The Fire of Merlin (The Return to Camelot #2)(4)

We had reached the stands. David was in the distance, but we could see from his animated actions that he was not impressed with the choice of lances he was being offered. As Gareth took off his dark brown cloak and placed it on the plastic seat for me to sit on, a booming voice came over the tannoy. Tristram, Gareth and Talan immediately pulled out their swords and whirled around, looking for the source.

“Idiots,” hissed Slurpy, but she was stunned as many in the crowd started to clap, clearly thinking this was part of the tournament.

“’Bout time there were some hot knights here,” called a blonde, who seriously needed to get her roots touched up. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. “You can point your sword in my direction anytime, darlin’.”

My head was still buzzing, like a swarm of bees was trying to get out, but I quickly grabbed Gareth and Talan and hauled them back onto the seats.

“It’s a loudspeaker,” I explained, pointing to the tannoy. “It means people can make their voices louder.”

“Lady Natasha,” said Talan in awe, “you did not speak of the magic in your land and time.”

And then the realisation hit me. I had fallen into a magical, mythical time and adapted quite well, if you discount the blue flame that had almost blown my head off, the white Ddraig that had tried to eat me, a Saxon warlord who had held a knife to my throat, and the deranged knight who had actually succeeded in filleting me. Now it was the knights’ turn to explore another land and time. This was going to be as strange and terrifying for them, as fire and war had been to me.

Slurpy seemed to know what I was thinking, because she slid into the seat behind me and hissed into my ear.

“They won’t last a day if a loudspeaker scares them. Soon they’ll be gone, and you’ll end up slitting your wrists in despair. I’ll lend you a razor, if you like.”

Hatred surged through every inch of me. What did my brother see in this creature? Arthur had said it himself, he knew hundreds of girls, and in my opinion, any one of them would be preferable to Slurpy.

“Sirs, ladies and ye olde peasant folk,” announced the voice over the tannoy. “Pray put your hands together and welcome Sir David of Starston to the joust.”

David had chosen a huge chestnut coloured horse covered in purple and yellow tack. As the tannoy announced his name, David reared his horse onto its hind legs. He saluted the crowd, which exploded into cheers, the loudest of which came from Tristram, Gareth and Talan. I stole a look at David’s competitor who had his metal visor up. He looked rather confident, and was shaking his head with a one-sided grin on his long face.

In the distance I could see a middle-aged man, who looked horribly like my father, running towards David with a helmet and armour. He was yelling something about health and safety regulations.

“Pray, what is that fool doing?” asked Tristram.

It was too late. An armourless David had already kicked into his horse, and it was thundering along the ground. David gripped the lance in his left hand.

“Oooh, he’s so brave,” cried the fake blonde behind me. “Come on, gorgeous, kill the bastard.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, as Tristram, Gareth and Talan all turned around in slow motion to gaze with open mouths at the woman who was baying for blood, with language that would have made my mother pass out.

“You’re missing David’s big moment,” I shouted, as the lances were locked into a horizontal position by both riders.

There was a shattering metallic sound; an explosion of splintering wood; the crowd roared its approval and the earth stopped vibrating as the thundering hooves slowed down to a trot. David raised what was left of his lance into the air, and then bent forward to stroke his horse’s neck. The fake blonde was now screaming out exactly what she wanted to do to Sir David of Starston, which was totally gross seeing as he was younger than me.

Tristram and Talan jumped from their seats and ran across the arena towards their friend. Neither of them stopped to help the fallen 21st century knight, who was struggling to get up from the ground because of all the armour he was wearing. He was lucky that David’s lance appeared to be made out of nothing more substantial than balsa wood. Anything stronger, and he would have been skewered like a corn dog.

I craned my neck around the stands to see if Bedivere and Arthur had seen David’s victory, but they were standing far back and were deep in conversation. Both of them looked very serious, but then they seemed to become aware that I was watching them as they both glanced over to me and smiled. As I gazed back at Bedivere, my stomach flipped and flopped like the pancakes Arthur had cooked a few days beforehand for Shrove Tuesday. Neither I nor my mother had managed more than a mouthful.

“I feared Sir Bedivere’s heart would break after you departed Logres, Lady Natasha,” said Gareth quietly.

I looked over my shoulder, and saw Gareth was still standing next to me. He wasn’t looking at Tristram and Talan, who had now hoisted the victorious David onto their shoulders and were showing him off to the adoring crowd. Instead, Gareth’s small eyes were fixed on Bedivere and Arthur. He had a sad, wistful look on his face, one that I had seen him make a number of times in Logres.

“He could not speak such was his grief,” continued Gareth. “We vowed to do all within our power to help him find you again, but with every passing cycle of the moon, Sir Bedivere fell deeper into misery.”