Chapter 11: The Scabbard: Part Two
“Yeah, not happening. Sorry, not sorry!”
The casual voice came from behind me as I heard the crunch of shattered concrete underfoot as a figure emerged from the dust.
Kali looked a bit roughed up, dust clung to her form, blood clung to her knuckles and a visible burn mark marred her tank top. Still, she didn’t seem to care. She was walking casually, as though she were entering a bar rather than stepping onto a battlefield. The wide grin on her face though . . . that showed far too many teeth to just be from simple happiness, there was an edge to it, the sort that could draw blood.
“Okay. Wotan was a good fight, but him just breaking down into flames was just a letdown,” She commented, coming to stand beside me and facing Herne. “Where’s the blood? Where’re the breaking bones? Where’s the fun? That’s just promising me a good time and then leaving me hanging?”
“Kali, what are you doing here?”
I didn’t have to be a genius to pick up on the frustration in the horned god’s voice.
“Well, my pal here seemed to be having a hard time, so I can’t let him get too roughed up now, can I?” The goddess smiled slightly wider, then turned to look at me. “Good work hanging on this long. Herne’s no weakling, so you did okay to hold out.”
She turned back to the god, her stance lowering slightly as her knees bent and her muscles tensed.
“Still, I want some real fun! What d’you think Herne? Can you show a girl a good time?”
There was a certain level of dissonance here. Kali’s voice was like thick and rich chocolate, sexy as hell. The thing was that even if her words were hot and smokey, bloodlust practically radiating off her. She wanted blood and violence almost like a junky might crave their next hit! Right there, for the first time, I really understood why all the others were so wary of her.
Herne could clearly see it as well. I could practically see that he was measuring his chances in a fight and he wasn’t getting any answers that he liked. I knew he was going to act, but I couldn’t guess what. Then he moved, too fast for me to react.
His spear came up, but rather than being levelled at us the point was aimed right at the bear’s head.
“Attack me and the demigod dies!”
Damn! So the bear was a demigod? I’d wondered, but hadn’t really had time for much more. It didn’t matter though. Even if the bear had been some sort of magic beast instead of a demigod, it’d fought beside me, and I wasn’t going to just abandon it.
“Kali! They’re an ally.”
I said it quickly because I honestly wasn’t sure if she would have attacked anyway if I hadn’t. The black-haired goddess looked like she might have just not cared, but my words seemed to make her hesitate.
Herne seized on that moment and his spear darted forward. For a moment I thought he was attacking, but instead, the pointed tip of the crude weapon just came to rest on the fur of the huge beast’s forehead. Under other circumstances it might have almost been funny, seeing the bear go almost cross-eyed as it tried to focus in on the spear, but any humour was lost with what happened next.
The now familiar yellow-green fire erupted from the spear, enveloping the bear. I stared in horror for a second, then moved to charge forward. It was a stupid move, after all, what was I going to do? All I’d have accomplished was to carry the scabbard conveniently closer to Herne so he could take it from me. No plan, no built up power, I’d have been an easy target, so it was a good thing that Kali’s hand came down on my shoulder and stopped me as dead as if I’d been moored to a mountain.
“That isn’t an attack, he’s just trying to rile you up and make you do something stupid!”
Her voice was quiet but intense, and her eyes never wavered as she glared at the other god.
For his part Herne matched her glare for glare, their gazes clashing like swords across the ruined pavement. My attention was on the bear though. As I watched it was as if the flames were melting it, but not like normal flesh caught in flames. It was more like . . . ice? Maybe some sort of chocolate statue? As though the body I could see wasn’t really flesh it just sloughed away, the melted remains fading out of existence as though there were an illusion ending. In just a few seconds the great beast the size of a small truck was gone and all that was left was . . . a kid?
Hanging in the roots that Herne had summoned was a boy who could not have been a day over fourteen at most. He had dark brown hair and was dressed in jeans, sports shoes and a dark green hooded jacket. All his clothes looked battered and worn, and the boy himself looked . . . worn out. He was also unconscious, hanging there like a side of beef at a butcher’s.
“This boy . . .” Herne spoke, his words slow as his gaze flicked from Kali to me. “This boy fought at your side . . . are you so ready to abandon him?”
The spear’s wooden tip was now pointing at the kid’s neck, and it didn’t take much imagination to guess what the horned god was implying. I responded in the only way I could that might save the other demigod.
“Kali. If he kills that boy then feel free to go after him as hard as you like. Don’t hold back. Show me everything you can do to make him regret it.”
“Oh Adam,” Her voice was a purr, as though a tiger had just gained the power of speech after having seen a fatted cow with nowhere to run. “You know just what to say to a girl, don’t you?”
“I am not so foolish!” Herne replied. “There is no need for blood. The boy for the scabbard. Your ally for the sheath.”
That made Kali blink, and I think it was only then that she noticed what I was holding.
“Wait! Is that Arthur’s scabbard? What the hell is it doing here?”
“I do not know and I do not care!” the horned god declared. “The value of such a potent treasure outstrips even a demigod such as this boy. Give it to me and I shall release him to you unharmed. Refuse and I shall take him with me instead, my spoils for this night's battle.”
“You’re not taking that kid!”
My response was immediate and vehement. The bear . . . the boy, had fought at my side. That mattered! And he was also so young. Sure, I wasn’t exactly an old man myself, but seeing that small form held by the roots and realising it was the same being as the giant bear that seemed almost like a force of nature . . . something inside me just felt he needed to be protected.
“Then give me the scabbard!”
Yeah, I wasn’t going to do that either. Arthur was the UK’s shield against all the crap going on in the rest of the world. If he went down my home country was going to be in major trouble, and a big part of what made him difficult to take down was the scabbard.
On the other hand . . . kid hostage! What the hell was I meant to do here?
“Adam, what is happening here?”
As though summoned by my thoughts Joan, in her angel form, touched down next to me. like Kali, it was clear she’d been in a fight. Her armour was visibly scratched and dented, and one of her white wings was sporting a bloodstain. Still, she looked more than ready to fight.
“Hostage situation,” I explained as briefly as I could, holding up the scabbard. “I’ve got this and he wants it in exchange for the boy.”
“Then perhaps we should secure both the boy and the scabbard.”
The cool and calm voice came from Athena as she emerged from the dust like some sort of slasher villain entering a scene. If I wasn’t so keyed up already I might have jumped. She had a spear in one hand and was otherwise completely unruffled. Even her hair looked as though she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine cover.
“I see. You could only be kept engaged for so long.”
Herne had stepped closer to the boy and was watching us all like a hawk. Behind him, I could see more forms moving in the shadows, some smaller, some huge, some animal, some humanoid, some . . . other. There were plenty of those eyes, illuminated with the sulphurous green and yellow flames. Yeah, I had reinforcements, but so did Herne.
Herne must have thought the same thing, because he suddenly stepped in close with the boy, and was holding his spear at his throat almost like a dagger. The god’s other arm grabbed the back of his jacket and lifted him as easily as if he were a packet of vegetables at a supermarket. Holding the boy Herne stepped back, and the darkness behind him seemed to surge forward, wrapping around him and making his form hazy, harder to see.
“The boy for the scabbard!” He snarled, glaring at the goddesses. “I know you are stronger than I, but do not think you can just take the boy from me. His head shall roll before you can free him! you know this, and so do I!”
Athena’s eyes narrowed at his words, and I saw the hand holding her spear tighten around the weapon, but she didn’t refute his words. Kali didn’t look happy either, her earlier good humour was gone, and her eyes now followed Herne’s every move, looking for an opening to show itself.
For his part the horned god glared back at them, then shifted his eyes to me, but kept the speartip pressed against the boy’s throat.
“If you shall not trade then the boy shall have to do. He is powerful, his bloodlines strong and rich enough to serve our needs. If we have to he can be traded, though the scabbard would make for a more valuable coin. Think of that. Will you let this boy be sold into bondage and slavery? Is that sheath truly worth it?”
I knew he was trying to put pressure on me, I knew it was a mind game. The problem was that it was working.
The kid or the sheath? A single life against who knew how many potential lost lives in the UK? Did I have the right to make the choice? But could I live with myself if I condemned that boy to slavery or maybe something even worse? My mind chased itself in circles, morality and cold rationality clashing and leaving only confusion behind them. I wanted to give an answer, but I had none to give!
Then lightning cracked across the sky and I saw that Hadriel had joined us, hovering above our small group and staring down at Herne. We were all here, and that was a lot of firepower gathered together. My eyes flicked around, then darted back to the horned hunter, and I noticed something for the first time.
Herne looked . . . weaker. When I’d first faced him those yellow and green flames had danced across his skin in flickering tongues of transparent fire more than six inches long, moving with vitality and energy. Now they were banked and small, more like guttering candles that barely moved at all. The god himself seemed somehow lesser as well, his figure slightly less muscled than it had been earlier, the chains he wore seemed somehow more rusted than before. Even his spear seemed less, the leaves upon it now looking limp and wilted.
I didn’t know what was going on, but at that moment my group was at its strongest and Herne seemed to be the weakest I’d seen of him. Maybe we could have a chance to-
Before I could react Herne pulled the boy in front of him, holding him almost like a shield, though the tip of his spear never wavered from the boy’s neck. Behind the god his huge black horse emerged from the shadows, its eyes still burning with yellow and green flames, though like those on its master, its fires were banked.
“I am not foolish enough to face odds such as these unprepared,” Herne declared, backing away from us slowly. “I shall take the boy for now. In two days, we shall meet again, then you can make your choice. The boy, or the scabbard.”
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A single leap took him and his hostage onto the horse's back, and the mount started to back away into the darkness filled with those burning eyes.
“Where?” I shouted, saying the first thing that came to mind. “Where do we meet you?”
“There are farmlands north of the city of Paris,” Herne replied, his voice calm despite the tension in his body. “In two days we shall prepare a signal for you and yours at dusk. Do not fear, you shall not miss it.”
I wanted to ask more questions, to just keep him talking in the hopes that some flash of inspiration would strike me and I’d know exactly what to do. But before I could open my mouth it was like the darkness surged forward, covering Herne and his hostage, obscuring them from view. Then it retreated, and they were gone. All of them. The god, the horse, the kid, all the things that had been lurking behind them. All of them were gone, even to my frantic attempts to sense them with magic.
“Adam, what is that you have?”
Joan’s question brought me back to myself, and I looked down at the wrapped scabbard I held. Oh boy, things were going to get complicated.
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Marcello came to a stop just outside the docks and leaned against a brick wall as his lungs heaved for breath.
Behind him, he could still see the flames and hear the crash of collapsing buildings, but it was mercifully distant. Using his magic to enhance his body wasn’t his best talent, but he was at least decently proficient in it. Now he was far from the docks, deeper into the small city, close to some restaurants and nightclubs.
He was also exhausted.
Slumping down he sat on the pavement, his back to the wall as he tried to get his heart under control as it pounded in his chest. As much as his physical state was a distraction it wasn’t enough to let him forget a single overwhelming fact.
He’d lost the scabbard!
He’d had it in his hands, one of the great treasures of Camelot and Avalon, an artefact that was peer to the likes of the Holy Grail or Excalibur. And he’d lost it.
Oh gods, Le Fay was going to kill him! Even his patron wouldn’t be able to save him. No, his patron wouldn’t even try! What kind of idiot would be willing to make an enemy of an immortal sorceress just to save someone like Marcello? Yes, he was skilled in magic and had some natural advantages, but that was hardly worth conflict with the Witch of Avalon. The scarred mage knew that he’d be discarded like rotten meat.
There had to be something he could do! Think Marcello! Think!
Could he get the scabbard back somehow? That vampire . . . if Marcello was right about his origins then maybe . . . maybe there was a chance?
Who was he trying to fool? Yes, there was a chance, but there was also a chance that he’d turn a corner and trip over a sack full of gold. Just because it could happen didn’t mean it would! And finding a fortune just lying around was more likely than being able to steal a treasure back from the-
“Well now, Marcello. Are you feeling well? And where are the companions that I told you to wait with? Has something unpleasant befallen them?
The regal and melodious voice came from just beside him, and the sound of it almost caused the scarred mage to swallow his tongue in shock. Why was she here now?! She’d been keeping them waiting for days, why was she here so soon after everything went to hell?!
Almost against his will he looked up and was greeted by the sight of Morgan le Fay, pale skin, dark chestnut hair, aristocratic beauty and eyes that contained the weight of centuries. She gazed down upon him as though he were some disobedient mongrel puppy she had found playing in the mud. Something mildly amusing, but dirty and ultimately worthless to her.
“I . . . I . . .”
He tried to say something, to explain what had happened, to find the words to convince her that this wasn’t his fault, but nothing came out. How could he lie to her, to a sorceress that had deceived Merlin himself?
“And where might Arthur’s scabbard be?” She continued, seemingly uncaring of his stuttering. “I instructed you to keep it on or near to you at all times. Are you disobeying me? Are you simply going to discard such a valuable treasure, and after all the effort I put into having it stolen?”
Marcello found that his stutter had spontaneously evolved into an inability to make any noise at all. All he could do was stare at the immortal sorceress and try and imagine just how she was going to make him pay for his blunder. He found he had a poor imagination, being able to only come up with things like knives and fire. He was sure that she’d be far more creative though.
“It took a masterpiece of a homunculus clone, two highly trained assassins, your own bloodline and not a few expensive artefacts to ensure the theft of that sheath. It represents a vast investment of time, wealth and power. So . . . where is it?”
Marcello wanted to plead, to beg, to bargain, anything that might buy him at least a chance at life. However, looking into those eyes, he found himself unable to muster up the will to even try. In the face of Morgan le Fay . . . what the hell was he supposed to do? She had him overwhelmingly outclassed in every conceivable way. Just about the only thing he could beat her at was the number of scars they possessed, and that was only because her immortality ensured she didn’t scar at all. He couldn’t trick her, overpower her, outthink her or convince her. All he could do was point back the way he’d come with a shaking arm and wait for her punishment. Nothing else.
“So, it is lost?” She paused, and for a moment the scarred mage saw a halo of magic form about her, the colour the green of leaf and vines mixed with the brown of bark and stems. Then it was gone and mild amusement touched her face.
“I can see why you fled,” She commented, glancing down at Marcello once more. “Herne, Kali, Athena, the agents of the High Heaven and two powerful demigods . . . that is not a battlefield for a mere mortal mage.”
Her face broke into a smile, beautiful, but edged with cruelty.
“This might interest you, Marcello. One of the demigods there, the ones that were able to fight Herne the Hunter himself, one of them is the demigod whose blood you passed to me. Tell me, do you think he would be pleased with you if I were to introduce you? Do you think he would want vengeance? How much do you think it would be worth to him if I offered you to him as a greeting gift? Do you think it would be worth it, to gain the favour of a demigod with such powerful deities as his allies?”
He was starting to break out in a cold sweat as he stared up at her. Yes, he thought it would be worth it. He was all but worthless to her now, and he’d just failed her in the task set to him. If she wanted to recoup her loss then offering him up on a silver tray to the demigod whose Awakening he had helped disrupt would give her an in she could exploit..
Damn it all! He loathed this, this feeling of helplessness! It was why he’d sought power, first in violence, then in magic, so that he could escape this feeling! But here he was, at the mercy of someone so far beyond him that he might as well have been an ant for her to step on.
“So, you not only lost the scabbard, but you have also survived where my more . . . loyal servants have fallen, and now the scabbard is in the hands of a very powerful demigod with a small host of divine allies. Do you know what I am going to do to make you pay for this blunder?”
Marcello could only shake his head. Maybe . . . maybe he could kill himself before she took him? If he was fast enough then maybe he could detonate his own magic? Could he blast his own body apart with enough damage to send his soul off to the afterlife before she could have a chance to grab it? No! no, While he was alive he had a chance! Maybe he could convince her he was of more use as a slave than as some torture puppet. It wasn’t much, but it was a chance! And that thought was enough to put a little steel back into his spine.
His eyes met hers. Yeah, he was all too aware of just how weak he was by comparison, but . . . damn it! he could at least look at her without cowering! He had at least that much pride.
Morgan le Fay met his eyes, and her smile grew into something that might have been called a grin, but which seemed more predatory to Marcello than anything that vampire could have managed.
“Do you know what I shall do?”
Her voice was almost a purr, the sound of a cat licking the blood from a freshly killed prey. He did his best to brace himself, to martial his hope and to remind himself that there was always a way out.
“Nothing.”
What?! No! Obviously, he hadn’t heard that right, it was just some phantom reply, a conjuration of his desperate wishes. He fully expected her to say something else, something worse. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be stuck as some thrall or slave, no freedom but at least some autonomy and a minimum of suffering. But . . . nothing came. All he could do was stare at her and finally vocalise his confusion with a single barely coherent word.
“Wh-what?”
She just smiled at him, a genuine smile, devoid of her earlier menace.
“I am going to do nothing to you. In fact, I shall help you escape this place and return to your ally. Consider your debt paid, there is no longer any obligation between us.”
He was hearing the words, but weren’t making any sense! Was this some sort of fever dream? Had he had some sort of breakdown and this was all in his head?
“I . . . I don’t understand,” Marcello was genuinely bewildered, unable to grasp what was going on. “You . . . you're just letting me go? Why? I lost the scabbard, I failed. Why . . . I don’t . . .”
Some part of him was railing at him for questioning good fate. He should just take this and go, no looking back, no hesitation. But another part, perhaps an irrational part, needed to know what the hell was going on!
“Stealing the scabbard was important, but having it was never part of my plans,” The immortal sorceress admitted. “Destiny and fate are wrapped around it. I stole it in the past, but I was unable to hold onto it, events conspired to drag it from my hands. I am not so foolish as to fight a fate enshrined in legend, I have seen others do likewise and have no wish to share their fates. It is my fate to steal the sheath, not to possess it.”
“But then . . . what did you want it for? Now . . . now it will go back to Arthur!”
Marcello’s question caused the smile to fall from her face and an expression of mild contempt to twist her features.
“And why should that matter to me? do you think me so dedicated to my half-brother’s downfall?”
His head nodded without his conscious will. She asked and he responded, it was as simple as that.
“There is no great love between us,” She admitted. “But we have made some measure of peace. I was among those who escorted him to Avalon after his mortal wounding in battle with my son. Our quarrel cost us each dearly. I lost my son, my lands, my lover, and my pride. He lost his kingdom, his wife, his knights and his only child. Even I had to say ‘enough’.”
“But . . . then why steal it at all.”
It made no sense. He’d thought that Morgan le Fay was repeating history to weaken Arthur, but if there was no animosity between them then why would she have expended such resources and effort into stealing the scabbard?
“Oh, I had several reasons, rest assured that it was no minor whim on my part.
“First of all, it is the destiny of the scabbard to be stolen. That event has the weight of legend behind it, and all too often legends repeat. If I had not stolen it then one of his other enemies would have. By being the one to steal it I can at least control when and how it happens. In this way, Arthur will not be completely bereft, and there is a chance for him to regain it where he failed to do so in the past.
“My second reason is to discharge my own fate. I may have made something of a peace with Arthur, but just as with the scabbard, the weight of legend bears down on me as well. I am no slave to it, my free will is unrestrained. Still, it is . . . unpleasant. I have no desire to torment my half-brother or his knights, but Morgan le Fay is known through legend as the enemy of Camelot. By making this my first action against Arthur I skip much of my legend and approach the ending. By doing this I escape the weight of my legend, and can later make amends with Arthur.
“My third and final reason is the simplest though. Chaos!”
The way that she spoke the final word was almost hungry, as though she were tasting the word and delighting in the flavour.
“W-What?” his stutter was somewhat reduced, but it was still far from gone.
“It has not been too long since the Paths opened up again, but even so, do you not agree that some things have settled back into a status quo far too quickly? Arthur made a magnificent return when he faced Balor, but he has settled into a comfortable and calm position as the protector of his homeland. Likewise, the nearby countries have settled in how they regard him, and that has in turn dictated the attitude of the rest of the world.
“Letting things settle so would be . . . dull. I cannot allow my little half-brother to grow complacent, so this should be a suitable call to arms for him and his knights. They should be less willing to simply let things be, they should be searching for ways to improve themselves, to grow more powerful. Just by taking his scabbard and bringing it here, Briton has been thrown into chaos, their security and safety threatened and their thirst for power to protect themselves awakened once more.
“And see the havoc that has been wrought here. The sheath has been unveiled for less than twenty minutes, and already demigods and gods contest one another over it. The demigod has it for now, but I can sense that Herne still seeks to take it, and he has not given up on it, despite having had to retreat. Now, shall the demigod keep the scabbard, despite the fact that Arthur shall want it back? Will he return it, and if so then how shall Herne react? What of the goddesses I sensed, shall they be so eager to let such a prize slip through their fingers? Yes, there shall be so much chaos in the offing.”
“Why . . . why are you telling me this?” Was this just to boast? Was it some sort of cruel game, sating his curiosity before silencing him forever?
“What difference does your knowing make?” She replied, her hand waving dismissively. “Should you choose to share this with your patron it shall simply lead to further chaos, more ripples being spread. Should you choose to stay silent then that shall in turn cause ripples of your own. Should this knowledge spread to Arthur, it shall only make our reconciliation all the easier. Should it not, it shall make my own task no harder. Take whichever action you so wish, none of your paths can harm me, and many of your actions can serve my purpose.”
He had no words. What could he say to that? She was right, the truth couldn’t harm her, indeed, it mostly helped her. The only ones he could tell of her actions were those that he either couldn’t lie to or would not dare lie to. Hells, the truth was more dangerous to him than it was to her. She had the power to be nigh untouchable, he, on the other hand, was all too vulnerable. If it was learnt that he was the last survivor of those that stole the scabbard . . . well, there were many that would happily offer up his head on a silk cushion if it would provide an in with King Arthur.
Morgan le Fay gestured with one hand and a portal opened, one through which he could see the castle that had served as his residence for the last few weeks.
“Be off with you, Marcello,” she stated, her hand waving at him as though he were some bothersome fly. “Your debt is paid, and the deal between us is completed. Perhaps there can be another deal in the future, but for now, all obligations between us are settled.”
His arm burned, and he could feel the geass that bound him dissolve into nothing. He . . . he really was free!
Without pausing to think he all but dived through the portal. He heard it close behind him, but by the time he looked back it was gone. He was currently in some field, his only company a few sheep that had been startled by his sudden appearance. It was late in the night, and the nearest homes were far away, but he didn’t care. He was free, away from that battle and away from the immortal sorceress of Avalon! It would take him some time to return to the castle of the acolyte, but that was alright. He was just glad to be away from Le Havre.
Because Morgan le Fay had been right, there was going to be chaos.