The Seven Swords (14 page)

There he found two final metal gurneys, an array of medical and magical instruments—tubes, beakers, potion mixers, burners, crystals—and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf with a little altar built into it.

And in front of this were two baby's cribs.

Dred's stomach churned as he stepped up to them and looked inside. The cribs were empty.

Of babies, at any rate.

But what he found instead was nearly as disturbing. Each crib had a blanket, and on each blanket was a coat of arms. One was blue with three golden crowns: Arthur's. The other was purple and white with a golden, double-headed eagle.

His.

Dred's knees trembled and he had to put his sword's tip on the ground to use as a crutch. His mind raced.

What had he discovered?

Correction: What had he been shown? By a fairy, of all creatures!

Dred took a deep breath. There was one more thing he had to look at. On weak legs, he made his way to the altar set in the bookshelf. Before it was a podium supporting a gigantic, ancient, leather-bound tome with brass fittings. He flipped through it. It was full of drawings and notes and formulas.

He glanced at the altar and found two bell-shaped glass containers, each etched with silver lettering. One said “Uther” and contained a small bone fragment of some kind. The other, which contained a lock of wavy reddish hair, said “Igraine.”

Dred knew these names. Everyone who knew anything about Arthur knew these names. They were the first Arthur's parents.

He looked back to the book and slammed it shut. The noise bounced around the room. He ran his fingers over the metal plate riveted to the book's cover. He leaned in and read:

 

T
HE
A
RTHUR
P
ROJECT

 

He reopened the book and frantically turned to the final entries, scanning the pages for a date.

Finally he found it:

 

August 23. Arthur trial attempt 1,298. As with previous 147 attempts, twins, though for the first time they are identical. Both live.

The second I shall call Mordred.

 

At that very moment Morgaine's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “Where
are
you, boy?”

Dred scrambled to his feet and rushed back, telling Morgaine over the walkie that he was nearly done. He closed the secret door, and stopped in the breaker room to throw the power switches. Thankfully, the power hummed back on. Then he made his way up to Morgaine's room, his mind racing.

A twin!
That
was why Morgaine didn't want he and Artie to see each other! Because they had the same face!
That
was why Morgaine had enchanted his helmet and given him a spy as a pet! What else had she done? What other secrets lay in that grotesque lab under Castel Deorc Wæters?

For the first time in his life, Dred truly and irrevocably hated his mother.

He finally reached her room. He pushed the door open and walked in. Morgaine stood at a counter, tapping her fingers on its surface. “What took you so long, pet?” The word
pet
sent chills down Dred's spine.

She looked younger. Not all the way younger, but still.

“Nothing, Mum. I just had to give it a couple tries is all.” The lie was well delivered, and Dred was pleased.

Morgaine studied him. Her fingers made a rhythmic
di-di-di-dit
on the countertop. “You know, Dred, this whole blackout thing has me in a state. An absolute state!”

“Of course, Mum,” Dred said. “It's a drag.”

“Completely. The worst thing isn't the blackouts themselves, but the fact that Merlin is behind them. Merlin! Which also means that this new Arthur is involved!”

“I'm sorry again that I couldn't—”

“Tut-tut. Don't worry,” Morgaine said cheerfully. “Such is war. Win some, lose some.”

“Of course.”

“But because Merlin has been able to get to us, I've been racking my brain for ways to get back at him. I've come up with a couple new ideas. One involves one of our esteemed prisoners.”

Dred's stomach knotted. “You've finally decided to deal with the fairy?” he asked.

Morgaine laughed. “The fairy? Of course not the fairy, muddleheaded child. She can at least be used to blackmail the lord of Leagon. The other one, I've realized, is less useful. The strange-looking girl.”

“Who—Qwon?” Dred said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yes, Qwon. You don't think we should kill her?”

“I-I don't see why we would,” he stammered.

Morgaine looked disappointed. “This Artie cares for her, right?”

“It seemed so, yes.”
We are talking about my brother
, Dred realized for the first time.

“Then let's give him a bit of a pause. Let's
scare
him.”

Dred fought back a growing fear. “But won't it make him angrier?”

“Of course it will,” Morgaine said, turning from the countertop. “Angry adversaries are the best. They're predictable. And much easier to manipulate. We shall deliver her head to him, and once we do, you'll see how quickly he'll come.”

Dred knew his mother was right, and it made him sick.

But what made him sicker was what he'd seen in the basement. What he'd learned about himself—and his brother.

Dred made a little bow and said coolly, “As you wish. When?”

“Three days from now, midmorning. I want her to suffer a bit more.”

“Very well. I'll order an executioner from the barracks.” Dred turned and headed for the door.

As he pulled it open, his mother said, “That won't be necessary, snookums. The Castel is thin on staff as it is. You can do it. And no need for one of those ridiculous axes. Just use your own blade. Just use the Peace Sword.”

21 - IN WHICH CLIVE BREAKS KYNDER'S HAND

Kynder couldn't work. His mind
was in overdrive because he couldn't stop thinking about the events of the last thirty-six hours.

First: Even with the help of Clive, his exemplary if odd research assistant, Kynder could not find one jot of information about the person who wielded the Peace Sword.

Second: He'd spoken with Artie very early that morning and learned that Bedevere had nearly died on the Orgulus quest. It didn't take much for Kynder to imagine one of his own kids losing a limb—or worse—and it made him sick.

Third: After his one-on-one with Artie, they conferenced with Merlin, who was obsessing over the fact that they had only six days left, and insisted that Artie and his knights leave immediately to retrieve Kusanagi. But Artie wanted to wait for Bors's report. He said they were tired of hunting down swords for Merlin, and that he wanted to start focusing on rescuing Qwon. The call ended with Artie saying, “You know what, Merlin? Why don't
you
go and get Kusanagi, and we'll take it easy and wait for
you
for a change.”

Merlin didn't like that. He disconnected in protest and no one had heard from him all morning. Thumb apologized for Merlin, but it wasn't enough to satisfy Artie—or Kynder, for that matter.

Fourth: Bors's report, which had arrived only a little after the Merlin tiff, basically sucked:

 

Witch very unpredictable—Q to be executed day after tomorrow. Wants Mordred to do it. Unsure if he will comply.

 

Advise for escape tomorrow, predawn. Have found good route out of Castel. Require big blackout for cover.

 

Will not be able to acquire Excal. or Anguish prior to escape. It is impossible. Morgaine sleeps with them. After escape Morgaine will give chase and try to take Artie, retrieve the pommel and the rest of the Seven Swords, and kill the knights. Advise that we meet at predetermined rendezvous, allow Morgaine to follow, and quickly gate back to empty Castel to retrieve weapons. Then, to Avalon.

 

TTYS,

B. le F.

 

PS: Map of Castel encls'd.

PPS: Location of seaside rendezvous encls'd.

PPPS: Mord. has Peace Sword! Need to confront him directly.

 

Fifth: Mordred had the Peace Sword!

At least that took care of Kynder's first problem.

But, thanks to Clive, Kynder also knew that Mordred was another one of Morgaine's genetically engineered experiments. Something about this didn't add up for Kynder. He didn't know why exactly, but Kynder Kingfisher couldn't shake the feeling that Mordred was not their enemy but their friend.

Kynder checked his watch. It was ten in the morning. The escape from Castel Deorc Wæters was to occur in less than twenty-four hours. If the escape failed, then Qwon Onakea, a girl he now felt achingly responsible for, would be killed in forty-eight hours.

Kynder decided to talk with Artie again. He couldn't reveal Merlin's secret, but he could reveal his Mordred theory. Kynder grabbed his iPad, pinged Artie, and made his way to the reading room.

After a minute Artie accepted and, just like that, they were face-to-face.

“Hey, Arthur,” Kynder said.

“Hey, Kynder.”

Kynder smiled. “Your sister around?”

“Course she is,” Artie said, and wearily called for Kay. Artie looked so worn down. No kid should have to bear what Artie did.

A peppier-looking Kay popped up next to her brother and said, “Hey, Kynder.”

Kynder paused.

“Whassup, Kynder?” Artie asked.

“Ummmm. I've got this hunch. It's kind of a whopper.”

“What is it?” Kay asked.

“I think . . . or rather I
don't
think . . . I don't think Mordred is your enemy.”

“
What?
” Artie exclaimed as Kay's jaw dropped.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I can't shake the feeling that he's the key to getting the rest of the Seven Swords. It's just this overwhelming gut feeling I have.”

“I don't understand,” Artie said, overcome with confusion and a tiny bit of anger.

Kynder clutched his chest, not realizing that he was also clutching his shirt pocket, which held the stone Merlin had given him. “I can't tell you, Son,” he said.

“Give it a try, Pop?” Kay encouraged. She could see her dad struggling and didn't like it.

Kynder swallowed hard. He felt sick. What was wrong with him? “I can't. I'm sorry. I'm pretty sure, though, that the next time you see Mordred, something will tell you I'm right.”

Artie was shocked. He didn't know what to say. He hated Mordred even more than Morgaine. The fact that he was the one with the Peace Sword made it even worse. “I . . . I don't know what to—”

But then they were cut off.

Kynder tried desperately to reconnect with his kids, but it was no use. The network had shut down. He hoped—even expected—Artie and Kay to
lunae lumen
over to the Library to finish their conversation, but they didn't come.

Kynder collapsed onto the table. He felt awful. After a few moments Clive appeared next to him holding two cups of coffee. He put one down next to Kynder. “You told them about Mordred, eh?”

“Yeah,” Kynder said into the crook of his arm.

“Did you tell them why?”

“I wanted to but I couldn't,” Kynder whispered, full of shame. He picked his head up and said, “It was almost like an invisible hand was stopping me.”

Clive slurped his coffee. For several moments that was the only sound. Finally he said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What do you know about this Merlin?”

Kynder thought. “I don't know . . . that he was imprisoned in Cincinnati, that he knows Morgaine made Arthur, that he's the same guy from all the old stories, that he and the witch hate each other. Sure, he can be bossy in his own way, but he seems like a generally stand-up guy. That's why Artie—”

Clive cut him off with a brisk wave of his hand. “That's all fine. But have you come across his name in any of these books?”

No, Kynder hadn't. Merlin's name was impossible to find. It could have been because so many of the books were in strange languages, but even now with Clive translating, Kynder still had no recollection of seeing Merlin in the research. Perhaps, it dawned on him, this was why he couldn't find out anything about Excalibur and why it wanted Merlin dead.

Kynder started to say as much when his chest shot through with pain. He wrenched forward and realized for the first time that he'd been clutching the stone the whole time he'd been talking to his kids.

“May I see it?” Clive asked.

“See what?” Kynder asked with wild eyes.

“The thing he gave you?”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” Kynder slowly pulled the dark pebble from his pocket, holding it in a fist. It took a lot of effort, but he managed to open his hand for Clive to see.

The gnarled man leaned forward but kept his distance. “Ah, that's a beaut. I haven't seen one like that in a long time.”

“One what?”

“Kynder, did the wizard tell you what this does?”

“Of course. It enables me to be in the Otherworld.”

Clive winced. “Bollocks,” he chirped. “You don't need this to be here. Why do you think they picked you to raise Artie? You've got a lot of magic in you, Kynder, just like your son. Just like your daughter. Just like your ex-wife.”

“You mean I don't need this to cross?” Kynder asked, unconsciously wrapping his fingers around the rock again.

Clive nodded at Kynder's fist. “That, my friend, is what's called a keeper stone. They're used to ‘keep' people from doing certain things. For instance, I've seen plenty of mentions of Merlin in these books, but this stone has prevented you from seeing the same. I've even mentioned them to you, but the stone made it so you couldn't hear.”

“So it keeps me from learning anything about Merlin!” Kynder said in a revelatory voice.

Clive nodded.

Kynder was in shock. “So this stone—” he began, but then the muscles in his hand cramped up and he yelled out in pain.

Clive yanked a small black box out of the inside of his shirt, flipped its top, and put it on the table. Then he took Kynder's fist and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge.

Clive said, “I'm sorry. This is going to hurt.”

Kynder looked down in fear. Clive shook his free hand and to Kynder's astonishment it appeared to be made of wood instead of flesh and bone!

Clive slid a long, skinny digit into Kynder's fist and began to pry his fingers away from his palm. And then—
snap! snap-snap!—
the index, middle, and ring fingers of Kynder's hand broke backward at disturbing angles. The stone was revealed. A blue light shot from it, sweeping in desperation this way and that.

Clive tried to pick up the stone, but it was stuck, melded to the flesh of Kynder's palm. Still using his long wooden finger, Clive dug into Kynder's skin and popped the pebble out with a
smack
! He slid it into the box and hastily shut the lid.

Kynder, breathing hard, looked at his hand. It was a mess. His broken fingers were useless, and a bloody divot had been scooped from the center of his palm.

He looked at Clive, full of shock and awe, relief and disgust.

He could finally feel that the pebble, even though the size of a marble, had been a great burden. “Thank you,” Kynder breathed.

“Don't mention it.”

“He won't know?” Kynder asked nervously.

“Perhaps, but he won't risk coming here to find out.”

“Why not?”

Clive ignored this question and said gently, “Shall I set your fingers?”

Kynder clenched his jaw. “Sure.” Then Clive carefully worked each one back into place. It hurt, but Kynder didn't make a sound. When Clive was done, he excused himself to get some bandages.

Kynder let his hand fall to the table. His mind was overrun. Why had Merlin done this to him? Was the wizard afraid of Kynder? Or did he just not trust him? What other enchantments had Merlin cast over him?

And then, as Clive returned, the worst occurred to Kynder. “Are my children safe?” he demanded.

Clive sighed. “The wizard is . . . complicated. I think the answer to this question is yes, but to be truthful, Kynder, I don't know.”

Kynder stood, alarmed at the implications.

“Kynder,” Clive said soothingly, “they're fine for now. Merlin still needs them. I could arrange transport to them for you, but I think it would be more helpful if you stayed here.”

Kynder couldn't believe what he was hearing. “But my children could be in danger!”

“Your children
have
been in danger ever since they met Merlin, haven't they?”

Kynder sank back to his chair. He felt like a total failure as a father. “Yes . . . ,” he murmured.

“I think you should stay here and find out as much as you can about Merlin, now that the spell is broken. It won't take you long.”

Kynder considered this advice as Clive wrapped his wounded hand. “Okay. But only till this evening. If I haven't spoken to them by dinnertime, then we go to them.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Thank you, Clive. For everything.”

“Don't mention it.” He took a sip of coffee. “Now, I'll go and get you some books.”

Clive stood and gave Kynder a sidelong glance. “The wizard won't risk coming here because of me. I'm not all the way better yet, but I will be soon.”

Kynder frowned. “Because of you? What do you mean? Who are you?”

“From now on, please, call me Numinae.”