The Fire of Merlin (The Return to Camelot #2)(2)

“They shouldn’t be here,” screeched Slurpy. “They don’t belong in this time.” She turned to Arthur and pulled at his arm. “This is way too weird, babe. Tell them to go back where they came from.”

“And you did not belong in our time, Lady Samantha, and yet you found a way,” retorted Tristram.

“A black shadow has fallen over Logres, Arthur,” said Bedivere, “but this is a battle I fear we cannot win without your influence. You need to come home.”

“Are the Saxons back?” I asked.

Gareth shook his head, and I immediately regretted opening my mouth. Deep in the well of my own misery for the past few months, I had forgotten that Gareth’s brother, Gaheris, had been killed in the battle for Camelot, shortly after we had rescued Arthur from its dungeons.

“I’m sorry, Gareth,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

Gareth raised his hand and smiled kindly. “You will never have a reason to account for your words in my presence, Lady Natasha. It warms our hearts to see you looking so well.”

“Indeed,” whispered Bedivere.

“Getting back on track,” said Arthur sternly, giving me one of his big brother death-ray stares, that made him look like he had a hernia about to pop, “Bedivere, what do you mean by a black shadow?”

“The shadow that Sir Bedivere speaks of is an unnatural darkness of the sky, Arthur,” said Tristram. “Day and night, the shadow now infects the living. It is the lingering shadow of fear, of a power more dangerous than any living foe.”

Slurpy was muttering under her breath. She took out a packet of cigarettes from her jacket pocket, and lit the end of one with a quick flick of her fingers. If I hadn’t seen her pocket the red lighter, I would have sworn she had done it through magic.

“Fire at her fingertips once more,” murmured Tristram.

“Blue fire,” I added quietly.

A growl came from Arthur’s chest, but because he was glaring at me, he couldn’t see that beside him, Slurpy was smirking.

“We have much to tell you, Arthur,” said Bedivere, tightening his hold on me, “and your counsel is required. Is there somewhere we can find drink and food? Sir David cannot last long without either.”

Gareth and Talan roared with laughter as Tristram ruffled the long hair of David, who looked as if he had grown at least a foot since I had last seen him.

“How are you, David?” I asked.

“Sir David is in love,” said Tristram with a snigger, as Bedivere, Gareth and Talan continued to laugh. David’s pale face flushed with a blotchy pink rash, which spread from his eyes all the way down to his exposed neck.

“Leave him alone,” I said, feeling a rush of sisterly affection for the youngest knight. At fifteen, David was the same age as our little brother Patrick – had he lived.

“We jest only, Lady Natasha,” replied Talan in his thick Irish accent. “Sir David is lucky to have found the welcoming charms of a lady at such a young age. Some of us are not so blessed. Isn’t that a knight’s woe, Sir Tristram?”

“I have no desire or want of a wife,” replied Tristram. “My heart belongs to the court of Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, and my liege alone.”

I remembered the book on Arthurian legends that was tucked into the front pocket of my striped hoodie. Tristram’s love life had been mentioned in great detail, far more than any heroics against wicked knights with a habit for decapitation. I decided to stay quiet. Tristram and I were not yet friendly enough for gossip.

“Arthuuuurrrrrr,” whined Slurpy; she actually stamped her foot. “Make them go back to whatever space dimension they came from. I don’t like this. I’m scared.”

“How did you all get here?” asked Arthur for the third time. “The tunnel that Titch and I went through last year collapsed.”

“Sir Bedivere had a vision,” replied Gareth, smiling at his friend.

“From Nimue?” I asked.

“Not the Lady of the Lake, no,” answered Bedivere. “This vision was from another enchanter, someone as powerful as Nimue, but someone who was long thought to have been gone from Arthur’s lands.”

“Merlin.”

The name came from my mouth, but in my head the voice that uttered it was deep and old. An image struck me like lightning. I felt my knees buckle, as a painful flash of brilliant white knocked me to the floor. For the briefest of seconds, I was no longer in the middle of a field in Winchester. Time dissolved as the landscape changed. I was under water, suffocating as my breath left me. I could hear laughter, and a woman’s voice that was musical. My head snapped back, and above me, I saw the rippling reflections of large green objects. Something small was moving very quickly. Then a piercing scream of anger, and the image shattered into white-hot fragments.



“Titch…Titch…”

“Natasha, come back to me.”

“Attention-seeking freak.”



My head and nose were throbbing, like I had been punched several times in the head. I actually checked for blood, and yet my eyesight was more defined and crystal clear than ever. I could see the veins of the leaves, and the rainbow reflections on the tips of the damp grass.

“What did you see, my love?” asked Bedivere urgently, as he lifted me to my feet.