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please let him live.
Five more times.
For you, my king.
A gust of wind blew the column of black smoke pouring from the window
away from them. With it flew the dragon scales, the claws, the pointed
tail. They disappeared into the shimmering hot night like fine
droplets of water.
The creature was gone. Hal pressed his face against Arthur's chest.
He could hear a heartbeat.
For you . . .
He sprawled the child out on the roof, flinging one arm across the
small body to hold him in lace, hanging on to the glass-splintered
window frame with !is other hand, giving the breath in his own lungs to
Arthur again and again. "Please breathe," he whispered. Another puff.
Again.
Once more.
And then the blue lips colored. A thin crease grew on Arthur's
forehead, then deepened. He coughed, croupy, harsh. He gasped.
"Arthur. Arthur, it's Hal. Come bark."
The boy's eyes opened. "Hal," he said, sounding strangled. He coughed
again, then smiled. Hal smiled back. You're the bes . .
The mocking voice was faint, traveling away.
kid...
Disappearing, like the dragon-creature, like all his ghosts. Besssss
The thinnest whisper, dispersing, kaving him forever. Gone. "What say
we get out of here?" he asked softly.
Arthur rubbed the soot from his eyes. "I'm ready when you are." Hal
looked at him for a moment, then pulled him close and hugged him.
He did not try to check the tears that fell into the boy's hair, salty,
sooty tears of love and gratitude. "C'mon," he said. He looped the
rope below Arthur's armpits, braced himself in the window frame, and
slowly lowered the boy. When Arthur was safely on the ground, Hal tied
the rope around the window frame and shinnied down himself.
On the other side of the building, Saladin stood near the front
entrance, his eyes fixed on the flaming specter of the house. "My
lord, the fire is nearing the barn. The horses . . ." "Let them
burn." Scream. He needed to hear them with his own ears.
This man, this nobody, and an arrogant child had taken his life from
him. A life so carefully crafted, woven like a fine tapestry over
millennia, gone in an instant. He would grow old now. He would feel
sickness, and pain. And one night, his bones complaining, he would lie
down and never rise. For that, he would] hear their screams as they
died. "Sire, please. The two are surely dead from the smoke . . ."
Saladin silenced him with an angry sweep of his hand. He was probably
right. They were already dead. But why did it have to end this way?
Two had come back through the ages to join him. Only two, on the
endless, lonely journey through time. And he had killed them both.
Was killing all there was left, the last twisted, tortured avenue in
the maze of his singular life? He had never loved. He had never ached
with passion or remorse.
He had never known the kindness of a friend, except for one afternoon
long ago, when an old man had shown him medicinal rocks. That had
been k. is great mistake. He should never have befriended the wizard.
If h had not, in a moment of self-indulgent abandon, given away the
secret of the cup by saving Merlin's worthless life, he himself would
not be dying now. But in the end, te thought sadly, an afternoon's
friendship was perhaps the only real pleasure he'd ever experienced.
One afternoon, out of forty-five centuries. He closed his eyes. He
was getting soft.
Thoughts of death did that to a man. They made one sentimental and
ridiculous. They gave one regrets. I did not want to kill you,
Arthur.
I wanted a new life, a new order. A great man to lead the world. A
king.
A companion. A friend. I wanted Camelot. "Scream, damn you!"
Saladin's voice rang out above the din of the fire.
"Scream!" "Sire!" Saladin whirled on the man who had dared to
interrupt his thoughts again, ready to strike him down. But the man
only pointed to the far hills, toward the barn. Its doors were open.
And on the hillside, beyond the leaping flames, were two riders on
horseback, heading into the woods. Saladin clenched his teeth. "Bring
the horses," he said.
Hal leaned low over the mount, trying to keep pace with Arthur's
headlong gallop. "Where'd you . . ." He winced as the horn of the
saddle jabbed into his chest. "... learn to ride . . . like that?"
he shouted. Arthur laughed. "I never rode before!"
"What?" "I've never been on a horse!" "Could have fooled me," Hal
muttered. The boy was a natural. He rode as if he'd spent his whole
life on horseback. Like an ancient king, he thought. He looked back
over his shoulder, back at the burning house down in the hollow. Three
men were riding out of the barn. They were leading a fourth horse,
Saladin's stallion, while its owner waited, his silhouette black
against the orange flames. "They're coming after us," Hal said. "Yes.
They would." "Maybe we ought to head into town. There are two cops,
and--" Arthur shook his head. "They won't help." "Right . . . Well
then, where are we going?" The boy turned his smudged, blistered face
to him. It was not a child's face any longer.
The pale eyes were measured and determined, the mouth set. "We're
going home," he said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Arthur reined in his horse just short of the wall surrounding castle
ruins and dismounted. "I don't know if this is a good idea," Hal said,
looking around at the featureless meadow. "They're going to spot us
here." "I'm through hiding," Arthur said. "We're going to fight
them." "Here? Are you kidding?" Hal spoke so loudly that his horse
shied.
He grabbed wildly on to the animal's mane to keep from falling off.
"There's no cover. We don't even have weapons, for pete's sake."
"Merlin!" Arthur called. "What?" "Saladin said the wizard would come
if I called him." He tried again.
"Merlin!" Silence. "Merlin! Mr. Taliesin!" Faintly, they heard the
sound of distant hoofbeats approaching. "Forget it, kid. I tried
that, too. Wherever the old man is, . he can't hear you." Hal
thought he could feel his heart breaking. "There's no magic. We're
alone here." "But he said . . ." They both turned toward the sound
of hoofbeats.
Four horsemen emerged from the woods and were galloping across the open
meadow toward them. Raised overhead, their scimitars gleamed in the
moonlight. "Then we'll fight them alone," Arthur said quietly.
Hal watched the horsemen come. Four of them, armed and
battle-seasoned, against a bare-handed man and a boy. "We'll lose,' he
said. "Maybe. But we'll fight, all the same." The boy's eyes seemed
to be made of steel. Hal considered picking him up bodily and throwing
him on one of the horses, but he knew that would do no good. Saladin
and his men would catch up with them before long, and kill them like
insects.
Arthur was right. Better to fight and die. "No harm in trying," Hal
said, trying to sound less pessimistic than he felt. He dismounted and
slapped both animals away. Being on horseback would be no advantage to
someone who couldn't ride. He eyed a big pile of boulders at the
bottom of a hill. "Looks like that'll be our best bet," he said,
pointing to it. "Pick up all the rocks you can. We may get lucky and
hit one of those jerks between the eyes." In the dark. Right.
And maybe we'll stab one through the heart with a hickory stick while
we're at it. They scrambled for rocks as the horsemen came on. "Wait
until they get close." "This is the rock that fell over," Arthur said.
"The fake rock with the writing on it." He peered over the side to
touch the long crack that ran up its length. "Get down." Hal shoved
him roughly behind the boulder, then stood up and threw a heavy stone
the size of a. baseball as the horsemen thundered toward them. It hit
one of the attackers in the shoulder just as he was about to close in
for the kill. The force of the blow threw him backward, twisting, so
that the blade swung down wildly. It missed Hal but struck the
man-made boulder in front of Arthur so hard that the sword broke off at
the hilt.
As the horseman rode past, Hal watched the shiny blade fly into the air [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]