The Indigo King (18 page)

The final contests began at sunrise, and everyone who was camped in the valley was there to watch. No one wanted to miss the drama being played out on the hill.

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 a finger directly at the terrified professor.

The meaning was clear. If it ever was in his power to make it happen, Mordred would kill Hugo Dyson.

“Hugo!” Hank cried, his head still whirling from the speed of events. “Why did you do that?”

“I had no choice,” Hugo gasped. “I had to, don’t you understand? I had to stop him! He would have won! Mordred would have become the Arthur! And then who would have been left to stand against him?”

Before anyone could respond, a great bird swooped over the field, screeching shrilly.

Merlin’s eyes darkened, and the smile dropped away.

To the south of the hill, the crowd parted and four men strode forward to the crypt.

“Lawgiver,” the youngest of them said, “I am Thorn, son of Nimue, and by right of blood and right of honor, I have come to compete.”

There was an immediate reaction to Thorn’s announcement, and it was harsh. The gathered throng of warriors had allowed one apparent breach of the rules when Mordred came in so near the end of the tournament, but it would not be so easy for this bold boy to breach them again by taking part so late.

He didn’t have the fearsome countenance of Mordred, or the reputation of Merlin or Gwydion or any of the others. And no one cared who his mother was.

No one save for the Lawgiver, whose eyes blazed.

“Silence!” Taliesin commanded, raising his arms high. “I am the Lawgiver, and I will decide what is to be allowed!”

The angry cries settled down to a disgruntled muttering as Taliesin motioned for Thorn to come forward.

The other three men stayed at the fringes of the crowd, but Hugo nearly shouted with joy when he recognized two of them as his friends John and Jack.

Hank motioned for him to be quiet. “You’re in enough trouble as it is,” he said under his breath. “Let’s see if the Lawgiver can sort out your mess.”

“I wish to speak!” Mordred declared, stepping in front of Thorn. “I have not been given my chance to fight!”

“I have already said that you lost, Mordred,” Taliesin said. “First blood.”

Mordred clenched his teeth and looked down at the boy, Thorn, with undisguised loathing. Then his expression changed, and he seemed to be puzzled. The boy returned his gaze bravely and unafraid.

Mordred looked at Merlin, then turned back to the boy again. “I think I see it clearly now, Lawgiver,” he said, smiling coldly. “It is an old, old story, and one I know all too well.”

Without another word, Mordred went to his tent and mounted his horse, taking only his spear with him. He left his tent and everything else behind and rode away without looking back.

“Well,” said Merlin, “I think that ends our tournament.”

Taliesin raised a hand. “Not quite, Merlin. You, too, are out of the competition. For cheating.”

“What!” Merlin exclaimed, suddenly enraged. “I never cheated anyone!”

Taliesin pointed his black staff at Hugo. “He wears your colors. He is your squire. It is you who bears the loss.”

Merlin shot a poisonous look at Hugo, then another at Hank. “We’ll talk later,” he hissed. “This isn’t over.”

“Did the tall one with the staff call the other one Merlin?” John whispered.

“Yes,” said Jack, who was just as surprised. “Meridian is
Merlin
.”

“I don’t know who that is,” whispered Chaz, “but Meridian looks like he wants t’ kill that scrawny fellow the knights are holding.”

Merlin turned back to the Lawgiver. “The tournament itself cannot continue. None among the champions is fit to fight—even if their challenger is just a boy.”

“I am a man, my Lord,” Thorn said, “and I will fight my own battles, thank you.” He turned to the Lawgiver himself. “May I compete?”

To Merlin’s increased rage, Taliesin nodded. “I know your lineage, and you have the right. The only opponent left has been disqualified, unless you choose otherwise.”

Thorn looked at Merlin. “I’m not afraid,” he said. “What must I do?”

“Will you raise your hand against this man?” said Taliesin.

Thorn looked confused. “What about the other tests? The trials and contests of physical prowess?”

Taliesin shook his head. “None of those matter now. Will you raise your hand against this man?” he repeated.

Thorn considered Merlin, then smiled wryly. “If you’re giving me the choice, then no, I won’t.”

Merlin looked confused. Taliesin turned to him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “And you? Will you raise your hand against he who will not raise his against you?”

Merlin’s face was a mix of emotions. He locked eyes with the youth, and they looked at each other in some test of wills that none around them were privy to.

After an eternal pause, Merlin broke the stare and looked around him at the assemblage. His eyes looked wild, as if he were considering option after option and finding them all leading down dark pathways and ending at stone walls. He shook his head and rubbed his temples.

“Speak it,” Taliesin demanded. “Speak the words.”

“I … I cannot,” Merlin finally said, his voice barely a whisper.

It took a few seconds for Taliesin to understand that Merlin had indeed declined to fight. In relief and with renewed vigor, the Lawgiver gestured to Thorn.

“Then,” Taliesin said, placing his hands on Thorn’s shoulders, “only one test remains.”

He pointed the staff at the black sword, which still lay in the shallow grave. Thorn turned and stepped down into the crypt, picking up the sword as he did.

“If you can draw the sword from the scabbard …,” Taliesin began. But Thorn didn’t give him time to finish. In one swift motion, he drew the sword from the scabbard and raised it high above his head.

There was a moment of absolute stillness as a hush overtook the crowd. Then, in a fluid motion, they all fell to one knee and began to cheer.

In the noise, no one realized that six men had remained standing: Taliesin, Hank, Hugo, John, Jack, and Charles. Merlin had disappeared into the Lawgiver’s tent, and the owl Archimedes was flying in tight circles overhead and singing.

Taliesin stepped forward and tapped Thorn on each shoulder with the black staff, then kissed him on the forehead. “Well done, young Thorn. You are victorious. From this day henceforth, you are Arthur.”

PART FIVE

The Isle of Glass

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Animal Logic

The parish church
was cold, Geoffrey decided. It had always been chill, but for some reason, he’d never thought of it as actually being
cold
. But that morning he’d realized that it was in fact cold, when he noticed that his own breath was obscuring the writing on the parchment in front of him.

Sighing in resignation, he laid the quill inside his leather writing pouch and replaced the wax plug in the bottle of ink, then set about finding some tinder to put in the hearth. He carefully made his way down the steps and then opened the stout wooden door. The weather at Caerleon was always a bit ratty. He could understand why St. Cadoc had never wanted to fight any battles. It would have been too cold to lift his sword.

Still, it was a good enough place to build a church here and name it after him, Geoffrey decided, and if St. Cadoc could bear the weather, then so could he.

As he bent to pick up some sticks of wood at the tree line, a gust of wind caught his attention, and he looked seaward.

He had seen some mysterious storms out over the water of late, and more south of the parish. He didn’t know what they meant, but he understood well enough to keep to his work, rather than look too closely.

But tonight the storm seemed different. The clouds were taking shape.…

He dropped the sticks and crossed himself as three giants came striding out of the surf, directly toward the town. They were massive creatures that towered over the tallest trees in Caerleon. Behemoths such as these might have cowed even Arthur, Geoffrey thought. Yes, even he.

Then, as quickly as the apparitions had appeared, the giants paled, then faded, then disappeared completely, leaving behind less than smoke in the air.

Geoffrey lifted his robe and hurried back to the church. If nothing else, he intended to get his transcriptions done and turn in early. He could tell a sign when he was given it. No need to burn any bushes for him.

Although, he thought as he trudged back up the stairs, that
would
have made him warmer.

He reached for his door, and oddly, found it jammed from within. He rattled the latch, and from inside he heard a soft cursing, followed by the sound of tearing paper.

He pressed harder, and suddenly the door flew open.

The room was empty save for his small fireplace, his table, his chair, and the parchments he’d been working on. The window was locked. And there, on the floor, lay the ancient book he’d been transcribing.

Somehow the first few pages had been torn out diagonally, from the upper left to the lower right side. Only the left-hand pieces remained. There was no sign of the torn pages themselves.

Shaking his head, Geoffrey crossed himself again and closed the door. Something beyond his ken was happening here, and he hadn’t the presence of mind to deal with it. Not while it was so cold. The history of the kings of England would have to wait until later.

Still mulling over what the vision might have meant, and trying not to consider the possible ways someone could have entered his study invisibly, Geoffrey of Monmouth fell into a fitful slumber. As he did, all around him, time itself shook and trembled like a tree in a thunderstorm.…

Being declared the High King of the lands both known and unknown has its benefits, and when John and Jack made it clear that Hugo was their friend, Arthur immediately pardoned him and ordered him released.

The Lawgiver took Arthur aside to discuss matters of his new office, and the rest of the knights immediately began to start a celebration—which, Hugo decided, was practically identical to the tournament, with less of a point.

Of the companions, only Chaz had noted that not all the cheers were heartfelt, and not all the new subjects seemed to be pleased with the King, or the process by which he’d been chosen.

Hugo was mostly just relieved to see his old friends from Oxford. “I knew it!” he exclaimed happily. “I knew you’d be here to fetch me!”

“And just in time, it seems,” John noted. “It looked like you were about to be drawn and quartered.”

“All under control, I assure you,” Hugo said with a wave. “But I’m not going to complain about your timing.” He turned to Chaz and took his hand, which he began pumping frenetically. “And you, dear boy! So happy to see you, too! What happened to your face?”

Chaz pulled his arm free and tightened his collar. “Ah, I’m happy to see you well, Hugo.”

John gave Chaz a quizzical look, and Chaz took him aside, out of earshot of the others. “I didn’t want t’ give him anything t’ regret,” he said flatly. “He doesn’t know I’m not Charles, and he doesn’t need to know where I came from or,” he added with a quick glance back, “what else transpired there.”

John nodded. “I understand. You’re a good fellow, Chaz.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

They rejoined the others, who were now conversing with Hank Morgan. He showed them his watch and seemed as pleased as Hugo that they’d come.

“It still isn’t working,” he said, shaking the watch. “When you return, can you get a message to Verne?”

“I’m sure we can,” said Jack, “one way or another. What year is it, exactly?”

“It’s the year 498 AD,” said Hank, “give or take a few weeks.”

“Not quite the sixth century,” said John.

“Close enough,” said Hugo. “So,” he added, rubbing his hands in anticipation, “when do we go home?”

“That,” John said, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulders, “is something we need to discuss.”

Back at his tent, Hank prepared another stew for his hungry new guests as John, Jack, and Chaz offered an abridged version of what had happened to them.

Hugo had barely begun his reciprocal tale, starting with his trip with Pellinor, when the High King poked his head inside the tent.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Arthur said, “but Archimedes has just captured something for our dinner.”

“He’s an industrious bird,” said Chaz. “Tell him to bring it here, and we’ll add it to the stew.”

“That’s the problem,” said Arthur. “It’s talking—and insisting it’s here to rescue something called scowlers.”

John and Jack beamed and simultaneously sighed in relief. John dashed out of the tent, and Jack clapped Hugo on the back. “Hang on, old sport,” he said, smiling broadly. “The cavalry’s here, and they’re short and furry.”

John followed Arthur to the crest of the hill, where Archimedes was grappling with an extremely agitated Uncas.

“Stupid bird!” Uncas exclaimed. “What are you, a cannibobble?”

“I’m a mathematician, if you must know,” the owl replied, still keeping a grip on the badger with one claw.

“Let him go, Archie,” Chaz said as he and the others caught up to John.

The bird immediately loosed the badger, who snorted at it, then patted down his fur. “I come on a rescue mission, and nearly get et by a cannibobble,” Uncas muttered. “No respect.”

“We respect you, Uncas,” Jack said, sweeping up the badger in a tight hug. “I’m thrilled to see you.”

“Scowler Jack! Scowler John! Mister Chaz!” Uncas shouted. “I finally found you! I knew I would!”

The little fellow was so happy, and they were so relieved, that none of them noted that it was actually the owl who’d brought him to them. “What happened?” asked John. “We went back to the proper spot, but the portal was gone. It had only been a few minutes.”

“That’d be my fault, Scowler John,” Uncas said, looking as embarrassed and forlorn as they’d ever seen him. “Mine, an’ mine only.”

Jack knelt down and took the little fellow by the shoulder. “It’s all right, Uncas. Mistakes happen. What did you do?”

“I, uh, I tripped over the cord, and accidentally unplugged the projector.”

“Okay,” said Jack, suppressing a grin. “Then why didn’t you just plug it back in?”

“I tried!” Uncas wailed. “But I got all tangled up in it, and then I pulled over the whole thing, and it breaked! I mean, broked.… Um, I cracked it, is what I mean t’ say!”

“So how did you get here?” asked John.

“We fixed it up—Reynard is a work an’ a wonder with lenses—and plugged it back in. But by then you were gone.”

“How long did it take you to repair it, Uncas?” asked Jack.

Uncas closed one eye and estimated. “About an hour.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped. “Then we’re still in trouble,” he said, shading his eyes and looking at the afternoon sun. “It’s been twenty-four hours already, plus the hour it was down. The slide will have burned out by now.”

“We thought of that!” Uncas said, preening. “Fred and I looked all over for you around that old oak, until just an hour ago. Then we stopped it before we ran out of time.”

“Is Reynard simply going to turn it back on so we can return?” asked Jack.

Uncas looked crestfallen. “That would have been a good idea,” he admitted.

“But he would have no way of knowing Uncas found us,” Chaz said, “and the slide would still burn out.”

“He’s right, Uncas,” John said, still confused, “how do we get
back
?”

“Easy,” Uncas said, bursting with the ingenuity of his plan. “We brung it with us—the entire Lanterna Magica.”

They had Arthur ask Archimedes to return to Grandfather Oak, to look for a second badger and a small machine, and to return, as carefully as possible, with them both.

The bird flew off, and inside of an hour returned with the projector in his claws and Fred riding on his back.

“Please don’t drop the time machine,” said Jack.

“Or the badger,” added John.

“I meant to say that,” said Jack.

Archimedes spiraled slowly down and lowered the Lanterna Magica to the grass, and Fred leaped off his back and hugged Uncas.

“Did you see, Father?” Fred exclaimed. “I flew! In the air!”

Uncas hugged his son back and glared at the bird. “I had the same trip, under less pleasant circumstances.”

John and Jack stared at the projector. The badgers had indeed managed to bring it through.

“It was Reynard who figured it out,” Fred explained. “He used an extra lens to keep the projection large as we pulled the machine closer to the screens. Then, when it was almost inside, we pulled it through, and the portal closed behind it.”

“It almost didn’t work at all,” said Uncas. “The cord in the back was barely long enough to let us pull the projector through before it came out of the socket.”

“That’s actually my next question,” Jack said, already knowing—and dreading—the answer. “We’re at the end of the fifth century. Where are we going to plug it in?”

The mournful howling of the two badgers was so pitiful that the companions had to move them down the back side of the hill, away from the celebration and into the woods.

It took several minutes and the combined efforts of John, Jack, and Chaz to settle them down. Then the companions began to discuss any ideas they might have to get back to Sanctuary.

“The Lanterna Magica used to be powered by a candle,” John suggested. “Maybe we don’t need the electricity.”

Jack shook his head. “I was looking it over with Reynard. We’d have to take it apart to do something like that, and we don’t understand enough of how it works. What if we broke the mechanism that makes it function?”

“I wish you’d thought to bring a generator, too,” John said to Uncas. “Not,” he added quickly as the badger started to tear up again, “that I’d have thought of it either.”

“The Serendipity Box?” asked Chaz. “Could it give us a generator?”

“Not likely,” John said, eyeing the box. “It’s too small, and too big a risk to wish for something it can’t give us.”

“We might just as well wish for a generator,” said Jack. “It could fall into our laps this very minute.”

“Not quite that fast,” someone said, “but give me a few days, and I might be able to arrange it.”

It was Hank Morgan who had spoken. “I’m only an amateur time traveler,” he said with some degree of modesty, “but in my day job, I’m an electrical engineer. I’m certain we could construct an electrical generator in a few days, give or take. And then we can power that thing up and get you on your way.”

“Perhaps we could fix your watch,” John suggested. “Could you take us back with you?”

“I wish I could,” Hank replied, “but I’m afraid the device doesn’t work that way. Not yet, anyway. It’s a one-person contraption. I’ve tried to take a passenger, but it just left them standing and clutching empty air. But perhaps in the future something can be done to change that. It’s busted, anyway. But if I ever get another one, I’ll give it to you. You really ought to have a watch if you’re going to be traveling in time.”

“I’d appreciate it,” said John. “I’m going to catch hell for the last one I lost.”

The group returned to Hank’s tent, where he kept a large bag filled with various handmade tools and implements, and a second one filled with raw materials.

“Ever the Boy Scout, eh?” said John.

“The what?” said Hank. “No, I just like to always be prepared.” “Couldn’t you have just used that watch of yours to pop back and forth in time, and simply bring back the tools you need?” asked Jack. “That would be a lot easier than fashioning everything by hand.”

“Would if I could, brother,” Hank replied. “It just doesn’t work that way. The only thing I can actually take back and forth is the watch. Everything else has to be created or acquired.”