The Calling
Chapter 17

Morgan looked at the bedraggled form of Agravain standing before her. His armour bore the wounds of battle and the air had the bitter twang of iron from the blood staining the Knights body. He stood with his head bowed before Morgan as she circled him, like a predator stalking its prey. Slowly she stood before him and stared down on his body and frowned.

“Madame, forgive me” he begged as he kept his view firmly on the ground beneath his feet.

“You idiot!” she snapped. She placed the palm of her head on the back of his head as she spoke, “your actions today will have alerted our enemies to our presence” Her voice rose into a crescendo as she spoke and glanced in the direction of Mordred who cowered from her intense stare in the shadows of the courtyard.

“I meant nothing my Lady...” stammered Agravain.

“Silence” she raged as her fingers curled around his hair and pulled his head sharply back, until his eyes met his. His winched as he met her gaze and could see the anger flashing in her eyes. She held Agravain fast in her grip as she changed the focus of her gaze from the Knight to Mordred, “Think very carefully before answering Knight Commander...who instructed you to attack the position of Sir Galahad” her eyes met those of Mordred as she stared accusingly toward him.

“My Lady...I thought...”

“You lie Dolt!“, Morgan pushed his head savagely downward and continued to meet the stare of Mordred, “you are incompetent of independent thought. You are a Commander of men, a follower of orders! Do not think me an idiot Agravain, you acted on who’s orders?” Agravain said nothing as he pulled himself off the floor of the courtyard and cast a quick glance into the shadows where Mordred sank further deeper into the embrace of darkness. “And there we have it...” she accused, still focusing on Mordred. “Did thoust think I would not replace out?” she snapped. “Do thee think that I ’am a fool?” She stood over the prone Knight, but speaking directly into the shadows in the direction of Lord Mordred. He lowered his gaze in shame under her stare and his hand wandered to the hilt of his sword. “Stand!” Morgan snapped, “stand and face me” she ordered again turning her attention back to the Knight Commander. He stood slowly straightening, standing to attention before Morgan. He stood tall and proud before her, his armour stained with the blood of the battle, but also showing glimmer of the light from the moon.

“My Lady” he breathed as he raised his head proud before her scrutiny.

Morgan regarded him for a moment, casting her gaze across his body and up and down his armour. She turned her back on the Knight and stared at the crystal ball, cradled in the stone column. “We must not be discovered...” she mused as she peered into the glass, “and yet here we are” her hands spread over the orb and traced the edges of the sphere as the dark ether within the orb reacted to her touch. She spun quickly and savagely brought her hand into contact across his face. The suddenness and ferocity of the attack forced the Knight to the floor, his hand tracing the intense pain flowing through his cheek as the flesh began to swell under his touch and a sliver of blood trickled from his mouth caressing his skin as it wandered down his chin.

He wiped the blood from his mouth and stared hatefully at Morgan and lowered his head, full of resentment. Morgan bent down to the Knight and whispered in his ear, “You are mine to command Lord Agravain, remember...I own you”. She stood and stalked into the shadows close to Mordred, “you have dishonoured our cause Mordred” she snapped, pausing on the edge of the courtyard. Mordred lowered his head casting his gaze toward the floor away from her stare. “To take to battle before honouring the fallen dead...” she spoke quietly as she regarded the darkness, “have a care Lord Mordred” she warned, “I do not need thee...if you cannot follow my instructions”. She shook her head sadly and moved from the courtyard, “Knight Commander!” she snapped as the errant Knight scuttled after her from the courtyard and into the night.

Mordred stared venomously into the darkness, “Have a care Morgan...” he breathed into the darkness.

Francis looked around the room as he pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold of the room. The room before he was plain and simple, with a single bed laying in the center of the room with a dressing table and a set of drawers. A door set off to his side revealed a simple bathroom with a shower cubicle with a sink and toilet. Francis pulled the door shut and stabbed his finger at the small switch on the wall and waited briefly as the light from the ceiling blinked into existence illuminating the room. He noticed the room had no television, with only a small radio and kettle sitting on the set of drawers and he almost regretted leaving his drink downstairs. He sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the before dropping his bag by his feet. Shaking his head, he pulled his arms from his jacket and threw this across the room into a small pile on the floor in the corner of the room. He could feel his eyes getting heavy under the strain of the journey and struggled to undress as sleep threatened to overwhelm him. His jacket was joined by his jumper, then t-shirt, then trainers, socks and finally jeans. He dropped backwards onto the bed, dressed only in his boxer shorts and allowed sleep to consume his senses. The covers of the bed closed in on him as he sank down onto the soft layer on the bed and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

King Arthur sat in the saddle of his mount and stared out over the army before him. He steadied the beast between his legs and pulled on the reigns of his horse as the creature fidgeted under his control. “A good day to get back the throne” he said smiling at his comrades at his side.

The figure on the horse looked back at him and frowned, “My Liege...this is not a folly”.

“No good Galahad, this is England!” he reached over and slapped his comrade on the shoulder, then fell back into the saddle and stared out over the field. The army stretched out before him, a mixture of mounted Knights and common foot soldiers, each one holding their weapons before them in a macabre dance with the opposing army. Arthur gazed over the army and sighed, “It is good to be back home” he said eventually, “and once I have the throne again...”

“My Liege...“, Arthur turned in the saddle to face another Knight at his side. The large brown horse cantered toward the pair and the Knight raised his visor to address his king. “The preparations are complete...” he began meeting his King’s gaze, “our army is ready for your command”

“Thank you Lord Tristan” said Arthur and turning back to face the swelling ranks of men stretching away in the fields below. He gently kicked at his mount’s ribs and the horse slowly moved forward away from the Knights. Arthur pulled himself high into the saddle and looked over the expectant faces of the soldiers gazing in his direction. He struggled to replace the words to rally them, how could he? Tell them that they were about to lay down their lives for the King...Arthur knew most if not all may fall in battle and this saddened him. So many deaths in his name, but if the blight of Mordred was not halted now, how many more would fall beneath his reign of terror?

“Men!” he called over the expectant throng. “We have gathered here on the fields of Camlaan to face the hordes of Mordred and the Lady Morgan to stand in the face of darkness to regain the rights of Briton. We fight not for ourselves, but that of us all and our families and as we honour and respect those who have already fallen we must stand against this blight cast over our land. Stand with me and follow me into battle men! for Briton...for your King!” He could feel his heart swell with pride as the congregation of men raised their swords and staffs in their hands and cheer their agreement.

The horse struggled and buckled beneath the roar of the horde and Arthur steadied himself, turning the animal to his comrades and smiled before lowering the visor of his helmet. “You see friends...we have God on our side!” he cried confidently and turned, pulling Excalibur from the scabbard around his waist and raised it high above his head. He dug his feet into the horse’s ribs and drove the animal forward and cried “Onward...for Briton!” and he surged forward.

The resounding cry of attack from Arthur’s army, sparked the forces of Morgan into battle. The two opposing sides clashed with ferocity in the fields of Camlaan, marking a stain across the land and tainting the river with the blood of hundreds of men. Swords swung and clashed with a resounding thud as metal contacted with metal, and slashed at soft limbs. The field was swamped with a mass of people as the countryside writhed beneath the onslaught of the opposing armies. Bodies lay where they fell, trampled into the mud and buried beneath the dead as metal broke through protective suits and sliced deep into crevices of the living. Swords sliced through the skin and bone, cracking and breaking ribs as men fell in the name of honour.

Merlin stood over the field, gazing down from his high vantage point above the fight. “How goes the day?” the question seemed slightly out of the ordinary, even for her thought Merlin as Morgan’s voice broke the sound of war from below.

“All this death...” he breathed sadly.

Morgan sniffed at the air and stood beside Merlin as he watched the carnage below. “You can smell the blood in the air” she commented, watching his movements.

“What do you want Morgan?” he snapped.

“I wish to end this...this slaughter” she confided.

“Then instruct Mordred to surrender”

“You know I can’t do that” she said softly. The two stood in silence as the sounds of death reached them through the air. “Do you remember when we were younger?” she asked suddenly. He turned to face her frowning at her remark, “I can...” she continued, “I can remember the fields” she gazed down below as the grass ran red with death. “they were so pretty...the flowers...they were a blaze of yellow” she smiled as she spoke. “Now look at them” Morgan turned her head from the sight of death.

“Morgan...please it is not too late”

“It is” she said simply.

“No...no it isn’t” insisted Merlin. “Call off Mordred. Arthur will forgive you...he always did”

“No Merlin, you’re wrong it is too late” she waved down into the valley below, “look at the deaths...all those innocent men. All the deaths at our hands. It is too late”

“Arthur...”

“Damnation to Arthur!” she cursed, “Arthur will not forgive me, not after this. No Merlin...we have come too far. Now is the time of reckoning”

“Please Morgan” he begged.

“Some will survive” she said looking at the old man, “but ultimately we are all doomed to die in a river of our own blood”, she turned and walked away calling over her shoulder one final time before disappearing from view. “We will meet again Merlin...remember this”

The horse had died...Arthur waded through the mud and the dead scattered around him. He would swing out occasionally with Excalibur and watch sadly as another faceless soldier fell into the mire at his feet. The sounds of battle were resounding and through the blood and haze he could see man after man fall under a volley of blows with sword or pike. “Mordred!” he breathed as a figure loomed out of the darkness before him.

Mordred looked bedraggled in his armour, as blood stained his black polished metal giving it an uneven tired complexion. The wings on the sides of his helmet gave off his instantly recognisable armour and he stared with hatred and contempt at his rival on the field. “Arthur” he nodded and pulled his sword before him, “only one of us shall be destined to die” he smirked under the mud smeared across his face.

“For my crown” breathed Arthur as he surged forward, Excalibur held aloft over his head. The blade swung down and halted sharply as Mordred blocked the attack with his own blade. He grimaced under the attack of Arthur and sagged under the pressure of the swing, sinking to one knee under the brutal volley of blows. The two men clashed as the sound of battle erupted around them marred only by the noise of metal stricking metal. Sparks from the metal illuminated the armour of the two men as Arthur lunged into the body of Mordred, who in turn swept away yet another attack from his advisory.

“You tire Mordred” mocked Arthur as he surged forward, Excalibur high in his grip. Mordred grimaced as he pushed away the force of the attack and swept through with his own thrust of the sword. The speed of the attack caught Arthur by surprise and the momentum of his defense pushed him to his knees. His armour hit heavy in the soft mud of the field of Camlaan, and small spray of dark brown cast over his armour, he cast a quick glance upward and rolled as Mordred brought his heavy sword crashing into the mud. Mordred watched as Arthur desperately struggled in the mud and brought his sword down again on the prone King. Arthur pulled Excalibur before his chest and pushed away the attack of Mordred, he could feel the tide of the battle change as Mordred became spurred on by his own success and grew on confidence. He swung wildly as Arthur pulled himself to his feet and caught his blade deep into the shoulder of the King.

He smiled as Arthur cried in pain as the blade broke through the joint by his shoulder and bit into the soft flesh beneath the metal. Mordred stepped back and regained his own composure and inspected the blade of his sword, smiling through his own helmet at the sight of deep crimson toying with the mud on the metal. “First blood” he breathed as he lunged forward again.

Arthur counted the movement and defended the attack with ease, pulling the Knight close to him. He could feel the hot breath of Mordred against his armour as the two men stood nose to nose. A burning sensation coursed through his shoulder as blood ran its way along his arm, “A minor victory my Lord” he whispered as he pushed Mordred away. The two men circled each other in the mud for a moment, each surveying the other scanning and analysing any weakness in the others’ armour. The fight continued around them, with the sound of death overcoming all other sounds. They circled for a moment as time passed, before Arthur lunged, his sword barring down upon Mordred in a swarm of brutal attacks. He could feel his shoulder burn with every thrust, he could feel the pain seer through his body as the reverberation of Mordred’s defense shattered his nerves. Mordred reeled under the pressure and moved back out of reach of the swing of Excalibur and could feel his lungs burst under the strain of battle.

He slipped as the mud beneath his feet gave way in a puddle of soft earth and as he struggled to regain his footing, his concentration of defending against Arthur’s attacks became compromised and as Excalibur struck his chest plate he fell backward. Arthur watched as Mordred sagged and stumbled under the hazardous conditions and swung his sword savagely, catching Mordred square in the chest. He pulled back and watched Mordred fall to his knees, his sword falling momentarily by his side as his hand drifted to his chest plate.

Mordred looked down at the thick mark on his chest plate and ginned, reaching for the hilt of his sword. Excalibur had badly dented the armour, but apart from the visible damage, no penetration had been made by the sword. Arthur made forward, lunging past Mordred as he struggled to his feet. As Mordred moved aside, Arthur’s thrust and momentum took him past the Knight, leaving his midriff open to attack. Mordred grimaced as he swung viciously, striking the King deep into the side of Arthur’s armour. The blade cut deep into the side of the King, causing Arthur to winch in pain as Mordred pulled his sword along the side of his body. He collapsed into the mud as he grasped at his side. Agony and pain surged through is body and he could feel the life drain as blood flowed across his armour. He looked up at Mordred who stood over his weakened body smirking at his imminent victory.

“I am better than you” he mocked as he grasped his own sword in his arm as he watched Arthur flail in the mud. “The crown is rightfully mine in battle!”

Arthur winched under the volley of words and struggled along the floor, reaching for the hilt of Excalibur which lay in the mud just out of reach. “You shall never be King!” replied Arthur weakly.

“You are wrong” crowed Mordred, “I had your sister, now I shall have you crown”

“What?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he whispered at Mordred’s boasting.

Mordred bent forward and smirked in Arthur’s face, “Your sister...” he mocked, blood smearing his teeth and his rancid breath invading Arthur’s nostrils. Arthur could feel the hilt of his sword as he listened to Mordred mocking him, “she cried for mercy” he laughed and stood at full height, rising his sword over his head. “She begged me to stop!” he cried as he positioned his sword over the King, “I enjoyed taking her, almost as much as killing you” he looked down at the prone Knight and smiled, “now you shall die as in the knowledge that she begged for you...over and over, even as I took her...she cried your name”. Mordred stood for a moment, a grimace frozen over his face and a look of horror crossing his features. His eyes bulged and blood trickled from his mouth as a sharp pain suddenly erupted through his mid-rift. He lowered his head as the pain coursed through his body and stared uncomprehending at the end of the sword protruding from his body.

Blood forced its way up his throat and over his tongue as his sword fell heavily to the floor, his hands wandering to the blade thrust between the plates in his armour. Mordred grasped at the sharp blade of Excalibur and pressed the flow of blood erupting from his stomach. He fell to his knees and faced Arthur, meeting his eye line, and could see the pure hatred burn in the King’s eyes as mist clouded his vision. Arthur watched as Mordred feebly grasped at the blade of Excalibur as the blood flowed down the blade, staining his own gloves with the blood of his enemy. “I am King” he breathed quietly as he pulled Excalibur from the body of Mordred, who collapsed in a bloody mess on the muddy ground. Arthur knelt in the mud and cast his head around the battlefield. He could see seven survivors from the battle...only seven he thought out of so many, and for what? He looked at the crown in his hand and dwelt briefly on the gold and jewels which were smear in the blood of hundreds...no... thousands. “It is over...” he whispered as the first of the Knights came through the mist and allowed himself a smile, “Galahad...”

Sir Galahad waded through the death, bodied were littered before him as he stepped over corpse after corpse. His eyes had become accustomed to death as he searched for signs of survivors. He could see his comrades, Tristan, Bors, Gawain and Bedivere walking through the mud and further still in the distance the forms of another three knights. Friend or foe? at this distance and in these conditions he could not tell but...

A figure caught his eye, prone in the mud and weak from battle. On the verge of death and reaching out to him as he approached, “My Liege...” he breathed and dropped his sword, picking up his pace into a run over the ground. He stopped short at the sight before him, Arthur lay in the mud with Excalibur at his side, while Mordred lay in a pool of his own blood at his feet.

“Galahad” his eyes fluttered open slightly as the Knight approached. “I am injured” he said simply pulling his hand away from the gash on his side. Galahad watched for a moment aghast at the severity of the wound. He could see the flow of blood from the wound ebb over his armour and another smaller wound on the King’s shoulder, partially covered in mud.

“My Liege” he said simply and knelt by the King’s side. He lowered his head and gently pushed his hands under his body, before forcing the last vestiges of his strength to stand. Lord Kay and Lord Tristan stopped short of the two men and watched dumbly as Galahad stepped over the corpse of Mordred and looked over toward his comrades and shook his head.

“It is over” whispered Arthur as blood trickled from the side of his mouth. He smiled up at the Knight who held him in his arms, “I am King” Arthur could feel darkness closing on him as he spoke.

“My Liege I...I”

“Silence good Galahad...take me too Merlin” Galahad looked over at the remaining Knights and shook his head as Arthur closed his eyes and quietly slipped away.

“The King is dead” said Galahad simply.