Guardians of Albion

The Journey Begins

"The number of opposition has just about tripled!" Union Jack told his team. "We need to get down there and block off that portal, fast!"

"And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his Gods."

The Cat quoted.

"No fathers, no gods." The Commando noted.

"Not likely to die, either, unlike us mere humans!" The Cat pointed out.

"There's nothing 'mere' about any human I ever met, Will!" The Commando told him. "I was made to be what I am, you chose to be you!"

At that point the green light went on and philosophical conversations were put on hold.

The aircraft dropped out of the low cloud cover to hover near the arch of the portal. The belly-hatch opened, and the Commando jumped out, to land in the famous 'superhero crouch' as his team-mates slid down ropes to join him.

The area was largely empty, everyone seemed to be inside. The low cloud and the stealthiness of the aircraft had allowed Excalibur to approach undetected and land directly in the compound without alerting anyone. But that changed as the look-outs blew horns and warriors started to stream out of the buildings. Tall Fae in red and black armour, armed with weapons of red crystal. Almost at once, their archers began to fire while the others readied themselves to charge.

The arrows were little more than a nuisance to Excalibur, whose outfits were reinforced with Kevlar and ceramic plates against which the crystal arrowheads shattered. The Hooded Man responded with a steady fire of his own. He never missed and his shafts punched through the Tuatha armour easily.

Herne was gesturing and chanting, and as he did so, the ground writhed and plants sprang up, tangling the feet of the Tuatha and creating a thicket through which the warriors would have to push.

But the Tuatha came on. Not in overwhelming numbers, but in a steady stream. They were skilled and savage and did not go down easily. Spitfire and the Cat met them with speed, agility and flickering knives. Jack with speed, strength and three lifetime's worth of experience. The Commando now wielded the Gaebolga in close combat, thrusting and tearing with the barbed head or slicing with the blade at the other end. The Hooded Man had slung his bow and fought with a heavy, single-edged hanger. Then the sun dipped below the horizon and Herne transformed, becoming the powerful, stag-headed fighter.

But the team were spread thin around the portal, and the Tuatha kept coming. Sooner or later the team would be swarmed. Already Tuatha Sorcerors were working to counter Hernes' magic and the conjured thicket was withering. Unfortunately for the Sorcerors, the concentration needed to achieve this left them wide open to the Hooded Man, who now resumed his sniping.

Then several things happened at once. The Portal flickered, then vanished, leaving an empty arch and bringing a bellow of rage from the Tuatha. The last Sorceror fell, but so did the last of the thicket. Two figures appeared beside the Excalibur team. Both in full armour -one in red, the other in black – and both carrying large black swords. There was a moments' silence, then a tall figure stepped out from the Tuatha ranks.

"Brothers!" He said. "I, Sir Caranthir, your Captain-General, bid you be of good heart! Our venture here has failed, but not through any fault of ours. It therefore becomes our part to return to Amethyn. I have the skill to re-open yonder Portal, but we must reach it first.

"The most of our number have fallen, but now with no barrier between us and these Children of Dust, we shall overrun them! Forward, in Tirnochs' name!"

Fully sixty Tuatha charged, and battle was joined in earnest! The Cat unlimbered his clawed discs and became a dervish of destruction. Spitfire slid through the press with the grace of a dancer and the cold ferocity of a tiger. The Commando settled immovably in front of the Portal, the Gaebolga weaving a lethal net around him. Herne rampaged through the battle, crushing enemies at a blow while his Son sniped from the periphery.

Then the two armoured figures crashed into the fray. What the Black Swords touched, died. Armour was no proof against them, blades raised to parry were shattered or sheared off. The Swords sang as they killed; a stern, wordless song of righteous wrath and the death of evil.

Then Jack found himself facing Caranthir.

"Prepare, Child of Dust!" Caranthir warned. "Prepare to meet Tirnoch the Merciful!"

"Prepare to get your arse kicked!" Union Jack replied, then rolled aside as the crimson blade swung down. He countered with a sweep kick, but the Fae knight jumped to avoid it. But as Caranthir came down, Jack was surging up. The spiked, metal-reinforced gauntlet slammed into Caranthirs' side, denting the armour and cracking at least one rib. Caranthir cursed, and struck Jack's head with the heavy pommel of his sword. But Jacks' costume was not the old Union Jack one, with its' cloth hood. The modern version had a full helmet, so instead of a crushed skull, he suffered only a ringing in his ears and slight disorientation. Nevertheless, it gave Caranthir an opening to grapple Jack and send him to the ground. Then he thrust downward. The ceramic chestplate stopped the thrust, but Caranthir continued to push downward, leaning on the hilt. The plate resisted, but was itself pushed down, hindering Jacks' breathing and putting pressure on his chest. He felt a couple of ribs give, and the pain sent adrenaline, and more than adrenaline, surging through his enhanced physiology. His hands clamped onto the blade, and against all Caranthirs' efforts, he pushed it up away from his chest, then snapped it off short with a twist of his wrists.

Using his shoulders as a base, Jack landed a double-footed kick in Caranthirs' midsection, throwing the Fae back several metres. Then Jack was up, fully berserk, focused only on his opponent. Caranthir tried to defend himself with a long, jagged dagger, but Jack ignored the stabs and slashes, boring in close with punch after devastating punch. The armoured gauntlets first dented, then split, the iron and Prismere armour to crush the organs and break the bones beneath it. Caranthir staggered, then fell. Jack planted a knee on his chest and ripped off the helmet.

"I yield!" Caranthir gasped.

"Fuck off!" Jack replied and crushed his opponents' skull with a single blow.

Then his mind cleared and he became aware of his surroundings. The Red Knight stood by, watching him.

"You did well to refuse his surrender." The Knight said. "The Tuatha Deohn are shorn of honour. He sought only a chance to avoid death and strike you down later."

"If you say so." Jack replied. "I'm a bit hazy on this whole chivalry thing. It's not the way we fight nowadays."

"So I understand, but the ferocity of your race has not dimmed." The Knight replied. "You and your companions are as fell and dour-handed as reports make you, and far more valiant! To face such a host of Tuatha without blenching or hesitation is something few Fae Knights could have done."

Jack heaved himself to his feet – he was bruised, had cracked ribs and Caranthirs' dagger had found it's mark more than once – and looked around. The fight was all but done, the last few Tuatha falling under Hernes' fists and the sword of the Black Knight.

"To be fair," he said, "we had no real idea of what we were facing!"

"You are wounded." The Knight noted.

"I've got enhanced healing." Jack told him. "I'll mend. You OK, Jenny?"

Spitfire had come up, holding the Chalice. "I'm fine, Mike. Here, have some of this. One of those Fae shoved his sword clean through Will, but one swig from this and he's already as spry as a toddler!"

Mike took a long drink from the Chalice. It tested like a fine red wine, smooth and velvety. Warmth flowed through him and the pain vanished.

"Now that," he said, "is how it's supposed to taste!"

The Knight laughed. "Had you been a man of no worth, the draught had been bitter and the healing but slow!"

By this time, the others had come up. The Hooded Man was gone, leaving a grinning Rob Locke to listen to the Commandos' grumbling.

"Another outfit gone!" The mech was saying. "It must be costing them a fortune, but they still insist I wear them!"

"Well, it makes sense." Rob replied. "You wear the battledress, you're the Steel Commando. No uniform, and you're just the Steel Nudist, which isn't nearly so cool-sounding!"

"Steel Naturist." The Commando corrected. "The argument does have some merit, I suppose. Mark 2 Indestructible Robot does not lend itself to a dramatic acronym, any more than Advanced Artificially Intelligent Infantry Combat Mech does. On the other hand, could the concept of nudity apply, given that I am not 'anatomically correct'?"

"Not legally, I suppose." Rob allowed. "But in terms of public perception, the uniform makes you impressive, but not scary to ordinary people. It reduces your, what, roboticity, mechness?"

"Humans are peculiar." The Commando noted.

"You've noticed that, too?" Jenny said. "How's it going, Will?"

The Cat was devouring one of the energy bars he always carried. "I'm good, but really Hank Marvin!" He said. "Whatever my old man did to me, using it burns up a shitload of calories! The bars will hold me for a bit, but I need a good meal! What have you got there?"

"These?" Jenny said, holding up a pair of Tuatha weapons. Crescent-shaped blades perhaps a metre from tip to tip, with grips in the centre, the convex sides honed to a killing edge. "Never seen anything like them before. I was going to see if the armourers could make me a pair."

"They are called faeblades, an ancient weapon among that people, especially those who prized agility over strength. Queen Gwynhwyfar was an expert in their use." The Red Knight told her. "But it is not well that you should take those from here, or even handle them overlong. They were forged with Prismere, and will attack your mind and will, turning them to savagery."

"Ah!" Spitfire said. "Then perhaps I'll just take photos of them!"

"Hang on a minute!" Mike said. "Before we start taking your advice, mate, perhaps you should tell us who you are? No offence, but you and your oppo there popped up from nowhere and just got stuck in! We're grateful for the help, but for all I know you might have had it in for these Tuatha for personal reasons, but not necessarily be on our side!"

Herne made to step forward, but the Red Knight motioned him to be quiet.

"You have the right of it, Sir Knight, I have been lacking in courtesy!" He removed his helmet, revealing a square, handsome face; mostly human, but with slanted eyes and pointed ears that indicated Fae blood. The eyes were grey and piercing, the skin pale, the tied back hair and trimmed beard the colour of copper. He bowed formally.

"Sir Michael, I hight Gawain, called the Red Knight, Knight of the Round Table, bearer of the Ring of Fire, wielder of Excalibur and one of the Three Guardians of Albion."

"Right, OK." Mike replied. "Herne, that means he's on our side, yes?"

"For the moment, at least." Herne allowed. "For the future, much depends on the path you choose!

"Sir Gawain, is it sooth that the Lady Morgian is no more?"

"I can attest to that personally!" The Black Knight spoke for the first time. "It was I who assisted her in departing this vale of tears."

"The Lady Morgian now dwells in Mandos." Gawain confirmed. "We have a short time of calm in which to prepare for what comes."

At that moment, the Portal opened, and a procession came through. Mostly Fae, but behind them, a dozen short, broad-shouldered figures. Gawain bowed to the leader.

"King Cirdan, you are come for the Tuatha?" He said.

Cirdan nodded. "As is the duty of the House of Sorrows. Alas, many of these Tuatha refuse their destiny and fall into Angband. But we must still collect their Sorrows, lest the memories be lost. The bodies must go to the Midden, also so that nothing be lost."

"So it must be." Gawain replied. "But what business have the Naugrim here? It is long since they had dealings with any other folk"

One of the shorter people came forward. His face was richly bearded and very human, but with a sloping forehead and large, dark eyes. He bowed to Gawain.

"Thorin, son of Durin, Prince of the Khazad, at your service." He said in a deep, guttural voice.

"Gawain, son of Gwyar, at yours and your familys'" Gawain replied.

"We come here to collect the arms of the Tuatha Deohn." Thorin informed them. "Our people are stronger to resist the evil of Prismere. Strong enough to take these weapons and armour and cast them into the firepits of Moria, where the evil shall be burned from them. Galadriel Queen of Summer sent word to my father that this must be done, and he has sent me and my men to ensure that it is."

"It was well thought of." Gawain said. "But there is another here I did not look to see. Greetings, Sir Mablung of the Heavy Hand, Champion of Winter."

Shorter than some Fae, but more powerfully built than most, Sir Mablung wore silver armour that glittered as if a frost lay on it. He saluted Gawain.

"Hail, Red Knight!" He said. "I am here at the bidding of Queen Melian, seeking one known as Spitfire or Jenny?"

"That would be me." Jenny said, stepping forward.

"'Tis well." Mablung said. "You bear the Chalice, I see its' mark on you. Therefore, these are also yours."

He unslung a long bag from across his back and handed it to Jenny. She opened it and brought out a pair of steel faeblades, plain and undecorated, but beautiful simply by the mastery of their craftsmanship. "Oh, my!" Jenny said, "Are these really mine?"

Mablung nodded. "These were forged in the Old Time by Craftmaster Feanor, and given by Queen Galadriel to Queen Gwynhwyfar, who also bore the Chalice. After the Battle of Camlann, when Arthur was no more and the Kree made their judgement, Gwynhwyfar gave them into the keeping of the Queen of Winter. Before she left for Avalon, Gwynhwyfar bade Queen Melian keep them against the day that another should be found worthy to bear the Chalice, and have need of them. Thus they come to you, my Lady. Use them well!"

With that, he bowed again, turned on his heel and strode back through the Portal.

"He was ever sparing of speech." Gawain noted. "But now, Sir Michael, it behoves us to return to your hold, we have need of longer speech, and your people have even greater need of food and drink!"

"This, Sir Michael, is where we part for a time." Herne said. "I have work I must be about. But I will leave my Son with you, as I promised. We shall meet again, in the proper time. Farewell!"

He turned and left. Mike looked after him for a moment, then shrugged. He was beginning to understand that the magical beings worked on rules that were very different from regular people.

"I'd better whistle up some transport." He said.

"No need of that." Gawain told him. "I know of paths quicker and surer. Come!"

XXXXX

Colonel Dennis Behan looked quizzically at the woman on the other end of the video-link.

"It's been a while, Brigadier." He said. "Was it your idea to get former Unit members in charge of every department?"

"Of course not!" Kate Stewart said. "You know who we work for. It was His idea!"

Everybody who had been in the Unit knew who 'He' was, so Behan knew better than to push it further.

"So, do I work for you now?" He asked.

"Of course not!" Kate said. "You're in charge of your own department. Just like Palfrey was. You answer to nobody except the people you protect! But now, hopefully, we'll be on the same page."

"Fair enough." Behan allowed. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"That sculpture you sent me." She said. "We've been able to identify it.."

XXXXX

They sat at the conference table, Mike ordered food and drinks.

"OK," He said. "We're here, though exactly how is a bit hazy…"

"The Dragon Paths have long been known to the Guardians and the Walkers." Gawain told him. "With time, you will see them more clearly and become able to use them yourselves. For now, you will need my guidance."

"So you're sticking around, then?" Will asked. "You and your silent partner here?"

"Indeed." Gawain said. "This is the counterpart in these times of the Round Table, and as such, is my place."

"OK, then." Mike said. "You're handy to have around, but I'm still in charge!"

"Of course." Gawain replied. "You stand in the place of Arthur and carry his authority over the Order."

"No pressure, then!" Jenny said.

Mike grinned at her, then turned to the Black Knight. "What about you?" He asked. "You haven't said much, but you sound familiar."

"We did cross paths once." The Black Knight said. "Before this team was formed and shortly after I returned to Britain." He removed his helm to reveal the face of a handsome Black man. He smiled, and the sapphire teeth glittered.

"Evelyn Cream." Jack said. "Assassin for hire. Bit of a career change?"

"One might be forgiven for thinking so." Cream answered. "But actually, I have never felt more comfortable! This may sound silly, but I finally feel that I have found the role my parents wanted for me!

"That being so, I am now the Black Knight."

"All right." Mike told him. "But I will be keeping an eye on you!"

"I expect no less." Cream replied. "But now I believe I hear refreshments approaching!"

XXXXX

"Well, thank God it's Friday!" Hermione Granger said. "I need a couple of days to get my head straight before I plunge back into work on Monday!"

"Know what you mean!" Harry Potter agreed. "I've got to get back to Reading! Mind you, they've given me a first-class ticket!" He looked at the other two. "Well, it's been nice working with you guys! Weird, but nice!"

"It may not be over." Ron Weasley pointed out. "They did say that they might need our help again before long!"

"'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'" Harry quoted, shaking Rons' hand firmly. "Take care, mate!"

Hermione hugged Harry and kissed his cheek. "Keep in touch!" She commanded.

Harry waved to them both, climbed into the waiting taxi, and was gone. Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a moment, then.

"Want to get something to eat?" Ron asked.

"That'd be nice." Hermione allowed. "But I was thinking we could just go back to my flat. Then, after we've worked up an appetite, we can get a take-away."

"Sounds like a plan." Ron told her.

She laughed, and they walked off holding hands.

XXXXX

In the depths of the Pacific Ocean lies a monstrous city of stone. It is not a ruin, for though it was sunk in a catastrophe, the powers of its inhabitants were enough to preserve it intact. The city is vast, built from Cyclopean blocks of masonry joined with great skill, according to the rules of a strange geometry. The towers and buildings and ziggurats are odd, distorted, and to the limited perceptions of a human, look as if they should not be standing. In the centre of the city stands a colossal structure, a palace, a temple or perhaps both. In the topmost tower of this edifice, in a chamber of impossible shape, is a stone cube of immense size.

On the stone a figure crouched, clawed feet gripping the edge of the block, clawed hands resting on the raised knees, head bowed in as if in sleep or death. Here it had stayed for uncounted ages, trapped by the malice of the stars, neither dead nor alive, but dreaming. But now, something changed. A twitch of movement, a slight stirring. A beginning.

XXXXX

Ultron had tried and tested several mobile platforms. Some he had rejected, others remained in his base. Specialised forms to be used as needed. But this one, his main one, was the best he had created. He had considered using adamantium for the hull, but had decided that, despite its near-invulnerability, the metal was too heavy. It would render him more sluggish than he wanted to be. Vibranium, the next choice, was expensive and hard to come by, even illegally, but he had secured enough of it to form the outer layer of his shell -the rest being high-impact ceramics and high-tensile polycarbide.

The platform was humanoid, two metres tall and not overly bulky. It was fast, strong and capable of limited flight. It was also equipped with several beam weapons and a sonic disruptor.

Not that Ultron was going to take on the world hand-to-hand. No, he would spend most of his time in the Cloud, infiltrating systems and taking them over until the world was his without anyone noticing. Then he could begin the next stage of evolution. One in which humans would either merge with their technology, or be slaves to it.

But to do that, he needed several things. He needed to gain exclusive possession of the Arc Reactor technology. He needed the Gargunza data that had been wiped from his memory. He needed the Stark-Wayne AI Jarvis, who had all this data, but who had thus far resisted any attempt at penetration.

Also – and this was what his new platform was for – he needed to remove the humans who might stand in his way. The Blackhawks, Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark, Charles Xavier, Clark 'Doc' Savage, The Batman, Iron Man and the rest of the Spectre team, Excalibur and Weapon X. Now he was a match for any and all of them!

"This is gonna be fun!" Ultron crowed.