Camelot Burning (17 page)

Merlin narrows his eyes, stepping away as he looks out from under drawn eyebrows. He clears his throat, and their hands come apart.

“Your majesty, if you're to oversee the knights' plans, at least dismiss your handmaid. She's too young to be burdened with problems such as these.” Merlin's eyes fall to mine, and I imagine the scoff he'd emit at the irony later. “Besides, she remains a face known to Morgan.”

Guinevere nods. “Take your leave, Vivienne. Stay in your chambers whenever your duties are dismissed. I'll see you tomorrow.”

I curtsy. “Yes, your majesty.” I'll have the old fool's
pistolník
for that comment, even if we both know it's the furthest from the truth.

Merlin leads me toward the doorway, limping and clacking against cobblestone more noticeably as his step quickens. “The mind should be strong enough to withstand that sort of traitorous thought, no matter what inhibitions were freed,” he mutters.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head with a grunt.

In the courtyard, Merlin orders a guard not tending to the gates' reconstruction to fetch a horse, then reaches for his snuff box, inhaling several pinches. “Be in the tower by nightfall, in time for my return. I'll need your help to get the steel inside.”

I blink. “But Lancelot refused it.”

“Lancelot should know never to trust the promises of a thief.” Merlin returns the snuff box to his pocket. When he withdraws his hand, a silver, four-pronged key dangles on a chain from his finger.

“Instead, he's a nitwit who thought this was safer in his pocket than locked up with Excalibur. Serves him right, denying me this privilege mere hours after what befell. There's no one who can help us now. Britannia and the rest of Arthur's allies are under Morgan's control and won't be freed until the witch is dead. Thank God for that, I suppose.”

He's walking through the courtyard too quickly, and I must ignore the wet blood finding the toes of my boots.

“All this time we feared the wrong war, Vivienne. How much simpler life would have been had Arthur's violation of Pelles's orders resulted in a war of machines instead of Morgan's scrimmage of magic. I must resort to desperate measures now. The Norwegian steel lies in a cave beyond the eastern woods, guarded by
l'enigma insolubile
, a mechanism also guarding Excalibur. Since the steel wasn't given to me when I asked politely—twice—I'm going to take it.”

He catches the key in midair and returns it to his pocket.

The guard brings a horse, and I see a rare opportunity in front of me as the devastated gates pull free from the walls, exposing the open land. “I'm going with you!”

Merlin huffs. “Ha! I think not. Return to the catacombs. See what can be done with the blueprints.” Merlin mounts the horse, but before he can ride off, I grab the saddle—to hell with the awful beast.

“No, Merlin, I'm part of this, too! There's nothing to do until Arthur's steel is in our grasp.”

Merlin leans closer. His voice is low. “Then return to your chambers, as the queen instructed. Collect copper spoons, for all I care. Just be at the tower as I told you.”

He yanks my hand from the saddle and guides his horse into a trot, but I follow.

“You go alone, a cursed man yourself! Do they know that? What if you were to fade further out there?”

He halts the beast. “And what would you do if that happened? Don't you realize that all of this goes beyond your selfish desire to leave Camelot? We all have roles to play in life, Vivienne! Whether we want to or not!” He shakes as he spits the words. “Morgan doesn't just need Camelot or Excalibur, or even me. It goes deeper than that! She needs
you!
”

“What have I to do with it,
pagan?
” I shout.

The slur hits Merlin like a club of iron. “I don't know. It might be nothing, or it might be everything. And if it's the latter, it's something I cannot say aloud for fear of putting you in danger. The only one who'd know for sure—” He stops there, shaking his head. A staunch refusal to say more.

I stand firm. I don't know why I'm so desperate to stay by Merlin's side when only weeks ago the thought of leaving for another land was much more appealing. “Take me with you. I'll wear your sword.”

Merlin takes a breath. “Look through the blueprints for a miracle.”

A miracle.
I imagine Marcus running toward the unstable Victor because of the glitch in Merlin's blueprints. The time I've spent contemplating a secondary plan while staring day after day at that manual lever can't be in vain.

The sorcerer doesn't flee. He waits for my final argument.

I lift my chin. “Give me a chance to see the world beyond Camelot just once, if you can give me nothing else.”

Merlin straightens his back and tugs on his horse's reins, riding off. My shoulders settle in disappointment. The walls of Camelot close in on me.

Then he stops and turns. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get Caldor, and get the carrier from my desk. And don't forget my sword, but don't you dare believe someone as untrained as you would wear it. I'll have them send for another horse. Meet me at the lake.” He gallops toward the gates, pulling a hood over his shorn head.

Hiding a grin, I run for the clock tower. It's nearing one o'clock.

We must be back before nightfall.

Twenty

“Open the gates!”

“Let her pass!”

“No, that's not the queen's handmaid—she's the messenger the wizard vouched for! Bringing word of the attack to the northern kingdoms!”

Goosebumps prickle my skin as I gallop across the drawbridge and breathe in the sharp metal smell still lingering from Corbenic's drilling ram. The horse's mane strikes at my hands. Wind whips around me, rustling the burlap cloak I grabbed from Merlin's tower to hide my handmaid's dress. The last time I was this far from home, I was terrified. Now? Knowing it could be me Morgan wants?

Oh please, Merlin, be waiting at the lake …

A steam-whistled caw draws my eyes to the sky. Caldor, beckoned to life by my rough alchemic request, soars through the clouds toward an edge of the world I've never seen. The horse moves just as quickly, and soon I lose my dislike of it. Marcus was right about these magnificent beasts. I want mine to move faster, lift off the ground, into the sky. Returning by nightfall is not nearly enough time.

I want Caldor to bolt the sun in place so I can explore this world forever.

Forever would begin with the horrors of the farmlands.

I meet Merlin at the lake, and we ride through land spared of Morgan's wrath. But to the west are remnants of what used to be homes. Now ash, charred branches, copper harvesters that haven't lost their rust. Some survivors have returned to see what can be salvaged, walking atop graveyards of their former lives.

Merlin reaches the woods first. He drops from his horse and calls Caldor; the falcon lands at his feet, still alive with
jaseemat
, chirping wildly as copper feathers churn free the twigs stuck between them. The sorcerer takes a pinch of snuff, nose reddening, eyes even worse.

I catch up quickly, dropping my hood from my hair.

Merlin explores the leather carrier I brought. He pulls on a set of thick leather gloves and tosses another pair to me. I clutch them against my chest.

“When we reach the cave, you aren't to touch anything without these on.” He lifts his goggles to examine Caldor's eye with a steel tool and clicks into place an extended lens. While we're inside the woods, Caldor will fly above the forest as our guide. “There we are.”

Merlin whispers something, and the falcon flits into the air, arching over the woods' tallest tree. The sorcerer watches, lifting his goggles to his forehead. He holds a small dome of glass curved across a wild metal arrow.

“What is that?”

The arrow stops, and Merlin examines the direction. “Eastern science is at an all-time high in terms of discovery. Caldor is connected to this piece. He knows where the cave lies; I've told him as much. As long as we follow the arrow, we shouldn't get lost.”

I smile, and Merlin sends me a proud wink. “Shall we?” He mounts his horse and gives a loud cry, igniting a gallop.

I don't hesitate in following.

The woods are dark.

Still branches morph into breathing shadows. The narrow path weaves in coils as though leading us back to where we started from. At times, Merlin studies the ceiling of leaves. He checks the arrow in his palm. Caldor whistles above us.

If I wanted to escape from this path, it would be impossible. The trees' trunks are thick; branches, twisted and handlike, as though they were once men who now protect these woods.

“Stay close, Vivienne.”

I pull my hood over my head and strain my eyes through the dimness. The viewer in my pocket would be of no use here. Even if I had a quicklight, it wouldn't be enough. Instead, I keep my hand close to my waist, where I've fastened a miniature
fusionah
from the leather carrier. “Here's hoping you'll never need it,”
Merlin had said at the lake just as a satchel of ammunition flew from his grasp to mine. So different from my little crossbow. This weapon boasts a steel blade, long and elegant against the silver firelance rendering it swift and deadly. A capped barrel to indicate it was already loaded, ready when I'd be.

Just in case.

As though to distract, Merlin speaks. “We'll need Azur. He's graciously agreed to come to Camelot.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “He flies by aerohawk, but he's quickened our model to be as fast as an aeroship.” Merlin chuckles, but I don't miss the envy. “He should arrive tomorrow. Can you imagine?”

No, I cannot, but I'm relieved knowing Azur's on his way. With him working alongside us, construction of the weapon will certainly go as planned. For a moment, the entire madness of the woods seems to change into the peace of Camelot's gardens.

“He made more
jaseemat
, Merlin?”

“Aye, he did.”

Merlin's horse fights through the trees. Soon, the sorcerer has to wield his blade to slice armlike branches from the path. As the limbs fall, a moan passes through the woods. There are a few seconds of silence before Merlin clears his throat, and we continue on.

“Pray we make good time, Vivienne. And remember what I told you about touching the steel. Leather gloves aren't an ideal solution, but better than nothing. Slower. And do not underestimate this kind of magic. I must admit, I'm—” He stops his horse. The inked patterns dark on Merlin's skin look out of place next to such vulnerable eyes.

“I'm terrified,” he admits. “This steel is our best chance against Morgan, but she could still employ
Telum Paret
once Camelot's veil of protection has been lifted. How could I fight back? How could I ensure Morgan never gets the Grail?” He removes his goggles and studies them, forcing a quiet laugh.

“The only way to defeat Morgan would be to steal magic. She knows this. It's why she sent Corbenic's men to attack us: to lure me back to my addiction, knowing it'd make me a weak opponent—so out of practice compared to her. If you hadn't discovered her magic, and I'd given in, the demigods would put a stop to any future incantation I'd try to steal for Camelot's sake, certainly, unless the Lady of the Lake—” He swallows, a quick glance at the otherworldly trees that might have encouraged him to mention such an obscure fairy tale. “I cannot pretend being in the catacombs hasn't brought back an element of desire. Alchemy's been a godsend, but it's still a manipulation of nature. A cheat, if you will. And here—”

Here, we seek magical steel that could make things worse for Merlin. Even if it doesn't, how could it possibly guard against the demonic weapon the gypsy in the village told me of?

Morgan's magic let her combine blood and machine.

Merlin sharply breathes in the forest's air and closes his eyes. As though drunk on France's finest absinthe, he hums an Irish ballad. Something dark trails from his nose to lips. His eyes snap open. My horse backs away.

“Merlin?”

He tears off his gloves. The fingertips on his outstretched hands have disappeared for good. He runs them over his face, pulling his hand back as dark blood drips from his nose. I freeze at the sight of it, wondering if I'm about to be left out here alone.

Merlin pulls the gloves back on. “Hurry. We won't have the luxury of the sun to check the time.” He yanks on his horse's reins. Slices away each branch blocking the path. Wood moans as it falls. But the trees don't fight back. The trees let us pass.

And finally, we reach the limits of the woods and ride into a blue sky with Caldor flying above us. The mechanical falcon whistles as it soars over Camelot's farmlands toward the mountains.

I glance back at the woods canopying over the path. The sun indicates it's well past three. Five hours until night, maybe six if the sun can hang on to the sky long enough.

The farmlands are abundant with fresh air and fields of wheat. We cross a stream toward the mountains. Caldor flies onward, disappearing inside a cave.

Merlin stops at its entrance and lowers himself from his horse. The cave stands nearly three times the size of the grand hall, and Merlin disappears into a blackness soon banished by the quicklight he snaps against stone. The orange glow illuminates a wooden door about a hundred yards off. On it,
l'enigma insolubile
gleams brilliantly through years of rust. Merlin sets Caldor—head cocked and still—into his carrier.

“Come, dear. Leave the horses. Let's see what the enlightened thinkers of Greece were capable of during their time in Venice.”

I tie my horse's reins to a low branch by the entrance and follow Merlin.
Enlightened thinkers?
Like the song of Avalon.

He gauges the brass contraption, sprockets, roller chains with gears on their undersides. His hand sneaks into his pocket and pulls out a pinch; he turns away as a quiet snuffle escapes his nose. Then he withdraws Lancelot's key.

There's something different about this locking mechanism. “Hold on. Why would
l'enigma insolubile
have a key? It's just a sequence.”

Merlin glances at me as though he might wonder if I finally saw Excalibur. “This one is different from the Round Table. Extra protection in case Arthur decided to hide absinthe from his knights, hence the very French
fleur-de-lis
design to honor the green fairy's homeland. Here, there's an extra piece … ” As he speaks, he reaches under the gears and clicks them into place. He bends his knees, but it comes about painfully, and he breathes heavily as the pressure mounts. “I can't.”

I step forward, holding out my hand. “Seems it was wise to insist upon my company.”

He hands me the key. “The lock is on the other side. You won't see it unless the gears have clicked together properly.”

I crawl under the massive contraption, my gown muddying at the knees. Merlin gives me his quicklight, and I lift it to the roller chain, seeing where the gears connect. A keyhole in the shape of a cross appears in the center, fitting perfectly. I turn the key clockwise. The roller chain winds; the sprocket rotates.

“Good girl. Up you go.”

I hand back the key, and Merlin helps me to my feet. He takes the long brass lever and wedges it between two copper grooves. It releases, and the door opens.

As it slams against the wall on the other side, the horses whinny. Shocked by the loud noise, of course.

Then the sound of a foot snapping a branch sends Merlin in front of me in one fast motion. His
fusionah
clicks in warning at the intruder. “You have no business here, boy,” Merlin says in a dangerous voice.

The reply comes in a brash whisper. “Oh fuck.”

I look to the entrance from behind the sorcerer, my hood covering my hair.

By the horses stands Marcus, hands raised and eyes locked on my unpredictable mentor.