A Hard Day's Knight (16 page)

“Hello, Jerry,” Sir Gareth said calmly. “It’s been a while since you last spoke to any of us.”

“As a London Knight, I was granted many privileges,” said Stark, still smiling his unnerving smile. “And they cannot be taken back. I will always have access to Castle Inconnu. You can’t keep me out. You can’t keep the truth out.”

“What truth would that be, Jerry?” Sir Gareth said politely. “That you betrayed the cause you swore your life to? Your life and your sacred honour? That you have betrayed good men and true to the monsters you have taken as allies, men who once fought at your side and trusted you with their lives? That you have betrayed the memory of your wife, who would never have wanted to be saved at such a terrible cost?”

“You could have found a way to save her if you’d wanted!” Stark’s glare was unwavering, his voice unforgiving. “We had time. There were options. But the Grand Master wouldn’t listen. All he cared about was victory, whatever the cost. He sacrificed my love for his triumph. Because that’s the knightly way. The truth is, Gar, you serve an inhuman cause, in inhuman ways. You’ve become the very thing you used to fight.”

“You know that isn’t true, Jerry.” Sir Gareth’s voice remained calm, in contrast to the dark passion in Stark’s every word. “Come back to us. It’s not too late. Come home. We can help you find your way again.”

“I have my way. You forced it on me when you let my wife die; and I have embraced it.”

“We were friends once, Jerry. It wasn’t that long ago. Please. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“You see? In one breath you call me friend, and in the other you threaten to kill me. See what the order has done to you, Gar.”

“ ‘I could not love thee, dear, half so much ...’”

“Shut up! I don’t have to listen to that any more! They’re just words. I only wanted one thing in my life, only cared for one thing, and you let them take her from me. I will have my revenge, Gareth. I know you have Excalibur.”

Sir Gareth carefully didn’t look at me. “How do you know that, Jerry? Which of your new friends told you that?”

Stark sneered at him. “I have new allies. Very old and very powerful allies. They want you all dead nearly as much as I do.” He turned his cold gaze abruptly to me. “I know you, John Taylor. Get out of here while you still can. Forget whatever you were promised; you can’t trust anything they tell you. They’ll lie, cheat, and betray, in the name of their precious cause. Don’t be fooled by their fine words; they’ve forgotten what it is to be human.”

“I always said you were the most dangerous of our enemies, Jerry,” said Sir Gareth. “Because you think you’re the good guy.”

“I am the good guy.” The image in the portrait suddenly changed, the view pulling back sharply to show Jerusalem Stark in full figure, clad in the same gleaming steel armour as Sir Gareth. And standing beside him was the pale and shimmering image of his dead wife, Julianne. She wasn’t much of a ghost; just a semi-transparent shape in a long white dress who wasn’t always there. She faded in and out, her details vague and uncertain, her face a blur. Sir Gareth made a low noise of distress.

“Oh don’t, Jerry. Don’t do this. Let her go.”

Stark’s hand fell to the spun-silver cage at his belt, and at the touch of his fingers, the image of his dead wife became firm and clear. Her white dress was soaked in blood, all the way down her front. Her face was sharp and distinct now, but it held no expression at all. She looked dead. She turned her head slowly to look at Stark.

“Let me go. If you love me, let me go.”

Her voice gave me chills. I’ve heard the dead speak before, but never like this. Her voice was a whisper, as though it had to travel unimaginable distances to reach us. And it was full of all the despair and suffering in the world.

“I can’t let you go,” said Stark. “I can’t. You’re all that matters to me now.”

She reached out a hand and took his arm, and Stark shuddered despite himself. The living and the dead aren’t supposed to be close.

“Come home, Jerry,” said Sir Gareth. “Stop tormenting yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It was your fault. You let her die.”

“There must be something we can do for you ...”

“There is. Give me Excalibur.”

“What would you do with Excalibur?” said Sir Gareth. “What possible use could it be to you?”

“I don’t give a damn for your magic sword,” said Stark. “But my allies want it. And they want it so much, they’ve promised to bring my Julianne back to life in return for Excalibur.”

“They lied, Jerry,” Sir Gareth said sadly. “They can’t bring her back. No-one can. She’s gone. Accept it.”

“Never! They can do it, Gar. I’ve seen them do it. I’m going to take Excalibur from you and give it to them. And then I’ll watch and laugh while they wipe you all out, down to the last man. Because that’s all you’ve left me.”

The portrait was suddenly only a photograph again. The dark and driven knight was gone and his dead wife with him. There was a distinct chill on the air, and Sir Gareth and I both shuddered a little, despite ourselves.

“New allies,” said Sir Gareth, after a moment. “That can’t be good. Who the hell could he have found who can bring the dead back to life? Only one man could ever do that, and that was our Lord ...”

“Well, the dead can return,” I said. “As zombies, in various forms. Dead bodies possessed by various beings. Not actually alive but better than nothing.”

“Jerry wouldn’t settle for that. But, he says he saw proof ...” Sir Gareth shook his head angrily. “Jerry is out of his depth.”

“Who do you think these new allies are?”

“There’s someone we’ve been keeping an eye on ... Prince Gaylord the Damned, Nuncio to the Court of King Artur, of Sinister Albion. He turned up in the Nightside three days ago by a means we couldn’t identify. Apparently, his Merlin sent him to the Nightside to search for Artur after he disappeared. I’m surprised you don’t know about him.”

“I’ve been a bit busy the past few days,” I said defensively.

“Well, when Prince Gaylord couldn’t find King Artur anywhere in the Nightside, he got it into his head that we must have him. He’s been trying to find or force a way into Castle Inconnu ever since.”

“Could he do that? Is he powerful enough?”

“Who knows anything, where Sinister Albion is concerned? If he has his Merlin’s backing ... maybe.”

“Do you have Artur?” I said carefully.

“No. He seems to have disappeared. No-one knows where he is. And given everything that’s happening, the last thing we need right now is another major player in the game.”

And that was when every alarum in the world went off at once. Bells, sirens, electronic alarms, and what sounded very much like a cloister bell. Sir Roland’s photograph on the wall suddenly came alive, replaced by an angry and seriously worried face.

“Castle Inconnu is under attack! Our security has been breached! The enemy is within our walls, dammit!”

“What? How the hell is that possible?” Sir Gareth’s face was almost colourless from shock. He looked like he’d been hit.

“It’s Stark. Somehow he’s used his old access rights to force a way through our outer defences and hold open a door for the enemy. They’re inside the walls, Gareth; inside the castle! Stark has brought an army in past all our protections! They’ve invaded the outer layers, and they’re heading inwards!”

“What army?” said Sir Gareth. “Who are they?”

“Elves!” said Sir Roland. “Stark’s allied himself with the elves!”

“No ...” Sir Gareth shook his head dazedly. “No, he couldn’t ... Oh, Jerry, you bloody fool. What have you done?”

“How many elves are there?” I said, pushing in beside Sir Gareth. “What kind of numbers are we talking about? Have they any elven weapons?”

“Hundreds of them,” said Sir Roland. “And more flooding in all the time. There’s a lot of magical armour, and enchanted swords, but no major weapons that we’ve seen—no Airgedlamh, or Sword of the Daun.”

“Well, that’s something,” I said. “Do we know which faction? Who do they serve: Oberon and Titania, or the returned Mab?”

“What the hell difference does that make?”

“I’ve had dealings with the Puck,” I said. “Through him, I might be able to negotiate with Oberon and Titania. But if these elves belong to Mab, we don’t have anything they want. Except our deaths. And Excalibur.”

“Elves in the castle?” Sir Gareth was abruptly himself again. “John and I will be with you as soon as we can, Roland. Get the knights moving and organised; put up a wall between the invaders and our families; give them time to get to the safety of the Redoubt. Stop them with cold steel and pile their bodies high.” He looked at me, and suddenly he was grinning, his face full of the joy of battle. “Stark is here for you, John. He wants the sword you carry. Will you fight alongside us?”

“Of course,” I said. “Never could stand elves.”

“Good man. Roland, see that our families are safe. And if worst comes to worst, see they have a dead man’s switch so they can take the enemy with them.”

“Of course,” said Sir Roland. And his face disappeared from the portrait.

“Was that last bit really necessary?” I said.

“Yes. You know what elves do to women and children. Death would be a kindness.”

I nodded. I knew. “You should never have kept your families here in the castle.”

“We thought they were safe here, where we could protect them! No-one’s ever got past our defences before! Never! No-one ever anticipated elves inside the castle. Let’s go.”

“Sir Roland jumped pretty fast there, when you gave him orders,” I said. “Are you in charge here, or something?”

“Something,” said Sir Gareth. “You didn’t think they’d leave you with just anyone, did you?”

We sprinted back through the stone corridors, and I had to work hard to keep up with Sir Gareth. Even though he was wearing full plate armour, and all I had was my trench coat, he still led all the way. Because he was a trained warrior, in the peak of condition; and I wasn’t. But I pounded grimly along after him, and all too soon we heard the sounds of fighting up ahead. We rounded a sudden corner, charged into one of the great open halls, and found it full to bursting with elves and knights in their armour.

Sir Gareth plunged straight in, sword in hand, but I made myself hang back in the archway, so I could study the situation. Excalibur was burning on my back, urging me on, but I’d had enough of that. I wasn’t a warrior or a hero, and acting like one would get me killed. If I was going to take on an army of elves, it wouldn’t be by running straight at them. I’d do it my own way.

Elves in glowing armour, in vivid shades of gold and crimson and emerald, brandishing shimmering swords and glowing axes, went head to head with London Knights in cold steel armour with solid, deadly blades. The elves leapt and pirouetted, dancing through the chaos with deadly grace, supernaturally quick and vicious, impossibly light on their feet; and the knights stamped and spun, meeting the elves’ speed with the practiced skill that comes from years of training. Most of the action was simply too fast to follow, as elf and man slammed together, blades flashing and blood spurting. The air was full of the sound of blade clashing against blade, or clanging against armour, and over all, shrieks and howls and war cries, exclamations of pain and rage and hate.

Given the sheer number fighting in the hall, hardly any were dead yet. The elves’ enchanted armour turned aside most sword blows while the knights’ armour had its own protection, enough to stand against glowing elf blades. Both sides had to search for weak spots and brief openings; joints in the armour, exposed throats, or the eyeholes in a helm. Blood spurted here and there, and I saw one knight crash to the floor. Immediately, half a dozen elves were stooping over him, stabbing down again and again. Two more knights rushed forward to protect their fallen friend, standing proud and powerful over him, beating aside the elves’ blades with sharp precision. The elves danced and leapt round them, horribly graceful, laughing lightly.

Sir Gareth was right there in the thick of it, swinging his long sword with both hands, roaring harsh guttural war cries as he struck down one elf after another. They were quick, and they were elegant, but he was an unstoppable force, moving always forward, throwing elves back through main strength. An elf leaned right over to cut at the back of his knee, but somehow Sir Gareth turned at the very last moment to block the elf’s sword with his own. He stabbed the elf in the groin, the tip of his blade finding a brief opening in the glowing armour; and golden blood flowed down the elf’s thigh. He fell to one knee, and Sir Gareth brought his sword sweeping round in a long arc that cut right through the elf’s neck. The head in its glowing helmet tumbled free, golden blood fountaining from the neck stump; and Sir Gareth didn’t even wait to see the body fall before moving on to the next.

I stood in the open archway, watching it all, and knew that none of my little tricks and lateral thinking would work here. I could stay back and let the two forces fight it out amongst themselves. But I couldn’t do that. Excalibur made this my business, my problem, and besides, I really don’t like elves. In any battle, if you want to know who the good guys are, look to see which side has the elves. And then join the other one. The elves are the enemies of humanity because they chose to be. So I took a deep breath, did my best to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, drew Excalibur, and went forward into battle.