Sword of Darkness

Sword of Darkness - By Kinley MacGregor

Prologue

Long ago in a land that was lost in anarchy, there was an enchanted sword that had been forged by the hands of the fey. Imbued with their power and nurtured by the soul of the goddess Britannia, the sword was said to grant immortality and superhuman strength to any who wielded it. Even the scabbard that protected the sword was special. So long as a man wore it strapped to his hips, he would never bleed.

It was a sword that could not be broken. Nor could it be defeated.

But as with all things of great power, there were those who feared it. Those who sought to destroy this sword, only to learn that nothing forged by the fey could be destroyed by mere mortal hands. Fearful of who would one day command its magic, its owner sent it out into the world with a sole guardian who imbedded it deep into a boulder. For years it lay fallow in the heart of the darkest forest of Britannia, unseen and unknown, and protected by a spell that would allow only one person of special birth to draw it forth from its resting place.

They hid it well, hoping that it would be lost to the world of man forever.

And so it was until the day when a young man happened upon it.

Born to a peasant mother who was known to despise and resent him, he was nothing remarkable. He was just a lad in the height of his youth, trying to survive the harshness of his life. One in need of a sword to protect himself from those out to harm him, and lo and behold, there in the deep, dark, overgrown forest was a sword he might use.

Grasping the rusted hilt of it, he gave a yank, praying with all his heart that it would come free so that he could fight those who sought him.

The sword refused to move.

He could hear the thundering hooves crashing through the brush as his enemies came closer and closer still. They would be upon him at any moment, and he would be beaten or worse.

They would kill him.

Terrified, the sweaty, breathless boy, dressed only in filthy rags, wrapped both of his grimy hands around the rough hilt and heaved with all his might. Suddenly a surge of painful power went through him. It felt as if his hands were now melded and forged to the rusted hilt that turned to gold underneath his hands. The sword's power crept through his body, invading him, hurting him.

The gold on the pommel parted slowly to reveal a red dragon's eye. It stared at him for a full heartbeat as if measuring his worthlessness.

Then with a resounding scrape of metal that echoed through the dark, cursed forest, the sword came free. The boy cried out as the bittersweet pain seized his heart.

The blade of the sword glowed red, then turned to fire. It cast its fey light on those in pursuit of the boy, striking them down instantly where they stood. Men before the light touched them, they became nothing more than smoldering piles of ash.

The fire vanished from the blade that still glowed as if it were a living creature. With its red light shining brightly in the dim foliage, the sword seemed to sing like a dragon cooing to its young. The boy held the sword aloft in his sweaty palm as he felt the power of it running through him like hot wine. It was warm and heady and intoxicating. Seductive. Consuming.

And he knew he would never be the same again.

"You are the one…" the breezy, haunting voice whispered ominously through the trees, scaring the boy even more than the light had.

But this is not the tale of King Arthur.

And this is not the sword Excalibur.

This is the story of the Kerrigan, the champion of all things evil.

Like the Arthur of legend, his destiny was to rule over Camelot, only his Camelot was unlike any you have ever seen or heard before…



Chapter 1



Seren stood before the aged guild masters with all her hopes showing brightly on her face as they examined the workmanship of her precious scarlet cloth. They reminded her of a group of crows, swathed in black, gathered over their latest victim. But not even that thought could dampen her hopes that they each held in their gnarled hands.

For the whole of the last year, she had worked diligently on the scarlet cloth they examined, using every spare coin, every spare moment to prepare it. Like a woman possessed, she had dragged out her mother's old wooden loom at night and worked with only the firelight to guide her.

With every brush of her comb, every thread, she had felt the power of her creation.

It was perfect. There were no discrepancies in the dye or stitches.

Truly, it was a masterpiece.

And if they accepted it, then she would finally be a journeywoman and a guild member. At long last, she would be her own person! All her dreams of freedom and of being paid coin for her hard work would come true. There would be no more days of working from sunup to sundown for room and board from Master Rufus, of having to scrub clothes late at night for Mistress Maude to pay for her supplies.

She could sell her own cloth…

She could—

"Not good enough."

Seren blinked at the harsh pronouncement as she stared at the four men before her. "P-pardon?"

"Not good enough," the master craftsman said with a curl to his lips as he looked at her work. "I wouldn't use it for a horse blanket."

Seren couldn't breathe as her heart shrank. Nay! He was wrong. He had to be. "But I—"

"Take it," he said, tossing the cloth at her. "Come back to us when you're worthy of the trade."

The red cloth stung her face from the force of his throw. Unable to move, she stood there with it falling from her head to her arms. Instinctively, she held it to her even though she didn't know why she bothered to protect it since it was now worthless to her.

Her soul cried out in disappointment as all her dreams withered and died in the cold room.

How could they say such a thing about her work? It was a lie. She knew it. Her cloth was perfect.

Perfect!

She wanted to scream that word, but all the bitter disappointment gathered in her throat to tighten it and choke her until she could no longer speak. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real.

Someone came forward and pulled her away from the masters, toward the door in the back. Tears fell uncontrollably from her face as the harsh words echoed repeatedly in her head.

How could her cloth not be worthy?

"I spent all my time on this," she whispered, her heart breaking. "All my precious coin." She'd worn rags so she could buy the materials she'd needed to produce the cloth. She'd gone all winter with holes in her shoes, only to be told that all her sacrifices had been in vain.

How could this be?

"'Tis not your cloth," the man whispered as he pulled her from the hall. "There are too many weavers here. They will admit no more to the guild until one leaves or dies."

Was that supposed to comfort her? To feed her? Nay, it did nothing but make her angry.

Damn them all for this.

"Take my word for it, child, you are better off without being in the guild."

"How so?"

He placed her hand on her cloth and gave her a peculiar look of warning. "You have much larger matters to concern yourself with than being an apprentice. Believe me."

Before she could ask him what he meant, the man pushed her out into the street. She heard him bolt the door behind her.

Seren stood there on the stoop of the guildhall with all her dreams shattered. She was an apprentice still, and so long as she bore that title, she couldn't charge a fee for her work. Couldn't marry. Couldn't do anything more than what Master Rufus or Mistress Maude told her to do.

She had no life to call her own. And from the looks of it, she never would.

Bitter anger washed through her as she stared at her perfect, useless cloth.

"What good are you?" she sobbed. By law, she couldn't even use the cloth to make a gown for herself. Only those of noble birth could wear the bright color. It was fit for naught but burning.

All was lost.

"Excuse me?"

Seren wiped at the tears on her face as she turned to see a tall, well-dressed knight nearing her. His golden blond hair brushed his incredibly wide shoulders. He was dressed in mail armor covered by a deep green surcoat that bore a rampant silver stag…The weave of said garment was not nearly so fine as her scarlet cloth, and yet she held no doubt it had been made by someone those beasts had granted guild status to while denying it to her.

Stop it, Seren.

The cloth he wore wasn't important. The fact that a man of his class spoke to her was. She couldn't imagine what he might want with her.

Making sure that she didn't offend him by meeting his gaze, she spoke in an even, calm tone. "Is there something I can do for you, my lord?"

He glanced behind him toward another handsome knight who looked close enough in features to be a relation of some sort. Only that knight had his blond hair cut shorter and wore a well-trimmed beard.

"Are you Seren of York, the weaver's apprentice?"

She cocked her head suspiciously, wondering how noblemen had learned her name and why they would know it. "Why do you ask me such, my lord?"

"I am Gawain," he said with an eager, gentle smile, "and this is my brother Agravain."

The names surprised her. She'd only heard of them in one place. "As in the tales of King Arthur?"

His face lightened instantly. "You know us?"

"Nay, my lord, I do not. I only know of the stories the old men and minstrels tell at night for food and shelter, or in the street when they seek coin."

He frowned at her. "But you do know of the knights of Arthur's Round Table?"

"Aye, my lord. Is there any who does not?"

His smile returned. "Then you know us. We are the same. My brother and I have been sent here to find you. You are to be mother of the next Merlin, and you must come with us so that we can protect you."

Seren went cold at his words. Mother to the next Merlin? What was this game they played?

But then she feared that she knew. It was more than common for a nobleman to set his sights on a peasant girl for his pleasure. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Peasants had no rights before their noble masters.

Yet if she went with them and Master Rufus learned of it, he'd throw her out. Both he and his wife required chastity of all their apprentices. Gilda had been turned out just last year when they had learned she'd done nothing more than walk home from Mass with a young man.

They hadn't even held hands, and now Gilda was ruined and working in the local stew with no hope of anything better.

"Please, my lord," she said, her voice shaking with sincerity, "do not ask this of me. I am a good and decent woman. I have nothing in this world except my untarnished reputation. I am sure there is goodness in you that you would not see an innocent woman suffer for your lust."

He looked confused by her words.

"You're blowing it, Wain," the other knight said in an aggravated tone.

What strange words to use. She'd never heard such before, and they most certainly didn't apply to their situation since the knight he addressed held nothing to his lips.

He moved past Gawain and bowed low before her. "My lady, please. We mean you no harm. We are only here to protect you."

It was a struggle not to look up at them. "Protect me from what, my lord?"

The only thing she needed protection from was men such as these.

It was the one called Gawain who answered. "Morgen's clutches. You belong with us and are to be a bride of Avalon and as such we need you to come with us now before the mods find you and take you to Camelot."

She couldn't help looking up at them after all that. What odd words they used. "Mods? What the devil is a mod?"

"Minions of death. Mods. They are a race that was created by the Celtic god Balor before he died. Now they are controlled by Morgen and she will send them for you. Mark my words."

They were mad! Both of them. Seren took a step back, her heart hammering. What could she do? If she called out for help, they could claim her as one of their serfs. She wasn't even sure if Master Rufus would help her. He wouldn't dare contradict a nobleman.

God save her.

There was nothing to be done about it. She'd have to run and pray she escaped them.

Holding tight to her cloth, she dodged into the street, away from them, and ran with all her might. She heard the men shouting at her to stop. But there was no way she would allow them to catch her and have their pleasure with her.

Darting down an alleyway, she stumbled over a piece of broken cobblestone, then caught herself. She looked about for an escape.

There was a small, narrow pass between two buildings that would only just let her through. The men should be too large to follow.

Seren ran to the opening and pressed herself against the wall before she inched her way down it. There was an awful smell here, and it was a struggle not to breathe through her nose. Even so, smelly or not, it was infinitely better than the alternative. Better her nose be assaulted than her body.

She heard the men enter the alley behind her and curse.

"Where is she?"

"Merlin will kill us if we don't return with her."

"You and your bright ideas. I swear, Gawain, I should have strangled you at birth." He changed his tone to a high-pitched, mocking one. "We'll just tell her who we are and she'll come with us willingly. No problem." His voice then returned to its deep, accusing tone. "Damn you for the stupidity. I should have left your rank ass in the twentieth century instead of bringing you home."

"I wish you had. I certainly prefer it to this. Not that it matters. What was your bright idea to get her away from Morgen? Huh? You didn't have one at all, did you, Brother Intellect?"

While they argued and berated each other with nonsensical phrases, she continued on her way toward the end.

"There she is!"

She turned her head to see the knights at the opening behind her. They tried to follow and couldn't, so then they pulled back to run around the building.

Seren popped out of the alley, then ran headlong down the narrow, cobblestone street. There were people everywhere, going to market and to businesses. With any luck, the knights would lose sight of her in the crowd.

Or at least she thought so until she rounded a corner and found herself face to face with Gawain again.

How had he gotten here so quickly?

"You can't hide from us, Seren." He took her arm.

Seren twisted away from him and bolted again into the thronging mass. People cursed and pushed at her as she collided with them in her haste. Her heart felt as though it would explode from her fear and panic.

What was she going to do?

Looking behind her to see them still in pursuit, she darted into the street, then skidded to a stop as she heard a horse shrieking.

Seren glanced up to see a large black destrier rearing before her. Its shiny hooves pawed the air as if it wanted nothing more than to pummel her with them. She held her arm up to protect herself and prayed the animal stopped before it savaged her.

The knight spoke to the horse in a language she didn't understand as he brought the beast under control. "Are you trying to kill yourself, woman," he snarled at her.

But the anger on his fair face faded as he looked at her, and his features softened to something less than severe. "Forgive me for my rudeness, good woman. I hope that I didn't frighten you overmuch. It was only the surprise of my horse rearing that caused me to snap."

Seren could only gape at the handsomeness of the man on horseback. His raven black hair fell in waves around the perfect features of his clean-shaven face. Eyes so black that they didn't even appear to have a pupil stared at her with an intensity that left her even more breathless than her run through the streets.

She heard the men behind her curse.

The knight on horseback looked past her to see the men running toward them. "Have you need of assistance, good woman?"

"Aye, my lord," she said breathlessly. "I need to escape them before they catch me."

"Then as a knight and champion, I offer my most humble services to you. Come, and I shall see you home without harm." He extended his hand.

"Nay!" the knight called Gawain shouted as they ran toward her.

Before she could think better of it, Seren placed her hand into his.

The knight pulled her astride his saddle to ride before him, then set his heels to the horse's flanks. They tore through the crowd at a speed that amazed her. It was as if his great black steed had wings.

For the first time since she had arisen that morning, Seren took a deep breath as relief coursed through her.

"Thank you, my lord," she said to the knight holding her. "You have truly saved my life this day. I can never repay you for your kindness."

The chase didn't seem to concern him at all as he guided his horse with expert hand through the town. "And how is it I have saved your life?"

"Those men who were after me. They were mad."

"How so?"

"They claimed that I was to be the mother of the wizard Merlin. Mayhap they were only drunk, but…" She shivered as she considered what had almost befallen her. "Thank the Lord and all His saints that you came when you did. I shudder to think what they would have done to me had I gone with them."

He gave her a knowing look. "Aye, there was a higher power that brought me to you this day. Of that I have no doubt."

Seren had just started to relax when she heard the sound of hooves behind them.

The knight turned to look.

"It's them," she breathed, her panic returning as she saw the two knights again in pursuit. "Why won't they let me go?"

"Have no fear. I won't let them take you."

His words thrilled her. Who would have believed that such a handsome knight would defend a simple peasant maid? "You are truly a kind and noble knight, sir."

But as he looked down at her, Seren would have sworn that his eyes flashed red before he spurred his horse to an even greater speed. The other two knights continued to give chase. They raced through town until they flew over the bridge that took them out into the countryside.

Seren cringed. "I'm not to leave the town," she told the knight. "My master will have me beaten for leaving without his permission."

"There is nothing I can do. Should we return, they will take you. Is that what you want?"

"Nay."

"Then hold tight until we lose them."

Seren did as he said. She turned to face him in the saddle and wrapped her arms about his waist and inhaled the scent of leather, man, and beast. His horse flew over the open meadow, racing toward the dense woods that lay before them.

All of a sudden, something exploded by their side.

"Accero, accero domini doyan,"the knight said in his deep, resonant voice.

Seren gasped in terror as the gargoyle decorations on the horse's bridle lifted themselves off and took flight. They screeched like banshees before they headed toward the men pursuing them.

"What is this?" she asked.

"You're lost in a dream." His voice was inside her head. "Sleep, little one. Sleep." Seren blinked her eyes as exhaustion overtook her. She tried desperately to remain awake, but couldn't.

Before she knew what was happening, darkness consumed her.

Kerrigan pulled the woman closer to him as he felt her go limp from his spell. She was completely soft and pliant in his arms. Satisfied that she couldn't fight him, he slowed his horse so that he could turn around to see Gawain and Agravain fighting his gargoyles.

He let his malevolent laughter ring out. "She is ours," he called to them.

Gawain launched a sorcerer's fire blast in his direction. Kerrigan dissolved it before it came near him.

"You know what I want, Gawain. Tell Merlin to give it over or see this woman die." With his orders issued, Kerrigan spoke the sacred words that took him away from the world of man, into the nether realm of Camelot.

In an eerie black mist, the visible world faded into darkness. The veil that separated the two realms mingled until he found himself once more on the black soil of Camelot.

Here Kerrigan was more than a knight. Here he was king and champion. Laughing in triumph, Kerrigan rode over the black drawbridge, into the outer, then inner bailey. As he reined his horse before the donjon, a misshapen grayling male came forward to take his horse.

Theirs was a cursed elfin race that had once been tall and graceful. But they had run amok of a Celtic god who had made their exterior as abhorrent as their hearts. Now they were damned to serve here at Morgen's behest.

Giving no thought to the haggard creature, Kerrigan gripped the woman tightly in his arms before he slid to the ground with his precious bundle. She was the key he needed that would open up the world and make it his.

"Give him extra oats," he told the fey grayling.

"Aye, my lord."

Kerrigan shifted the woman's slight weight before he headed toward the blackened doors of the once-famed castle. They parted of their own volition as he approached, allowing him to enter. With every step he took, his heels and spurs clicked eerily against the stone floor.

As he walked through the hallway that was scented with nutmeg and mace, torches lit themselves to illuminate the way to the turret stairs. He was headed to a bedchamber on the uppermost floor. One that would guarantee this woman had no choice except to stay here until they killed her.

It was a room that was segregated in the northernmost tower where no one could hear her screams. Not that it would matter. There was none here, including he, who would ever render aid to another. It was merely a courtesy to the others that their ears wouldn't be abused by her wretched cries and pleas for mercy.

Like the rest of the castle, the room was decorated in black and gray. The only color in this land was found in Morgen's direct domain. The fey queen wanted nothing to detract from her beauty or her presence. So all color had been banished.

Kerrigan laid the woman down upon the black bed and pulled back the covers for her. She was pale and fragile against the darkness. Her long, straight hair was so fair as to be almost white.

To his surprise, she wasn't a beautiful woman. In truth, her features leaned toward plain, except for her eyes. A clear, crystal green, they were large and almond-shaped like a cat's. Her nose was of average shape and form, and her lips were full. Her body was undernourished and thin, with next to no feminine curves to cushion a man who might take her.

There was nothing remarkable about her. Nothing that marked her as the future mother of a Merlin.

She reminded him of a simple mouse.

And even unconscious, she still clung to the vibrant red cloth in her hands. He frowned at her actions, wondering why she bothered. He started to take it away from her, then paused for reasons unknown.

"You trusting fool," he snarled at her. He couldn't imagine ever reaching out his hand to someone for help.

And what had it gotten her? Nothing but her own doom.

A shadow slithered into the room from the keyhole of the door. "Mistress Morgen wants word with you, my lord."

"Tell her I will come in my own good time." It never boded well to keep her waiting. Morgen possessed a nasty temperament that was matched only by his own. But then Kerrigan refused to let anyone, even Morgen, command him.

Besides, there was nothing more the fey queen could do to him. He was already damned by his own actions, and no one, not even she, could kill him.

The sharoc, or shadow fey, continued to hover beside him as if it were trying to rush him.

"Leave me," Kerrigan snarled.

The sharoc retreated immediately.

Again alone with the unknown woman, Kerrigan found himself studying her curiously. She was unlike the women who lived here in Camelot. Granted they, due to their magic, were all beautiful to behold, but none of them possessed the spark that seemed to glow from within her.

Her skin appeared somehow softer, more appealing. Inviting.

You are being a fool. She is nothing but an insignificant mortal.

Aye. And she most certainly wasn't worth his time.

"Anir!" he called for his gargoyle servant.

The beast flew through the open window and hovered over the bed where the woman rested. Anir's stark yellow eyes glowed against his dark gray, stonelike skin. "Aye, my lord?"

"Guard her and let me know the instant she wakes."

The gargoyle nodded, then came to rest on the foot of the bed. He crouched there in a small, watchful pose, then hardened back into his true form of stone.

Kerrigan paused as he took one last look at the woman who beguiled him. He still didn't understand her appeal. Not that it mattered. The time she had left to live was extremely finite. Even if those at Avalon gave over the table he sought, she would still be killed.

She was to be the mother of a Merlin. That alone carried with it a death sentence.

"What do you mean she got away?"

Gawain cringed at Merlin's question. He looked to Agravain for some reprieve, but none was forthcoming.

"Lord Smooth," Agravain said snidely, "told her she was going to be the mother of the next Merlin, so she panicked and ran."

Merlin pressed her hand to her head as if she had a fierce ache above her brow. A tall, slender woman, Merlin was the epitome of beauty. She had long, golden hair that flowed around her lithe body, which was covered by a white gown trimmed in gold. Truly, there was no woman more fair.

Or more angry than she was at present.

She glared at them as a book appeared before her and hovered there, suspended by nothing. The pages of the book turned to a passage. "Let me see if I have this right."

She read from the book."Gawain, the noble and chivalrous knight of Arthur, a king's champion. His prowess with women was unsurpassed." She looked up from the book to pin Gawain with a most unhappy glare. "This is you, is it not?"

Gawain chafed under her angry scrutiny. The pages of the book then turned to another passage so that he could read from it. "And according to that book, Merlin, you're an old, bald man."

Merlin's eyes widened as the book burst into flames. "Have you a wish to die?"

"I can't. I'm immortal."

Agravain sucked his breath in sharply between his teeth. "Caution, brother. The last man to anger Merlin now sits locked in a cage underneath our precious home."

That was true. Merlin had vowed to never forgive Sir Thomas Malory for what he'd told of them.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Gawain said, trying to calm them all down. "Believe me, you are no angrier over this than I am. How did the Kerrigan know to be there?"

Merlin sighed. "His powers have grown much over the centuries. If we do not stop him soon, they will be stronger than even mine."

Gawain exchanged a nervous look with his brother. No one needed to tell them what would happen should that occur. The Kerrigan held no heart, no compassion. He was the male counterpart to Morgen, and he was her champion. If he grew stronger than Merlin, there would be no stopping them from taking over the world and enslaving them all.

Gawain narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I shall have Percival research him. Maybe there is something written that can expose a weakness—"

"Nay," Merlin said. "Morgen is more intelligent than that. Unlike us, she seems to be able to keep her minions out of written legends."

Agravain snorted. "Not our fault Thom got drunk and started talking. I still think we should have killed him."

"It wasn't the talking that was bad," Gawain said snidely. "It was the writing."

Merlin stiffened. "Thank you for that reminder."

"Sorry, Merlin," they said in unison.

"So what do we do now?" Agravain asked Merlin.

Merlin sighed. "We wait to see what Kerrigan does. We can't give over the table to him…at least not without a wheelbarrow and a bucket. And even if we do, I am sure he will kill Seren and end her bloodline for us." Merlin took up pacing the hall. "Somehow we must find a way to get Seren out of Camelot."

Gawain looked up to the seal of the Pendragon that hung on the wall above them. A brightly colored fresco, it held the image of a dragon with a lion sleeping at its feet. Fire curled around the beast that stood with its wings spread wide. The dragon was alert and ready to defend its power and territory.

Behind that seal, lying asleep in a tomb, wasn't the king of legend.

It was one of his true sons that he'd sired with Queen Guinevere.

"Should we wake Draig for this?"

"Nay," Merlin said. "His time to rise isn't now. Summon the others. Whatever we do, we cannot allow evil to win. If they do…"

Everything good would die and the world would seriously reek.