Fall of Knight (25 page)

Arthur looked back at his foe and saw that the salamander was gone. Scarpered off, the cowardly monster had. Knowing that he was running out of time, Arthur quickly sheathed Excalibur and ran back to Gwen and Percival. He scooped up the fallen knight in his arms and only at that point did he see the horrific wound that Percival had suffered.

He glanced around desperately, but the entire place was alive with flame. It was hitting the treated water from the Grail and all of it was quickly evaporating in clouds of hissing steam rather than slowing down the spread of the fire at all. Arthur let out a choked sob even as he staggered forward, cradling Percival in his arms. Gwen followed directly behind. Overhead there was the cracking of roof supports. Arthur wanted to shout for Gwen to hurry, but he was afraid to draw a breath and inhale smoke. Besides, it wasn’t necessary: Gwen couldn’t have been moving faster if hellhounds were barking at her heels.

The specifics of the next confusing minutes were a blur to Arthur as flames seemed to spring up in their path wherever they went. Arthur saw the automatic sprinkler heads set into the ceiling, but they weren’t raining down water; Seltzer had undoubtedly disabled the system.

It was Gwen who took the lead. “This way!” she called out, as they staggered into corridors filling rapidly with smoke. He didn’t know how she knew, and chalked it off to the fact that women always seemed to know where they were going. They headed down a hallway, and suddenly the doorway in front of them blew open, a sheet of flame blocking their way.

There was a large window to their right, but it was reinforced glass, unbreakable. But not to Arthur…except he was carrying Percival.
“The sword! Grab Excalibur!”
shouted Arthur, indicating the window with his head.

Gwen understood instantly and reached for Excalibur. Even though it was invisible, she knew right where to grab at the hilt, and a second later she was wielding the legendary blade. She didn’t hesitate, but instead braced the pommel against her stomach, brought the sword level, and charged toward the window like a rhino. The sword blasted apart the glass, shattering it in all directions. Cool air blew in through the window.

“Go! Go!”
Arthur shouted, and Gwen practically flung herself through the opening. She let out a pained shriek, upright shards of glass tearing right through her skirt and ripping her legs as she fell through the opening. Then she was out, and Arthur threw himself through it as well, holding Percival close as he did so.

Seconds later they were clear of the building and putting more distance between it and themselves with every passing moment. They ran toward the large gates at the front of the compound. Gwen didn’t wait to be told by Arthur what to do. She let out a roar that would have been worthy of a barbarian queen charging the gate while swinging Excalibur as she went. The blade sliced easily through the locks and the massive gates swung open. Arthur and Gwen ran through the opening, heading toward Barry Seltzer’s private beach. The water was lapping gently against the shore, the peace of the ocean in stark contrast to the conflagration they were leaving behind.

Arthur fell onto the sand and Percival tumbled out of his arms. “Gwen! Call for help!” Arthur shouted. Gwen laid the sword down, pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and dialed 911.

Arthur looked helplessly at the abominable mess that had been Percival’s chest. He knew to apply pressure, but there was so much bleeding, so much damage, he didn’t know where to do it. “Just hold on, Percival! Everything will be—”

Percival reached up and clawed at Arthur’s shirtfront, grabbing the material in his blood-soaked hand and pulling Arthur down toward him. “Para…celsus,” he whispered, blood trickling out of his mouth with every syllable. “It was…Para…celsus…”

“That…that can’t be…”

“It is. It was…I think…he’s going to…to DC…to help…Nellie…”

“
What?
Why in God’s name would he do that?”

“Said…Grail needed…needed more…don’t know…don’t know more what…”

Everything fell into place for Arthur. “I do,” Arthur said, everything suddenly becoming clear…or, at least, clearer. “We’ve got to stop him.”

“Stop him?” Gwen said. She had closed her phone, and now she was crouched near Arthur. “I don’t understand. I thought you were going to help her yourself! Now we’re not helping her…?”

“It’s complicated…”

“Y’think?”

There were sirens in the distance, although whether they were ambulances or fire engines, Arthur couldn’t be sure. He turned away from Gwen, his full attention on Percival. “Steady, Percival. Just a few more minutes…”

Percival was shaking his head, his body trembling. “Used up…all my few more minutes,” he said softly. “It has been…my honor…to serve you my liege…”

“Percival, you’re going to be—”

“…in this long…long life…” And his voice drew fainter and fainter still. “…and perhaps…in the next…”

“Percival! I order you to live!”
Arthur fairly shouted at him.

His gaze looked as if it was drifting away, then Percival forced it back to Arthur. “By your leave…sire…don’t make your last order…one I cannot obey…please…I beg you…”

Arthur clutched Percival to him and choked back a sob. Gwen, several feet away, brought the back of her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.

“I…beg you…” Percival whispered, barely audible.

“Very well,” Arthur said, holding him even more tightly. “You have my leave to go…brave sir knight…”

“Thank you…Highness…an honor…as al…ways…”

His breath rattled in his throat one last time, in a way that Arthur knew all too well.

Thus passed Sir Percival, variously known as Parsival, Perceval, and Peredur, son of Pellinore, brother of Dindrane, both long gone to dust. Percival, beloved of Blanchefleur. The Grail Knight whose role in fictional accounts had been supplanted by Galahad but was, nevertheless, truly the knight who had encountered and healed the Fisher King, who had brought the Grail to Arthur and completed the last great deed associated with Camelot before its collapse.

Percival, the last surviving knight of Camelot, had fallen, slain by the same holy lance that had pierced the vitals of a man of peace two thousand years earlier…and, unbeknownst to him, had also slain the King of the Unicorns quite some time before that.

Of the brave and noble men who had sat at the Round Table…only King Arthur remained.

He had never felt more alone.

M
ERLIN IS SLEEPING
.

Even the endless wizard does not have unending amounts of stamina. Even he must rest from time to time.

He does so now, floating. He sleeps a dreamless sleep; Nimue sees to that.

She watches him, enraptured, so many thoughts floating through her mind that she has difficulty keeping them all straight. It is a difficult business, this endeavor upon which she has embarked. She feels as if she no longer is certain of where to turn or whom to trust.

A voice resounds, a brittle voice, rippling through the water.

He lives still?
It is the voice of her lover, of Paracelsus, and he does not sound happy.
What game is this you play, Lady?

My game. My waters. My rules,
she replies airily. She speaks softly lest she awaken the mage.

As long as he lives, he remains a danger. You must dispose of him now, lest he or Arthur, under his guidance, ruins everything.

If you are so determined to wield death, why do you not kill him yourself?

I endeavored to,
he reminds her.
Or have you forgotten your own intercession?

I forget nothing,
she lies, for she had indeed come close to forgetting it. Nimue is very much a creature of the present, her memories governed by what most interests her at any given moment.
I think it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the idea that you simply do not have the stomach to attend to the business of killing with your own hands.

Say that to the corpse of Percival, dead at my hands.

The news surprises her. Despite her memory, as inconstant as the moon, she recalls Percival, with skin as smooth and sleek as darkened marble. He had been very pretty. She had fancied him. She had fancied him so much that, many centuries ago, she had had a dalliance with him, calling herself Blanchefleur and lying with him on a distant shore. He had awoken and found her gone, and had mourned her abrupt departure for he had desired her more, but she had other interests to attend to. But she had watched him from a distance, and when he had returned Excalibur to her after the sore wounding of Arthur, he had not recognized her for she looked very different.

She had desired him for one night of passion, and having attained that, desired no more, but for that night she had loved him greatly and would always think of him fondly.

And now he was gone. One lover…slain by another.

Now slay Merlin, milady,
Paracelsus says to her.

I do not fancy your attempting to order me about.

It is no order! You promised, and now I am simply holding you to your promise.

She smiles to herself, hearing the childlike frustration in his voice.
And if I have changed my mind? If I decide it suits my fancy that he live…what will you do then? Will you try to slay me as well? Shove your pointy cursed little stick into me? An endeavor in which you would have as much luck, I might point out, as you would stabbing at the ocean.

There is a long pause, and there is no petulance in his tone as he says to her,
I do not need to stab at the ocean. All I need do is boil it away, along with the rest of the water that covers this pathetic globe.

You could not do such a thing,
she laughs, but she feels uneasy, and rightly so.

Yes. I can. And you do not want to tempt me or challenge me, milady. Slay him now.

It would not be all that difficult. She merely has to have the water crush itself upon him. Bound as he is by her magiks, he could never resist the crushing weight. It is a small matter, truly.

She senses him waiting.

Come here and do it yourself,
she says defiantly.
He is pretty and I fancy him, and I shall keep him for myself, unless you choose to take his fate in your own hands.

She hears his low grunt of frustration.
You had best decide, milady,
he says finally,
whose side you wish to be on when the end comes. I thought you knew. At the very least…you would be well advised to keep yourself and your little wizard out of my way, lest it end badly for you.

His voice withdraws.

She waits for him to speak again.

He does not.

She looks at Merlin. He is hers. He will remain hers, to do with as she wishes, until the oceans all burn away…

Which, she realizes, just may be sooner than she could have expected.

May 2, 1945

I
LIKED IT
better during the Blitz.”

That was the conclusion to which Paracelsus had come as he walked around the streets of London late that night. The Blitz had ended some four years earlier, and he was waxing nostalgic for it. There had been something about the relentless destruction, the shattered buildings, the shattered lives…that appealed to the love of chaos that pulsed deep in the conjurer’s chest. The prospect of peace descending upon the world, of the people being able to relax and breathe deeply the air of freedom from terror…what fun was that, really?

Word was already spreading through London that the Allies had overwhelmed Berlin. That Hitler was on his last legs, on the run. Some were even claiming that he was dead, which seemed too good to be true. There was talk that, in a few days, there was going to be an official declaration of the defeat of Germany. When that happened, London would practically explode in an orgy of celebration. Paracelsus had no intention of being there.

As a matter of fact, with any luck, London wouldn’t be there either.

Or Paris. Or Berlin. Or anything.

As he walked along the bank of the River Thames, Paracelsus told himself that he was really doing the world a favor. After all, it wasn’t as if peace would last indefinitely. Certainly sooner or later, war would break out again. That was simply the nature of things. The so-called Great War had been termed “the war to end all wars.” So what had happened? The Great War had been demoted merely to World War I, while this latest conflict was World War II. The only reasonable conclusion to be drawn was that there would be a World War III, and IV, and however many World Wars it took until there was no world anymore.

Why drag things out?

Paracelsus walked to the edge of the Thames and stood there for a long moment, holding the Spear of Destiny casually in one hand. He reversed it and stuck the point of the Spear deep into the water as it flowed past.

“Come to me, milady,” he called. “Come to me, Nimue. I’ve done it. I’ve done that which you said could not be done. Now keep your promise. Give me what I need in order to accomplish my goal.”

There was no immediate movement in the water. Paracelsus felt a quick flash of annoyance, and said sharply, “Lady of the Lake! I’ve come to you at the appointed time and appointed place! Now present yourself, my love!”

Still there was nothing, and Paracelsus was about to lapse into an annoyed string of profanity. But then the water began to roil a short distance away. He drew back the Spear and waited with a smug expression. Seconds later, the water of the Thames split wide, and the Lady of the Lake rose from it, her arms hanging loosely to either side and a pleased smirk upon her face. Her eyes flashed in delight upon seeing him…or perhaps it was the Spear that prompted the reaction.

“My, aren’t you clever!” called out Nimue. “You truly did find it. From the vague clues I provided you, I never thought you’d accomplish it.”

In the distance, Big Ben sonorously chimed out the hour. Paracelsus ignored it. “Yes,” he said, smiling thinly. “The clues you provided me—”

“Were all part of the game,” Nimue replied, laughing lightly. “Oh, now look at you, getting all scowly. How serious you are.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pouting manner. “Such a handsome face you have, to malign it so. You know…I think I may take you as a lover sometime.”

“That would be my honor, milady,” he said. “And now…” He held out his hand. “You promised me that you would present me with that which I need to accomplish my final goal.”

“Did I?” she asked.

“Yes. You told me that the Holy Grail was in your keep. And that if I managed to get my hands on the Spear of Destiny, then you would tell me its location. There are far too many fake Grails out there for me to waste time going from one to the next to the next. Now…where is the Holy Grail?”

“The Ancient King has it,” replied the Lady of the Lake airily. “Find him, and you’ll find the Grail.”

“Ancient King?” said Paracelsus. He was confused. “Which ancient king?”

“Which one do you
think
I mean?”

Paracelsus gave it only a few moments’ thought, then the answer burst into his head, so obvious that he couldn’t believe he’d needed to think about it at all. “Arthur? Arthur Pendragon?”

“Certainly that seems obvious, does it not?” replied the Lady of the Lake, as she said to herself,
I am of the sea, and I am deep, so deep. That which is upon the surface means nothing. You must look below the surface if you are to see the truth of things, my dear. Does the tip of the iceberg inform you of what lies below? Do smooth waters give a hint of the predators that lie below?

“Where is Pendragon?”

“You wish to find Arthur?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Would you like me to tell you where you can find him?”

“Of course!” His patience was beginning to fray. Obviously the Lady knew where the remains of Arthur were, and apparently the Grail was there with him. “And no riddles this time! No vague clues! I want specifics!”

“Very well. Go to the northwest corner of St. James’s Square.”

“What?” Paracelsus frowned. “He’s buried at the northwest corner of St. James’s Square?”

“Of course not, silly. He’s very much alive. And he’s in there. Go to the northwest corner of St. James’s Square. A fellow named Geoffrey will take you to him, and there you will have words with him.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” she replied. “I swear on the purity of all the world’s water: There will you have words with him. And now farewell, mage. We will not see each other again for some time, if ever.”

Before he could say anything to stop her, the Lady of the Lake dissolved back into the River Thames with a soft splash.

Paracelsus could scarcely believe it. Was it going to be that simple? Could his plan, after all this time, finally be on the verge of completion?

His mind was racing faster than his feet as he sprinted toward St. James’s Square. He felt young, far younger than his years could possibly have reflected.

He skidded around a corner, nearly fell, righted himself, and dashed across Piccadilly Circus toward Buckingham Palace. Soon he was panting, his chest heaving with exertion, and his legs were becoming heavy. It didn’t slow him.

Finally, he reached St. James’s Square. Dead center of it was the private garden, with a statue of William III on his horse. Paracelsus scarcely glanced at it. Instead he got his bearings and headed straight for the northwest corner.

And as he approached it, he began to slow, then eventually he stopped. He stood there, slack-jawed, staring at the building in front of him.

There was no person standing there by the name of Geoffrey, or with any other name.

Instead there was a building, with signage that was visible even in the darkness. There, big as life, were the words,
LONDON LIBRARY
.

You will have words with him…Geoffrey will take you to him…

“Geoffrey,” said Paracelsus slowly. “Geoffrey…of Monmouth…who wrote the first history of Arthur…which is undoubtedly in the London Library…”

Fury began to take shape deep within him, like a black cyclone, and build and build, and when he threw open his mouth he expected a howl of indignation to emerge. Instead, to his utter amazement, laughter exploded from him.
“Well played, milady! Very well played!”
He laughed and laughed, and when a London bobby showed up and demanded to know who he was, what he was doing out long after curfew, and what was so bloody funny, Paracelsus turned, jammed the Spear through him, and killed him where he stood while continuing to laugh.

And somewhere deep within his head, the Lady of the Lake was laughing as well.

It was the true beginning of the bond that Paracelsus believed would continue to the end of the world…whenever that would finally be…and whenever he could make it happen.