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Tom and Beansprout entered what Arthur referred to as his small dining room, on the first floor of the castle. Arthur was standing in front of the fire, resplendent in his black velvet tunic, holding a glass of his favourite beer. It was the Red Earth Ale from Holloways Meet – Arthur kept the cellars stocked with it.
Other guests stood around, chatting and catching up on news. Tonight there were just ten of them, including Jack, Fahey, Rek, Orlas and his wife Aislin, Woodsmoke and Merlin. Tomorrow the rest of the guests would arrive for the tournament, and Arthur had planned a banquet in the main hall of the castle.
Tom realised he and Beansprout were the last to arrive. He shuffled in quietly, looking sheepish, while Beansprout bounded in announcing, “Sorry we’re late, Tom took forever to get clean.”
“I was trying to have a relaxing soak in the bath, but someone kept yelling through the door at me!” he said, glaring at Beansprout. He headed to the long sideboard and poured himself a glass of beer.
“I don’t blame you, Tom,” Jack said, heading over to hug him. “We’ve had a long journey today. I could go to bed.”
Tom grinned. “Hi, Granddad,” he said, returning his hug, realising he should have greeted him properly. “You look pretty good all things considered. I bet you weren’t attacked by wolves.” He caught Fahey’s eye across the room and waved.
“No, I was not. Nor dragons, either. But it’s a long way.” He glanced round at Beansprout. “She’s stronger than she looks. It was hard to keep up. And you’ve grown too.”
“I know, Beansprout told me.”
Arthur clinked his glass for attention. “Come everyone, let us sit, eat and make merry.” He headed to the long candlelit table, the soft light showing Arthur at his most handsome and charismatic.
As they took their seats Arthur raised his glass. “To old friends–” he nodded towards Merlin sitting on his right, “and all my new ones, many of whom are very dear to me already.”
They all clinked glasses with their neighbours, Orlas repeating, “To old friends and new!”
Tom sat next to Rek who smirked at him. “You’re still getting used to all this, aren’t you?” He gestured around him to the room, food and wine.
Tom nodded. “Is it that obvious?”
“Not really. I just pay more attention than most.” He took a bite of bread. “Arthur’s quite a force to be reckoned with, isn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.
Tom nodded, a wry smile escaping. “When he has a plan, he sticks at it. First there was finding Merlin. I think you know how that went.” He glanced over to where Merlin sat laughing with Aislin. “Being trapped in a spell and then almost being killed by dragons was ... interesting. And then this castle and the tournament have been plans number two and three.”
“And are you number four?” Rek fixed his dark eyes on him intently.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked, startled, but knowing exactly what he meant.
“Sword training, archery, knife throwing, horse-riding. It’s quite the education he’s got lined up.”
Tom swallowed a large chunk of chicken. “He says I need those skills to survive here. He’s probably right.”
“Well, it will help, but I think you were doing all right anyway.” Rek looked across to where Woodsmoke sat talking with Beansprout. They hadn’t seen each other in months, and had lots to catch up on. “What does Woodsmoke think?”
“He says it’s a good idea. He’s teaching me archery.”
“You’ve got two good teachers,” Rek said, reaching for a leg of chicken.
Tom laughed. “I have. I’m lucky. And you, of course – you’ve taught me lots.” Ever since Rek had arrived he’d been assessing Tom’s skills and sparring with him.
“It’s good to practise with different people, my friend. I shall enjoy watching you in the tournament.”
“Aren’t you competing?” Tom asked, surprised.
“Only with the sword. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
Tom grinned at him. Rek may have been old and grey-haired, but he remained lean and fast, and he knew Orlas trusted his judgement completely. “I don’t believe that for a second!”
Rek smiled back. “I figure I should give the young ones a chance.” He nodded at Woodsmoke. “Besides, I think Woodsmoke’s got the edge on archery. So who else is coming?”
Tom thought over the list of guests. “Arthur’s invited Prince Finnlugh and some of his friends and family. It will be good to see him again.”
“One of the royal tribes of the fey, I presume, with a name like that?”
“He lives in this huge Under-Palace not far from Woodsmoke,” he said, remembering the labyrinth of rooms under the hill. “And Brenna arrives tomorrow, with some of the Aerikeen.”
“Now that is good news,” Rek said, raising his glass to celebrate. “Is she queen yet?”
“She’d better not be! I’m hoping for an invite. Any more Cervini coming?”
“Oh yes – Nerian, our shaman’s arriving tomorrow. Remember him?”
“Of course! I’m not likely to forget the man who summoned Herne.” Although, strictly speaking, all Tom could remember was a split-second image of the immense striding figure of Herne crossing the fire and breaking Nimue’s spell, before Tom fell unconscious for days.
“Well he’s coming with some of our best fighters. It will be quite the party, Tom,” Rek said, winking.
At the end of the night Tom staggered to his room, full of food, and reflected on what a very interesting life he now led. There was no more school, housing estates, cars, traffic lights, computers, phones or TVs. Instead, here he was in the Other with King Arthur, his living-legend ancestor, in a castle on the soft green moors of Enisled. His best friends were a fey who was skilled in hunting, a shape-shifting bird who was heir to Aeriken, and his cousin, who lived with one of the most powerful witches in history (or legend, depending on your point of view), and who was now becoming one herself. His grandfather, a sort of bard in training, was best friends with Fahey, a skilled bard who conjured magic with words. Tom’s newest friends were shape-shifting deer. And of course, there was Merlin, who now lived with them at New Camelot – the most famous sorcerer in the most famous castle of all.
Life was good.
Hours later he woke up, and couldn’t work out why. He had heard something, but what?
He got out of bed and walked across to the window, pulling back the heavy brocade curtains. His room looked out across the grounds at the rear of the castle. The shadows were thick and velvety, and trees shimmered in the breeze. Far below, in the formal gardens, Tom saw a man-shaped shadow flit across an expanse of lawn. As if it knew it was being watched, the figure stopped and looked up at him, and then fled into the grounds. The howl of wolves started, piercing the silence of night. Tom shivered. It was unusual to hear wolves so close to the castle, and why was someone running in the grounds? It must have been a guard. Tom shrugged and went back to bed.
