The Indigo King - James A. Owen [102]
“We did,” Jack confirmed.
“I wish you’d stayed around,” Arthur remarked. “You three seemed reasonable men. And there has been a shortage of reasonable men these last thirty years.”
He suddenly noticed his bloodstained tunic and touched his chest, probing. “I … I died, didn’t I?”
“You did,” said John. “It was an accident. Mordred didn’t mean to do it.”
“Then how is it I am standing here now?”
“Because of her,” Hugo said, cradling the still weak girl. “Mordred’s daughter—your cousin, Rose. The heir of the Grail.”
“I can’t believe you have that kind of power,” Jack breathed, as he and Hugo helped her to her feet. “You brought him back, Rose.”
She shook her head. “Not I, and not my power.”
“It was someone’s power,” reasoned Jack. “He was dead, and then he was not.”
“That is the blessing of the Old Magic,” said Taliesin, “and the power of belief.”
“Oh no,” Arthur cried, kneeling. “What happened to my sword?”
“It shattered when Mordred stabbed you,” John said. “When his spear clashed against your sword.”
“That should not have happened,” said Taliesin, looking over the broken halves of Caliburn with Arthur. “Caliburn should have been stronger.”
“I don’t think it was Caliburn that was weak,” said Arthur. “I was. I think I was afraid to use the strength that was needed to end this sooner.”
“Now is your chance, boy,” a harsh voice called out as one of the heavy inner doors splintered apart. The companions whirled about to see Merlin force his way into the castle’s center. “It’s only right that I should find you here, where it began,” he said angrily. “Where you took what was rightfully mine.”
He seemed to notice only then that there were others present and, with no small surprise and a rising anger, realized that he knew them.
“You,” he said accusingly to the companions. “You have followed me for much of my life. If you value your own, you won’t interfere.”
“You didn’t mind when it benefited you,” John pointed out.
“I did mind, when you changed my own history,” Merlin spat, “and disqualified me when I was one breath away from gaining my throne.”
“You would have lost, Merlin,” Taliesin said. “Mordred would have beaten you.”
“I lost, traitor,” Merlin replied, “when I didn’t learn my lesson the first time, to make my Bindings more specific.”
He tightened his grip on the short Roman sword he carried and stepped toward Arthur. The companions circled protectively around the king, and then another player joined the deadly game.
“This has been a long time coming, brother,” Mordred said, stepping out of the crypt passageway. He stopped in shock when he saw Arthur, and even took a step backward when he saw Rose.
Then he seemed to steel himself. He took a firm grip on the scimitar he was carrying and walked purposefully toward Merlin.
“Mordred,” Arthur began.
“Stay back, Arthur,” Mordred commanded, “and this shall be ended in a trice.”
Merlin acted first, leaping with a snarl at Arthur. His blow was parried not by the king, but by Mordred’s scimitar. Mordred pulled back and struck out at Merlin, but found his blow deflected by a short sword, expertly wielded—by Arthur.
“What are you doing?” Mordred asked, incredulous.
“What I must,” said Arthur.
“As am I,” said Merlin, swinging the sword again. Arthur dodged it easily, then pressed around the table to block Mordred.
Merlin jumped atop the table, only to have his feet knocked out from under him by a vicious blow from the scimitar. Mordred pushed Arthur aside with a shove, then leaped up to deliver a killing blow to the disoriented Merlin.
“This is the end, brother,” Mordred said, holding Merlin at the throat with one hand, while drawing back the scimitar with the other.
Merlin screamed.
Mordred struck.
And suddenly he realized that his scimitar was lying on the ground, still clutched in his hand.
He cried out in pain and horror and held the bleeding stump of his forearm to his chest.
“I couldn’t let you do it, Mordred,” said Arthur, the bloody sword in his hand dropping loosely to his side. “I couldn’t let you kill him.”
Mordred staggered,