The Indigo King - James A. Owen [78]
Merlin came to Hank’s tent to retrieve another pair of gauntlets, a helmet, and a short Roman sword. He strapped it around a Grecian leather skirt that was studded with iron, and he also took a small round shield.
He never so much as glanced at Hugo, except for a curt glance and tight smile as he left.
“Do you think he knows I overheard him last night?” Hugo asked Hank.
“If he had, he wouldn’t have left you alive,” the engineer replied. “Let’s go see this.”
The Lawgiver stood at his usual place and extended his hand to show that he held eight small stones. Seven black, one white. Whichever among the champions chose the white stone from a bronze bowl would be allowed to choose the first opponent.
One by one, they turned their heads and drew a stone, Mordred last. He turned back and opened his hand. “Of course,” he murmured, looking at the round white stone. “That’s just as it should be.”
Merlin suppressed a grin and tipped his chin at Taliesin. The Lawgiver raised both hands. “Mordred shall be first to choose. Against which man will you raise your hand?”
Mordred looked over his opponents, considering, then extended his arm and pointed at the burly warrior to Merlin’s left. “You. I raise my hand against you.”
Taliesin withered slightly, as if he’d hoped for a different response. “Gwydion, son of Don, will you raise your hand against Mordred?”
The king called Gwydion nodded.
Taliesin dropped his hands. “Then it is begun.”
* * *
The first contest was epic, nearly ending in a draw, so evenly matched were its contestants. But then Mordred got a swing under Gwydion’s defenses and slashed his right shoulder to the bone.
“First blood,” Taliesin called out as the knights helped Gwydion away, and Mordred pointed at another warrior, this time to Merlin’s right.
It became obvious to all that Mordred intended for Merlin to be the last, should he defeat the other kings. And with each new contest, that’s what Mordred did.
One by one, some more easily than others, six opponents fell before Mordred until finally, only Merlin was left.
“My God,” Hank whispered. “This has really gone the distance. I don’t believe Mordred defeated them all.” He kept glancing around, as if he expected something else to take place. “This is bad.”
“Why?” said Hugo.
“Merlin’s good, but not this good,” Hank said worriedly. “He can’t beat Mordred.”
“We can’t let that happen!” exclaimed Hugo. “We have to stop it!”
Hank shook his head. “It’s not our fight, Hugo.”
“Mordred,” the Lawgiver said again, “against which man shall you raise your hand?”
Mordred pointed at Merlin. “Against him, I shall raise my hand.”
“Merlin,” Taliesin said, the sorrow in his voice almost palpable, “will you raise your hand against this man?”
Before he could answer, there was a hissing sound, and a gasp of surprise from the crowd—and from Mordred.
A dagger, clumsily thrown, was sticking out of Mordred’s side at an odd angle.
Mordred couldn’t decide whether to be furious that he’d been stabbed or incredulous that anyone had dared. “Who does this?” he growled, pulling the dagger from his ribs. “What treachery is this, Merlin?”
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t accuse an innocent … Mordred,” he said harshly.
“He does not,” declared Taliesin, pointing. “Your own squire has thrown the dagger.”
The Lawgiver was pointing at Hugo, who, in his state of shock and awe at what he’d done, still had his arm extended from the throw.
Immediately two of the knights seized him, holding him fast. Hank, pushed to the side, was too stunned to speak.
“First blood, Mordred,” Taliesin said, still uncertain himself what had happened. “You’ve lost.”
“No!” Mordred screamed. “Unfair! A cheat!”
Taliesin shook his head, and a confused smile began to spread over Merlin’s face. “Those are the rules, Mordred. He wears Merlin’s colors. He drew first blood. You have lost. Withdraw, gracefully.”
Mordred stood, glaring mutely at Taliesin, the anger rising off him like waves of heat. Then he turned slowly toward the knights holding Hugo and extended his arm, pointing