The Fire of Merlin (The Return to Camelot #2)(6)

“I will need a favor from my lady to take into the ring with me, lest I die in combat.”

There was no way he was being serious. I had seen Bedivere take down scores of Saxon warriors and barely break a sweat. He was as likely to die in combat here as I was of becoming Prom Queen, but I was now having way too much fun to not play along, and it had been so long since I had had reason to smile, let alone laugh.

“You may take my glove, Sir Bedivere,” I said in a haughty voice, pulling off one of my tatty, black fingerless gloves which had a big hole in it, “but take care, as it is very precious to me.”

“Then by my life or death, it will be returned to your person undamaged, fair lady.”

Bedivere leapt sideways over the barrier, and walked into the centre of the muddy combat ring. I suddenly became aware I was getting rather hot and sweaty, even though it was freezing cold. Was it normal for being in love to play around with your body thermostat like this? My mother often complained of being too hot or too cold, but she certainly wasn’t in love with anybody, unless you counted Mr. Valium of course.

“I am Sir Bedivere, a Knight of the Round Table,” announced Bedivere to the watching crowd. “Who here challenges me?”

“I challenge thee,” called a voice. Sir Tristram, his blonde curly hair bouncing on his head, bounded over the barrier and stared down Bedivere, who was prowling around the ring like a big cat about to pounce.

“Take heed, Sir Tristram,” he called. “I will strike my hardest at even the bravest of men.”

“Not if I smite you down first, Sir Bedivere,” replied Tristram, and the slice of metal against metal was soon crashing through the air like musical cymbals.

As soon as the spectators realised there was a real fight on, they ran in their droves to hang over the side of the wooden combat ring. The panting breath from both Bedivere and Tristram smoked like steam as they fought. Tristram was using the power of both his arms as he clutched the hilt of his sword with two hands, but Bedivere was more nimble, and while he fought with just his left hand, he used his right side to balance his weight.

Talan and David soon joined me. I couldn’t see Gareth, or my brother; I didn’t care where Slurpy was. Hopefully she had been mistaken for a hog and was slowly being roasted over a spit with an apple in her enormous mouth.

Back in the ring it was Tristram who appeared to be gaining the upper hand in the fight. His sword had smashed down onto Bedivere’s several times in quick succession, and my guy was now crouched with one knee sinking into the squelching mud.

“Come on, Bedivere,” I screamed.

“Victory is yours, Sir Tristram,” yelled David; I punched him on the arm.

“I sing for both noble knights,” said Talan quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender.

But just when I - and everyone else - thought Bedivere beaten, he swerved to his left, span his entire body around in the mud, and upended Tristram behind the knees with an outstretched leg. I screamed and clapped my hands together as Tristram fell onto his back. Bedivere stood astride him with his sword pointing down, the sharp point balancing an inch away from Tristram’s bobbing throat.

“Do you yield?”

Tristram arched his head back to see where his sword was, but Bedivere had kicked the red-banded hilt away, and it was now lying rather forlornly in the oozing dark grey mud - much like its owner.

“I yield.”

Bedivere held out his hand and pulled Tristram to his feet. The spectators shouted and cheered as Tristram raised Bedivere’s hand into the sky.

I nudged Talan in the ribs with my elbow. “That’s my man.”

“Of that there is no doubt, Lady Natasha.”



We found Arthur and Slurpy not long afterwards. I think they had been arguing again because Arthur was white as a sheet. He kept rubbing at his eyes and temples. It was a sign he was stressing out over something major, because he only ever did that before a Taekwondo tournament.

Whatever Bedivere had said to him must have seriously spooked him.

Gareth appeared not long after, looking rather sheepish. He had been eating in one of the food tents, and now had tomato ketchup stains down his grey tunic.

“Had your fill of the feast yet, Sir Gareth?” mocked David, who was in a confident mood after another three wins at the joust.

“Never in all my days have I tasted anything as magnificent as…hot dogs,” replied Gareth, smacking his lips together. “Come knights of Camelot. Tonight we shall all dine like kings.”

And with that I lost my boyfriend and his mates to a burger bar in a green and white striped tent.



Arthur was sitting at a white plastic table. He was alone and deep in thought.

“This has been the best day ever!”

“Glad you came then?” His voice was rather melancholy.

“So what happens now?”

“Everything changes, Titch.”

I crossed my arms on the damp table and placed my head across them.

“Can we go back?”

I meant Logres, not our new home in London, and Arthur knew that. He slowly exhaled. His summer tan had faded through the winter, and even his freckles appeared dull. My brother looked older and more exhausted than I had ever seen him.

“I’m in deep shit, Titch.”

“But this can’t possibly be as bad as before,” I replied, reaching over and laying my hand on his. It was stone cold. “Now we know there are other paths in time between this world and theirs, we can just keep travelling between the two. We’ll go back, Nimue and this Merlin can be sorted out, we’ll stay for a couple of months, and then come back here to visit mum and dad to keep them happy for a few days – it’ll be perfect. Our secret.”