Camelot Burning (16 page)

Nineteen

The soldier falls dead, and I shudder still. It was only a copper knife and should not have damaged him in the slightest. An eager attempt to buy mere minutes.

Copper.
Merlin couldn't touch it when he was a thief of magic, so he told me many times. But these are men of Corbenic, not the same black-armored soldiers I saw.

Still, I can't ignore this. “Use what you have,” I tell the guards in a shaky voice, handing over the fire iron with its copper handle. I cannot think about the life I took. Right now, I have to follow my instinct that there's magic afoot here.

It might make all the difference.

The shocked guards haven't moved to take the fire iron from me, so I slam the weak spot between copper and iron over my knee until it snaps in two, razor-sharp at the edges. I throw the handle into the cannon's mouth. “Use what you have! Anything made of copper—spoons, pocket watches, viewers. Throw them into the cannon!”

They obey, and I stare out into the sea of battling men. When the guard calls “Fire!” this time, Corbenic soldiers fall to the ground and stay there.

Merlin regards the strange death because of my revelation. He looks unsure, as though all of this is a dream.

No, something else makes Merlin regard his raised sword like it's a stick of wood, useless in a fight. He pays no mind to the surrounding action. I wonder if he's realized as I have that magic sustains the soldiers' strength. He pulls back his sleeves to a patch of inked script on his skin, eyes full of wonder and fear—

BOOM!

Blast after blast after blast from the citadel, and more of Corbenic's men fall with each eruption of warped metal. Copper seems to be doing the trick, better than iron ever could. The guards cry out to those manning other cannons and the massive trebuchet with its steel crank, ordering them to change tactics.

From the ground, Lancelot hears this. “Drive them together!” he shouts. Copper soars across the sky, sending Corbenic's men to die quick deaths.

My ears are raw, but we're overcoming our foes. We've gotten hold of this attack and now we turn the violence onto those who brought it.

“Fire!” is the last cry from the citadel before silence falls over us.

My eyes are squeezed shut, and it takes an eternity to open them. When I do, I look out on an unsettling peace at the northern gates, at knights and squires and guards who glance at the human faces of their fallen enemies. I find Merlin's eyes from this distance and recognize the sense of uncomfortable relief he wears like a silk cravat. Somehow, I manage to breathe again.

The injuries are gruesome and plentiful; the deaths are few. And while Camelot has nevertheless won against Pelles's soldiers, it was done all too quickly.

I leave the citadel and find Merlin in the courtyard, staring at the jagged remains of the gates, the repairs of which have already commenced. Camelot will not appear weak, Morgan le Fay in the vicinity or not. The infirmary has rushed to collect the wounded, and the bishop has been sent for to orchestrate prayers for the dead.

Merlin isn't hurt, but nor is he at peace. He clutches his robe over his hammered armor, the old man Morgan's made of him returning as his adrenaline flees. “Well done, Vivienne. That was an inventor's way of thinking.”

All I can see is the slow gait of the soldier I killed. My hands shake. “It was copper that did it, Merlin.”

The sorcerer grunts. He understands what I mean, that copper will be instrumental in slaying Morgan's drones while Victor fights whatever dark magic machine the witch pits against us.

“Good for bullets or arrowheads, perhaps, but it's too thin for more sophisticated arsenal. And it's too impractical to load our cannons with spoons and viewers until the kingdom is red and raw from it. Against a woman of dark magic, at that. Huh. But useful information, nonetheless.” His words are monotonous, like he might not realize he's speaking. “Especially considering—” A strange pause.

“What is it, Merlin?” But I already know. It was too easy.

“Morgan wanted something else,” he says. “Something I've wanted myself for a long time, and nearly took just now.” The sorcerer looks at the armored bodies to be buried outside of the city. No celebrations will commence when we've killed men we considered allies.

He'll convene with Lancelot and Guinevere in the assembly hall shortly. But for now, the sorcerer walks back to his clock tower alone to consider what happened. I watch him go.

Merlin never said what he and Morgan both wanted.

“My contact from Jerusalem is trustworthy. Pelles did not hear about Morgan escaping alive, that much is true. For now, he's all right, along with the rest of Corbenic's citizens, but all are under Morgan's control. The witch knows Arthur left Camelot to follow her, as I expected, though I can't shake this new suspicion that she might have a spy on the inside who confirmed the king abandoned his post, resulting in this ambush. Perhaps someone whose original purpose was to seek Avalon's coordinates. I could be wrong. Regardless, Arthur's attempt at peace will certainly fail. And Morgan will return sooner than we thought, Lancelot, I assure you.”

Merlin paces in front of Lancelot and Guinevere. Though their faces are wrought with panic, I have to imagine they'd be more upset if they knew they now stand in front of a fading sorcerer—never mind that he was fighting alongside the knights one hour past. Merlin hasn't told them everything, and clearly things are worse than he originally thought if it was enough to risk leaving the tower for the second time today. His scarlet cloak binds tightly around his shoulders, falling to the floor. The gentle clicks of his cane and skeleton feet—“Those boots were damn uncomfortable anyway”—are audible, but the tension in the room is louder. He inhales a pinch of snuff with no attempt at discretion.

Guinevere takes my hand. “The gates,” she says.

“They've cleared away everything,” I whisper. “And the gates should be reinforced in a day's time.”

She relaxes wearing a look of bitter relief, and it's impossible to feel anything more than that. Stephen rests in the infirmary and should be all right, but others weren't so lucky. To prevent further panic, all of Camelot has been told it was a band of rogue soldiers whose poorly executed plan to seize Excalibur went horribly wrong. According to my father, Camelot doesn't need to know about the threat of le Fay just yet. It's dumb luck no one else recognized the blue of Pelles's flag.

“Does this Azur also think there's a spy in our midst?” Lancelot asks, his scruffy chin caught between his thumb and forefinger. He's forgotten his rift with Merlin, or is too overwhelmed by recent events.

“Well, if you need further evidence, Morgan left Camelot too easily, come to think of it. As though there wasn't much for her to lose in abandoning her plan that day,” Merlin remarks.

“She left because all of us pointed our
fusionahs
at her without hesitation, only awaiting Arthur's command,” Lancelot reponds.

Merlin strides toward the outspoken knight with tried patience. “A command he wouldn't give, and she knew it as we did, Lancelot. Even if I'm wrong, you cannot afford to let a suspicion like that go ignored.”

Lancelot firms his lips into a tight line. “So what will I have to fight when the witch returns?”

Merlin thinks about the question. “You got a taste of it today: a legion of soldiers similar to those who first arrived with the witch, possessed by
Telum Paret
as Azur confirmed.”

That spell. Merlin had called it “The Obeying Weapon” in front of Morgan, and his very disposition had been shaken by his memory of it: a spell that would allow a thief of magic to control the mind of another. But no. I shake my head. I have to speak up at this. “Forgive me, my lord—” It feels wrong addressing my mentor with such formality. “—but these men were nothing likes those I saw the night of the wedding.” I stare blankly at the sorcerer. We both watched them approach from his tower. They were Corbenic's men, yes, but they did not assert the same unnatural magic as the black-armored demons at the gates.

Merlin might have cringed at my words in any other circumstance; now, he indulges me. “Your handmaid is sharp, your majesty. There was indeed a difference today, Lady Vivienne. Corbenic's soldiers were newer targets of Morgan's magic. Children, essentially. Cursed, but only in mind, not body. According to Azur, some unlucky fools in the Holy Land were able to free themselves of Morgan's magic through nothing more than sheer strength of will, and when they returned home, they were wrought with insanity.” His eyes fill with horror as though watching it happen. “The worst of it, though, how she went about enhancing and claiming them as hers, is too horrid to repeat. And so I know this was not a true attack for Camelot. No, this was won too easily. She meant to do something else.”

Guinevere and Lancelot share a look of worry. “What, wizard?” he asks.

Merlin studies Lancelot, but ignores the question. He looks with strong eyes at Guinevere. “She's forged a legion, your majesty. Seems your maid's vision is better than your husband's after all. Lady Vivienne was a valid witness.”

I beg to have been wrong. Those black-armored soldiers so much more ferocious than Corbenic's mindless men … it was my imagination, it was because of the dark, or the moonlight. It can't have been
real
.

“My God,” I whisper.

Merlin's eyes are on mine, but his words are not aimed at me. “We should be thankful Camelot was protected. Otherwise,
Telum Paret
would have made us her newest drones while the witch was in our presence.”

Lancelot straightens. “We were able to beat Pelles's men this time. Surely, it cannot be as horrendous as you say.”

Merlin firms his jaw. “Don't underestimate her. To use such magic on Pelles's men to create the soldiers Lady Vivienne saw would have required physical reinforcement. It would have taken much work and even more time. You have no idea what sort of weight a spell of that magnitude will force a thief of magic to carry.”

Lancelot thinks about Merlin's words, and his eyes darken. I've never seen him so afraid. “Magic like that cannot still be amongst us.”

Merlin tenses as he thinks. He doesn't like what he sees in his mind's eye. A hand sneaks into his pocket and withdraws another pinch of snuff, turning his eyes red and watery. He squeezes them shut.

“Yes. Torturous to the body, but nothing compared to the trapping of the mind, being unable to control your own actions, hearing the witch's voice overrule you. The legion that comes for Camelot will be different from Pelles's poor bastards. They'll be alive and dead, armor and flesh.”

The queen's voice is laced with vengeance. “What must we do?”

Merlin studies her as he studied Lancelot. A frown comes across his face, a curled lip of distrust. “Prepare for war. And allow me the honor of building a weapon strong enough to fight her, your majesty.” There's a touch of sarcasm, but he struggles for sincerity through a flash of pain he tries to conceal.

Guinevere glances at Lancelot in defeat. The knight steps forward. “It's not up to us, wizard. It's not my steel to give, and even if it was … there has to be another way.”

I open my mouth to argue there simply isn't and, my goodness, after what we've just gone through. But Merlin clears his throat. He looks at the floor as he paces. A tiny shake of the head. Frustrated, I concede to the silent order the knight and queen missed. Lancelot's hand slips into his pocket and grasps something, and I wonder if it's not a key.

“There is,” Merlin says. “Other kingdoms to the north have been … unaffected, from what I hear.”

“You said all—” Lancelot starts.

“No, not all,” Merlin grunts. “Outside of the country, yes, there are other kingdoms Morgan has destroyed, but within Britannia, Corbenic is the only one unlucky enough to have felt her wrath. So now we rally Camelot's allies under the lie that Morgan is on her way. Castle Blanc and Beaurepaire, perhaps. The Caledonians, certainly. My Druid allies, most definitely. We'll need power in numbers. I'll go for help, and when I return, the blacksmith can aid me in enhancing any arsenal into sophisticated weaponry.”

The queen and knight consider Merlin's plan while I frown at his obvious lie. Why the quick surrender? I need that steel. And I know Morgan's insanity. I saw her eyes, heard her voice, felt her seize my mind and everything in it. I can't imagine a world where Morgan finds Avalon.

Where sea and sky meet with a kiss, the Grail, our hope, cannot be missed.

We're a kingdom without magic facing a forthcoming hurricane of it, a taste of which we've just barely swallowed. Why would Merlin give up?

But now, Lancelot agrees. “We'll send a dozen guards to escort—”

“There's nothing your guards could do if Morgan were to find me. Save the manpower.”

Lancelot huffs in frustration. “Then
I
will go—”

“No, Lancelot,” Merlin says firmly. He steps close to the knight and sets a reassuring hand on his shoulder, casting his cloak over Lancelot's arm. My brows knit. “You were left to rule in Arthur's stead. One old man versus hundreds in Camelot. Your job is to rebuild the gate and finalize plans with Henry and William. I'll return before nightfall.” Then, to himself, “I have to.”

“We'll send for Arthur's advisors immediately.” Guinevere steps down from her throne. Merlin keeps to the rules of etiquette and bows as she approaches. Lancelot can't tear his eyes from her. “We must be ready, Lancelot.” She sets a frightened hand on his arm and without thinking, he grasps her fingers and nods.