Arthur

Chapter Forty-three



Yeah, my head hurt. Yeah, I was still confused as hell. Yeah, I wished I was still surrounded in that loving warm light. And, yeah, I even wished I was still flying in blissful tranquility side by side with the dragon, crazy as that sounds.



But with Marion's scream, well, that all went out the window.



I bolted upright and immediately fought a sickening wave of nausea. I forced my eyes to work, forced them to adjust to my surroundings. Blurry images came into view. Two hazy figures were currently engaged in a strange sort of give-and-take dance: spinning, lunging, swinging.



Metal clashed; sparks erupted.



No, not a dance. Swordplay. Ferocious swordplay. And as I thought this, my memory came rushing back to me: the chapel, Arthur, Excalibur, Merlin.



Metal clashed again. Someone grunted and Marion screamed again. I ignored the pain in my head, leaped to my feet, and promptly vomited.



When I was done retching, I finally saw who was fighting whom.



* * *



Arthur and Merlin were in the middle of what could only be described as an epic battle.



Swords flashed and blurred. Bodies spun, contorted, and moved in mind-boggling ways. Arthur, I saw, was cut in many places and covered in his own blood; he seemed to be weakening. Merlin, unscathed, was grinning and full of confidence.



Although Arthur fought with the great Excalibur, it was Merlin who clearly had the upper hand. Upper hand, of course, was used figuratively here, since no hand appeared to be holding Merlin's sword.



Indeed, his sword hovered before him, flashing impossibly fast. Nearly too fast for my eyes to follow. How Arthur kept up with the sword, I had no idea.



Merlin himself was able to keep out of harm's way by being physically unattached to his sword. A neat trick. Arthur wasn't so lucky. His face and arms were crisscrossed with fresh wounds.



The fighting continued across the chapel. Sparks showered down in a brilliant display. Merlin's men watched from the dark corners of the abbey. Many were wounded, the result of Arthur's prowess with the sword, no doubt, and perhaps my own blind luck from earlier.



Marion and I stood together upon the raised altar. Or, more accurately, she stood and I leaned against her. She covered her mouth as she watched the fighting, screaming each time Arthur was slashed.



My strength was returning, quickly, although a lot of good that did Arthur. Still, I might be useful as a diversion perhaps. Something, anything.



A break in the fighting, both fighters pausing. Arthur seemed relieved and sucked in great lungsful of air, oblivious to his own wounds, which streamed blood down his arms, chest and torso. His shoes, I saw, were spilling over in his own blood, sloshing as if he had come in from the rain.



I took in some air, felt a curious strength radiate from the floor and up along my spine. I found my own sword, although I doubted it would be of any use against Merlin's own enchanted sword.



Still, I had to do something. I couldn't let my new friend die.



Both men were now circling each other. Merlin had a whimsical smile on his face, humor in his eyes. Arthur, to my shock, had the same expression, although much bloodier.



My God, he is having fun!



Arthur glanced my way and saw me for the first time. He gave me a small, imperceptible nod.



Welcome back, James. Have a nice nap?



You're hurt, I thought.



Nonsense. Just having a little fun.



Arthur turned back to Merlin. As he did so, the two fighters picked up on a conversation that I had obviously missed a part of, a conversation that I suspected Arthur wanted me to hear.



"Like I was saying, my old friend," he was saying to Merlin. "You have life backward."



"Oh? How so?" asked the wizard. Merlin kept his hands angled down, palms open, perhaps a wizarding method of controlling the enchanted sword. I sensed, though, that one of the dark creatures contained within his black cloak was handling the sword. Perhaps many such dark creatures.



"You seek to take from life," said Arthur, keeping his sword steady before him. Considering all of his injuries, I wondered how steady his sword would have been if it hadn't been Excalibur. "When, in fact, you should give to life."



The two men turned again. Parry, block, counter-parry. Spin. Slash. A dance of death.



"And what do you suggest I give?"



"Anything. Time. Energy. Money. But most of all your love."



"You forgot to mention life," said Merlin.



"How so?"



Merlin's eyes narrowed. "Would you give your life, my king?"



The moment he uttered this question, a sickening feeling arose within me. A feeling that wasn't due to my head injury. I knew that Arthur would, in fact, give up his life. He was just crazy enough to do it.



Arthur stopped fighting and stepped back. Merlin paused as well, watching him curiously, his bedeviled sword still flashing back and forth in front of him. I watched Arthur, as well. But I wasn't curious. I was suddenly horror-stricken. What was he going to do?



"If someone desired my life," said Arthur, looking over at us with a hint of what might have been sadness crossing his face, "then I would give it to him."



Merlin laughed. "That is not the king I remember."



"The king you remember has changed much, old friend."



"Then let's test your new-found resolve," said Merlin. "May I have your life, my lord?"



Arthur took in some air. Blood dribbled out of his many wounds. He was leaving a slick swath of crimson across the stone floor. He looked at me again...and winked.



Then he lowered his sword and looked Merlin in the eye. "Of course, old friend."



"No!" I screamed, lunging forward, stumbling.



Merlin's sword, in a heartbeat, lashed out and drove deep into Arthur's chest.



Chapter Forty-four



The bloodied point of the disembodied sword slid out.



Arthur dropped to his knees, and a great fountain of blood gushed from his heart.



Merlin stood over him, seemingly incapable of moving, mouth open in what appeared to be shock and horror. For a brief instant I saw a real man with real emotions. His enchanted sword still hovered before him, but it had stopped flashing back and forth.



Next, Arthur pitched forward and lay facedown in a pool of his own spreading blood, Excalibur still gripped in his hand, glowing dully.



A strange sound came from my lungs, something primal and hurt and furious, and I turned on Merlin, swinging my sword hard. And for the first time in my life, I meant to kill another man.



* * *



Merlin's disembodied sword came to life in an instant and reparteed, but I was already swinging hard again, my own sword shockingly light and surprisingly easy to maneuver.



I swung low, a slashing movement, but the enchanted sword was there, waiting. I advanced. My footwork sure and confident. My hatred pure. My adrenaline pumping.



I attacked again and again: wild over the top swings, thrusts, lunges, anything and everything I could think of. I was sweating, panting. Furious tears streamed down my face. I occasionally caught a curious look in Merlin's own eyes: Fear.



We moved across the raised platform, from wall to wall. At some point I saw that Merlin was even floating a few feet above the ground.



And still I attacked. And still his sword countered my every move. I realized my problem immediately, of course: Merlin was too far removed from his sword. He was nearly impossible to get close to. As we fought, I also caught the faces of his merry band of bandits, all crowding the doorway, watching the fight. Watching, no doubt, a man gone mad with rage.



So far, Merlin had only defended himself. It would be only a matter of moments before he decided to go on the offensive. If so, I knew I would be done. My blind rage could only get me so far. My pumping adrenaline could only stave off the enchanted skill of his sword for so long. There would come a point when I would be exposed, and run through much like Arthur had been.



I had to find a way to finish this now.



And as we fought, as the rain continued to fall through the open roof, as we moved across the church, our swords clashing and spitting fire, we stepped across a deep puddle that had formed in the center of the roofless church. In that puddle I caught a bizarre reflection: our movements were nearly a blur, our swords flashing at an incomprehensible rate.



Only then did I realize the speed at which I was fighting.



The incredible speed.



But I had looked down for too long and was not fast enough to parry Merlin's next thrust. The point of his sword reached my throat, punching through and spilling my own blood down the center of my sweatshirt.



It wasn't fatal. Another fraction of an inch, and I would be choking on my own blood.



Focus, James.



The sword came again, meaning to finish the job, but this time I did parry. The force of the mighty blow caused me to lose my footing in the water. My right foot slid out from under me and I fell with a splash. His magical sword pounced, coming at me quickly, a big, swiping movement meant to disembowel me. But I was already moving, flipping from my back in an acrobatic movement that surprised the hell out of me. Merlin's sword passed beneath my leaping feet, just missing me, and I next found myself between Merlin and his blade.



Face-to-face with the great wizard.



His eyes opened in astonishment, then fluttered wildly. His mouth opened next as he tried to speak, but no words came out.



Behind me, his sword clattered harmlessly to the floor.



Merlin's eyes bulged out, and now blood spilled out from the corners of his mouth. I slowly looked down and saw that my own sword had gone through his stomach and out his back.



I pulled it free, and he dropped to his knees.