by Peter David
Even though the other knight was helmed, Arthur recognized him. He smiled unpleasantly.
"Hello, Modred. Come to wish me success in my new career?"
I have come to put an end to you, Pendragon. You, and your damned notions of a New Camelot."
There was no doubt in the crowd's collective mind who the bad guy was in this little scenario.
Modred was roundly booed.
It made no impression on him as he drew his sword and pointed it at Arthur. "Well, Pendragon? Do you dare fight me? Or will you be revealed to all here as the coward that you are?"
There were yells and catcalls as someone shouted out, "Teach him a lesson, Arthur! Clean his clock for him!" And the crowd, which thought it was watching another staged event, took up the encouragement.
Arthur started to rise and Gwen put a hand on his arm. "Arthur, please. Don't do this. You don't have to do this."
"Yes," said Arthur simply. "Yes, I do."
He reached down and picked up his helmet-similar to Modred's, but with a more rounded top. As he began to put it on, the crowd roared its approval.
Merlin, on the other side of the field, froze in horror as he saw Arthur descend from the royal box, Excalibur already drawn from its sheath. "Oh, no," he breathed. "The great fool. We can put all of that nonsense behind us, and he still insists on playing the warrior king/' He started to make his way through the crowd, urgently.
Arthur carried a shield on his left arm, as did Modred. It was wood covered with leather, and it was formidable. Under the helmet his face was set in grim lines of determination. In his right hand he held Excalibur with such ease that you'd never expect it would take an exceptionally strong man to wield it at all with two hands, much less one.
They faced each other. The sun was overhead. Arthur circled slowly while speaking in a conversational tone of voice. "Modred, you haven't a prayer against me. You're a puppy. You were a puppy in your earlier life and you're a puppy now. You were probably a puppy in every other incarnation you've had in between. Please don't take offense. It's just the way you are. But I can live with it if you can."
"The only thing I can't live with is you!" snarled Modred, and he charged.
He took three steps forward and immediately staggered back, blinded by the glare of the sun. Arthur, who hadn't moved, grinned and said, "I could have killed you just then, son. First rule of battle-make certain that your opponent's eyes are in the sun, not yours."
Modred attacked again, barreling forward and swinging his sword. Arthur sidestepped the charge completely, and as Modred went past, swatted him on the rump with the flat of Excalibur's blade. The crowd roared. "Come now, Modred. Let's end this nonsense," said Arthur reasonably. "You don't have a prayer."
"No, Arthur. It's you who has no prayer. But you're too stupid to know it yet."
Modred came forward, sword swinging like a windmill. It bit deep into Arthur's shield. Arthur cut across with Excalibur, fully expecting to slice Modred's shield completely in half. Instead Excalibur glanced off the shield without even so much as making an impression.
Arthur was clearly taken aback by it. Modred enjoyed the small victory. "Found something your precious blade can't cut through? Here's something else." Modred's sword flashed and Arthur parried the blow directly, rather than taking the force of it on his shield. The two blades clanged together. Excalibur should have cut the other sword off at the hilt. It did not.
They separated and stepped back from each other. Arthur was now a bit more wary. His superiority to Modred in fighting skills was not at issue in his mind. But these weapons were on a par with his own, and that bore further investigation.
"You like my toys?" crowed Modred. "They're presents, Arthur. A legacy if you will. The last artifacts from Morgan Le Fey. She passed them on to me so that I could lay you low for all time."
His own armor was beginning to feel heavy on him as Arthur grated, "Come on. Are you planning on talking me to death or are you going to fight?" Fiercely, summoning all the power at his command, Arthur attacked.
Meanwhile Merlin made it to the reviewing stand, climbing in next to Gwen, who was wringing her hands. Percy was standing there, watching the proceedings as well. "Gwen,"
demanded Merlin, "what in hell is going on? How could you let Arthur get himself mixed up in some stupid fight?"
"How do you propose I stop him?" asked Gwen reasonably. "You think I want him out there?
When Arthur gets an idea in his head, nothing can dissuade him."
"Tell me about it," said Merlin mournfully. "Still, I don't like this one bit. ..." His voice trailed off, and Gwen turned to him in alarm. "Merlin, what's wrong?"
"There's magic in this box. I can sense it. Hell, it's Morgan, I can smell it." He turned slowly and faced Percy. Quickly he leaped up onto the seat of Arthur's chair, putting himself on eye level with Percy. Gwen looked on in surprise as Merlin grabbed Percy by the face and peered deeply into his eye. "Good God, no! He's been hypnotized."
The sudden clanging on the field alerted Merlin. He turned and watched in horror as the battle was truly joined.
Arthur was fully on the offensive now. He drove down hard on Modred, Excalibur pounding on Modred's shield again and again. Wunk! Wunk! Wunk! Huge chunks of the shield flew as Modred was not even able to mount a defense to slow Arthur for a moment. Back, back down the field Arthur sent Modred. And then he drew back Excalibur for another blow, brought down the sword, and totally misjudged the distance. Modred dodged and Arthur swung at empty air. The miss sent him off balance and he stumbled and almost fell. Only his warrior's reflexes saved him from tripping and hitting the ground, but by the time he recovered Modred was upon him. Modred swung hard and Arthur took the brunt of the blow on his shield. He felt the impact far more than he should have, the blow sending vibrations of pain along his left arm. Surprised, he wheeled back, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He was sweating so heavily it was pouring into his eyes. His vision was starting to fuzz over and he felt a ringing in his ears. He couldn't understand it. Lord knew the armor was heavy, but certainly he wasn't this out of shape.
Modred attacked and they alternated now. Modred slammed at Arthur's shield, Arthur hacked at Modred's. And this time, step by step as they exchanged blow after blow, it was Arthur who was beginning to retreat. The crowd shouted encouragement, roared its approval for Arthur's bravery and catcalled their disapproval for Modred. They were having the time of their lives, because after all, they knew the whole thing was rigged ahead of time and that Arthur would triumph.
It was knowledge that Merlin did not share. Staring into Percy's eyes, he spoke in low tones, then shook Percy's face once and said, "Percy! Come out of it, man!"
Percy Vale blinked slowly, the fog lifting from his mind. His eyes widened. "Modred! Where did he. . . ?" Then slow horror started to register on Percy's face. "Oh, God. Don't tell me."
He looked out on the field and saw the two combatants, heard the ringing of metal on metal and the thud of metal on wood. "Tell me that Arthur didn't drink anything I gave him."
Gwen wasn't sure what was wrong, but she saw true fear in Percy's eyes, and she said,
"Yes. You gave him some cider."
"It was poison," said Percy.
Gwen's mouth flew to her hands. "Percy, how . . . how could you-"
"It's not his fault," said Merlin quickly. "He was hypnotized. It was against his will-hell, I suspect that Modred didn't even tell you that you were putting poison in. You only realize now that you're fully conscious what it must have been." Merlin shook his head. "This is all my fault. I was the one who was so concerned about history repeating itself, and here I set us up for it and didn't even think of it."
"Merlin, what are you talking about?" asked Gwen.
Merlin chucked a thumb at Percy. "The fates can have a sick sense of humor. I know, I've met them. Percy here is an accountant/'
"Yeah? So?"
"So ... in his final battle Arthur lost because he was poisoned b
y an adder."
"Merlin, you can't be serious. You mean by a snake, right? Not by a person who adds."
"What can I say? Obviously Morgan decided to implement a little poetic justice."
"You mean Modred," Percy said.
"No. Modred's personality has been supplanted, locked away somewhere deep within him.
Modred couldn't hypnotize you like that. Modred wouldn't be out there fighting like that. That cloud of hatred, that essence of Morgan that escaped me, has found a host in the body of Modred. Make no mistake, for things are not as they seem." Merlin leaned forward. "Arthur's battling Morgan Le Fey out there. And he's dying while he's doing it."
Arthur's right arm was starting to feel heavy. Lifting Ex-calibur became more and more of a burden. His legs were like two lead weights. Each blow from Modred's sword felt stronger than the one before. And then Arthur stumbled, falling back on one knee. Modred came in fast, swinging hard, and his sword sheered Arthur's shield in two. Quickly Arthur dropped the crumbling remains of his shield, gripped Ex-calibur with both hands, and using it as a crutch, drew himself to his feet. He swung Excalibur back and around with all the force he could muster. Modred parried the blow with his sword and it glanced off and struck Modred's shield, which shattered. Modred tossed it aside, gripping his sword with two hands as well.
They stood there facing each other, a moment frozen from time.
Modred feinted to the left, then brought his sword swinging in low to the right. Arthur tried to block the blow and failed. Modred's sword bit deep into Arthur's ribs. Arthur moaned and went down to one knee, and Modred stepped back, his blade tinted red. Gasping, Arthur clutched at the wound, his face deathly white beneath his helmet.
Instead of pressing the attack, Modred stood there, admiring the damage. "How does it feel, Arthur?" he crowed. "How does it feel to take the pain instead of inflicting it for once?"
Gasping for breath, Arthur looked up. His voice was a harsh whisper as he said, "Morgan?"
"My, we are the perceptive one. Gaze on the face of the one who hates you beyond death itself." Modred yanked off his helmet, and it was Modred's face underneath, but the eyes, the expression, was that of Morgan Le Fey.
"And I wonder," Modred continued, "if you've figured this out. I wonder if you've realized that you've been poisoned."
Arthur grunted, the blood in his veins turning to fire. "Now that you mention it, I do feel a little off."
"You're going to die, Arthur. The only question is whether it's going to be from the blade or from the blood."
Modred gripped his sword firmly and swung at Arthur's head.
Arthur blocked it.
Modred was visibly surprised. "I didn't think you had enough strength left in you for that."
"You'll find I'm full of surprises," said Arthur, a grim smile on his lips. And he rose. Slowly, agonizingly, he got to his feet, holding onto his sword. Holding on to his life, not allowing the release of either. His mouth curled back in a sneer. "You're pathetic. You couldn't even beat me fairly, you had to try and poison me. Well it didn't work."
"I-I saw you drink the poison," stammered Modred.
"Perhaps you did," Arthur said. "And perhaps I switched the mugs." And without giving Modred a chance to think, Arthur attacked.
Merlin watched in shock as Gwen said, "Do something!"
"I don't know what," said Merlin. "And I couldn't anyway. This is Arthur's battle. He wouldn't forgive me if I interfered in something as personal as this."
"Forgive you!" she shrieked. "He's going to die!"
"You haven't known him for as long as I have," said Merlin.
Arthur pressed the attack. He did not allow himself to feel the pain. He refused to acknowledge that his arms were dead weight, that Excalibur had become unwieldly. He refused to acknowledge that he was dying. He drove Modred back, back. The great sword Excalibur came faster instead of slower. The speed of Arthur's blows increased. The crowd went wild as Modred retreated farther and farther before Arthur's savage onslaught. Blood pumped furiously from Arthur's wound. The left side of Arthur's surcoat was stained red. And Arthur grew stronger.
"It's impossible!" screamed Modred.
"This is all impossible!" said Arthur. "We all are! And you'll never defeat me, Morgan. Even if you kill me, you'll never defeat me."
They spun in a semicircle and Modred squinted.
"Now what did I tell you about the sun?" said Arthur, and brought Excalibur down with every bit of strength he had left.
Modred's sword went flying from his hand.
The crowd went wild.
Modred made a desperate grab for his sword as Arthur swung Excalibur around. Modred dodged, and the weight of Excalibur pulled Arthur to the ground. He lay there, gasping, clutching at his wound. Under his helmet his features were twisted in pain. The poison running through his system, weighted down by his armor, his wound an agonizing pain in his side, Arthur could not rise.
Modred stood there for a moment, unable to believe his good fortune. "You . . . you lied to me! You did drink the poison. You are dying!" He laughed Morgan's laugh. "This is turning into a good day after all."
He turned to where his sword had fallen.
Groucho was holding it. Chico was standing next to him.
Their expressions were unreadable.
Slowly Groucho advanced on Modred. He held the sword with the same ease that he held knives. Slowly Modred started to back up. "Give ... give that back to me, you hairy goon."
Chico darted around to the side. Modred didn't take his eyes off Groucho, and seconds later could retreat no farther because Chico was directly behind him. Before he could move, Chico had pinned his arms behind him.
"What are you doing?" bleated Modred. "What are you doing? Get off me!" He struggled in Chico's grip but was unable to break free.
Still Groucho said nothing as he walked right up to the terrified Modred. He brought the sword right up to Modred's throat and then, with a quick motion, wrapped one arm around Modred's head while Chico kept Modred's arms pinned back.
And the soul of Morgan Le Fey screamed, "No! I can't die again! Not againV And with a scream of horror she leaped free of her host body.
And it was Moe Dredd who now screamed "No! Don't! D- "
Groucho dropped the sword and began rapping his knuckles repeatedly and furiously on Modred's skull. "Noogies!" he shouted. Chico laughed joyously.
A black cloud leaped skyward, and from across the field Merlin worked a spell of containment. This time he was fast enough off the mark, and a ball of energy formed around the pure hate that made up the remains of Morgan Le Fey. It enveloped her completely, and then in a bright flash was gone.
' 'What was that?" asked Percy.
"I transported her," replied Merlin. "She's back at my sanctum. And there she'll stay until I have time to attend to her. Right now I have something more pressing."
He was leaping out of the box, but Gwen was already out and halfway across the field. The crowd's cheering had been reduced to a confused buzz of conversation, because of the strange black cloud, the flash of light that made it disappear, and because Arthur was lying there, and boy, it sure looked like he was bleeding to death. It had to be part of the act, didn't it? But it seemed kind of tasteless....
Modred blinked furiously. "Noogies?"
"Don't'cha remember us, man?" said Chico excitedly. "Remember the old days, the three of us? Chico, Groucho, and you, Harpo. We were a team, man. Don't you remember?"
"The sixties," said Groucho helpfully. "Remember the sixties?"
"Vaguely," said Moe, still trying to shake off the abrupt departure of Morgan. "I was doing some real weird shit back then . . . wait." He looked at them and frowned. And then he said,
"Oh, my God. Wait. Chico and Groucho?"
They nodded eagerly. "You do remember!"
"I thought ... I thought all of that was just some drug-induced hallucination."
"You disappeared one day, man. We never knew where y
ou went."
"I'm not sure myself. I woke up in Thirtieth Street Station in Philadelphia. To this day I don't know how I got there. And that's when I decided to pull my act together."
"Geez." Chico looked at Groucho. "You think if the same thing happened to us, we'd have gotten our act together too?"
Groucho shrugged. "Could be. Philadelphia does weird shit to your head, man."
They pulled their newly-found third member of their group away even as a crowd started to gather around Arthur's fallen form. Gwen came to Arthur's side and dropped down next to him. She ripped off a piece from his surcoat and held it against the wound, and she looked up at the people standing around. "For God's sake, call an ambulance."
They stared at her. "You mean he's really hurt?"
"Get an ambulance, dammit!"
Three people ran off and one man stepped forward. He was a doctor and at that moment he didn't give a damn about malpractice suits. "I'm a doctor, miss. Maybe I can help."
He knelt at Arthur's side as Gwen pulled his helmet off. She gasped at the whiteness of his skin.
"Oh, God, Arthur."
He lifted a mailed hand to her cheek and stroked it, smiling sickly. "Gwen. Don't cry, my lovely Gwen. We gave them a real run for their money this time."
"Them? Who's them?"
"The fates. They have it out for me, you know. They hate happy endings, you know." He winced. "Now don't go crying for me, Gwen. It's unseemly."
Tears streamed down her face. "I don't want to lose you, Arthur," she sobbed. "I don't think I could go through waiting for you again for another fifteen centuries."
"You're not going to lose me," said Arthur. "I'll always be with you."
"I don't want poetic bullshit! I want you!"
He laughed. "That's my Gwen. Never could pull anything on her."
Merlin knelt down next to them. Gwen turned and said, "Merlin! Do something!"
And he said softly, "I'm a sorceror, child, not a doctor. A J 90
curse on him I could handle. Poison and blood wounds, that's something else again. It's out of my reach."
She stroked Arthur's cheek as the doctor worked furiously on the gash in Arthur's side.