Fall of Knight (29 page)

P
UT THE SWORD
down, Mr. President!”

Arthur stood squarely in the middle of the Reflecting Pool, trying to watch in all directions at the same time. He didn’t think they were going to open fire on him, but at this point he couldn’t be certain of anything. The water was just over his knees, and every police officer had flashlights out and shining in his direction. He didn’t know which one had warned him to lower his sword, and it didn’t matter. This was no time to surrender.

But what was the alternative? Try to slice up several peace officers? Not only would it set him irrevocably on a path that he had no desire to tread, but it was hardly a sure thing considering he wasn’t bulletproof. Parting mystical flame with Excalibur was one thing. There was nothing magical about a bullet, much less a fusillade.

Would be a hell of an ending, wouldn’t it. Facedown, floating in blood red water. Thus ends the future of the once king, with the Earth’s end following him shortly thereafter. Not much of a triumphant quest, eh, Arthur?

“Gentlemen,” Arthur said, “I’m not going to put down this sword. I need you to understand that. I need you to understand—”

“Mr. President, don’t make us—”

“Don’t try to make
me,
lad. Don’t try to make me surrender, because I won’t. Because if I surrender, then believe it or not, as pretentious as this will sound…the world will not survive. So for me to give up now means that I’ll be giving up on my world. And I’m not about to do that.”

“Mr. President,” said one of the cops. “Mr. President, put the sword down and keep your hands where we can see them.”

“We’ll compromise. Keep your eyes on the hilt of my sword, and you can see my hands all you want.”

“Mr. President, I’m going to come in there, and you’re going to hand me the sword…”

“I appreciate the respect, son,” said Arthur, and he brought the sword around. “But I swear to God, you try to put a hand on Excalibur, and you lose the hand.”

“Sir, threatening a police officer—”

“It was no threat. Nothing happens if you do nothing.
Merlin!
” That last was a desperate shout to the mage, who he knew was with the Lady of the Lake. “I could use a bit of help here!” This was a vastly different situation from the Sermon on the Mound. These were armed police officers trying to decide whether or not to shoot him, and all the charm in the world wasn’t going to make the slightest difference. He knew that he sounded like a madman to these police officers, but nevertheless he shouted, “Nimue! I call upon you now! You—”

Suddenly he heard something that sounded like a gunshot, but different. Instinctively he pivoted, twisting out of the way of possible bullets, and he saw one of the police officers holding an odd-looking, streamlined black gun. There were wires extended from it that were in the water, attached to leads that had landed just inches shy of Arthur because of his quick movement.

What the bloody hell is that…?

An instant later, Arthur was staggered as electricity from the taser sizzled through the water and hammered through his nervous system. Excalibur dropped out of his numbed hand as Arthur pitched forward, hitting the water face-first. He could barely see, then he spotted Excalibur lying a foot away from him. But it might as well have been a mile. He tried to move his arms; he sent mental commands to them. They did nothing.

He heard the police officers splashing through the water, coming for him.
It doesn’t end like this! I won’t let it!

It should have been impossible for him to get to his sword. There was simply no way that his arm should have done what he was telling it to do. And yet it did as Arthur, with sheer force of will overcoming the determination of his muscles to ignore him, propelled himself sideways and grabbed the hilt of his sword…

…and fell sideways and off the bottom of the Reflecting Pool.

The police converged on where they saw Arthur go down. The fact that he had been shocked insensate didn’t make them act rashly. All of them were perfectly aware that something could have gone wrong. They’d seen guys flying on angel dust who were hit with full-strength taser blasts and kept right on going. For that matter, from the way that he was ranting and waving a sword and shouting about the end of the world, it seemed that the former president was high on something. It made as much sense as anything, and a lot more sense than some things.

And this was not a full-strength blast by any means. The proximity of the leads to Arthur had sent a jolt through him, yes, but not quite comparable to what he would have received if the barbs had struck him directly. Even a full-strength jolt would only paralyze for a limited amount of time, so it was entirely possible that Arthur could come up swinging. Thus, even as they made their way toward where Arthur had fallen, they did so very slowly and carefully with their guns out.

“Guys, we gotta pick up the pace! He’s gonna drown!” said one of the young officers.

“You wanna risk getting your foot chopped off with that pigsticker of his? Fine!
You
pick up the damned pace!”

The young officer looked in annoyance at the other cop, and then did exactly that. The others continued to shrink their cautious circle a bit at a time, but the young officer went straight to where Arthur had fallen.

He splashed around, looking confused. “He’s not here.”

“What the hell do you mean, he’s not there! He’s gotta be there!” The lead officer looked around. “Did he get past…?”

There were shouts of protests and “Hell no!” The protests seemed valid, because the ring of officers had been too tight and focused in the first place. It would have been difficult enough for Arthur to get past them underwater if he was at full strength. Slowed to a crawl from a taser, probably even having trouble breathing…it was impossible.

Tossing caution aside, the police now started moving quickly and noisily through the water. They had called for backup upon seeing Arthur with the sword, and now more cops were showing up. They looked everywhere, splashed about through every square foot of the Reflecting Pool.

Nothing. No sign of him anywhere.

“I don’t believe this shit!” one of the older cops shouted in frustration. “He can’t have just disappeared! It’s ridiculous! It’s impossible!”

“Yeah?” said the young officer. “Well, I’ll tell you what. His whole thing about the world coming to an end was ridiculous and impossible too. And now he’s gone and we’re here, and maybe what he was saying was true! You think of that, maybe?”

“So what are you suggesting, huh?”

The young police officer splashed to shore and started to walk away. “Where the hell are you going?” demanded the older officer, as every other member of the assembly watched him depart.

The cop turned, and shouted, “I’m going home, and I’m praying. And I swear to you, man, right now I’m not sure who I’m praying to. Maybe God. Maybe Arthur. Maybe both. ’Cause I’m thinking that the world might just need all the help it can get.”

He left. The other cops looked at each other, then, slowly, one by one, they each headed off to their respective homes to pray…and to determine who indeed should be the prayers’ recipient.

A
RTHUR HAS SEEN
tornadoes once or twice in his lifetime. Most vividly recalled is the time in his youth where one of those terrifying wind funnels dropped to the ground barely five hundred feet from where he was standing. He had sprinted madly across a field, the tunnel howling after him as if God himself was screaming for his life. Just when all had seemed lost to him, he had stumbled upon a cave and taken refuge in there. The tornado had passed directly over the cave, and he had even fancied that he could hear it calling Aaaaaaaaarrrrrthuuuuurrrrrr as it passed by, as if it were searching for him and was imploring him to come out and face it…or perhaps simply venting its frustration over having lost him.

Now it seems to Arthur that, after a thousand years’ delay, the tornado has found him once again. This time he is not fleeing from it. This time it has captured him, and he is within the heart of its funnel. But it is not simply keeping him stationary, or even whipping him around in a manic circle. Instead he is being propelled through it, like a cork from a bottle or a bullet through the barrel of a gun. It stretches out before him endlessly, and as he hurtles through, he feels himself brushing against…he doesn’t know at first. He can’t process it. Millions of voices, of passing thoughts, of whispered secrets that he cannot begin to understand or remember. He feels both outside and inside of himself, connected to the whole of humanity…

Of course you are, Highness. That’s how this works. We come from the water, we mostly are water, and the water is the great link between all creatures. You cannot live without it…although your efforts to befoul your own waters would almost indicate that you don’t understand that simple truth.

He senses his headlong whirl through the funnel of water slowly, just enough for him to get his bearings. He speaks but no words emerge, and yet he hears his own voice.
Nimue!

Of course.

Where is Merlin?

He cannot help you,
she says with both a touch of sorrow and a touch of triumph…emotions flowing in opposition to each other.
He is mine, now, promised only to me.

I don’t believe you! What is he, besotted by some sort of love spell—?

Interestingly…yes…although it’s not what you think. In any event, it matters not. He is pledged to me in exchange for my helping you.
She adds with a sense of amusement,
Or did you think that I came to your aid because of the alluring way you demanded the presence of my aquatic ass?

I want Merlin! Now!

Since you are alive at this moment owing to my good graces, you’re not exactly in a position to be making demands, Highness. Listen carefully, before my good humor fades…along with the protection I’m providing you as I speed you through the Clear…

He wants to struggle fiercely, but he doesn’t know how to go about it. Excalibur remains clutched in his hand, but it is not as if he can start chopping at the water.

Paracelsus,
she continues,
is heading toward the henge of Wiltshire. It is a place of vast magic. It is, in fact, one of the origin points of magic. But it is destructive magic. Magical blood was spilled there. A great sin of magiks was committed there. Dark forces, dark memories, have lain dormant there for thousands of years, gaining strength. The Spear and the Grail were both present at the time…and so was what you hold in your hand. What the Spear and Grail can channel into destruction…that which you hold can reverse.

You mean Excalibur?

What else do you hold in your hand?
Nimue asks matter-of-factly.
You will arrive at the henge of Wiltshire at about the same time as Paracelsus. I have seen to that since, in the final analysis, I believe in fairness.

Please! Lady! Let me speak to Merlin!
He hates the sound of his own voice. He hates the sound of begging. But he does it nonetheless, because he senses there is information Merlin has that could be of great help to him.

The Lady confirms that with her next words.
He very likely could help you, Arthur. But he is mine now, and I am a very selfish lover. I know that because I’ve been told it repeatedly, by a variety of men whose opinions I respect. But I am what I am, and cannot change that. So instead I will simply embrace it. You cannot see Merlin, nor hear him in the way that you briefly were able to earlier. I’ve seen to that. He is mine, all mine, not yours. Understood?

All too well,
Arthur says grimly.
For I was once like you. A selfish, self-centered bastard, especially in matters of love. And I destroyed my great love with my selfishness. You will, too, milady. Mark me. Everything about Merlin that you may have loved, which makes him special to you and great and wonderful…your self-obsessed love will cause it to wither and die. It is a terrible and rapacious way to be, milady, and it is unworthy of you.

And what is unworthy of you?
Nimue asks.

You don’t see poets celebrating that aspect of me in their epics or madrigals now, do you. I can believe that mankind came from the seas, Lady Nimue, because we aspire to the heights of great, crashing waves…but truly, we are all filled with darkest depths into which we frequently sink.

There is a pause, a long pause, during which time the only noise Arthur hears is the spinning of the great funnel of water around him. He sees a literal light at the end of the tunnel, and suspects the end is near…in more ways than one.

Merlin is mine,
her voice finally says resolutely.

Then try not to drown in him, milady.

And suddenly, faster than Arthur thinks possible, he has reached the light and passes through it and
Arthur came up coughing, splashing to the surface. He was soaked to the skin and through, and the sun was just coming up over the horizon.

He coughed once more, expelling water from his lungs, and realized that he was in a slow-moving river. All around him was flat, green countryside.

Arthur splashed about, then his feet suddenly and violently struck the riverbed beneath him. He landed ignominiously on his backside and realized that he was standing in a fairly shallow section of the river. He gathered his wits and stood. The water surged to just below his waist.

“Brilliant,” he muttered.

“Here now! What’s all this?”

Turning around carefully so that he didn’t lose his footing, Arthur saw an older man and a young boy seated on the shore. Probably grandfather and grandson. They had fishing lines dangling in the river. It had been the grandfather who had shouted out at him, and continued, “You’re scaring the fish!”

“Sorry. Where am I?” asked Arthur, splashing toward the shore.

“You’ve got a bloody great sword in your hand!” said the old man. “I’m not telling you a bleeding thing until you put that away!”