Legend

XVIII

Years passed as Arthur built his kingdom. Gawain spent his quest shadowing Merlin. The wizard rarely left Tintagel — which had been renamed Camelot by order of King Arthur — but when he did, Gawain was not far behind. The other knights had branched out across the countryside tracking down rumors of the Grail, but Gawain knew the quickest way to find the Grail was by following the man who had hidden it.

A good plan, but it never came to fruition. The few times Merlin left the castle, he did not lead Gawain to the hidden Grail but rather to a secret meeting he held with men he had recruited. Gawain was dismayed to see two more Watchers among the group, discernible because of their medallions. The others were those simply drawn to someone who now had a reputation in the land for magic powers and having the king’s ear. While Gawain could never hear what was said at these clandestine meetings deep in the forest, he had no doubt that Merlin was plotting his own course of action, one that was at odds with whatever Arthur had planned.

After seven years, word came that Mordred had built up his own army and was about to set sail. Merlin disappeared from Camelot one last time. Gawain was right behind him as the sorcerer sneaked away in the middle of the night.

As the years passed, Morgana had also begun to realize that Mordred had his own agenda. He dispatched several Guides with parties of local knights, not toward England but rather south and east, searching. Searching for what exactly, remained a secret between Mordred and the Guides. Morgana knew better than to try to get a secret out of a Guide. Their programming was such that a blood vessel in their brain would burst first, killing them, before they gave up secret information. She had seen imprinted humans on her own planet suffer the same fate.

So she bided her time and boarded one of the many boats drawn up on the French shoreline. It was a calm, sunny day, unusual for the area. Mordred’s army set sail, heading for the island across the channel and for battle with the forces of Arthur.

Other than the Guides, none of the humans who followed Mordred had any clue as to his true nature. They thought him a strong, albeit vicious, warlord who was promising them victory and plunder. She had little doubt her husband was experiencing the same thing in Arthur’s camp.

As her boat turned to the north, Morgana reflected on this. There had been a time during the Revolution on her planet when the Airlia had forced hundreds of thousands into contact with the guardians, imprinting them, directing them to fight against their own kind. But there had also been many humans fighting on the Airlia side who had not been imprinted. They had fought for a variety of reasons, some good, some not so noble. There were those who thought the Airlia held out the best hope for mankind’s development as an intelligent species, as the aliens were obviously superior in technology. There were just as many who fought for the Airlia simply because there they wished to be on what was obviously going to be the winning side.

The survivors of both groups were tremendously surprised when the Revolution was successful. The former when they found out the real reason the Airlia had planted humans on the planet; the latter when the humans won.

Holding on to the railing of the ship, Morgana looked at the flotilla of small vessels around her and knew that she could not tell these humans the truth of the Airlia. Their level of advancement in technological areas was so low that they would not be able to understand the concepts. First that the Airlia came from the stars. What little she had heard so far indicated that these people thought the sun revolved around the Earth, and the concept of other planets was beyond them. They believed the world was flat. The thought of aliens would be almost incomprehensible to them. They would have to put it in terms they understood and that would make the Airlia some sort of demon, which then would necessitate a God or Gods in response, something the Airlia had already used to their own advantage. As her husband was known to say, it was not yet time to tell the truth. For Morgana/Donnchadh, the scientist, withholding the truth grated at her nerves.

Morgana felt a chill and looked toward the rear of the boat. Mordred, dressed in fine armor and surrounded by Guides, easily recognizable because of the large feather that capped each of their helmets, was standing there. And he was staring directly at her as if he could read her thoughts. A cold smile sliced across his lips.

Morgana met his stare. Mordred raised one hand and crooked a finger for her to approach. Morgana made her way sternward and bowed her head.

“My lord?”

There were no humans in earshot, only Morgana and the Guides. Still, Mordred kept his voice almost to a whisper as if were afraid of being overheard. “There is something you must do for me as soon as we land.”

Morgana waited.

“You will go and find your spy.”

“Yes, my lord. I will ask him—”

“Wait,” Mordred hissed, cutting her off. “Troop strengths and deployments and plans — yes, ask all that. But first and foremost, I want the two of you to arrange a clandestine meeting for me with this Arthur.”

Morgana looked up, surprised, peering into Mordred’s black eyes.

“He may bring a dozen knights and I will bring only four of mine. That should make him feel secure. It must be at a secret place where none can see us.”

Morgana hesitated, then asked the question she knew she must in both her role as adviser to the king and as spy. “Why should Arthur agree to such a meeting?”

“To save much bloodshed,” Mordred said.

Morgana’s expression must have changed ever so slightly, for Mordred gave a bemused chuckle. “You do not believe me?”

“Bloodshed has not seemed to bother you up to this point,” Morgana said, reluctantly adding: “My lord.”

Mordred nodded. “Have your spy tell Arthur that he and I have much in common. A similar history, so to speak. And that we might have a similar future, which we ought to discuss before we act precipitously. Do you understand?”

“The message, not the content.”

“That is good enough.”

The guardian hidden at Cydonia on Mars had been tracking the key to the Master Guardian ever since it had been activated several years previously. The vast majority of the time the key was once more shielded, but every sooften it was activated, on what appeared to be a random schedule. There had been no contact with the Master Guardian, so this continued action was confusing.

The guardian from Mount Sinai had reported that the Shadow was investigating the activation and was planning to retrieve the key and Grail and return them to their proper place in the Hall of Records, as required by the Atlantis Truce. Yet much time had passed with no further word from the Shadow and no obvious resolution of the problem.

The alien computer analyzed various possibilities. The Shadow might have been killed; its replacement was not scheduled to be cycled up for another three Earth cycles, which would mean there was a void in Aspasia’s presence on Earth. The Shadow might be unable for some reason to communicate, in which case its mission might be compromised. The Shadow might be on mission and unable to communicate. There was a fourth possibility — the Shadow might not be pursuing the course of action it had been directed to follow.

The computer had no feelings about any of these possibilities. It was designed to analyze available data and take courses of action. It came up with one solution to all four. Deep underground, in a chamber lined with dozens of deep sleep tubes, a green light came alive on two of them. The tops swung open.

Two Airlia exited the tubes. They quickly dressed, then went to the guardian computer, splaying six fingered hands against the sides. They were quickly updated on the situation on Earth and issued their orders. Going to a console, one of them pressed a code into the hexagonal array. A small door slid open on the console, revealing a scepter with a lion head with glittering ruby-red eye. The Airlia grabbed the scepter and slid it into a metal case, which it then tucked into its belt.

Leaving the guardian chamber, they made their way viapassageways to a massive underground hangar. Nine lean shapes, two hundred meters tall by twenty wide at the base, were parked in the hangar — Talon spacecraft, warships that had traveled into the system on the sides of Aspasia’s mothership. They entered one of the Talons and powered the craft up. As the hangar roof slid to the side, the craft rose up and accelerated into the Martian sky.

Once before all the Talons had been alerted — when the Ones Who Wait had tried building an interstellar array on the slopes of a mountain that had been twin to Kilimanjaro. For the current mission, it was decided one would do.

The launch, of course, was noted. Ts’ang Chieh received the information from the Qian-Ling guardian within minutes of the Talon’s departing Mars. He considered this for several moments, then relayed the information to the Ones Who Wait in Africa.

Gawain followed Merlin to a place both had been to many times before: Avalon. Gawain waited until Merlin had crossed over the water and disappeared into the top of the tor before crossing himself. Then he took another rowboat, made his way to the base of the tor, and climbed up.

He used his own medallion to enter the Watcher headquarters. Moving silently, Gawain went into the depths of the tor, searching for the errant Watcher. He found him where he expected — in the records chamber, poring over old documents. Merlin jumped to his feet in surprise as Gawain entered the room.

“How did you get in here?” Merlin demanded, his hands fumbling for a dagger tucked into his belt.

Gawain smacked the dagger out of the other man’s hand. “Sit down.”

Merlin grabbed a stool, almost fell on his first attempt, then managed to attain a perch. “Did Arthur send you after me?”

“Arthur?” Gawain spit. “You have no clue what you’ve stirred up.” He pulled the chain from underneath his armor and showed Merlin the gold medallion.

The old man’s eyes grew wide as they recognized it. “The head of my order — but you serve on Arthur’s Round Table.”

“I sit at Arthur’s Round Table to see what he — and you— are up to,” Gawain said. He pointed at the papers. “What are you searching for?”

“More information on the king.”

“Arthur?”

“The king who is to wield the sword, who is to bring prosperity back to the people. Like it was in Atlantis.”

“Atlantis? We were ruled by those creatures in Atlantis. You’re a Watcher, why would you want that?”

“But this”—Merlin held up the same parchment that Donnchadh had read the previous year—“says that a man is to wield the sword. Not an alien. Arthur is not Airlia.”

Gawain sighed. The Watchers had seemed like a good idea so many millennia ago. And the organization had worked relatively well — surprisingly well, actually. But they had never foreseen this danger.

“Not everything written is true,” Gawain said. “Some Watchers obviously let their imaginations get the better of them.”

“You are saying the prophecy isn’t true?”

“No, it isn’t,” Gawain said. “Arthur isn’t Airlia,” he continued. “But he’s not a man either.” He gestured at the documents. “Have you read in there about Shadows? Men imprinted with the alien mind?”

“Arthur?” Merlin asked.

Gawain nodded.

“And Mordred?”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” Gawain said.

Merlin put his head in his hands. “What have I done?”

Gawain came around the table and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “You’ll have a chance to put things right before all of this is over.”

“How? What should I do?”

Gawain shook his head. “I don’t know right now, but you’ll know it when it happens.”

Donnchadh lay in the shade underneath the oak tree, staring out over the placid water of the pond. Her head was resting on her backpack and a brace of black daggers were stuck point down in the dirt next to her along with the cores of several apples.

“I heard you coming five minutes ago,” she called out.

“How did you know it was me?” Gawain asked as he appeared out of the shadows cast by the old trees.

“All these years and you ask that? I don’t have to see you to know you are near.”

Gawain nodded and didn’t comment. He threw his pack down next to his wife, then slowly sat down on top of it, moving his long sword out of the way as he did so. “What word do you bring?”

“Mordred wants to meet with Arthur.”

That gave Gawain pause. He removed his helmet and began unbuckling his chest armor as he digested the information. He sighed as he removed the heavy metal from his upper body. “Why?” he finally asked.

Morgana removed an apple from her pack and tossed it to him. He caught it and took a large bite. She took out another for herself. She chewed for several seconds, then shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about that the entire time coming here and I don’t have a clue. Mordred — Aspasia’s Shadow — is acting strangely for a Shadow. Sometimes I feel as if he has his own agenda.”

“Have you sent out word for the Watchers?”

Morgana nodded. “Couriers have been dispatched. One, who was here in England, has already arrived. I’ve made him the new Watcher of Avalon. I gave him the name Brynn after the first watcher of the tor.”

Gawain had stripped down to just a short tunic. His armor lay in a haphazard pile. He finished the apple and eyed the pond. “Do you think the water is cold?”

“Ever since Avalon, you don’t like cold water.”

“For good reason.”

“It’s the end of summer,” Morgana said. “It should be warm.”

“Want to check it out with me?”

Morgana smiled and slowly got to her feet. As Gawain went toward the water, she stripped off her garments. When Gawain glanced over his shoulder and saw this, a smile crossed his weary face.