using “volant” to send his dagger flying, and he was too close for his sword to be of any use. It jerked so violently, it sent him flying into the third knight, who was mid-battle with Merlin.
The knight wore different, finer armour, which meant he had a higher ranking.
That must be Lancelot, whom Merlin told us about.
Both the average knight and Lancelot fell into the ground, disoriented for a moment.
“Praetrunco!” Merlin cast, and their armour crunched atop them, trapping them in and crushing bones.
He turned to Morgan. “Are you injured?”
She shook her head, and then spotted a glint of silver from behind Merlin. “Duck!” she cried.
He fell backwards, and her hasty words prevented his imminent death.
Lancelot’s sword sliced through the front of his throat, sending a thick spray of blood from his artery, but not decapitating him as the knight had wished.
“Marloweth!” Morgan cast again, sending Lancelot’s corpse atop the other knight, who was bleeding from the mouth and nose, close enough to death she needn’t worry about him.
She fell in the wet grass besides Merlin’s prone body. His hands tried to grip at his throat and stop the flow of blood, but they did no good.
“No no no,” she whispered frantically as she reached inside her cloak pockets for the potion bottles she stored there earlier. “No, you will not die on me!” After a bit of fumbling due to trembling hands and tear-blurred vision, she finally found the right phial. She brought along a general poison cure, poison, an energy potion, and a blood replenishing elixir. That last was a prototype potion she had been working on for fun, and she had no idea if it worked on a person.
It looked like her potion was about to go straight to a clinical trial.
She poured half the bottle on his gaping wound, which also congealed the blood and eased the flow, and the rest went down his throat.
He was breathing, but still nearly blue and cold.
“Little fairy!”
Nineveh poked her head out from under the water, tail splashing anxiously.
“You startled me!” Morgan cried.
“Give him to me,” she said, holding out her webbed fingers. “I can get him to the Coven, to the Medics. My magic will get him through the pipes with me.”
“The Breathsaver Charm,” Morgan said, eyes lighting up. She cast it around Merlin, trapping enough air in there with him that he could travel with Nineveh underwater for a short time and not suffocate. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”
“Do you love him?” Nineveh asked.
“I always have,” she admitted, wiping stray tears from her eyes with blood stained fingers.
“Then I wish to do what will make you happy.” She leaned out of the water enough to take Merlin in her arms, showing surprising strength. “Go, little fairy. I will keep the one you love safe. Now save everyone else.”
With that, she vanished with a splash beneath the water’s surface.
Save everyone else. Easier said than done.
She wiped her eyes furtively and stood up, casting another concealment charm about her person to sneak into the castle undisturbed. Idly, she wondered why the king was not out there, fighting. He never struck her as a coward, unlike Uther.
Most of the castle was empty, and the few people who were there appeared to be laughing maniacally or in tears. Or both at the same time.
I am so sorry, Morgan thought, wishing with all her heart that she never experimented with that potion.
Finally, she found what must be Arthur’s personal chambers. Using magic, she let the door swing slowly open.
The first thing she saw was the prostrate body of Guinevere and her heart stuttered in her chest.
Despite everything, she had loved the future mortal queen. This was never how she wanted any of this to end. Blinking back tears, she reminded herself that Gwen made her own bed; now she would lay in it for eternity.
Arthur sat before the body, a pensive look on his face.
I could kill him where he stands. I should kill him where he stands.
But she did not. Instead, she slammed the door behind her, alerting him to her presence.
He was a doughty warrior. His blade was drawn and aimed at her in a heartbeat. Instead of drawing her wand, she, too, drew a blade. Excalibur glinted in the torchlight within the room, and if he thought it odd that a witch carried a human weapon, he did not speak it.
However, his plan was to engage her in swordplay, and she didn’t know the first thing about it.
“Detrahere arma,” she cast, and his sword went flying in the distance. The tip of Excalibur was now flush with Arthur’s throat.
He was defeated. The fire in his eyes died and he said, “What are you waiting for? Kill me.” No longer was he the haughty teenage king. Now he was an exhausted, world-weary monarch who had seen far too much.
“You wish to die?” Morgan wondered. “Brother dear?”
He winced more at her words than at the tiny poke of the blade to his flesh. “You are not my sister.”
“Oh, Uther’s journal begs to differ, and so does this.” She gestured to the sword. “I will kill you. I have every right to. But … have we not seen enough death and violence? We’re nineteen and eighteen. Too young for all this pain.”
“Mercy is for the weak,” he said, obviously reciting things learnt at his father’s knee. “Where was the mercy for Guinevere?”
“What … what happened to her?” Morgan feared the answer.
“Whatever potion you sent―”
“Stop,” she interrupted, eyes narrowing. “I did no such thing; don’t you dare blame me for it!”
Arthur’s eyes widened at her vehemence. “She drank the potion. Like a few others, she went mad. She … attempted to kill me. I never thought she loved me, never cared. It was a good match for Camelot, nothing more. But I never imagined how deep her psychoses ran.”
“Nor did I. And I actually did love her,” Morgan admitted.
“So why won’t you kill me?” he demanded.
Morgan lowered the sword. “Because I want to believe you’re not as deluded as your father was. I want to end this ridiculous feud between our kingdoms. And if you possessed even a fraction of a working brain, so would you.”
He was silent, and Morgan took that opportunity to tell him what Fiona had done to their father, the lies she wove like an intricate spider web. How she was the one who killed Uther, and possibly Igraine as well. And how the Coven was a peaceful place who never aimed to harm anyone, save for a few outliers.
“As I am sure you have within your kingdom as well,” she commented.
“If I believe you, and you’re lying to me?” he wondered.
“Then my Queen would happily execute me on your behalf. All we want is peace, Pendragon,” she stressed.
“And if I say no?”
She raised the blade again. “Then I slit your throat just as Lancelot slit the man I love’s throat half an hour ago and control both kingdoms, as is my birthright.”
“You cannot! You need Excalibur to prove…” He trailed off, eyes wi
de.
“A bit slow on the uptake, big brother,” she taunted. “I am merciful, but I do not suffer fools. Choose your path wisely: peace, or death?”
Arthur looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. “I want the fighting to stop.”
Morgan smiled softly, knowing there was no guile in his mein. She took his hand in hers and placed the sword in his palm.
“Then peace it is.”
Epilogue
The aftermath of a battle was filled with grief, anger, despair, and lots of rebuilding. But with magic, healing potions, and the togetherness that came with being part of a Coven, Morgan knew it would be a matter of time before things were back to normal, as if the battle never happened.
The only person who escaped completely unscathed was Fiona Guilfoyle: she was never seen again.
Queen Aritza offered to assist Camelot with rebuilding as well, which was politely declined.
Merlin survived, though he required extensive care for his injuries and to re-learn how to speak. He remained unconscious as his body repaired itself, aided by more doses of Morgan’s prior untested potion.
While Coven Medics tended to him, Morgan used her newfound leverage to bring Arthur and Aritza together at the edge of the border between the Coven and Camelot.
Neither looked particularly pleased to be there, but Arthur knew better than to complain. Aritza, for her part, was most likely merely curious as to what Morgan wanted.
“Well?” Arthur asked. “What did you wish to speak with us about?”
Morgan looked between the two rulers, grateful that she felt no desire to take up any leadership position. It made one cruel, calculating, and rude, or so it seemed.
“First, brother,” she said pointedly, “Pegasus died on your lands, at the hands of your knights. His species is now extinct. There are no pure unicorns left on Avalon.”
He backed up a step. “That is not my fault.”
Morgan nodded. “No, but I can make it your fault should I see fit.”
“What does this have to do with me, Miss Le Fay?” Aritza questioned.