"How so?"
Merlin's eyes narrowed. "Would you give your life, my king?"
The moment he uttered this question, a sickening feeling arose within me. A feeling that wasn't due to my head injury. I knew that Arthur would, in fact, give up his life. He was just crazy enough to do it.
Arthur stopped fighting and stepped back. Merlin paused as well, watching him curiously, his bedeviled sword still flashing back and forth in front of him. I watched Arthur, as well. But I wasn't curious. I was suddenly horror-stricken. What was he going to do?
"If someone desired my life," said Arthur, looking over at us with a hint of what might have been sadness crossing his face, "then I would give it to him."
Merlin laughed. "That is not the king I remember."
"The king you remember has changed much, old friend."
"Then let's test your new-found resolve," said Merlin. "May I have your life, my lord?"
Arthur took in some air. Blood dribbled out of his many wounds. He was leaving a slick swath of crimson across the stone floor. He looked at me again...and winked.
Then he lowered his sword and looked Merlin in the eye. "Of course, old friend."
"No!" I screamed, lunging forward, stumbling.
Merlin's sword, in a heartbeat, lashed out and drove deep into Arthur's chest.
Chapter Forty-four
The bloodied point of the disembodied sword slid out.
Arthur dropped to his knees, and a great fountain of blood gushed from his heart.
Merlin stood over him, seemingly incapable of moving, mouth open in what appeared to be shock and horror. For a brief instant I saw a real man with real emotions. His enchanted sword still hovered before him, but it had stopped flashing back and forth.
Next, Arthur pitched forward and lay facedown in a pool of his own spreading blood, Excalibur still gripped in his hand, glowing dully.
A strange sound came from my lungs, something primal and hurt and furious, and I turned on Merlin, swinging my sword hard. And for the first time in my life, I meant to kill another man.
* * *
Merlin's disembodied sword came to life in an instant and reparteed, but I was already swinging hard again, my own sword shockingly light and surprisingly easy to maneuver.
I swung low, a slashing movement, but the enchanted sword was there, waiting. I advanced. My footwork sure and confident. My hatred pure. My adrenaline pumping.
I attacked again and again: wild over the top swings, thrusts, lunges, anything and everything I could think of. I was sweating, panting. Furious tears streamed down my face. I occasionally caught a curious look in Merlin's own eyes: Fear.
We moved across the raised platform, from wall to wall. At some point I saw that Merlin was even floating a few feet above the ground.
And still I attacked. And still his sword countered my every move. I realized my problem immediately, of course: Merlin was too far removed from his sword. He was nearly impossible to get close to. As we fought, I also caught the faces of his merry band of bandits, all crowding the doorway, watching the fight. Watching, no doubt, a man gone mad with rage.
So far, Merlin had only defended himself. It would be only a matter of moments before he decided to go on the offensive. If so, I knew I would be done. My blind rage could only get me so far. My pumping adrenaline could only stave off the enchanted skill of his sword for so long. There would come a point when I would be exposed, and run through much like Arthur had been.
I had to find a way to finish this now.
And as we fought, as the rain continued to fall through the open roof, as we moved across the church, our swords clashing and spitting fire, we stepped across a deep puddle that had formed in the center of the roofless church. In that puddle I caught a bizarre reflection: our movements were nearly a blur, our swords flashing at an incomprehensible rate.
Only then did I realize the speed at which I was fighting.
The incredible speed.
But I had looked down for too long and was not fast enough to parry Merlin's next thrust. The point of his sword reached my throat, punching through and spilling my own blood down the center of my sweatshirt.
It wasn't fatal. Another fraction of an inch, and I would be choking on my own blood.
Focus, James.
The sword came again, meaning to finish the job, but this time I did parry. The force of the mighty blow caused me to lose my footing in the water. My right foot slid out from under me and I fell with a splash. His magical sword pounced, coming at me quickly, a big, swiping movement meant to disembowel me. But I was already moving, flipping from my back in an acrobatic movement that surprised the hell out of me. Merlin's sword passed beneath my leaping feet, just missing me, and I next found myself between Merlin and his blade.
Face-to-face with the great wizard.
His eyes opened in astonishment, then fluttered wildly. His mouth opened next as he tried to speak, but no words came out.
Behind me, his sword clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Merlin's eyes bulged out, and now blood spilled out from the corners of his mouth. I slowly looked down and saw that my own sword had gone through his stomach and out his back.
I pulled it free, and he dropped to his knees.
Chapter Forty-five
I staggered back, horrified, exhausted.
Merlin held his stomach with both hands. Blood dribbled between his fingers. Black blood. Blood that smoked and hissed.
I sucked wind. The fight with Merlin had depleted me more than anything in recent memory. Dazed, I watched in sick fascination as the liquid darkness continued to ooze from his wound.
And then something strange happened.
The hem of his black robe, which had been lying flat on the wet stones, slowly rose up on its own. It briefly hovered around Merlin like a jellyfish adrift in the ocean.
And then something really strange happened.
The robe began rotating around Merlin's hunched frame, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until finally the thing seemed to separate at the seams, exploding away from his body in a black vortex of screaming shadows. I could see many faces within the vortex. Many haunted faces. Anguished faces. Evil faces. Faces not of this earth. I saw forked tongues and empty eye sockets. Long-fingered claws and razor-sharp teeth.
I saw things I wish I had never seen. Things that I would never forget.
The robe spun faster and faster, nearly swallowing the wizard in a dizzying blur of claws and fangs and hatred.
Now some of the shadows broke away from the spinning vortex - and funneled straight into Merlin's sword wound. The wizard convulsed. More and more shadows poured in, and when they had all disappeared inside him, Merlin's eyes popped open and he looked at me.