Knight Life

  “But how can you be so certain?”

  Merlin sighed and shook his head. “Arthur … mariners of old would report that they had seen mermaids capering about in the waters they sailed. Now I have seen many wondrous things, Arthur, and know even more than I have seen, and in all of that I have never come across a genuine child of the sea. Do you know what those old sailors actually saw in their travels? Manatees.”

  “What?” Arthur’s brows knit in puzzlement. “What are—?”

  “Great, lumpy cows of the ocean, with as much resemblance to a woman as any other cow might have. But because these men had been at sea for so long, just about anything looked good to them and reminded them of women. Do you see what I’m saying here, Arthur?”

  “You’re saying,” Arthur sighed, “that when I saw Gwen she reminded me of Gwynyfar because I had been away from her for so long, so anything would remind me of her.”

  “That’s exactly right, Arthur. You were a stranger in a strange land. It is natural that you would have sought out something that reminded you of days of yore.”

  Arthur was silent for a time, and then he rose and walked to the window. He looked out at the glittering skyline before him. “Perhaps you are right,” he said finally. “Perhaps it is madness to think that she could be Jenny, somehow miraculously returned to me. Still ... it was nice to hope for a time. That is what Camelot was built on, Merlin, was it not? Hope?”

  “No,” Merlin said flatly. “It was built on belief. A belief that it, and you, could make a difference. And that is the same foundation upon which you will build your political career. But if you do not believe, then you’re going to have nothing.”

  “Political career,” snorted Arthur. “Merlin … if there is one thing that has been driven home to me in all of this, it’s the vast scope of the world nowadays. I never realized what a small pond was dwelt in by me, the large fish. Who am I now? I am nothing to them. Nothing.”

  “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you,” said Merlin sadly.

  “Forgotten?”

  “What it was like for the young King Arthur. To all of those knights, you were nothing as well. A snot-nosed boy awarded the throne of Britain through a sorcerer’s parlor trick. Have you forgotten the looks upon the faces of the warlords and warrior kings when they were asked to swear allegiance to you? Half of them revolted at the outset. You had to put down the rebellion. You, barely into your teens. And look what happened!”

  “I know what happened, since you are so quick to remind me. My wife and best friend betrayed me ...”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” came the impatient response. “But until that happened, you had built something truly great. Yes, your destiny was unfortunate. However, you can make up for it now. And with the world such a vast and yet easily accessible place, you can do even more good now than you did back then. My magiks have given you a second chance, Arthur. All you need to do is be careful not to fritter it away obsessing over ‘lookalikes’ of Gwynyfar ...”

  “It’s not that she’s a lookalike. It’s that she evokes the spirit of…” But then he shook his head quickly. “No. No, you’re right, Merlin. I shall simply concentrate on what needs to be done.”

  “Excellent. And my first piece of advice to that end is call the Queen woman, tell her there’s been a mistake, offer her a nice severance package and be done with it.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot. I gave my word.”

  “And you gave your word to me, as I recall,” said Merlin. “Your dying words, whispered on your funeral bier. You said, ‘If I only had one more chance ... I know I could do it right.’ Well, you’ve got your chance, Arthur. You’re lucky. Beyond lucky. Most men in this world don’t have the opportunity to do even once what you’re going to be doing twice. May I strongly suggest, Wart, that you do everything you can not to screw it up this time?”

  “I shall take your kind advice to heart, mage,” said Arthur, and he bowed once and deeply.

  But even as he did so, the lovely young woman from centuries agone moved through his mind’s eye, smiling at him, beckoning to him.

  He spent the rest of the evening trying to convince himself that he had made a mistake and that he should contact Gwen immediately and inform her that the position was not available. He was not, however, able to do so, and couldn’t decide—for the life of him—if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  CHAPTRE

  THE SIXTH

  TWO WOMEN IN Arthur’s life were involved in very different pursuits one evening …

  THE V HAD burnt out in the “Vacancy” sign that hung outside the beat-up roadside motel situated just off of the interstate. The signs posted nearby had promised waterbeds and triple-X-rated films in the room. Just the sort of thing the average passing traveler would be looking for. As it so happened, Morgan was passing, and a traveler, but she was certainly far from average.

  When she’d checked in, the desk clerk had gaped at her openly. Part of her was tempted to put him in her place, but another part was flattered by the attention, and it was this aspect of her that saved the clerk’s life. It had, after all, been a very long time since any man—even a bald, potbellied specimen such as the desk clerk—had looked at her appreciatively, or even at all. Being subjected to scrutiny by even as pathetic a specimen as this was still appreciated. As for the desk clerk, he was able to go home that evening, unaware of the fact that he should be relieved that he was alive or that his brain hadn’t been melted under a sorcerous curse. Instead he had a normal-functioning brain, which was carrying secret fantasies acted out with the stunning woman who had checked in at the scummy little motel he managed.

  The clerk had no idea that, weeks earlier, Morgan Le Fey would hardly have turned any heads. Indeed, she might have turned a few stomachs. But the excess weight she’d been carting with her all this time had slid away like melting butter. All the extra chins had vanished into memory, leaving her with the one jutting chin that stuck out so proudly. The raven hair was black through and through—no gray at the roots—and her feet, once swollen and cracked, were now slim and strong.

  In the dingy hotel room, she stripped to the buff and examined herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of the bathroom door (unaware that a young blonde woman, with whom her path would eventually cross, had subjected herself to similar scrutiny not too long ago.) She couldn’t help but wonder who the genius was who thought that mounting a mirror inside the bathroom—and, as a consequence, directly opposite the toilet—could remotely be considered a good or flattering idea. It meant that when she was relieving herself, the only view she was afforded was herself, sitting on the toilet, leaving her to grumble to herself, “Well, that looks about as dignified as I always thought it did.” But at that particular moment, she wasn’t dwelling on it. Instead she was busy admiring the contours of her muscular body. She thought of the lethargic lump she had let herself become and was filled with silent rage.

  But that loathsome creature was long gone. And Morgan Le Fey was back in business.

  The naked sorceress rolled back the threadbare rug, bracing it with her foot against the wall. Then she padded back to the bare area and removed a piece of chalk from the pocket of her long black coat. She knelt down, then, and, brushing strands of hair from her face, carefully traced a circle, with a five-point star enclosed within. She then reached into her beat up duffel bag and extracted five black candles, fondling the length of them almost sexually. She placed one at each point where the star touched the circle. She stepped back, admired her handiwork, and smiled.

  Then she rolled the television set near to the circle and sat down facing it. The floor chilled her bare rump but she ignored it, as she composed herself and then snapped her fingers. The five candles around her promptly lit. It was a minor exhibition of her power, but it pleased her nonetheless. Again she snapped her fingers, and the television flared to life.

  The sight on the screen afforded her momentary amusement. It was a couple madly rutting, panti
ng like twin locomotives. But then it reminded her of just how long it had been since she herself had indulged in such carnal pleasures, and it caused her to frown in irritation and wave a hand as if brushing a flea away. The picture vanished from the screen, replaced by blankness.

  Morgan concentrated, reaching out with her mind and tracing the waves of magic, charting the ley lines that filled the air around her. She’d been doing this regularly, going from town to town, city to city, setting herself up at different intersection points of the earth’s ley lines, trying to discover a mystical trace of Merlin. It had proven to be frustrating. Merlin had covered his tracks too well. If she’d begun the trace from the moment when he’d escaped from his centuries-long confinement, she could have picked up on it in no time. But this was no longer possible. Just as a fox can cover his trail and scent given time, so had Merlin been able to erase any sign of his person.

  However, if Merlin had been practicing magic lately, he would most certainly have been tapping into the ley lines that encompassed the earth. Any adept was able to detect the pale ribbonlike trails that filled the air. But not any adept would have been able to do what Morgan was attempting: To track back along ley lines as if they were mystic telephone wires, tracing along and discovering where a particular caller—Merlin, in this instance—had most recently made use of them. Had Merlin been using his sorcerous powers, Morgan should have been able to retrace him down those mystical bands as if she were tracing a telephone call. But she had found nothing, which meant either that he had been using no magic lately, or— more disturbing—that he’d discovered a means by which to cover any track of magic use. If it were the latter, Morgan would certainly have her work cut out for her. She should have felt some degree of frustration over that possibility, but instead she merely warmed to the task. The more difficult Merlin made it for her going in, the sweeter her triumph coming out.

  She found a faint whiff of magic along one stream and immediately ran it back to its source. The TV screen flickered and then the image of a young girl appeared. She was a teenager, naked as was Morgan, seated in what appeared to be the middle of her high school’s athletic field. She was chanting quietly to herself and burning a photograph of a handsome young man. The candle was white.

  Morgan pursed her lips. Amateurs dabbling in love spells. This was the sort of tripe she’d been unearthing in her searches these past weeks. Still … there was no reason she couldn’t have a bit of fun at that.

  She sent an eldritch wave back along the ley line, and many miles away, the girl’s candle suddenly flared. The girl fell back, gasping in surprise, and Morgan’s image appeared in the flickering flame of the candle.

  “I am Hecate, goddess of witches,” murmured Morgan, delighting in the way the would-be witch’s eyes went wide. “Hear me, novice. I have seen your future, and it does not include this boy. He is using you, toying with your affections, but he does not and never will love you. He will bring you hurt and pain and misery, and he will do it to others of your spiritual sisters as well, unless you stop him. Have you the heart to do so, my child ... ?”

  The girl’s mouth moved, but no words came out. She managed a terrified nod.

  “Now listen carefully. Here is what you must do,” said Morgan, and she quickly outlined a spell that would cause eruptions and boils all over the boy’s skin, scarring him for life. The girl nodded eagerly, clearly taken by the notion of having that kind of power over someone that was destined to cause her so much grief.

  “And never forget what you have learned here this night. Now go, my child … go, and do as you are bidden.” Then she laughed in a satisfyingly demented manner and broke the connection. She wondered in an offhand manner if the girl’s original spell would have worked, or whether the boy really did love the girl after all, or would ever have. Ah well. No use concerning herself about it any further. On to more important matters: Where the devil was Merlin? Where—

  The screen suddenly went black, and Morgan jumped slightly, startled. At the same time she knew instinctively what had caused it. And so she waited, and eventually it came.

  Within moments the image of an office with antique furniture appeared on the screen, and there, seated in a large easy chair, was a boy who looked far too old for his skin. His feet dangled several inches above the ground; his hands were interlaced behind his head. He had a smile on his lips that was not mirrored in his eyes. He looked straight at her as he said, “Hello, Morgan. You’re looking well-preserved these days.”

  She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Merlin. You’re too kind.”

  “I know.” He studied her for a moment. “You’re not surprised to see me?”

  In truth she was very disconcerted. It had not occurred to her that Merlin’s power would be so great that he would detect her attempts to find him; that he would turn the tables back on her, apparently without effort. He did not seem to have undertaken any conjuration. He had simply commandeered her equipment. Could his power really have grown so? Was everything so effortless for him now? If it were true, he would be far more than formidable. He would be invincible.

  All of this passed through her mind in a moment, and then she said, “No. I’m not at all surprised. Your overwhelming ego would only allow you to perform some such stunt as this.”

  “Ah, how well you know me,” sighed Merlin, sounding almost pleased by it.

  “I knew Merlin the man, not Merlin the tot,” she said airily. “I had thought the legends exaggerated. I see now they were not. You do indeed age backward.”

  He nodded. “Just so. And, intriguingly enough, I become more powerful as well. It’s quite a combination, Morgan: the energy and drive of youth combined with the wisdom and skill of an older man. An unbeatable combination, wouldn’t you say?”

  She leaned back, uncaring of her nudity. Her long hair hung discreetly over her breasts. “You would certainly say so, Merlin. Then again, there’s always the chance that you will wind up being tripped up by your staggering sense of overconfidence. I will admit I’m impressed. Magic wards were placed all around the cave in which you were imprisoned long centuries ago. How did you get through them? Even at the height of your power—”

  “Remember what I taught you, Morgan. Wards are nothing more than mystic prison bars. These were small enough to contain any man. However, sliding between the ward bars in a child’s body was quite simple, really.”

  “So you simply allowed time to take its course. Since you’re long lived, it took centuries for you to reach this point … but ultimately, reach it you did.”

  “Quite true.” Merlin slid forward, alighting on his feet, and came “closer” to the screen. “And I’m sure you realize that I subsequently arranged for Arthur’s release.”

  “Time off for good behavior, no doubt.”

  This time Merlin did not even try to smile. “Now listen carefully, Morgan. I did not have to contact you this way. I can assure you that mystically you would never have found us. However, before too long Arthur is going to be in the newspapers. Rather than give you the satisfaction of locating us, I decided to expend the smallest aspect of my power to issue you a warning.”

  She raised an arched eyebrow. “Warning, is it?”

  “It is. Arthur will be running for mayor of New York City. As I said, you would undoubtedly read of this in the newspapers, for Arthur is destined to be quite a controversial candidate. I would not wish you to think for even a moment that we were living in fear of your discovering us. So I give you our city of operations ahead of time, secure in the knowledge that there is not a damned thing you can do to deter us.”

  She frowned. “Arthur? Mayor? I would think that president would be more appropriate.”

  Merlin shook his head and his image flickered on the screen. “You and Arthur, half brother and half sister, thinking alike. That was Arthur’s first inclination. But he has too much he has yet to learn, including,” he said ruefully, “the name of this country. But that is neither here nor there.
A complete unknown cannot come sweeping into the greatest office in the land from nowhere. He has to establish a political track record. New York is a highly visible city. And they could really use him. So,” he concluded, “mayor of New York it is. It’s inevitable, so don’t even think about averting it. You do not have anyone to aid you any more, Morgan. Modred is long-gone bones. You command no legions of hell—human, mystic, or otherwise. It is just you, rusty in the use of your powers, versus me at the height of mine. You might say I’ve been working out.”

  “Are you trying to scare me, Merlin?”

  Instead of replying, Merlin merely smiled. Suddenly Morgan heard a low humming, as if power was building up from somewhere. She realized immediately that the television was the source of it, and an instant after that realization, sparks began to fly from the set. She dove for cover as heavy crackling and smoke followed the sparks. An instant later the TV screen blew outward, spraying glass all over the motel room. It flew with enough velocity to embed itself in the wall, in the carpet, and if Morgan had presented a target, in Morgan herself. She, however, had moved quickly enough to knock over and hide behind a coffee table, and so was spared the inconvenience of having her skin ripped to shreds.

  And Merlin’s fading voice floating from the still-sparking speaker. “Trying? No. I believe I’ve succeeded. Stay out of my way, Morgan, or prepare to suffer dearly.” And then there was silence.

  She waited until she was certain that the violence was over. Slowly she raised her head, picking a few shards of glass out of her hair. She looked around. Gray smoke was rising from the now silent television. There was faint crackling in the air, and her nose wrinkled at the acrid odor. She stood fully and then slowly, daintily, picked her way across the floor. She stood in front of the television and, somewhat unnecessarily, turned it off. Then she padded across to the telephone, picked it up, and waited impatiently for an outside line.