The Last Knight (Pendragon Book 1)

by Nicola S. Dorrington

  “What do you mean?” Anger flared in my chest.

  Merlin smiled, almost pityingly. “Look, Cara. Look and see him truly for the first time.”

  I felt compelled to turn, as though I had no choice. Lance had stood up when Merlin had given his little display, and as I turned towards the fallen tree a tiny part of me already knew what I was going to see.

  The red light of the setting sun broke through the clouds and turned his armour to fire. A cape of azure blue fluttered out behind him. Under his arm was a gleaming, full visor helm, and his right hand rested on the hilt of a massive broadsword. His hair was longer, but his face was the same, the same ocean blue eyes and the same crooked smile.

  “Sir Lancelot.” The name came to my lips unbidden as everything fell into place.

  He bowed low, his eyes never leaving mine.

  When I looked back it seemed so obvious. There had been a thousand hints. I realised then that part of me had known – I’d just been denying it.

  He stepped off the tree and walked towards me. As the clouds shifted again to cover the sun his armour faded and he was back in jeans and t-shirt. But it didn’t matter, I had seen the real him. I had seen the part of him that he had been hiding from me, and I felt the first spark of anger that he had lied to me.

  “Sir Lancelot,” I murmured again as he reached me.

  He bowed once more, catching my hand and raising it to his lips.

  “At your service, always, My Lady.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  For a moment I simply stared up at Lance, my fingers still held tightly in his gloved hand. The expression in his eyes was unreadable, somewhere between relief and apprehension.

  I didn’t know what to say or think. Mostly because I didn’t understand how it was even possible.

  “Are you – are you like those wraiths?” I asked, pulling my fingers free.

  “No.” It was Merlin who replied. “I do not believe in summoning wraiths.”

  “So how is he Lancelot? If he served Arthur, then he should have died years ago.”

  “I did.” Lance’s voice was low, but I couldn’t ignore the throbbing emotion in it. “But before I died Merlin used a spell to capture all my memories and consciousness, my essence if you will. I am that essence given form…”

  Something inside me broke. It snapped painfully at his words, the beginnings of a bond I hadn’t even noticed until it was broken.

  “You’re not human.” The very thought twisted my stomach.

  “Cara.” Lance saw the change of expression on my face and reached for my arm, but I pulled back. “I am human, just born of magic.”

  I shook my head, feeling my eyes burn with unwanted tears. Only now did I realise the hole Lance had begun to fill. Someone who understood me, who had stopped me feeling so alone. And now I felt more alone than ever. The tiny spark of anger flared into something more. He had said in the car that he was flesh and blood, but was he really? Was he anything more than some magic trick?

  “Go away.” I forced the words out through gritted teeth.

  Lance’s face fell. “Cara…”

  “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” I felt betrayed. He’d lied to me, and even though I understood why he hadn’t told me the truth it still hurt. I’d trusted him and let him take me half-way across the country. He wasn’t even human, and my last connection to reality had slipped away. I was alone, surrounded only by myths and legends.

  Merlin touched Lance’s shoulder as he opened his mouth to protest. “Go join the others, Lancelot. Cara and I need to talk anyway.”

  Lance cast me one last frustrated look and strode back to where Wyn and Percy were watching.

  “So, if he’s Lancelot, who…” I said as my gaze travelled over them.

  “Sir Gwain and Sir Percival.”

  “Sir Gwain? As in, ‘Sir Gwain and the Green Knight’?” I’d read the poem once, but the Old English had nearly fried my brain.

  Merlin smiled faintly. “The very same. Some of the stories of Arthurian knights survived, but much more was lost, or corrupted by the years.”

  “The stories of Lancelot and Guinevere?” Even I knew that much of Arthurian legend. I suddenly remembered what Lance had told me back at the cottage, that I was his second chance, his chance to make amends for making the wrong choice. He said he had chosen his own happiness over duty.

  Merlin’s eyes darkened, and in the back of my mind I felt Arthur stir.

  Lancelot’s choice is something I forgave him for.

  You could have told me who he was, I replied angrily. You could have warned me.

  And what difference would it have made, other than causing you to distrust him? And you had to come here to Merlin.

  “Arthur is right,” Merlin murmured. “You must put this out of your mind for now. We have much to discuss.”

  A protest reverberated in my throat, but Merlin’s firm look silenced me.

  “Walk with me, Cara,” he said. He took my arm, tucking it into his own and giving me no choice but to follow him. He led me around the bank towards the trees. I couldn’t see where we were going; the trees grew right down to the water. However, just as we approached the trees they seemed to move. The water’s edge was suddenly clear, a path leading away around the lake.

  “How…” I shook myself and laughed in disbelief. Real magic that was how. “That’s quite impressive.”

  “Don’t give me the credit. I did nothing. The woods around this lake are steeped in the old magic; they have a life of their own. Guarding the lake is their duty but they accept our presence here.”

  I remembered the feeling of being watched on our way through the forest. “Why do they guard the lake?” I asked, stepping over a raised tree root.

  “Because the lake is one of the pathways into Avalon. You know Avalon of course.”

  I made a slight face. “I’ve heard of it.” It was another myth, another legend.

  He chuckled. “Avalon is the world of the Fair Folk. Some legends call them fairies, some call them elves, and even more commonly they are simply the Fey. They are the source of all magic in this world. It was into their care that I sent the soul of Arthur to be returned when Albion had greatest need of him.”

  I wanted to ask more about the Fair Folk, but another question seemed more pressing. “And ‘Albion’ needs him now?”

  We had drawn to a halt, and I felt a strange sense of displacement. We had only been walking for a few minutes, but we were on the opposite side of the lake to Lance and the others. They were tiny specks on a distant, hazy shore.

  “Yes. Albion is in great need of him. I am not the only person who has access to Avalon and the magic there. You seem to know a little of the legends of King Arthur, do you perhaps know of his enemies?”

  I searched my mind, trying to remember every film I’d seen of the Arthurian legends, every book or story. I prodded Arthur for an answer but he stayed silent. “There was a guy wasn’t there? Mordred?”

  A snarl from Arthur told me I’d gotten the name right at least.

  “Indeed, Mordred was one of Arthur’s enemies. He was Arthur’s first son. But he was corrupted, consumed by a hunger for magic, and a hatred for Arthur.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Arthur refused to recognise him as his heir, favouring instead his younger brother, your ancestor. Because Mordred was the child of a forbidden relationship between Arthur and his own half-sister.”

  My stomach churned. “Well, that’s kinda gross.”

  I didn’t know who she was, Arthur said insistently. It was not until many years later that I learned the truth. She took on the form of another, her sole intention was to bare a child who could claim my throne from under me.

  “Arthur speaks the truth,” Merlin confirmed and I realised it was the second time he had responded as though Arthur had spoken out loud. “But Mordred was killed, only moments after he dealt Arthur a fatal blow. Killed by the man you dismissed from your presence not ten minute
s ago.”

  I glanced towards the distant speck that was Lance and felt a tiny surge of regret I had been so harsh to him. Shaking it off I turned back to Merlin. “But if Mordred was killed, who is it that summoned the wraiths?”

  “The one who bore him into this world. Who used magic in his conception and raised him to despise his father. Morgana Le Fay.”

  It was just a name, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Morgana,” Merlin continued. “She had the same gift you possess. The gift of foresight. Unfortunately she did not see her son’s death until it was too late to save him. But she was able to save herself, opening a gateway into Avalon where she could not die.”

  “And the Fair Folk just let her do it? Didn’t they know what kind of person she was?”

  “The Fair Folk care little for this world. They do not involve themselves in the affairs of humans unless it amuses them. There are those amongst them who would see Morgana’s behaviour as mere mischief making and would have aided her in her plans.”

  I stared out across the darkening lake. Overhead the clouds still hung heavy, only a few patches of purple sky visible. But the sky reflected in the lake was already blossoming with stars that shone far brighter than any I’d ever seen. I tore my gaze away to look back at Merlin. “So, Morgana crossed to Avalon and waited. Why now?”

  “She hasn’t only just returned. She returned eighteen years ago. But she was weakened, and she discovered, like I did, that the old magic only exists in a few places in this world now. So she bided her time and waited until her magic was stronger. I knew however that as soon as she felt you moving around the world she would be compelled to act.”

  “How could she ‘feel’ me?” I didn’t understand what he meant by that.

  “You share the same blood. And you have magic of your own. When you turned eighteen you were to have come into your inheritance. I planned to have broken all this to you more gently. I sent Lancelot to watch over you until I had the strength to come to you myself. I would have trained you, taught you everything you needed to know.”

  “Would have?” I vaguely remembered Lance talking about expecting to have more time.

  “Yes. But you visited a woman who succeeded in opening your mind fully to Arthur and his memories, and in turn to Morgana. She knew you then, before we had time to tell you who you really were. And Lancelot had no choice but to take you away. Luckily you came willingly, looking for answers, but he would have used force if necessary. He had to get you away from her and bring you here to me.”

  “She still came after me though. With those wraiths.” I shuddered at the memory of their stench.

  “I know they must have frightened you, Cara, and though I have no wish to frighten you further, they will still be waiting for you beyond this forest. They cannot come here however; the Lady’s power holds them at bay.”

  I didn’t have to ask which Lady he meant. I was starting to realise that all of Arthur’s memories were available to me; I only had to access them. His memories of the Lady were very clear. The Lady of the Lake, who had given Excalibur to Arthur.

  “So, what happens now?”

  Merlin smiled, he reminded me of Dad when he smiled like that and it made my heart clench. “Now, we eat and rest. You’ve a lot to come to terms with, Cara. Let’s not rush things.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Together, Merlin and I walked back along the lake shore with the path closing gently behind us. Try as I might, I couldn’t actually catch the trees moving. The fading light made the trip back a little more challenging but on the sloping patch of shore the ‘boys’ – I couldn’t quite bring myself to call them knights – had lit a fire that guided us back.

  They’d also been hunting. Something small and four legged was spitted over the fire and the smell made my stomach growl.

  “Take a seat,” Merlin told me as we reached the flames. He indicated a log that had been pulled up near the fire.

  It was only sitting near the warmth that I realised I hadn’t felt cold since we’d arrived. It should have been freezing, it was the end of January, but like the reflected sky, the lake seemed to have its own climate. It felt like a balmy summer evening.

  I felt Lance’s eyes on me the moment I sat down, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. After all the secrecy I wanted to be angry at him, but I had a feeling if I looked into those eyes I’d forget why, and now more than ever I wanted to squash the feelings for him that had been growing since the day in the rain.

  It was Percy who took the seat on the log next to me, prodding at the base of the fire with a stick.

  “Sir Percival.” I greeted him with a mocking bow of the head.

  He snorted. “You know, I’ve actually come to like Percy. Percival is so stiff and formal.”

  “I thought knights were all noble lords?” I asked with a faint smile.

  “Doesn’t mean we have to be stiff and formal,” Percy replied, dropping his stick and leaning back. He stretched out his long legs and I was struck by just how big these three were. How had I ever thought they were normal teenagers?

  Percy’s smirk shook me out of my thoughts and I returned the smile hesitantly.

  “Did you always want to be a knight?” Even as the question left my mouth it sounded stupid in my head. It was all so surreal.

  Percy didn’t seem to think it was stupid; he simply pondered it for a moment. “In a way, yes, I think I did. My father was a knight to King Pellinore, but after he died in battle my mother left her home. Too many bad memories I think. I grew up fairly isolated until some of King Arthur’s knights passed through the forest, many miles from here, in the place you now call the Lake District. They struck me as so proud, so heroic, that I followed them back to Camelot.”

  “You should have seen him.” Wyn snorted from across the fire. “This gangly teenager, all knees and elbows - a true country bumpkin. We took him for some woodcutter’s son.”

  “I soon shut you up though,” Percy replied.

  “Too right. You’ve got the strength of a damn ox.”

  I couldn’t help giggling at Percy’s smug grin, but at the same time I was horribly aware of the heavy silence from one part of the circle. Part of me knew I was being unfair. I was furious with Lance for lying to me, for not being the man I’d thought he was, but the anger didn’t extend to Percy and Wyn. Perhaps it was because they had not been the ones to gain my trust and friendship. They had always been ‘different’ in a way I’d never been able to put my finger on. They had never claimed to be ordinary teenagers.

  Rather than thinking about it, I reached out and touched Percy’s bare forearm. I knew what to expect, but it still startled me when I was dazzled by bright sunshine.

  “Come on, boy,” a voice cried. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to be a knight.”

  I glanced up to my left and there stood a younger version of Percy. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen. His eyes were dancing with childlike exuberance, but he was already over six foot, with muscles that strained against the sleeveless leather shirt he wore.

  Looking away from him in the direction of the voice my eyes fell on Wyn. Older than the Wyn I knew, with blood pouring from a broken nose. Around the edge of the roped ring stood other knights, and Lance stood a little forward of the others, his arms crossed over his chainmail shirt as he watched the fight.

  But even Lance couldn’t hold my attention, because a little way back from the others stood another man. Golden hair gleamed in the sunlight and his green eyes flashed with amusement. His strong jaw and the way he held his shoulders gave him the look of a proud man, but the kindness in his face softened that. He wore chainmail and a leather, gilt embossed jerkin, a deep red cloak flowing down from his shoulders.

  “Arthur.” The name came out as a choked gasp as his eyes met mine. I didn’t understand how those visions worked, but I know he saw me, somehow.

  Abruptly the images vanished and I was staring i
nto the fire. Percy had pulled his arm away, but only because I think he wanted to see my reaction to his memories.

  I’m not a disappointment I hope. Arthur’s voice was the only thing I could focus on.

  In the instant I had seen him something had happened. As though my soul had finally found something it had always been missing. It was my past, my heritage, and for the first time since it all began I had no doubts about what was happening. I knew Arthur was real, like I knew the sky was blue. Solid, concrete fact.

  You could never be a disappointment, my Lord. The words rose in my mind unbidden, but I felt Arthur’s exaltation at my acceptance of him.

  I lifted my eyes and found Merlin watching me across the flames. He didn’t speak; he simply bowed in my direction, an unfathomable look in his ageless eyes.

  The others didn’t seem to realise that anything of significance had happened and the moment was broken by Wyn. “Supper’s ready. We should eat before it burns.”

  I blinked and looked round at him.

  “Rabbit?” he said, holding out a haunch to me.

  Normally I’d never have touched rabbit, especially half-cooked, greasy rabbit, but I was hungry enough to eat anything.

  After I’d finished I wandered down to the water’s edge to wash the grease from my fingers. I wondered briefly it if was wrong to do so in a lake that was supposed to be a gateway into Avalon.

  Avalon. That word stirred things in me I didn’t understand, a strange kind of longing.

  That’s normal, Arthur told me gently. Avalon calls to all those with the old magic in their blood.

  I smiled at that, surprised to find that the idea really didn’t freak me out anymore.

  I must admit, you’re taking this better than I expected.

  I’d fed up with fighting it, I replied. Don’t get me wrong, parts of it still freak me out.

  Morgana. Arthur and I thought that name at the same time, but whilst Arthur thought of it in anger, I felt nothing but cold fear.