Tusks still rotating, he knew that the orc was lost in thought.
“I thought that bastard got away,” he commented, nodding in the direction of the nearby corpse.
Kore’s eyes shifted, but he didn’t move his head, letting the mage do his work. “Goblin run. Try leave. Kore axe faster. Ass no help.”
The warrior’s broken English was hard for some people to understand but once you got used to it, your brain automatically filled in what was missing; translating it instantly. The red light had been the goblin trying to enact his magic while fleeing from the two new arrivals, but Kore had flung his axe and nailed him before he could make his escape. And apparently, Serix hadn’t done anything to help. He sighed, remembering how disoriented he’d been when he came through, how he almost died in the water—he hadn’t been much help either.
The healing was finished, and he touched the freshly skinned cheek, making sure that his work was truly done. Kore didn’t flinch, but that didn’t say much as the warrior was a stone statue that rarely showed emotion or pain. He reached out with his mind and touched the orc’s thoughts, letting them truly communicate like they had on the plains where he’d found him.
If it still hurts, you need to tell me.
Kore’s fine. Cheek doesn’t hurt. Thanks Merlin, his friend replied; their thoughts melding. Even in Orcish they referred to themselves by name, never using the term I. It was just their way of thinking. The tusks had quit moving and now the warrior’s eyes examined the landscape around them. Where’s Kore?
The west coast of the Dierdan Desert, judging by the angle of the rising sun and the slant of the coast line. Other than that? I don’t know, he admitted, hating it. He only knew that much by judging from the rising sun versus when they’d entered the portal, but how far in they were, he had no clue. Either way, if they started back now it’d be more than a week before they would be free of the desert. They didn’t have their packs; which meant no food, no water, and there would likely be neither on their trek east. It was a dangerous situation and he had to see a way out of it or else there’d be three other corpses rotting in the sun soon enough.
Kore’s thirsty, the big guy told him.
He could sympathize. The salt water had scoured his throat and his chapped lips were eager to be washed free of it. Why did you follow me here? Why’d you leave the others?
The orc turned and looked at the fallen goblin. Slave master, loved to beat Kore’s brothers. Kore knew goblin, goblin was cruel. Kore was not going to let goblin live.
Something within clicked into place and he had an epiphany; the goblin. He got up and glanced at the enemy corpse, the axe still embedded in the goblin’s skull. He found what he was looking for a few feet from its owner had perished. He bent over and retrieved the red staff; inspecting it with intense curiosity. Unlike other races, goblins were not born with innate magic; they needed talismans to give them their power.
A weapon crafted and empowered by the Phoenix was in his hands.
He delved into the crystal with his mind, searching the reserves held within. He didn’t have a teleportation spell, but he was sure of where to find one. That goblin didn’t know one either; the Phoenix had placed it within the staff’s crystal and told him what to say. He sensed the magic, but it was weak and almost depleted. Though he gained the knowledge of the words used to invoke the magic, a sickening feeling hit his stomach when he realized it would only transport one of them free of the desert, or three of them a third of the way. If he wanted to get back to Tristan and the others, he’d have to leave them behind. With neither the ingredients or practice using the spell, he would have to rely on the staff alone; he was going to have to make a choice. He looked at his friend, the orc’s tusks moving once more as he considered what to do next. He knew in his heart that he couldn’t do it.
Grinding his teeth, he rose and looked to see where his black robed companion had trounced off to. Serix was standing twenty feet away, head bowed, lips moving. He knew that there’d be little the mage would find as far as water, despite his efforts. The desert was truly barren. He didn’t recall seeing a single oasis on his last journey through this territory and the riverbeds had long since dried up.
A staff in each hand, he turned away and walked back towards the thundering Atlantic; he needed time to think. Stepping onto the beach he’d just fled, he sat just outside the tideline, feeling the sand mold around his rear as he got comfortable. He laid the staves down and opened himself to the cascades of time waiting to be heard. His eyes misted over as he once more flowed with what could be.
He spent an hour on that beach, half-listening to the waves crash in the distance; the water rising just short of his feet. His mind had flowed through each possible future, each one spiraling from a decision that he would make. Leaving the other two, one of them leaving him, all three using it to travel a third of the way back, and a slew of others including breaking the damn thing and throwing it in the ocean. Then he had searched further and looked into the lives of the others he had taken responsibility for.
Erik was lying in a bed, put there by his confused wife. Something had happened to the monarch and tried as he might, he could not figure out what it was. A druid sat by his bedside, lost in thought, and it was apparent that something tragic had happened; it was unexpected and out of his control. What the hell’s going on? It was a question he knew would not be quickly answered. He could sense the possible futures of others, but not their past. That was written and well out of reach.
The Queen of the Elves was currently marching a legion of their army west; searching for their daughter in her husband’s absence. This had been unforeseen, and his nerves had lit up with increased worry. Pieces had begun moving and he was off the board in the middle of nowhere, unable to do anything but watch.
He turned his attention south. Tristan and his group were safe; they had survived the battle on the bluffs. There was an audible sigh of relief that they hadn’t perished after his disappearance. Melissa was leading them down the mountain to regroup with the others and they were preparing to head to Camelot. It wasn’t how he wanted it to happen, but his crusade was still on course. He prayed that he could trust the witch; she’d always been a fickle creature only interested in self-preservation. If the time came, would she abandon them to their fate?
Lancaster was under siege. Clint had been found out but had escaped. The palace had been breached yet it had been quickly contained; the threat temporarily stoppered. The horde army was pounding on the gates, as if expecting to be let in. If Windel hadn’t been sent back—that’s exactly what would have happened. He could sense great danger approaching the castle and feared that it wouldn’t survive the week.
What could he do to help any of them? He was one man sitting on a deserted beach and they were just over two hundred miles away. Even if they had a paved road to follow, it would take them half a week to get there by foot. He suddenly wished for the old technologies that Man had created. It was a four-hour drive from what used to be Newquay to Oxford, where Lancaster had been built. Hell, you could watch Dances with Wolves and be there before the end.
He sighed heavily. Rising to his feet, he was surprised to see that his companions had come to sit behind him. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had missed their approach. To his surprise, Serix had found water and was using Kore’s helm as a bowl. Where’d—
“The desert is on the surface only. Much of what used to be lies just under the sand. There’s a reservoir under a few layers of rock which I summoned to the surface. Can’t guarantee it’ll taste very good considering the container, but hey, can’t be picky, right?” Serix finished with a smile. “The big oa—warrior offered his helm—what was I going to say?”
Beady red eyes had glared at the mage, flicking in his direction when Serix stammered and changed his wording. The frown on Kore’s face indicated that the last second correction did little to change the orc’s opinion of the man; not that Merlin could blame him.
/> He accepted the helm from Serix and for the first time since they arrived, Merlin felt like laughing. He was surprised! After the past hour he’d spent watching their futures, he wondered why he hadn’t seen this? Was he looking too far ahead, or did he not pay attention to the details? What else might he have missed? He pressed it to his lips and took a short drink to wash his mouth out. Serix was right, it did taste bad. “I think you need to wash your armor more often,” he told Kore with a smile.
“Kore take off, Merlin wash for Kore,” the orc grunted; eyes glaring at him.
He snickered, “fat chance of that ever happening. I don’t do laundry.”
Refreshed somewhat, he went over the details of what the young mage had found and replicated it until he was certain he’d gotten the hang of it. It wasn’t a complicated spell, just one he hadn’t considered using that way. He was going to have to broaden his mind some going forward. Certainty over your abilities, the pride, could limit the imagination. That’s why he liked delving into the minds of the young; they could surprise and elevate you to higher levels of thinking.
“The goblin’s staff,” he stated as he stood between the two seated souls, who were waiting patiently to see what Merlin had decided while in his trance, “has enough power to open a portal once more. The magic was drained by the four of us coming through, so I’m afraid that it is only useful for one.”
Serix’s head drooped, “when do you leave?”
“I’m not,” he told the necromancer. “You are.” Kore remained passive. He didn’t care either way; he would go where needed.
“What?” Serix blurted with surprise. He had been resigned to being left behind, to trying to traverse the desert without dying from heat stroke.
He handed the mage the goblin’s staff. “In a few minutes, I’ll instruct you in how to invoke the magic, but first I need to tell you where you’re going. Lancaster is under siege. There’s a slim chance that they might be able to survive on their own, they have friends riding to their aid, but that’s not good enough for me. If Lancaster falls—all is lost. The Phoenix could use it as a staging point; a beach head to reinforce her invading forces. I can’t go. John won’t trust me, even with the traitor revealed within his midst. He will question every bit of advice I give, and I would be nothing more than a talking mouthpiece. Kore can’t go either. He’d be imprisoned as soon as he appeared and probably killed once they got around to it. Lancaster is not a safe place for an orc right now. You are a fresh face, an untainted voice. You can say what I cannot,” he finished, sure that his reasoning was sound.
It really was the only choice.
Serix shook his head. “I’m not ready. What you’re asking me to do—.”
“What I’m asking you to do is be the extra weight the scale needs to tip over. Offer your assistance. Use your imagination as you did with the water to help find the horde’s Achilles Heel. Break the siege and send the Phoenix’s forces running back to the north. Just keep your attitude in check and you’ll do fine,” he advised. He could say more, but you had to be careful while manipulating time. Too much help, they might not question what they should; become overly reliant on the victory foretold. Not enough—they’d be overrun and killed.
The youth nodded in understanding and came to stand before him. They went over what was needed carefully, then he watched as Serix said the words of magic and opened the portal one last time.
“Destroy that staff when you come through the other side. The Phoenix created it, which means she’s still linked to it in some ways. Don’t bring that into the castle or she might have a window in which to eavesdrop and counteract your plans,” he warned Serix.
“I will,” the necromancer promised, then stepped into the light and winked out of sight. The portal pulsed briefly, then disappeared.
He had done what he could to help Lancaster; the rest was up to them. Bending over, he put a hand on the orc’s pauldrons. “I think it’s best we get you out of that armor. It’s going to get hot and you’re going to cook in your own personal oven.”
“Kore not leave armor,” the warrior stated bluntly.
“We’ll put it in your cloak. You can carry it on your back until we either find some shade or you get excessively tired and have to ditch it, okay?” he countered, and the orc wearily nodded after a slight pause.
Merlin spared one last look at the beach and the cold sea. He wished he had a thousand boats to load the people of the lands on and sail them to distant shores. Yet he knew it wouldn’t matter. North America, South America—wherever they hid the Phoenix would follow. Only by the time she reached them she’d be too powerful to stop; their chance to defeat her lost forever. “Come on, let’s go. We’ve got a few things to do before rejoining the others,” he told his unarmored friend.
After divesting the warrior of his armor, the two companions began their trek towards the rising sun and back to the war that awaited them.
Part II
My pride broke it.
My rage broke it!
This excellent knight,
who fought with fairness and grace,
was meant to win.
I used Excalibur to change that verdict.
I've lost, for all time,
the ancient sword of my fathers,
whose power was meant to unite all men...
not to serve the vanity of a single man.
I am... nothing.
Arthur
Excalibur 1981
Chapter 17
War
I
John was adorned in his armor, brown hair whipping in the early morning breeze, his hand firmly on the pommel of his sword. His brown eyes were focused on the horizon and the smoke clouds drifting across it; hardened features fixed with stern determination. Turning, he made his way down the stone steps of the keep and towards the horse being held ready for him by a squire. Another young man was sprinting his way from the city interior and as he swung his leg over the saddle, the youth came to an abrupt halt at his side.
“Sire, the enemy has stopped their attack,” the messenger gasped, bending over while trying to catch his breath.
He laughed, “that’s not a surprise.” Their sinister plot to insert goblins through the keep’s dungeons in order to open the gates from within had failed; barely. He had narrowly prevented the attack and the assassin that had killed his parents was well beyond his reach. He was sure that traitorous scum had arrived at the enemy encampment and was even now relaying their failure to secure entry into the castle. The enemy commander did the only sensible thing; he called off the attack. The question was, for how long?
As he rode through the quiet streets on his way to meet with his generals, he listened to the damage reports and was satisfied that only superficial damage had been sustained. The trenches they’d been working on all week had kept the enemy at bay while his archers picked them off, suffering only minimal casualties from enemy archers in return. His clerics were already seeing to the wounded and fresh soldiers had been stationed on the wall in their place.
He knew that they’d come very close to losing everything, and he swore on his murdered father that it’d never happen again.
Approaching the inner wall, he turned to one of the towers on the right. Guards lined the battlements above and hopefully their work would be non-existent as they were held in reserve in case the outer wall fell. He prayed it wouldn’t get that far. Dismounting, he handed the reins of his horse over to a squire and strode towards the tower entrance. A Guardian stationed to guard the door opened it with a slight bow and he nodded back as he began his climb towards the command center above.
Just below the entrance to where his generals waited, he paused at a window and looked south. The castle had four entrances, each for a point on the compass, and he had expected the western gate to be where the enemy would encamp. They’d focused most of their remodeled defenses in that area. Obviously, the opposing commander had been leaked intel on that fact, as they had moved south
of the burned city and camped just north of Crystal Cove instead. Would the full extent of Clint’s treachery ever be revealed?
The city was still smoldering, and the enemy had begun picking through its remains. Soon, they’d be clearing it for the remainder of their forces’ approach. He hoped that none of his people had remained out there and cringed at the thought of what was happening to any that chose to stay.
In the distance, he could see the opposing army and his heart filled with dread. It stretched across the horizon in numbers that he didn’t even want to try and guess at. The sheer size of it humbled him. This would be either a costly victory or a devastating defeat. Lancaster had never fallen to siege and as he began taking the steps once more, he renewed his determination that this would not be the first.
“Welcome to the war,” General Brasten greeted as he walked through the tower door. They were in a fairly large room at the top of the tower, its windows wider than others to provide better perspective on attacking enemy forces. Four such towers existed and depending on the main force’s placement, each could be used for the castle’s defenders to strategize and watch their foe. “I heard you had some problems back at the palace,” Brasten continued, as he turned away from a window and faced his new sovereign.
Mark Brasten was the eldest of his commanders and was second in command of the army. He had short cropped silver hair, shallow cheeks, and a square chin. His hazel eyes washed over his new king, as if sizing the youth’s current state. It had been a long week for all of them and he knew that his commanders would be wary of his decisions the longer this went on.
He was new to command, having always deferred to his father’s wisdom, and they were eager to see if the son would live up to his father’s abilities to lead. “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” he smiled grimly back, eyes turning to the others gathered around the table in the center of the room. A large model of their fortress was upon the table’s surface and his eyes scanned the placement of the enemy forces. “You should know, Clint betrayed us to the enemy. We were almost overrun from within.”
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