Chapter 27 - …it ends here
It was Mordred, and he looked like he had found who he was looking for.
It would've been so easy back then. So easy to just rush out of the niche and thrust my sword into Mordred, to kill him just like that, without a final showdown, drama, and death. But something held me back. Be it that I had never before killed anyone in cold blood instead of in defence of my own life, be it, that I was tired, or stunned, or distracted, or that now that the end was so close I wanted to savour the moment – or maybe keep the end from happening at all.
To this day, I don't know what it was, but sadly, I hesitated, and that's a fact, and because of this, a life was lost.
When I finally emerged from the niche, Mordred was already twenty metres away from cliff and dangerously close to his target: Before him, on the ground, I saw a figure spread out motionless, just like so many other bodies I had seen that day already. But this broken doll was different, for it was King Arthur himself.
"Mordred!", I roared, anger boiling up inside of me, hot and searing, and desperate, for the King wasn't moving and might, for all that I knew, be dead already. But if he was, and I had again failed, the least thing I could do was to protect his body and keep the former knight at bay. I stopped caring about not being a killer and rushed onwards, my sword raised high. I was still yelling, unintelligible words by now, and finally, finally, Mordred turned around, his face a mask of fury at being interrupted so close to his chosen arch-enemy.
Then I saw the Arthur-doll moving in the corner of my eye and new hope flooded in: He was alive.
I gave Mordred no chance to look around and see that the King was not dead.
We met half-way. Our swords crashing into one another produced a strange, ringing tone and I reminded myself that getting cut by this weapon would be a death-sentence.
Within a few moments it became obvious that I was no real match for Mordred. He was taller than I was, he had more weight and strength and considerably more energy left. He was also furious, giving him extra strength, and I kept waiting for his eyes to flash golden, adding magic to his overpowering fighting abilities. I lost more and more ground with every hit of his I narrowly managed to block. He was attacking me mercilessly, driving me backwards, without so much as a twitch on his face.
I wasn't fighting for Arthur any more, I was fighting for my own life, desperately holding on to what I knew I must give up soon enough. But not without proper goodbyes, not this time, not again, I swore to myself, and made another step back.
A vicious smile of triumph spread over Mordred's face.
I slammed into the cliff's sheer stone wall to which Mordred had driven me and pain spread through my entire body. All the air was knocked out of me, and for a moment I only saw blackness, my head spinning. I doubled over and Mordred's blade collided with the wall above me and he staggered back a few steps, cursing loudly while already yanking up his sword again, ready to run me through with it this time.
I tried to raise my own sword, but found that my right arm was left numb from slamming into the cliff. There was nothing left I could do but wait for him to strike.
I pressed my eyes shut, clenching my teeth so as to not let out a scream. He wasn't worth that.
One would expect us to be the nameless soldier who saves a King's life, by mere accident seemingly. But it's not as simple as that. It never is. Sometimes it's the changer who needs saving, and though most times there's no one there to notice, every once in a while a changer has a little bit of luck.
When I heard the sound of metal meeting metal, accompanied by an unusual screeching I couldn't quite place, I opened my eyes wide and gasped, first in surprise, then in horror as I watched Arthur and Mordred face each other. It was like everything I had been working against now came to pass, and I was struck with how much I knew this to be wrong. I managed to get up to my feet, my arm still numb, but knew I couldn't step in between them any more as they circled each other in a deadly dance. They must have done this so many times before in training, but now, they were looking for an opening to kill.
I felt myself trembling violently, silently pleading for someone, anyone, to help.
"It doesn't have to be like this", Arthur said, his face carefully blank of any expression.
"Oh, it does", Mordred answered, "you brought this on yourself and gave me no choice!" - and with the last syllable he attacked.
It was over in a minute: Mordred slowly fell back, his face no longer a mask of anger and hate, but wearing the expression of a boy again, disappointed, startled, even hurt. Mordred fell – but Arthur remained standing, staring down at his former friend.
I couldn't suppress a sob of relief: It was finally over.
Camlann's prophecy had been averted. Arthur was still alive.
Alive.
Arthur swung around, his eyes narrowing: "Will, what – "
"Look out!", I screamed in terror and jumped forward, cannoning into him, in a desperate attempt to get Arthur out of the way. Wherever the Saxon had come from, determined to avenge his fallen leader, he was fast, and I saw him just in time.
Both Arthur and I fell to the ground heavily. Unsteadily, I tried to get up, the numbness in my right arm morphing into a searing pain – I knew the Saxon might already be upon us with his sword at the ready.
