Chapter 55
Arthur ran a damp cloth over his face. The sun had fallen hours ago. Medb was gone. Niniane was gone. The humans fighting for Mordred had retreated behind the walls of the castle again.
He had wanted it to end today, but the White Dragon had not won his battle, the Red Dragon managing to slip out of his grip over and over, until Arthur called the beast, and his men, back.
The candles had burnt down to almost nothing and Arthur’s tent was shrouded in golden darkness. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. His chest was burning, his blood charged, his skin crawling as his fingers trembled and itched to pick up the sword and keep going, keep swinging, hacking, slicing…
Just as Merlin had warned him would happen.
Would any of them ever see the Prophet of the Gods again? Arthur had watched in disbelief as Merlin and Niniane clashed on the battlefield, but his fear of what might happen in that moment was nothing compared to what Ordes must have been feeling.
The Sword of the White Dragon lay on his bed, whispering to him. Slowly, he turned from the wash basin and faced the weapon that had woven itself around his insides.
The tent flap trembled but Arthur did not look to see who it was. He kept his eyes on the Treasure, paying attention to the way the candlelight danced across its silver face, gentle as a kiss, as alluring and intoxicating as a lover’s touch.
He took a step towards the sword. Someone moved in front of him.
‘Arthur.’ Jalen’s voice was soft. ‘You need to rest.’
‘Don’t tell me what I need,’ Arthur snapped, and then sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not myself.’
‘No,’ Jalen agreed. ‘But are any of us ourselves in this moment, in this place?’
‘Can you hear it?’ Arthur asked him, turning and crossing the carpeted floor to collapse into a chair. ‘Can you still hear it? It talks to me constantly, Jalen, more than it did before. I fear that I’ll lose myself completely before the end.’
Jalen came to crouch at Arthur’s feet, staring up into his face. ‘You won’t.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because those who love you – your friends, your family – will make certain you aren’t lost to that sword,’ Jalen said. ‘You’re too important to us.’
‘Us?’ Arthur asked. There was a smear of dried blood on Jalen’s neck. He wanted to wipe it away but curled his hands into fists instead.
‘Yes. Us. Me,’ he added, voice low. ‘You’re too important to me.’
‘Jalen—’
‘I know,’ Jalen murmured, rising to his feet and taking a step backwards, as if putting some distance between them might somehow help. ‘I came to see if you needed anything.’
Arthur made himself look at the ground.
‘Sleep,’ Jalen told him, and then he was gone. Arthur wanted to go after him, rest his head on Jalen’s chest and hear the heart that now beat there. But he didn’t. He couldn’t, not when tomorrow would bring more bloodshed, more carnage and chaos.
If only Mordred had been willing to talk. Perhaps this could have been avoided.
But it couldn’t, Arthur realised, because this wasn’t about Mordred. It was about the Old Ones playing with the lives of men like they were toys. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier at – Niniane or Ereshki.
The Sword sang its battle song, drinking in all the pain, the confusion, the blood.
Through the smoke and dust, Arthur could see his cousin.
Mordred’s sword swung, his arm not faltering.
As much as Arthur tried to get to him, he never seemed to be able to close the gap between them.
Each step forward was backwards until he finally understood.
The dragons battled in the sky above them.
Arthur watched the White Dragon. He was bigger than the Red, more powerful, but the Red Dragon fought hard, its movements desperate. It wasn’t trying to escape, but it hesitated before it struck, as if it didn’t truly want to be there.
He had lost sight of Mordred again. The Red Dragon did not fight like his cousin did. It did not have the same confidence, the skill, the understanding of what was happening that Mordred did, which led Arthur to believe…
Mordred did not control the Red Dragon.
So who did?
Eseld had said it was a woman. Whoever she was, Arthur could tell she was scared, unsure and hurting.
Bring it down, he thought firmly, directing the command to the White Dragon. This needed to end.
The White Dragon slammed into the Red and they fell towards the earth.
The Red Dragon’s wings flapped uselessly as the White pushed it down, down, until the beasts hit the ground together.
Dust bloomed, and when it settled, the White Dragon had the neck of the Red in its powerful jaws.
The Red Dragon bellowed in pain. There was a distinctly human quality to the sound, high-pitched and female…
Stop, Arthur commanded.
The White released its grip and stepped back.
The Red Dragon, bleeding and battered, rose on shaking legs.
The beasts were eye to eye. Arthur held his breath, begging the Red to surrender.
Slowly, the Red Dragon bowed to the White, then beat its wings and rose into the air, flying back towards Dinas Emrys.
Follow, Arthur told the White. As the dragon obeyed, he glanced around frantically, adjusting his grip on the sword and turning in circles, searching through the smoke for his cousin. Someone stepped into view and he lifted the sword, saw it was Katarin, and let it drop.
Katarin froze, peering over Arthur’s shoulder into the soupy smoke. She gasped and started running. Arthur raced after her, heart about to burst. Katarin was faster than him and he almost lost sight of her.
They found Olwen, crouched over a body on the ground, a cloud of red mist surrounding her as she tried desperately to revive them.
Halymere.
‘No,’ Kat gasped, collapsing to the ground beside him.
She looked at Olwen desperately. The Red Sister shook her head.
The ground beneath the Cruithean warrior was soaked with blood.
Halymere’s eyelids fluttered, then slowly peeled open.
The glyph between his eyes had all but vanished, and his skin was slick with sweat.
Blood smeared his cheek, disappearing into the darkness of his beard.
Each breath he took rattled in his lungs, and when he coughed, blood erupted from his lips. ‘Arthur,’ he rasped.
‘I’m here.’ Arthur dropped to his knees beside the Cruithean warrior. ‘Don’t talk, we’ll—’
A smile, even now. ‘The day I met you has lived in my head, Arthur. You were so quiet, broken, unsure of who you were and your place in this world. But now you’re a man of strength and conviction.
I have always known the Myrddin made the right choice – you are the one who will lead this world from darkness into light. ’
‘I am who I am thanks to you.’
Halymere shook his head. ‘It was always who you were. You needed to find yourself.’
Arthur didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to Halymere, not to any of them. The Sword was whispering to him, words of vengeance and bloodshed, but Arthur snarled at it in his mind and the Treasure fell silent. It would not force its will on this moment.
Halymere blinked. Another cough, pain dancing across his face.
‘Come on, get up,’ Katarin said, sliding her arm beneath Halymere’s shoulders. She tried to lift him.
‘Kat,’ he murmured.
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.’
‘You can’t save us all,’ Halymere whispered.
She grit her teeth and tried again.
‘Kat, stop,’ he breathed. ‘Inanna has come for me. I will be at peace.’
Katarin sat back on her heels. She wiped her eyes frantically.
‘Promise me one thing,’ Halymere rasped. ‘Be who you were born to be, Morgaine Tintagel.’
‘I…’
He gripped her hand. ‘Promise me.’
‘I promise,’ she managed.
Halymere turned to Arthur. ‘Make this world a better place.’
Arthur nodded. ‘I will.’
The Cruithean Inborn closed his eyes and on his final breath, Arthur swore he saw a woman with antlers walking across the battlefield towards them, leaves dancing in her wake.