Part 24

Two days later

“So you found nothing in the Library, not even with Faramir’s help?” said Eowyn.

Arthur shook his head. “Though it was, in fact, Sir Bors who was working with Prince Faramir—books and me, we’re not really... Compatible.”

Eowyn laughed.

They were sitting beneath a Yuletide canopy of holly and ivy, guests of honour at Faramir’s table; servants were clearing away the remains of the feast, and bringing in platters of gyngerbrede and caraway cake, and bowls of dried fruits and nuts.

“But they both assure me,” continued Arthur, “that they have found no mention of Camelot, nor of any of the kingdoms that surround it.” He picked up a jug of wine and offered to refill Eowyn’s goblet.

“Thank you...” She watched him pour, then raised the goblet to him before taking a sip. “So, what will you do?” she asked.

Arthur refilled his own goblet, and set down the jug. “Your husband,” he said, “has very kindly offered me—and Sir Bors, of course—a refuge in your colony. He tells me that you have scholars there who’ll find the solution to my problem or perish trying.”

“Yes, we have an Academy,” said Eowyn, excitedly. “It is quite small at present—just twenty scholars—but we have had chambers built, in the Library courtyard, so that each has his own study, and there is a common room, where—”

A piercing scream interrupted her; she and Arthur both turned towards the commotion, and Eowyn grasped Arthur’s arm.

The swirling wind had entered the very heart of Faramir’s palace.

...

“This boy you saw, inside it,” shouted Arthur, above the cries of surprise, and the din of chairs being shoved aside, as courtiers scrambled out of the whirlwind’s path, “what was he wearing?”

He and Eowyn had left their seats, and were working their way—against the tide of fleeing guests—towards the wind, which appeared to be sweeping towards them. Legolas vaulted over a table and joined them, taking Eowyn’s arm.

“Wearing? A blue jerkin, I think,” Eowyn shouted back. “Yes, with a red kerchief at his throat—”

“I knew it.” Arthur approached the whirlwind, unconsciously raising an arm to protect his face.

“What are you going to do?” cried Legolas.

“I’m not sure how,” Arthur replied, “but I believe I’m going home.” He peered into the eye of the storm. “Is that you, Merlin?” he shouted. “How in the gods’ names did you find me?”

The couple heard no reply, but Arthur turned towards them, and waved a brief farewell.

Then he stepped forward.

The whirlwind collapsed.

All was still.

And then a single voice broke the unnatural silence. “My Lord...?” said Sir Bors.

...

“I’ve found him!” shouted Merlin. “Over here!” He waved to the knights. “Careful,” he said to Arthur.

“What happened?” Arthur, lying on his back, dazed, rubbed his forehead.

“The dragon hit you on the head,” said Merlin.

“But... That was days ago.”

“No,” said Merlin. “Just a few minutes.”

“But I remember—Lady Eowyn, and Legolas—the elf—”

“Elf?”

“I...” Arthur sat up and looked about him. “Where’s Sir Bors?”

“The dragon took him,” said Merlin. “Flew North with him.”

“Took him?”

Merlin nodded.

“Well,” said Arthur. “Poor old Bors.”

THE END