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They stood in front of the weapons room, gathered together in anticipation. The room was sealed by a door covered in runes and sigils, and Raghnall stood before it, murmuring incantations. Suddenly a seam appeared down the centre and the large door split into two. It opened with a quiet hiss, swinging back into blackness. Raghnall stepped inside, closely followed by the others.
Immediately a soft low light illuminated the room. It came from seven silvery moons hanging beneath a vaulted ceiling – moons that ranged from a tiny sliver of a crescent, to full and then waxing. The room had been transformed into a forest glade. Objects were displayed around the glade on pedestals, and as Raghnall approached the closest, a broad ray of moonlight illuminated it clearly and writing appeared in the air: Brionac. The weapon was a large spear, cradled in a silver hand on top of wooden pedestal, the moonlight glinting off its sharp tip.
“Behold,” Raghnall said portentously, “Brionac, the spear of Lugh.”
“One of the ancient fey kings of Ireland,” Arthur said. “He was myth in my time. How do you have this?”
Raghnall smiled. “I have my ways.”
“Brionac is supposedly impossible to overcome,” Arthur mused.
“All of the weapons here have true magical properties,” Raghnall told them. “They may belong to history, but their powers are real.”
Woodsmoke stepped forward to look at it closely. “May I?” he said, indicating he wanted to pick it up.
Raghnall hesitated for a second, then said, “Of course.”
Woodsmoke reached forward to take the spear as the silver hand released it. He hefted it as if to throw it. “It’s perfect.”
Arthur had already turned away to the rest of the objects, and the others split up and drifted around the glade. Tom headed to a sword lying lengthways, cradled in two hands on a long pedestal. He grasped the hilt and pulled it from the scabbard. Immediately a deep voice started speaking words he couldn’t understand.
Tom looked around, confused, wondering where the voice was coming from, before realising it was coming from the sword. He lifted the sword to his ear, as if that would help him translate it.
“It is called Orna. It’s the sword of King Tethra,” Raghnall said from behind him. “Once unsheathed it recounts all its deeds.”
“Why can’t I understand it?” Tom asked.
“Because it speaks in an old language not used for many years.” Raghnall turned to where Beansprout stood in front of armour magically suspended, as if over an invisible body. “The armour of the Elven King Sorcha, Wolf Lord of the North,” he called. “It repels all blades. None can pierce it.”
Tom replaced Orna in its scabbard and joined Brenna, who was picking up a bow. It seemed to be made of the flimsiest material, the wood delicate and the bow string so fine as to be almost invisible.
“Artemis’s Bow!” she exclaimed. She turned to Tom. “Do you think all this is real? I wouldn’t put it past him to do this just to impress us.”
“I don’t think the lock would be so elaborate if they weren’t real,” he replied.
Tom continued to wander around the glade, sometimes losing sight of the others behind the trees. Raghnall’s collection contained bows, spears, swords, helmets, rings of enchantment, gemstones, and even a silver saddle. Then he heard Arthur shout, “Raghnall! Is this a joke?”
Tom found Arthur standing before a collection of weapons in a clearing. On a large flat rock were a dagger, a helmet, a spear and a shield, and placed within the rock, the blade buried half way, was a sword.
Raghnall joined Arthur, smiling slyly. “No. Not a joke. I thought you’d be pleased?”
“How could I be pleased to see my own weapons displayed? And that!” Arthur pointed at the sword.
“What do you mean, your weapons?” Tom asked. The others joined them, concern on their faces.
It was Nimue who spoke first. “Clarent – The Sword of Peace.” She turned to Raghnall, frowning. “What incredibly bad taste, Raghnall.”
Raghnall’s eyes flashed. “It is a sword of great beauty, whatever it may have done.”
“It almost killed me!” Arthur exclaimed angrily.
“What?” Beansprout said.
“Clarent was my ceremonial sword, never meant for combat,” Arthur explained. “Morgan stole it and gave it to Mordred. It was the sword he used in the Battle of Camlann.”
“And the other weapons?” Woodsmoke asked.
“Priwen, my shield; Goswhit, my helmet; Carnwennan, my dagger; and Rhongomiant, my spear.” Arthur rounded on Raghnall. “Are you planning to return them to me?”
“No. They are mine now. I obtained them lawfully, presuming you dead.” He faced Arthur, implacable, his eyes drifting to Excalibur, Arthur’s hand now clutching the hilt.
“You knew I wasn’t dead, Raghnall. And as I am now standing before you, very much alive, I’d like my weapons back. Or are you wanting to add Excalibur to your collection?” A dangerous icy tone had entered his voice.
“Well, it would enhance my collection,” he said, with smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you like to sell it?”
“No, I would not!” Arthur yelled, pulling Excalibur out of its scabbard.
“A shame then. I had hoped not to do this, you have been such interesting guests.” Raghnall made the briefest of gestures and stepped back half a pace. A flash of light enveloped him, just as Arthur swung Excalibur at his head, so swiftly that Tom barely saw it. At the same time, Woodsmoke lifted Brionac and hurled it at Raghnall.
There was a thunk as Raghnall’s head hit the floor and rolled to Arthur’s feet. His body had disappeared, along with Brionac.
A sharp intake of breath was followed by a stunned silence as everybody looked at Raghnall’s head and then at Arthur. Within seconds the forest glade and the seven moons began to fade, and through the vanishing illusion they saw the walls start to appear.
Nimue looked quizzically at Arthur. “I’m not sure that was a good idea.”
“I think it was. He was about to do something treacherous, and I’ve had enough of him. Woodsmoke obviously agreed. I will not be threatened by a pompous idiot, who for the second time today has tried to steal from me.”
Tom felt a wave of nausea wash over him as Raghnall’s grinning rictus stared up at them. Killing a dragon was one thing, but this ... He looked at Beansprout and was relieved to find she looked as bad as he felt.
“Yes, but Arthur,” Nimue continued, “Raghnall was the only one keeping the dragons away from the city.”
Arthur stuttered as understanding dawned. “O-Oh, I’d forgotten that ...”
“How long have we got?” Woodsmoke asked, also looking a little sheepish.
“I have no idea, but it won’t be long. Arthur, I think it’s time you unbound my poppet.”
“Can you continue the spell?” Beansprout asked.
“I can’t continue it. With his death the spell has broken. But I can make a new one. I think.”
“You think?” Woodsmoke said, incredulous.
“As he boasted, it is a powerful spell, and I don’t know it.”
Arthur thrust Excalibur at Tom and started searching his pockets furiously. “I thought I’d put it in my inside pocket.” His earlier composure had disappeared.
“I’ll go and see what’s happening.” Brenna swiftly changed form and flew out of the room.
“They can’t possibly be here already!” Tom said, desperately hoping he was right. How could they fight half a dozen dragons or more?
“Arthur?” pressed Nimue.
“I’ve got it!” He produced the poppet with a flourish and thrust it at Nimue. “Here, do whatever you have to!”
As it touched her hands it immediately sizzled. Nimue cursed and dropped the poppet on to the floor. “Nerian didn’t trust me to even hold it! You will have to do it, Arthur.”
Arthur snatched it up, annoyed. “What do I do?”
“Unwind the cord that wraps it. Gently.”
He hesitated for a second and looked at her questioningly.
“You can trust me, Arthur. And besides, what choice do you have?”
“That’s what worries me,” he muttered.
In a few seconds the cord came free, and Nimue took it from him. She clicked her fingers and the cord turned to ash. “Excellent. Now we have to find where Raghnall performed the spell.”
“Why does that matter?” Beansprout asked.
“Because you can guarantee that wherever he did it will be the best place.”
“We’d better start looking then,” Arthur said. He retrieved Excalibur from Tom and said to Woodsmoke, “Grab weapons! Anything you think will be useful. I will take what is rightfully mine.” He put his dagger in his belt, his shield over his arm, his helmet on his head, and then grabbed his spear.
Tom looked at him, slightly stunned.
“What’s the matter, Tom?”
“You look very ...” he struggled for words, “kingly, I suppose. You don’t want the sword then?”
“No,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Clarent. “That can stay here. But I saw something for you, Tom. He strode across to another sword. “Galatine.”
“What?” Tom asked, confused.
“Take it. It was Sir Gawain’s sword, given to him by Vivian.” He smiled. “It is the sister sword to Excalibur, and Gawain was my nephew, and one of my bravest and most loyal knights. He also died because of Mordred.”
“Arthur, I can’t take it,” Tom stuttered, overawed as another piece of the ancient past appeared before him.
“Yes you can. You’re my family and I want you to have it.”
Tom gazed at Galatine, speechless.
“Tom, take it. We haven’t got all day,” Arthur said softly.
Tom felt a sudden tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with dragons, and he took the sword from Arthur, his arms dropping beneath its weight. “Thank you.”
“And for you–” Woodsmoke hurried over to Beansprout, carrying a bow. “The Fail-not. Tristan’s bow, I believe. This should help your aim.”
Beansprout took the bow from Woodsmoke. “Thanks, but who’s Tristan?”
“Another of my contemporaries,” Arthur said. “I think Raghnall had a slight obsession with me. Something else I must discuss with Vivian.”
As he finished speaking, Brenna flew into the room.
“How bad is it?” Nimue asked.
“At the moment, nothing seems to be happening. I can’t see any dragons, but it won’t be long before they realise they can access the city. Once the dragons attack, Magen and the guard will realise something has happened to the spell, and to Magen’s father.”
Arthur groaned. “I’d forgotten about Magen too.”
“I’ve found the rest of Raghnall’s body,” Brenna continued. “He didn’t go far – just outside the doors. Brionac is embedded in his chest. And to make matters worse, it will be dark soon.”
“What are we going to do about leaving?” Woodsmoke asked. “We’re running out of time. If we don’t leave soon, we could be stuck here for days if the pass is blocked by dragons. Or if they attack the city. Unless we move tonight.” He quickly explained about the route that seemed to lead up higher over the mountain, bypassing the lower road. “And now Raghnall is dead, whatever magic was blocking his private road will have gone.”
“If it was magic,” Tom pointed out.
Brenna looked appalled. “But we can’t abandon the city; everyone will die!”
“I’m not suggesting we abandon it,” Woodsmoke said. “You can help Nimue start the spell. If we can only protect the city, that’s better than nothing. The dragons can squat on the pass all they want as long as the city is safe.”
“I agree,” Nimue said. “As long as I can protect the city. So you need to go, quickly, before the mountains are full of dragons. Unless of course you want to stay, Arthur?”
Arthur looked at the floor and then at Nimue. “I need to see Merlin. But Woodsmoke’s right. If we miss our chance today, we may be stuck here for days. Or even weeks. But,” he added, “I don’t want to see the city fall and people die. Or you. Will you be all right if we go?”
“I’m sure I can do the spell,” she reassured him, “but I need to find where Raghnall performed it.”
“I noticed something on the flat roof,” Brenna said. “There seemed to be some kind of apparatus up there, and markings I couldn’t decipher.”
“That must be it,” Nimue said, and she whirled around and ran for the door.
“I’ll lead the way,” Brenna said, and returning to bird form she flew ahead. Beansprout ran after her, Fail-not under her arm.
Arthur turned to Woodsmoke and Tom. “I suppose that leaves us with saddling the horses.”
