Fall of Knight (31 page)

“In the name of Percival…die,” he said through clenched teeth.

And then, just before he drove the spear home, Arthur suddenly saw the young man again…the young man from a long-ago time, picking up the fallen horn of the unicorn from its incinerated body, looking once more directly at Arthur.

He had seen those eyes…that face. He had seen them much older and much younger.

“Merlin…”
whispered Arthur in shock.

It was exactly the wrong time to be distracted, even for a moment.

Paracelsus seized that instant to twist suddenly and cross the Spear of Destiny with the fearsome power of the Grail sword.

Instantly a fireball of monumental power erupted from the intersection point, a fireball in the unearthly colors of pink and purple. It lifted Arthur, knocking him back and sending him flying across the circle. Excalibur flew out of his hand as Arthur crashed into one of the megaliths. His teeth rattled, his bones were jarred, and he was reasonably sure that his brain was slammed around inside his cranium.

He tried to stagger to his feet, and he saw Paracelsus coming toward him quickly. He had the two weapons crossed once more, and another ball of fiery energy was building up. Arthur looked around desperately, trying to spot Excalibur.

It was lodged in one of the stones. When it had been sent flying, it had been driven into one of the megaliths and penetrated almost up to the crossguard of the hilt.

Oh, now this is just too ironic for words,
thought Arthur as he lunged for Excalibur. He grabbed the sword by the hilt and yanked.

It didn’t come out.

Arthur pulled a second time, and then a third, and fear started making his heart pound double time.

“Don’t you get it, Arthur!”
shouted Paracelsus as shades of time long gone continued to move around him.
“You’re no longer rightwise king of all England! You’re nothing! You’re no one! Nothing except a pawn in my game! Hell, whose satellite was it do you think took the pictures of you and Gwen that set all this into motion, eh? Me, baby! All me!”

He unleashed the ball of flame at Arthur, and it was nothing short of miraculous that Arthur dodged it. He flung himself desperately to one side, and the flame sizzled through the air just over him.

The dirt churning under his feet, Arthur scrambled back for the embedded Excalibur as Paracelsus advanced upon him. He could sense the intensity of the mystic vortex building up, and as he lunged for the protruding hilt, he thought desperately,
This is a test! A test of faith! If I believe I can pull it out—just as I did with the first sword in the stone—then I am worthy…

He grabbed the sword once more and this time, with ferocious intensity, thought,
I believe in my power…in my place in the world…I believe in the triumph of might for right…

“I am Arthur Pendragon, lord of Camelot, and I shall be victorious!”
he shouted as he yanked with all his strength. Paracelsus was coming right at him, and the mighty Excalibur slid gracefully out of the stone as Arthur brought it down and around and right at Paracelsus.

Paracelsus sidestepped it.

For half a second, Arthur was off-balance, the blade at full extension, and Paracelsus brought the head of the Spear of Destiny down from one direction and the Grail sword up from the other. They slammed into Excalibur at precisely the same second.

Excalibur shattered.

T
HE LADY OF
the Lake screams.

She had to know this outcome was possible. But she had forgotten it, because she is who she is. So now, when the reality presents itself, she is caught off guard and reacts with horror.

And because she is of the Clear, she is connected through the delicate latticework of human consciousness to all human beings. Her horror, her scream, echoes through every living human mind in the world. Those who are sleeping wake up screaming; those who are awake instantly stop whatever they’re doing and gasp in horror without actually knowing what it is they’re reacting to. There have never been so many car accidents at one time in the history of the world, and it is nothing short of miraculous that airplanes don’t come tumbling out of the skies as pilots struggle to process what has just been seared into their minds.

And in short order, everyone is going to come to several understandings without the slightest notion of how they know it. But know it they will, and what they will know is this: The end of the world is nigh; Arthur Pendragon is fighting for the life of the world; the mighty Excalibur has just been destroyed.

The world will join the Lady of the Lake in mourning, and howls of prayer and begging from the world over will wash over the consciousness of humanity. They pray to God, to Buddha, to the Prophets, to Jesus, to Arthur, to Ra, to Thor, to Shiva, to everyone and everything that they can think of.

And above all…they pray it will be enough.

I
NSULATED FROM THE
collective mourning of the world, Arthur stared in shock at the shattered pieces of Excalibur. The useless handle slipped from his numb fingers.

“It’s time, Arthur!”
Paracelsus called.
“Time for you to die! Time
”—he brought the two weapons up and over his head. Instead of crossing them in front of him, he held them high and brought the tips together, forming a triangle—
“for
everyone
to die!”

The unleashed magic of the two weapons stretched up, up and out of Earth’s atmosphere, creating a vortex of energy that Arthur realized was more powerful than anything he’d ever seen before. He shielded his eyes, trying to make out what in the world was happening.

Paracelsus, in grand style, was feeling expansive.
“It’s reaching up toward the sun, Arthur! Reaching toward it to generate a solar flare, such as humanity has never experienced,”
Paracelsus shouted above the increasing power enveloping him.
“It will leap from the surface of the sun and strike straight here. And I will harness it and spread it out all over the world. Here, from the heart of magical darkness of Stonehenge, the final, blinding light will blossom forth! It will be glorious!”

Having no idea what else to do, Arthur came at Paracelsus with his bare hands. He didn’t even get close. A shield of intense heat had grown around him so vicious that it drove Arthur back. He fell to the ground a short distance right next to the shattered remains of Excalibur. Desperate beyond measure, he grabbed one of the broken pieces of Excalibur and flung it at Paracelsus. Paracelsus never saw it coming. It didn’t matter. It melted in midair before it got to him.

“It’s on its way, Arthur!”
shouted Paracelsus.
“In fifteen minutes, the solar flare will be here!”

He had no reason to doubt. Paracelsus had moved beyond any need to confront Arthur. He was reveling in his power.
“Lucifer means ‘light bearer,’ did you know that, Arthur? I am like unto a god! An opponent of God! Am I not terrible in my wrath? Bow down and worship me! Every god should have his worshippers, after all!”

Arthur felt like butter on a skillet. His skin was starting to redden. The air around him was becoming superheated. Fifteen minutes? Perhaps even sooner.

He had nothing.

He had no weapon.

He had no hope.

He saw the younger Merlin, shimmering as he moved through another time like a swimmer through water, holding the unicorn horn, tucking it in his belt.

Merlin, why hast thou forsaken me,
he thought miserably.

And then he took a closer look at the horn.

He saw that it was tucked in Merlin’s belt.

He saw the length of the horn. The right length for two hands to grasp firmly.

And the words of Nimue echoed in his mind:

The Spear and the Grail were both present at the time…and so is what you hold in your hand.

He didn’t hold the sword in his hand. He never had.

He held the hilt.

A
LL OVER THE
world, weather stations are going insane. They have detected the incoming solar flare. Word goes out far and wide, every television program is interrupted, people are told to seek shelter, to get to low ground, to bomb shelters if they have them, to tunnels if they can be near them, because when this thing hits, it’s going to be bad.

They have only minutes left.

The world panics.

The world sobs in despair.

And somewhere, amidst the hand-wringing and howling for divine intervention, is Merlin. He’s paying no attention to any of that. He’s watching Arthur.

He’s got it,
Merlin says softly.

A
RTHUR GRABBED UP
the fallen hilt and swung the pommel toward one of the megaliths. The hilt was feeling brittle in his hand, a result of the steadily increasing heat. He slammed the pommel repeatedly, furiously, desperately, and suddenly it shattered.

He turned it upside down, shook it as the solar flare cut through space.

The horn of the King of the Unicorns slid out and dropped into his waiting hand.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

He had always simply taken for granted the magic of Excalibur. He had just assumed that the magic stemmed from the blade.

It hadn’t. It had stemmed from the magic of the unicorn horn embedded within the hilt.

A grim smile on his face, he turned and sprinted toward Paracelsus. Paracelsus, his weapons still held in a triangular position, grinned at Arthur’s approach.

Arthur lowered his head, closed his eyes, held the horn straight out in front of him, and charged. His legs pumped furiously, and when he entered the heat barrier that was protecting Paracelsus, he felt it rippling around him, crisping him, but not killing him, as the unicorn horn protected him from the worst of it.

Paracelsus saw it coming. His mouth a surprised “O,” he tried to bring the weapons down to defend himself. He couldn’t. His arms were locked into position; the forces holding the mystic energies in place were so powerful that Paracelsus was no longer in control of them but merely the means of completing a sorcerous energy circuit.

Arthur was barely feet away, and Paracelsus, trying to gather his bravado, shouted, “You…you can’t hurt me with a unicorn horn! All the books say that they only possess healing power! The power to give life, not take it!”

And Arthur slammed the horn squarely into Paracelsus’s chest. Paracelsus screamed as Arthur drove it into his heart, and his snarling face inches away, Arthur said, “Don’t believe everything you read.”

Paracelsus trembled violently, screaming, his life’s blood seeping out through the mortal wound. And the burning thread of eldritch flame that was leaping from the tip of the Grail sword to the head of the Spear of Destiny was drawn irresistibly down to the small portion of the unicorn horn that was still protruding. Instead of Paracelsus projecting the power heavenward, the horn caused the energy to be drawn directly into Paracelsus himself. Arthur stumbled back, trying to put as much distance between himself and Paracelsus as he could.

Paracelsus barely had time to let out one final shriek as his entire body erupted into flame. He was no longer anything remotely human. Instead he was himself a gigantic fireball, with flames so intense that Arthur had to look away. He covered his head with both arms and curled his legs up protectively as he heard a thunderous explosion and release of energy. It washed over him in waves, blast after blast of heat, and Arthur let out a most unkingly scream, certain that this was it, and he was going to be with Percival in moments. And the scream was not random; instead it was the name of his wife, howled at the top of his lungs, because he wanted her name to be the last sound to escape from his lips.

And then, slowly…slowly……everything subsided.

Arthur lay there for a long moment, his clothes little more than tattered and charred rags, barely decent. There was smoke rising from the ground around him. He started to lean against one of the megaliths in order to stand and yanked his hand away because it was so hot. So he managed to stagger to his feet and slowly turn toward where Paracelsus had been standing.

There was nothing left of the man himself.

The Spear of Destiny had been incinerated. The head itself was melted.

Lying next to the remains of the Spear of Destiny was the Holy Grail. It was no longer a sword. Unfortunately, it was no longer much of a cup, either. It had, likewise, been incinerated. The wooden cup was completely charred. Arthur tried to pick it up, and the vessel collapsed in his hands, falling apart into blackened shards.

He thought of Nellie, lying in a coma.

“Damn,” he murmured.

A
RTHUR’S TRIP HOME
took considerably more time than the one over to England. He had walked until he’d found a major road, and from there thumbed a ride to a local police station. The constabulary had recognized him instantly, of course. All Arthur had hoped for was some simple cooperation to get him back home. Instead representatives from Her Majesty were immediately dispatched. Given appropriate and less-tattered attire, Arthur was escorted to Heathrow while being questioned intensely by Her Majesty’s representatives. By the end of the conversation, Arthur was astounded and flattered to learn that the queen was prepared to offer permanent quarters to Arthur and Gwen in no less a residence than Buckingham Palace itself.

“Her Majesty,” the envoy said politely, “felt it was the very least that she could do.”

“Extend her my thanks,” replied Arthur, “and tell her that I shall very seriously consider it.”

As the private plane winged its way over the Atlantic, Arthur pondered the notion. It did seem attractive, that much was true. Still, there was little chance that Britain was going to universally proclaim him their king. Which meant that he would be perpetually puttering around Buckingham Palace like an elderly uncle, observing his surroundings and yet knowing they would never be truly his.

Of course, he could try and press the notion of being declared King of the Britons yet again. But he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted either.

“What would you like?”

The stewardess who was working on the private plane smiled at him graciously, having just spoken. “Have you given it any thought?” she inquired.

“Yes, I have,” he told her. “I would like the Round Table back. More than anything, that’s what I miss the most. What most people don’t realize is that my knights were not merely among the bravest men to walk the Earth. They were also some of the greatest intellects, the most probing minds. We didn’t just spend day after day waging war. Many was the time we would just speak of our hopes, our dreams…our thoughts on how to improve the world, to better mankind in general. The most powerful men around, trying to determine how to improve the lot in life of the weak and downtrodden. Seeing images of bygone times parading right in front of me…it makes me think of how much I miss those days. That, good woman, is what I would like. Thank you for asking.”

She hesitated, then said, “Okay, but…I was asking about your drink order.”

“Ah. Scotch, neat.”

“Yes, sir.”

H
E HAD TO
admire the efficiency of the British. When the private plane touched down in Washington, he had half expected the press would be all over the place. But the plane landed at a small, private airfield, and there were no journalists within miles. A car from the British embassy was waiting for him, the driver instructed to put himself at Arthur’s disposal for however long he required.

Arthur directed him to take him straight to the hospital where, to the best of his knowledge, Nellie was still lying in a coma. He couldn’t begin to imagine what he was going to tell Ron. On the entire ride over, he kept going over possibilities in his head, different things he could say. None of them seemed especially promising, and all of them ended exactly the same way: with Arthur admitting that he didn’t know what to do. The Grail was gone, and with it, Nellie’s best chance of recovery.

When he arrived, he was relieved to see that the various police cars and their ilk had departed the area. Still, he couldn’t be entirely sure of what it was he was going to find. He stepped out of the car, asked the driver to wait for him, and entered the hospital. The hospital personnel, upon seeing him, looked at him with mixtures of reverence and awe. Patients were coming up to him and thanking him. It was at that point that Arthur first began to understand that everyone in the world knew, deep in their souls—even if they didn’t know all the details—that Arthur had fought to save humanity. And since the world was still turning on its axis, obviously he had won.

“It appears you’re their savior. Nice feeling, isn’t it.”

He turned and saw, to his surprise, that Cook the Secret Service agent was standing behind him.

His instinct was to shake his hand, to be happy to see him, but then Arthur held back, cautious. Cook, sensing a difficulty, said, “Problem, sir?”

“Yes, well…you
were
the one who put me together with the fellow that turned out to be the villain of the piece.”

Cook shrugged. “Never claimed to be infallible. Besides, it all wound up turning out for the best, didn’t it? One might think there was a divine plan at work.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur said, bitterness in his voice, “but I don’t exactly think much of a plan that ground Nellie Cordoba in its cogs.”

“Go see her,” said Cook.

There was something in his voice that caught Arthur’s attention. He tilted his head slightly, and said, “What do you mean…?”

“I mean, go see her. Then come back and we’ll talk some more.”

Cook turned and walked away as Arthur, uncomprehending, went to the ward that Nellie was in. Reaching her room, he found the door closed, and so he gently knocked on it. Ron’s voice called for him to come in.

He entered, and his spirits leapt at what he saw.

Nellie was sitting upright in the bed, and she was cradling an infant in her arms. It had a tuft of black hair on its head, and its face was round and pink and scrunched up in a very serious manner, as if it was giving a great deal of thought to matters of vast importance. Ron was standing near her, and he grinned as he said, “Well, well…the man of the hour. Or maybe the millennium.”

“She’s…she’s all right,” Arthur said, his heart soaring with relief. “And…she had the baby…”

“See, that’s why he’s king,” Ron told Nellie. “He notices the small details.”

Arthur crossed the room and embraced Ron fervently. Then he turned toward Nellie and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “He’s beautiful,” Arthur said.

“How did you know he was a he?”

“He radiates manliness.”

She smiled down at the baby and ran a finger along his cheek. “Ron and I have been discussing it, and we want to name him Percival…on one condition.”

“Condition?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “See, we’re concerned with a name like Percival, he’s going to wind up getting into a lot of fights as a kid. So we’ll need you to teach him self-defense.”

“I would be honored,” Arthur told them gravely. “But…I still don’t understand. This is miraculous. Did you just…come out of it…? Or…?”

“It was the damnedest thing,” Ron said, still looking bewildered over it. “I was sitting here, just being depressed over the situation, and suddenly I look up and Cook is looking down at me.”

“Cook?” echoed Arthur.

“Yeah. And he says that the hospital administrators need to see me. So I go, except they don’t. So now I’m wondering what the hell is going on, and I head back here…and when I come in, Cook’s gone, but Nellie is looking up at me with her baby blues, and telling me she’s having contractions, no less. I’m figuring that’s what brought her out of it.”

“Yes, well…that certainly makes sense.” But Arthur’s mind was racing…things that Cook had said, other things about him. “Excuse me a moment, would you?” He ran quickly out of the room, leaving a puzzled Ron and Nellie looking at each other and sensing that something had just occurred that they weren’t quite getting.

He started down the corridor, and stopped.

Gwen had been coming in the other direction, and she looked stunned to see him. For a moment, neither said anything, all the harsh words and anger a barrier between them.

And then the barrier shattered as Gwen, with a choked sob, ran to him and threw her arms around him. She kissed him fiercely, and he returned it, both of them speaking words of love and apologies that tumbled over one another in their determination to be heard.

“Gwen,” he finally managed to say, “this…this isn’t going to sound good, but I have to go.”

“Go? Go where? Oh God, what’s trying to kill us now…?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing like that,” he said. “I just have to talk to someone. It will only take a few minutes, then I swear to you, I swear to the heavens above, I will be back, and I will never leave you again. I promise.”

“All right. All right, go.” She smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

Arthur emerged from the hospital, looking around for the Secret Service man, and didn’t have far to look. Cook was standing across the street, and Arthur jogged across to meet him. He stood there for a moment, arms folded. “Divine plan?” he asked.

Cook smiled slightly. “Something like that.”

“You cured her. You brought Nellie out of it.”

“Yes,” said Cook.

“You drank of the Grail.”

“Yes.”

“A long time ago.”

“A
very
long time.” Cook sighed.

Arthur chuckled softly to himself. “Your skin is darker than I would have thought.”

“Indeed. But the dark skin isn’t what a lot of people want to see. Unfortunate but true. And the painters tended to…oh, how to put it…?”

“Clean things up?” suggested Arthur. “I know exactly what you mean. Still…I don’t claim to understand everything that’s transpiring here. I mean…why a Secret Service agent, of all things?”

“Why not?” asked Cook reasonably. “A way to continue to serve the cause of humanity in my own small way. Protect the president, and those with him, including various world leaders. Plus, you know, the dental’s great.”

He said it so seriously that it took Arthur a moment to realize he was joking. He chuckled, then said, “I’m sorry the Grail didn’t survive.”

Cook shrugged. “It wasn’t unexpected.”

“So the magic it possessed…it and the Spear of Destiny…both stemmed from a dying unicorn?”

“That’s correct. Merlin had them both in his possession for a time. He built Stonehenge as a way of both memorializing the site of the great sin against magic…and trying to contain the potential powers therein. But eventually he decided that keeping the both of them together was far too dangerous. If nothing else, it served as a temptation to him. So he separated the two of them. Gave the chalice to one group of holy men, and the Spear to another, each at opposite ends of the Earth. He kept the unicorn horn…until he encountered the Lady of the Lake and, besotted with her, gave it to her as a gift. She was the one who fashioned Excalibur from it. Unfortunately”—Cook sighed—“the two sects ran into their own troubles. They lost possession of the two mystical artifacts, which remained drawn to each other…”

“And eventually both wound up in Jerusalem?”

“Two thousand years ago, yes,” said Cook. “Where there were certain…difficulties…and then eventually they became separated again as the waves of events carried them in two different directions.”

“Impressive how much you know about all this.”

Cook shrugged. “Merlin and I met once, centuries ago. Before the fall of Camelot. We had a long discussion about many things.”

“He never told me.”

“And this surprises you?”

Arthur considered it and then smiled. “No. I suppose not. So…what happens next?”

“I suppose, my son,” Cook said, “we’ll find out together.”

Cook started to walk away, and Arthur called after him. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

Turning and regarding him oddly, Cook said, “Doesn’t what bother me?”

“That it’s all a sham. The entire concept of divinity and all…when, really, it all came from the magic contained in a unicorn.”

“Well, yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Who do you think put the magic in the unicorn in the first place?”

“Hunh,” said Arthur. “My wife said something along those lines.”

“Smart lady, your wife.” Cook cocked an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

“Come to think of it, yes, one other thing. Why ‘Cook’? I mean, Joshua I understand. It’s your name. But ‘Cook’?”

“Because,” he said with a grin, “I thought ‘Carpenter’ might be too obvious.”

And with that, Joshua Cook headed off to the White House to begin another miraculous day.

T
HE LADY OF
the Lake studies Merlin thoughtfully. Here, in her place beneath the waters, she watches him explore his new surroundings. They are much nicer, much more luxurious than the limbo she had been keeping him in. She has asked him if he likes it, and he has said all the right words.

But she knows. In her heart, she knows.

And she dwells upon what she has seen, and what has been said to her, and how it has made her feel.

I believe,
she announces,
that I am bored with you.

Merlin turns, confused.
Pardon?

Well,
she says carelessly,
I have simply come to realize that…that the pursuit of you was far more attractive to me than the having of you. Now that you are here, and all mine, and none can take you and you will never leave…well, the fact is that you are something of a bore, Merlin. I am tired of you.

A bore?
Merlin sounds outraged.
How dare you! I am the greatest wizard of—

Honestly, Merlin, who cares? You are so full of yourself, when you should be full of me. You’re much better suited to be at the side of your beloved Arthur. Away with you, then.

Before Merlin can offer a frustrated protest, she gestures casually and, just like that, he is gone, hurled through the Clear, up and out.

Nimue looks at the empty space that Merlin had, until recently, been occupying. And then she sags, and puts her hands to her face, and sobs copiously and in mourning for her sacrificed love, and has never been happier in her existence that—underwater—tears are an impossibility.

C
OUGHING AND SPUTTERING,
Merlin emerged from the middle of the Reflecting Pool in front of the Washington Monument.

Passersby gaped in confusion as Merlin slogged his way over to the shore and pulled himself out. Wringing out his shirt, he muttered, “I’m really starting to hate this damned pool.”