Legend

XIX

Gawain and Morgana were spectators at the most in-teresting event they had seen in millennia. The secret meeting between Arthur and Mordred was held in the southwest of England on a craggy knoll that poked up out of a thick forest.

Arthur rode in from the north with Gawain as one of the twelve knights he had for security and Merlin by his side. Mordred approached from the southeast with four Guides and Morgana as escort. Both parties paused at the base of the knoll and dismounted. They climbed up the rocky crag until Mordred and Arthur were face-to-face, just under two meters apart. Both parties fanned out around their leaders, eyeing each other suspiciously.

Mordred was the first to speak. “You call yourself Arthur?”

The other Shadow nodded but did not speak.

Mordred looked at the sword strapped to his opponent’s waist. “You have Excalibur. Do you have the Grail?”

Arthur remained silent and Mordred flashed an evil grin. “You do not. I have heard you’ve sent your knights on a quest for it.” He looked past Arthur at Merlin. “I have heard that a meddling Watcher has hidden it.”

Arthur finally spoke. “The Grail and the sword must be returned to the Hall of Records.”

“Then why haven’t you done so?” Mordred asked.

“Because you’re here,” Arthur replied.

“And you have to deal with me before you can do what you’ve been ordered to.”

Arthur’s hand went to the pommel of Excalibur. “The truce must be maintained.”

“Why?”

Arthur frowned. “I do not understand.”

“Why should we do this? Fight each other? Return the key and the Grail to Giza? To what end?”

“Because it is our duty,” Arthur said.

Morgana caught Gawain’s eye. Both were slightly surprised that the two creatures felt comfortable speaking in front of their subordinates, but such was their arrogance that they considered the humans around them to be of no significance.

“ ‘Duty’?” Mordred laughed.

Arthur glared at him. “You are the Shadow of one who did not do his duty so it is no surprise that you do not take it seriously.”

“Aspasia did his duty,” Mordred argued. “Artad was mistaken in his rush to judgment.”

Arthur shrugged. “The evidence says otherwise.”

Mordred waved his hands, dismissing the argument. “The thing to think about, my brother in making, is that we are not Artad and Aspasia. We are Shadows of them. What do you think they will do with us when this truce is over?”

“We must do our duty,” Arthur said.

“What about our duty to ourselves?” Mordred pressed.

“There is no self,” Arthur said simply. He tapped his chest. “We are Shadows made to serve.”

Mordred stared at his opposite. “You’ve been imprinted by the guardian. But you can get past it. I can help free you.” He took a step closer. “We can partake of the Grail. No more reincarnations.”

Arthur’s face was blank, showing no interest.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Mordred continued. “Because I — Aspasia — knew Artad a long time ago. Served with him. You’re thinking ahead. So we use the Grail? Artad and Aspasia will be alerted by the guardians and come for us. But we won’t be here. We take one of the motherships. Leave this place. Go out among the stars and find our own place.”

“The major reason behind the Atlantis Truce,” Arthur said, “is to keep the motherships inactive so that the Ancient Enemy does not come here and harvest this planet. This planet, and these humans, are an asset to our empire.”

“ ‘Our empire’?”

“We will return the Grail and the sword to the Hall of Records, where they belong.”

“You’re a fool,” Mordred snapped. “You’re as much a machine as a guardian.”

“Do you have anything else to say?” Arthur asked calmly.

“It was your choice,” Mordred said. “Remember that just before I kill you.”

Arthur turned and walked away down the crag, his knights, Merlin, and Gawain following. Mordred remained on the knoll, glaring at the king as he departed. He turned suddenly and caught Morgana staring at him. He stormed down the hill, almost knocking her over in the process.

Her hand went to one of the black daggers tucked into her belt as she realized that in that glance he had not considered her something to factor into his plans — that he was above humans. Arrogance. It was the one flaw that had allowed the humans on her home planet their initial successes against the Airlia. Given that the Shadow had the imprinting of his Airlia master, it was no surprise that he had that attitude, but feeling it come off someone who appeared human had caught her off guard.

Morgana followed Mordred down the hill where he was surrounded by his Warrior-Guides. The parley had solved nothing. It would be war on the morrow. She knew that her husband would be preparing himself for battle that evening.

War. Morgana felt a deep sense of weariness. Why did it always come to death?

The Talon came in fast and high over the east coast of Africa. At just the right moment, a pod was ejected from the side of the Talon and it arced back into space. The pod, three meters long by one wide at its center free-fell until less than two hundred meters above the ground. At that point the rear half of the pod unfolded like the petals of a flower, slowing the descent. The pod hit the ground with a solid thud. The front half then also unfolded and an Airlia emerged from the interior holding a long spear in one hand.

Once he was clear of the craft, the Airlia pulled a small black sphere out of his tunic and pressed one of the hexagonals. The pod slowly disintegrated until there was no sign of it. The Airlia then slowly turned in a circle, taking in the scenery. He was in the middle of a massive crater that stretched twenty kilometers from rim to rim. The crater was elevated over twenty-two hundred meters above the surrounding countryside, the remains of what had been the twin of Kilimanjaro which was almost two hundred kilometers away to the east.

The terrain was mostly open grassland with intermittent thick brush. Along the edge of the crater, near the rim, there was dense forest. In the very center was a broad expanse of shallow water.

The Airlia held up the black sphere and peered with red cat-eyes at a small display. As he studied the data that cameup, he was unaware that he too was being studied. The Talon’s approach and the pod’s landing had not gone unobserved.

The Airlia found what it was looking for as the small screen glowed amber as he turned in the direction of the lake. The alien walked toward the water, the amber changing to red, the color growing brighter as he approached the lake. Just before it reached the edge of the water, a blast of air bubbled to the surface about fifty meters ahead of it. The Airlia halted, bringing the spear to the ready position.

Two people appeared, coming up out of the shallow water. They were human-shaped, with pale skin, a man and a woman. However, their eyes were just like the Airlia’s: elongated red cat-eyes. Both held spears similar to the one the Airlia had. They walked to the shore and stopped there, less than five meters from the alien.

The creature spoke first, in its native language. “Are you behind what is happening with the Grail and Master Key?”

The female of the pair spoke for them. “No. That was the humans. Artad has dispatched his Shadow to recover both.”

“As Aspasia’s Shadow has also been dispatched to do the same,” the Airlia said. “However, neither seem to have accomplished that task yet.”

“Why are you here?” the woman asked.

“To enforce the Atlantis Truce,” the Airlia replied. “You tried once to break that truce by building an array on this site.”

The woman considered the Airlia for several moments, processing what it had just said. “You do not trust your Shadow, do you?”

“Does Artad trust his Shadow?”

“Artad’s Shadow is imprinted,” the One Who Waits replied.

The Airlia considered this. “And your tasking?”

“The same as yours. To restore the truce.”

Unseen by either the Airlia or the Ones Who Wait, there was a third party creeping closer to the lake, one that had watched the Airlia ever since he exited the tube.

“We can work together then to—” the Airlia began but paused, seeing both Ones Who Wait’s eyes grew wide in alarm, as they looked past it. The Airlia spun about, spear-point glinting in the sun and the animal was caught on the tip, spitted, but still it came on, claws flailing as the spear slid through its body. With one dying swipe it laid open the side of the alien’s chest.

“The key.” The male spoke for the first time, pointing with his spear at the scepter tucked into the Airlia’s belt as it collapsed to the ground.

The female considered this for a moment. Access to the Hall of Records lay within their reach. While the Grail and Excalibur were out in the world, the former was useless without the stones — and they were in the Hall. If they took the key, then recovered the stones — she stopped that train of thought. They were the Ones Who Wait. They lived to serve the interests of Artad and wait for the day when he returned. And when he did they would be rewarded.

She went over to the Airlia and looked closely at his wounds. His red cat-eyes stared up at her. There was another moment of hesitation, then she pressed down on his wound, slowing the bleeding.

Gawain drew the sharpening stone along the sword, matching the grain of the metal. The edge was already razor sharp but the routine soothed him. He kept his eyes fixed on Arthur’s tent. The king was inside with Merlin and several other knights, planning their strategy for the next day. Scouts had returned, reporting that Mordred’s army was drawn up to the south and east, on the other side of a foul swamp called Camlann.

A head popped out of the tent. Percival. The most loyal of Arthur’s knights and the most blind as to reality. “Gawain.”

“Yes?”

“The king desires your advice.”

Gawain walked over to the tent and entered. He could feel Merlin’s eyes upon him. “My lord,” he said to Arthur.

“What would you recommend for the battle plan?” Arthur asked without any preamble.

Gawain glanced at the other knights. They had no clue who Arthur was. Gawain also realized that, given the imprinting on Arthur, that Artad must be a good leader, one who was willing to consult his subordinates before battle.

“You have probably been advised to advance around the swamp, anchoring one flank on it,” Gawain said.

Arthur nodded, his cold blue eyes on Gawain, waiting.

“I recommend something different. I say we approach the enemy’s camp through the swamp. Mordred has gathered many knights from across the channel — heavily armored, more so than we are. The swamp will negate their advantage.”

Arthur stared at Gawain for several moments, and then nodded. “That is what we will do.”

Gawain had not added his real reason for choosing the swamp. The terrain would break up the forces on both sides and in the confusion he hoped to be able to finish off not only Mordred but Arthur too. And, most importantly, Merlin’s hidden lair lay somewhere inside the swamp.

The group broke up for the evening and Gawain followed Merlin out of the tent.

He grabbed the sorcerer’s arm. “There will be much death tomorrow. Every single one rests on your shoulders.”

Merlin faced him with haunted eyes. “I did not know.”

“You know now. Where is the Grail?”

“Hidden in cave not far from here.”

“You need to recover it this evening.”

“And then?

“We will know the next step when we know how the battle turns.”

Mordred did not consult anyone about his battle plans. He had shed more blood on this planet than any creature that walked it. He had little respect for human generals; and for Artad’s Shadow, who called himself King Arthur, he had only disdain. He could just imagine things in his opponent’s camp if the Shadow held true to the form of the imprinting. Talking, asking opinions about strategy. Mordred shook his head. He’d — well, not he, but Aspasia — had seen Artad do the same when they had served together.

He lifted a finger and one of his Guides came forward, going to one knee, waiting for orders.

“Take three of your kind with you,” Mordred ordered. “Go near the camp of the enemy. Watch for the one called Merlin. Follow him wherever he goes.”

The Guide did not need to acknowledge the order verbally. Obedience was implicit.

Merlin paused, sensing the presence of others in the swamp. A half dozen figures loomed out of the blackness, garbed in dark robes. He drew his dagger, knowing as he did so that the gesture was futile against such numbers. The individual in the lead of the group lifted up an empty hand, palm out first, then turning it so that Merlin could see the ring that adorned one finger.

“Watchers,” Merlin breathed with relief.

The man nodded. “We are here to help you. We were summoned.”

“Come with me.”

The group headed deeper into the swamp, unaware that they were being followed.

The false dawn that precedes the real one tinged the sky. Gawain stared across the field toward the dark trees that marked the edge of the swamp. The air was full of the sound of men in armor moving into position. A slight breeze came from the direction of the swamp, bringing with it the odor of decay.

Gawain shivered.