by T J Mayhew
Cai tightened his grip on her shoulder. “We can’t stay here,” he insisted urgently. “We need to help the others.”
Aelwen nodded. “Yes; yes, I know,” she acknowledged before disappearing into the fray once more.
Cai quickly looked around, assessing the scene before him; Kay and Bedivere were fighting two of Mordred’s men while Gawain swung his sword at another, cutting deep into the warrior’s side. He was pleased to see Percival and his men had joined them, adding weight to their numbers.
He soon spotted Mordred and Lancelot, still locked in a fierce battle. Both were covered in blood, neither looking like they were about to give an inch. He watched as Mordred blocked one of Lancelot’s blows and, raising his leg, kicked Lancelot squarely in the stomach, knocking him to the floor.
Without a second thought, Cai ran towards them, holding Excalibur aloft. Mordred sensed his approach and, at the last moment, turned and blocked Cai’s blade just above his head.
“So, the boy king is back, is he?” he taunted. “Are you ready to fight with the real men now?”
Cai twisted away, avoiding Mordred’s counter attack, and spun back with Excalibur bearing down to Mordred’s side; to his dismay, Mordred danced out of the way, laughing gleefully. He turned to face Cai, his eyes bright with delight and bloodlust.
Lancelot staggered to his feet, clearly the worse for wear, and circled round Mordred, watching him carefully, awaiting his chance; he was breathing heavily, unable to stand completely upright, but he was determined.
Mordred’s attention was clearly torn between Cai, who now stood in front of him, and Lancelot, who stood behind. He changed direction, trying to keep them both in his line of sight, but the older knight, anticipating this, widened his path as he circled round to Mordred’s back once more.
This tactic would have continued, had it not been for the sound of maniacal laughter from above.
Cai looked up to see a black mass hovering above them. He continued to stare, not quite believing what he saw, as the battle around him slowly drew to a standstill: Morgan smiled down at the castle; evidently pleased with their work, she began to laugh louder, a chilling sound that resonated throughout Camelot.
Her laughter was soon joined by Mordred’s quiet chuckle as mother and son appeared to share in some private joke. As Cai watched, a plan began to take shape in his head but, before he had the chance to take advantage of this opportunity, Mordred had turned his attention back to Lancelot. In a move so quick, Cai barely had time to register it, he leapt towards the older knight, thrusting his sword deep into his right shoulder.
What followed, Cai saw in slow motion.
Lancelot turned to Mordred, a look of surprise on his face as he dropped heavily to his knees. Cai barely had time to see the pain in his eyes, before the world exploded in a blinding flash of white light.
31
On opening his eyes, Cai became aware that he couldn’t move his hands and he felt as if he was weighed down by something heavy. He blinked a few times, his eyes burning, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.
He realised he was lying on the flagstones of the Great Hall; glancing to his right, he saw the two thrones. He tried to sit up but found he couldn’t move at all; panicking, he felt his heart quicken and his breathing become shallow.
What was wrong with him?
Was he paralysed? Dead?
Taking a moment, he cast his mind back, remembering everything: his mother’s sudden collapse, her lifeless body in his arms, Morgan taking her from him; Aelwen saving his life and, finally, his fight with Mordred resulting in Lancelot’s injury.
His eyes snapped open as he recalled the blade plunging into Lancelot’s shoulder. He looked around, frantically searching for his friend and mentor. Lancelot was lying nearby on the flagstones, his face twisted in agony; he was pale, his breathing shallow and sweat beaded his forehead.
At least he’s not dead, Cai thought to himself with relief.
Turning his head, Cai realised that his hands had been tied behind his back, the rope biting into the skin of his wrists, burning him whenever he tried to move. Attempting to stand, he discovered his feet were also bound.
“You’re awake at last,” Logan muttered from Cai’s left.
Cai spared him a brief glance, preoccupied as he was with his bonds. He winced as the rope bit deeper into his skin; realising escape was out of his reach, he stopped struggling.
“What the hell’s happening?” he growled in frustration.
Logan shrugged. “Don’t know. Morgan... she did something… I couldn’t see…”
“The light…” Cai recalled suddenly.
Logan nodded frantically. “The next thing I knew, we were all here.”
Cai struggled against his bonds again, ignoring the pain at his wrists.
“There’s no point,” muttered Logan dejectedly. “Do you think I haven’t tried that already?” he asked. “The rope’s too tight; I can’t undo it. And you won’t either.”
Cai sighed angrily. “Damn.”
Logan chuckled wryly. “You’re telling me.”
Cai looked around at his comrades, trying to ascertain who had been lucky enough to survive; aside from himself, Logan and Lancelot, the only other occupants of the hall were the Knights of the Round Table.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asked.
Logan shrugged. “No idea,” he replied curtly, unable to offer further explanation.
“And Aelwen?” he asked, fearful that the worst may have happened; he couldn’t bear the idea that the last image he may have of her, was her running into battle and him knowing he had done nothing to stop her. Logan shrugged, an act that did nothing to ease Cai’s fears.
Realising he needed to focus on the present, he looked around the Great Hall searching for a means of escape; the last time he had been here, Merlin had collapsed and revealed his prophecy. His mind suddenly cleared and Cai recalled what Merlin had said at that time: the darkness pursuing you comes closer with each moment; you cannot escape it… it must be confronted… Was this it? Was this how it was going to end: with him and his knights trapped and at Mordred’s mercy?
No, he told himself, he wouldn’t let it end this way. With the prophecy still ringing in his ears, he knew that, with Percival amongst them, they still had hope. Yes, they had been captured but they were still alive and, whilst that was still true, he knew that they would fight on to the end.
The betrayal is almost complete…
Suddenly, an image of Nimue flashed through his mind and his anger and resentment flared; she had been the traitor all along! While he had been second guessing everyone else around him, she had been feeding information to the enemy. If only he had voiced his suspicions, maybe they would have discovered her betrayal earlier and all this could have been avoided. If only he had said something, maybe Camelot wouldn’t have been left wide open for Mordred to walk into without any resistance.
Maybe… That was all that any of them had now and it would never be enough.
“It was Nimue,” Kay muttered, the quietness of his voice failing to conceal the intensity of his anger. “All this time…” He looked at each face in turn. “She had been right under our noses, all this time…”
“I don’t understand,” Percival murmured, staring at the floor. “She swore herself to us; she swore to follow Merlin... I cannot believe...”
“Well, you’d better start believing, because she stood shoulder to shoulder with them!” Kay retorted. “And she showed no guilt, no remorse...”
It was obvious the knights were struggling with this new turn of events. They had, after all, known and trusted Nimue for years; she had lived amongst them, worked with them and served Arthur alongside them. Cai couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be betrayed by someone he had trusted so completely.
“Cai...”
Cai looked over to Lancelot, now lying on his side, clutching his shoulder. Sweat coated his face and his clothes and hands were covered in blood. De
spite the shock of seeing Lancelot in this weakened state, Cai couldn’t help the flood of relief washing over him at the sound of his voice.
“Lancelot...” Cai began to shuffle awkwardly towards him. “Are you alright?”
Lancelot grimaced. “I’m fine; a flesh wound.”
Cai narrowed his eyes; clearly it was more than that.
“It looks far worse than it is,” Lancelot insisted seeing the look on his face, trying to allay his fears.
It was obvious he didn’t want to dwell on it, so Cai changed the subject, his voice much softer, fearful. “What happened to my mother?” he asked.
Lancelot rested his head on the ground, looking up at the ceiling; he lay there for a moment as he tried to control his breathing. “That I cannot answer,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The last I saw of her was when she was in your arms.” He glanced at Cai.
Cai felt his throat tighten painfully. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his eyes filling with tears once more; whether Lancelot had meant the comment as a jibe, Cai didn’t know, but he felt it as keenly as if Lancelot had pushed a dagger through his heart. To know that he had had his mother in his grasp only for her to be snatched away so easily… there were no words to describe the pain that knowledge brought. “I had her but... Morgan told me to hand her over; I tried to fight her, I really did, but...” he insisted quickly before anyone could accuse him of letting her go. “But...”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Kay insisted. “No one can resist Morgan le Fay’s spells. It’s impossible,” he added quietly. “Even now, Merlin…”
Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall crashed open, the sound reverberating through the room. All heads turned as Mordred entered, flanked by Morgan le Fay and Nimue.
Guinevere and Merlin were nowhere in sight.
Cai resumed his struggle against his bonds. “What have you done with them?” he demanded. “What have you done with my mother and Merlin?”
Mordred walked slowly towards the dais, his footsteps echoing on the floor; deliberately ignoring Cai, ignoring them all, knowing his silence would unsettle them more. Reaching Lancelot, he paused and looked down at the injured knight whose eyes were now closed. He nudged him with his foot as he knelt down and slapped his face: nothing.
Mordred’s head snapped up to Nimue and Morgan, fire blazing in his eyes.
“He’s dead,” he announced bluntly.
Kay let out a roar as he, and the other knights, struggled frantically against their bonds; Gawain and Galahad, too shocked to move, only stared at Lancelot’s prone form, accepting that, for now, they were powerless.
Cai felt numb as he stared at Lancelot, too shocked to react; he had been speaking to him, only a moment ago...
As chaos ensued, Mordred marched over to Morgan and, grabbing her by the wrist, dragged her back towards Lancelot.
“Bring him back!” he screamed, his blood boiling. “I will not have him die like this; bring him back now!”
Ignoring her son’s rage, Morgan calmly knelt beside Lancelot, running her hands over his wound; she lowered her head and listened to his chest. Raising her head, she turned to Mordred. “He is not dead,” she said simply. “He has merely lost too much blood.”
“Well, do something to wake him up,” Mordred ranted. “I will not do this without him.”
Morgan turned back to Lancelot and held her hands in front of her face, palms facing each other, a few inches apart. Cai watched as she murmured something he couldn’t quite hear and white light began to emanate from her hands, shimmering in the space between them. She placed her hands a few inches above Lancelot’s wound and held them there, the light enveloping Lancelot’s body.
Cai held his breath, fearing the worst; was she really trying to save him? He didn’t trust her motives; she could just as easily kill him.
Suddenly, Lancelot gasped loudly and rolled to one side, coughing as he fought for breath.
Cai heaved a sigh of relief.
Morgan stood, rearranging her robes, and returned to her place beside Mordred; she looked pleased with herself as she glanced at Nimue and, although standing apart, the two of them seemed to exchange a brief, but quiet, word.
Cai glared at them, wishing he knew what they were saying; what were they planning?
Turning his attention back to Lancelot, Mordred approached and, standing over him, said, “Glad to have you back, my friend.”
“I am not your friend,” Lancelot growled, looking up at Mordred, pure, unadulterated hatred in his eyes.
Mordred sighed sadly and shook his head. “Fine... have it your way; I have you healed, I try to extend the hand of friendship...”
“What have you done with Guinevere?” Lancelot demanded, through gritted teeth. “And where’s Merlin?”
“I would like to point out that I have done nothing to either of them,” Mordred replied innocently. He narrowed his eyes. “I would have thought that would have been obvious to you by now.”
“Just answer the question!” Cai cried out. “You’ve taken them somewhere, I want to know where.”
Mordred turned to face him. “Oh, you want to know, do you?” he asked quietly. “And I suppose we must all do what the great King Arthur’s son wants, shouldn’t we?” he spat bitterly. “Heaven forbid, someone should stand against you...”
“What are you talking about?” Cai demanded.
“All my life, I have strived to live up to all of your expectations,” Mordred cried angrily, glaring at the knights. “Do any of you have any idea how hard that was? Arthur wanted the perfect knight,” he spat, “But there is no such thing as a perfect knight! You and I both know that, don’t we, Lancelot?” he accused.
Cai watched as some unspoken understanding passed between them, both men glaring at each other; he recalled Mordred’s earlier accusations about Lancelot’s betrayal of his father and he suddenly felt sick. He thought this was all over; he had thought he was past doubting Lancelot’s loyalty. But now he realised, despite what Lancelot had told him, that something had happened between him and his father...
Turning away from Lancelot, Mordred spoke to Percival. “You, too, found perfection hard to attain, didn’t you, Percival, my friend?” he asked as he strode over to where the knight sat.
Percival remained silent, his gaze rooted firmly on the ground.
Mordred knelt and, taking hold of the knight’s chin, forced him to meet his gaze. “You endeavoured to reach that elusive perfection, didn’t you?” he asked before continuing, “And when you were unable to find it, what happened? You, too, were cast aside!” Mordred thrust Percival’s head to one side and stood up. “You, too, were abandoned by the man you lived to serve...” His voice rang out in the silence of the hall, vicious and hate-filled.
“No!” Percival protested vehemently. “That is not true! None of it is true,” he added quietly.
“What, none of it?” Mordred asked incredulously.
“No; Arthur never sent me away,” Percival stated. “I chose to leave; to repent for my sins, to ask forgiveness from God.” He cleared his throat. “Arthur wanted me to stay so I did… for a time. But my guilt became too much...” He looked up at Mordred defiantly. “Do not use me in support of your worthless, misguided cause.”
Mordred frowned, his eyes hardening. “Worthless and misguided?” he asked quietly. “Tell me, is pursuing my birthright worthless and misguided?”
“It is, when you are not King Arthur’s heir,” Lancelot retorted.
“But I was!” Mordred screamed maniacally. “I was, until he came along!” He pointed vehemently at Cai. “Arthur was more than happy to take me in, to promise me his throne...”
Lancelot scoffed. “He did no such thing and, for you to think he did, just shows how deluded you really are.”
“My son is not deluded!” Morgan cried. “He is the rightful heir of the throne.”
Kay laughed. “That is the most ridiculous thing... my brother would never...”
He was cu
t short as Morgan disappeared in a puff of black smoke only to reappear a second later, looming over him; bending, she slapped him. Kay’s head snapped to the right and he gritted his teeth against the pain; slowly turning his head, he met Morgan’s gaze, his eyes bright with defiance.
“Don’t you dare to presume Arthur’s mind!” she hissed. “You are not of his blood, you don’t know! Camelot was mine before it was ever his!” she spat.
“Enough!” Mordred roared, pulling his mother away. She glared at him furiously but he ignored her. He paced the room, everyone’s eyes upon him. “I have had enough of this.” He rounded on Cai, bending to look at him. “The point is, I want my throne and you are all standing in my way. But first,” he announced, “I want to enjoy this little game of ours. I want you all to bear witness to the great event that will see my ascension to the throne; I want you all to witness the day when I, Mordred, son of Morgan le Fay, reclaim my birthright and become High King of Britain!”
32
Lancelot let out a roar of pure rage. “Over my dead body!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “I would sooner die than see you on Arthur’s throne.”
Mordred chuckled. “That can easily be arranged and, in time, it will be, I assure you.”
Facing Mordred, Lancelot reached down to pull his sword free of his scabbard only to be met with empty air; he glanced down, his fears confirmed.
Leaning towards him, Mordred asked, “Did you really think I would be so stupid as to leave you armed?”
Cai watched Mordred as he returned to the dais. “If you’re not going to kill me, how do you plan on becoming King?” he demanded.
“Oh, and there I was, thinking no one was ever going to ask!” Mordred replied, barely able to contain his excitement. “And trust it to be you, Cai Pendragon,” he spat, as if the mere mention of his name left a bad taste in his mouth. He glanced at Morgan and nodded; she immediately disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
Cai barely had time to register this before Nimue, who was watching him closely, her steely black eyes studying him carefully, caught his attention.