by T J Mayhew
Merlin held up a hand, a small smile touching his lips. “I am quite well, Cai, I assure you.” He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath as if breathing in fresh air, which, under the circumstances, was impossible. “I sense…” He opened his eyes. “Galahad’s quite right; something terrible did happen here.” He swept his eyes over the village. “Morgan and Mordred have been here; I can feel it.”
At the sound of Morgan and Mordred’s names, the village was suddenly alive with movement as every man drew their sword and backed away from the buildings, afraid that even being in their presence would affect them. Eyes darted warily to and fro, searching for even the slightest movement.
Merlin held up a hand. “They are not here now,” he assured them. He cast his eyes over the deserted houses, his grief evident. “But this place has witnessed terrible sadness and pain at their hands,” he continued.
Cai could only stare at the destruction around him; all these houses, these families destroyed… and for what? Because Mordred wanted Camelot for himself? Was his need for power really worth killing all these innocent people for? A sudden wave of nausea washed over him and Cai doubled over, dry-heaving, supporting himself against the nearest wall as he did so. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Logan standing beside him; behind Logan, he saw the other men watching them.
“You OK?” Logan asked.
Cai straightened up, relieved he hadn’t thrown up in front of his men. “I’m fine,” he murmured, feeling anything but.
Logan nodded warily, content to take Cai at his word.
“My Lord?” Merlin asked, looking at Cai. “What would you have us do?”
Cai sighed, his mind working overtime. Should they leave? After all, what was the point of staying when there was clearly no one around?
Then again, a small voice inside questioned, what if someone was injured? Or worse, what if someone was trapped somewhere, too terrified or unable to call out? If they left, they could be lying there for days before someone else came to their rescue, or worse. He couldn’t risk that happening; in that moment, Cai knew he couldn’t walk away.
“We should check this place out,” he announced. “We need to see if anyone…”
Merlin nodded. “Very well.”
The knights nodded, acknowledging their orders, before quickly organising the men into groups.
As the groups searched for survivors, Merlin was left with a small contingent in the centre of the village where they would keep a look out and tend to any walking wounded.
Cai and Logan ducked into the nearest building, climbing over the door as they entered. Inside, the house was dark, not helped by the charred walls and burnt furniture surrounding them which absorbed the light filtering in through the doorway; the acrid stench Cai had smelt earlier was now overwhelming, making his eyes burn and water. It felt strange to think that, at one time, this house would have been filled with laughter as the family who had lived here had sat down to dinner. Cai clenched his fist, gritting his teeth; it wasn’t fair that these people had to have their lives destroyed because of him when they had done nothing to warrant it.
“So what now?” Logan asked looking around. “Do you want to move on? I’m pretty sure no one’s here.”
Cai felt uneasy about leaving the house without giving it a proper once-over. “Just a little longer,” he said. “Look in there,” he added, pointing to a room to their right, just off the main living area. “I’ll go and have a look over there.” He nodded towards the back of the house.
Logan looked uneasy. “I’m not sure...”
“Look, if we split up, we’ll get it done quicker,” Cai reasoned.
Logan hesitated a moment before nodding. “OK, fine, but if we find nothing, we’re leaving.”
Cai smiled; he didn’t need to be told twice.
The two boys separated, Logan disappearing into the room Cai had indicated, while Cai slowly picked his way through the debris, to the back of the house. As he stepped over discarded chairs and broken pottery he tried not to think about the family that had once lived there.
A sharp cry of pain shattered the silence.
“Logan?” He spun round, drawing Excalibur, his eyes searching the darkness for any threat.
Straining his ears, Cai heard a groan and a dull thud as someone hit the ground. Hesitating for only a second, he ran towards the room Logan had entered, blind to any danger there may be within.
Entering the room, Cai had only a moment to spot Logan lying motionless on the floor, a shadowed figure looming over him. Before he knew it, he was grabbed from behind and froze as a dagger was held at his throat.
“One move and I’ll slice your neck,” a gruff voice breathed in his ear.
5
Morgan le Fay felt the power surge through her as she approached the throne room. Taking an almost perverse pleasure in it, she released it and watched as a ball of white light flew from her hand in a burst of energy so strong, it almost blew the thick wooden doors off their hinges.
Mordred looked up as she swept into the room, her robes flowing about her. As a child, he had been frightened of her presence and power but, over the years, terror had changed to respect, the kind of respect borne out of understanding. For although Mordred had no natural leanings towards sorcery, he, like his uncle before him, understood it was necessary in order to achieve his goals. “Mother,” he murmured warily, by way of greeting.
Morgan could barely contain her fury as she began pacing the flagstones in front of her son’s throne. She let the power ebb and flow within her, relishing the electricity dancing around her fingertips.
Mordred watched in silence, knowing better than to speak when she was in one of these moods. Bystanders never fared well in the face of Morgan le Fay’s anger; the boy had certainly discovered that and, even though he had managed to escape, their message had been clear: this is war.
Morgan continued to pace silently, allowing her anger to simmer. The darkness of the throne room was a welcome relief from the mid-afternoon light flooding the corridors beyond and she found comfort in it, glad Mordred had seen fit to board up the windows when they had claimed this sorry excuse of a castle. Now the only light source in this room was from two torches mounted on the wall behind Mordred’s throne.
This was how Morgan preferred it: she was at home in the darkness.
Closing her eyes, she clenched her hands into fists; it galled her that the boy, and his sorry rabble of knights, were living in Camelot, the castle that was rightfully hers, while she and Mordred were condemned to make their home in something, decidedly, unfit for their power and standing. Had Uther Pendragon been the one to fall on the battlefield instead of her father, if he had been the one to die, Mordred would have been Camelot’s true, and rightful, heir.
Instead, that treacherous king had betrayed her father, hidden himself behind trickery and subterfuge in order to fool her gullible mother into giving him a son, and heir, and stolen Camelot from her…
But for a twist of Fate… she thought wryly.
And now, a mere boy sat on the throne; a throne he was unworthy of and one that should never have been his.
So much had changed in the wake of her father’s death, a death that should never have happened. When she was but a girl, she had been forced to deal with a pain no child should have to deal with; it was that pain and betrayal that had set her on this path, a path she would never deviate from.
Not until she took back what was rightfully hers.
But now, Merlin had interfered once more, aligning himself against her, yet again… the only difference was that, this time, he would be made to answer for his crimes.
She would make sure of it.
“They’re on the move,” she eventually informed Mordred.
Mordred nodded thoughtfully. “Then they shall soon bear witness to our strength,” he murmured. “They shall see what we are capable of and realise they do not stand a chance.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “Is th
at all you can say?” she demanded.
Mordred shrugged. “What else would you have me say, Mother?” he asked infuriatingly calm.
Morgan glared at him, crossing the room so fast Mordred barely saw her move. “How dare you sit there and say nothing!” she spat. “I have fought too long and too hard for this; I am not going to lose everything we have worked towards because of your apathy and a boy king unworthy of his title and place in this world!” She scoffed. “We have come too far to turn our backs on what is rightfully ours; I will not let anyone take this from us!”
Mordred held Morgan’s gaze for a moment, her anger and accusations weighing heavily between them. “Mother, we have known of the boy’s existence for a long time; we always knew they meant to trick us…” he pointed out.
“It’s one thing knowing it, but having the reality thrust in our faces…” Morgan’s eyes bored into his. “To now know for sure, to have them reclaim Excalibur; to have them stand against me… It means they are no longer afraid; it means they are ready.”
“Then we shall go to them,” Mordred replied simply. “And we shall give them a reason to be afraid.” Before Morgan could say more, Mordred stood up forcing her to take a step backwards. He deftly descended the steps leading down from his throne, his cloak billowing around him. At the bottom, he turned to face his mother. Holding his arms out to his sides, he announced, “This place is not worthy of us; it never was and it never will be. We belong in Camelot and, one day, it will be ours,” he promised, his conviction evident in his voice. He lowered his tone as he continued, “But, until that day, we must be patient.” Turning on his heel, he began to pace, the sound of his boots echoing on the flagstones. “We have suffered setbacks before but we have always rallied, coming back even stronger. This will be no different; we will use this knowledge to our advantage.” He paused, turning to look at Morgan again. “Let’s not forget, we have already penetrated Camelot’s defences and no one there is any the wiser; the information we have will prove useful to our cause…” He grinned. “And now, it is only a matter of time before we destroy all those that stand between us and our goal.”
Morgan saw the steel in her son’s eyes and knew they were united in this; they always had been and always would be. She closed the distance between them, her jaw set in determination. “Then we must plan, my son,” she murmured. “We cannot afford to waste another moment for, every day, our enemy grows stronger.” And, with that, she swept out of the room, a predator, who, after all these years, finally had her prey within her sights.
Mordred smiled coldly as he followed; they would rain down Hell upon Camelot and the beauty of it all was… they wouldn’t even see it coming.
6
The man’s breath was hot against Cai’s ear, the blade cold against his neck.
“Drop your sword!”
As ordered, Cai dropped Excalibur, his heart sinking as it clattered to the ground. He closed his eyes, hating himself for giving up his weapon so easily; he could almost hear Kay’s voice in his head cursing his cowardice and stupidity. His head was jerked back further, and he winced, as the cold blade of a dagger was pressed against his throat. He dropped his eyes to Logan, still lying on the floor, clearly disorientated.
Logan blinked and, glancing around, appeared to be remembering where he was and what had happened. His efforts to get up were crushed when his captor pushed him to the ground with his boot.
“Stay where you are, boy,” he growled.
Logan glowered up at him. “You are so gonna pay for this,” he muttered weakly, although it was clear to everyone he was still too dazed to make good on his threat.
The man laughed coldly. “That might scare me if you weren’t so…” He studied Logan carefully. “Pathetic,” he sneered.
Logan clenched his jaw but, to Cai’s relief, didn’t take the bait.
“Let me go,” Cai ordered feebly, and, as pressure came to bear, the blade pressed against his neck; his eyes began to water and, for a terrifying moment, he feared the dagger had pierced his skin. In an instant, he had never been more certain of one thing: he didn’t want to die, not like this… not in a burnt out building without Excalibur in his hand.
And certainly not without a fight…
The man chuckled. “I don’t think so, boy,” he sneered. “You lot are all the same: coming in here, taking advantage of people when they’re down...” He scoffed dismissively. “And now they’re sending children to do their dirty work!”
Struggling in vain against the man’s hold, Cai insisted, “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
The man pulled Cai against him tightly. “You think I didn’t see you and your friends looting our houses?” He chuckled bitterly. “Oh, I saw and, I promise you, you will pay! You will all pay!”
Cai tried to shake his head but the man only tightened his grip. “No, you’ve got it all wrong...!” he cried desperately.
“Shut up!” the man snapped, shoving Cai away from him. “We chased you off before and we’ll do it again!”
Cai stumbled and scrambled over to Logan. Dropping to his knees, he desperately asked, “You OK?”
Logan nodded and Cai noticed the hair on the left side of his head was matted with drying blood. “I guess…” he murmured, still dazed. Tentatively prodding his head, he stared down at his bloody fingers. “I’m bleeding,” he muttered.
Before Cai could respond, the two men came and stood over them, blocking their only escape route.
Cai’s assailant looked down at him, his dark eyes shining out from the deep shadows of his face. The sleeve of his shirt had been torn off and was now acting as a bandage for the wound that was oozing blood down his forearm; it looked painful but he seemed oblivious to it. His jaw was dark with stubble, going grey in places and his hair was straggly and unkempt.
“It must have come to something when mercenaries use children!” he spat distastefully. “The only question now is: what do we do with you, you little runt?”
Before Cai could answer, a voice from the doorway broke in.
“Unhand him and kneel to your King!”
Cai’s heart almost leapt with joy: Bedivere!
His gaze shot from the men in front of him to the doorway and he saw, with a surge of relief, that Bedivere was not alone: Galahad and a handful of knights were with him.
The sudden sound of swords being drawn caused the men to stiffen in anticipation; Cai saw fear in their eyes and, for the first time, realised these men were anything but warriors. They may have talked the talk but, now, facing such a force, their bluster had vanished.
Suddenly a blade appeared at each of the men’s necks as Bedivere and Galahad moved into action.
“You heard him: release them,” Galahad murmured, his eyes darting to Cai and Logan. Noting they were alive and relatively uninjured, he turned his attention back to the men in question. “Owain,” he continued calmly. “We promised you salvation but, be in no doubt, we won’t hesitate to kill you if you even think about harming your King.” To emphasise his point, Bedivere twisted the tip of his blade against the man’s throat causing him to wince as the blade pressed into his flesh.
Gathering whatever courage he had left, the man glared at Cai and snorted derisively. “He is not the King,” he argued. “He is nought but a boy!” he added contemptuously. He spat on the floor and Cai was instantly reminded of Kay’s actions and his steadfast refusal to accept the truth at first.
Bedivere increased the pressure of his blade into the man’s neck, eliciting a thin cry of pain as the blade bit into his throat. “You do not speak of your King like that!”
Cai stepped forward before the situation got out of hand. “My father was King Arthur, my mother Guinevere,” he stated clearly.
The man studied Cai for a moment before lifting his chin defiantly. “Arthur was childless.”
Galahad shook his head. “As we told you before, our dire situation caused us to hide the truth,” he reminded him.
“L
ook at the boy,” Bedivere commanded, lowering his sword. “Is he not the image of his father?”
Cai shifted uncomfortably as the man’s gaze searched his face.
The shorter man leaned closer to Owain. “He does look familiar,” he conceded.
“We promised you we would return with proof,” Galahad reminded them.
The taller man grunted. “If you are indeed King Arthur’s son, then tell me: what are you doing here? Why are you taking advantage of our misfortune?”
Cai sighed, losing patience. “I’ve already told you, I wasn’t taking advantage of anything. And if you had given me the chance to explain, you would have known that,” he persisted.
Owain scowled but, as his shoulders relaxed, Cai allowed himself to believe he was beginning to accept he might have been wrong about him.
After a moment, Owain nodded slowly, slipping his dagger back into his belt; the second man echoing his movements.
At the sight of this, Cai felt himself relax a little, although still wary of the strangers; having been held at knifepoint by them, trust didn’t come easy. He was glad to see that, although Galahad had lowered his sword neither he, nor any of his men, had sheathed their weapons.
The other man stepped forward. “Forgive us,” he muttered, his eyes darting around the room. “We… we have suffered much recently… lost far more than we ever should have…” He gazed around the room, his eyes shining brightly with unshed tears.
Sensing his friend’s pain, Owain placed a hand on his shoulder.
Cai glanced at Bedivere and Galahad whose heads were bowed in silent respect.
Having regrouped, the men turned their attention back to Cai. Owain inclined his head, taking the lead once again. “I am Owain and this…” he said, indicating the shorter man, “is Badden. This village… it used to be our home before we were invaded…”