Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) (32 page)

It had to be his
father
.

But why should he have it? He shook his head. No, Arthur was his king. He won the sword for his king; it was going to Arthur. He slid the glorious sword back into the sheath. He would not look at it again.

But it burned in his mind and his fingers trembled to touch it again.
It was the only sword he had ever seen forged with black steel. He pulled it back out staring at its illuminating shine, twisting the flawlessly balanced weight in his hand. It fit his grip perfectly, forming to his palm, as if it was made for him. It lured him in, mesmerizing him, making it difficult to pull away.

He had won
it; why should he not keep it? Arthur already had Excalibur. Arthur had everything and he had nothing. That was how it always was. It usually did not bother him to be in Arthur’s shadow; Arthur was deserving of the light, but this time it vexed him painfully, twisting knots inside of him. Why should he not hold one thing beautiful? Aye, it was his. He won it; he could keep it safe, and he would keep it from Arthur, because if he could not have it then nobody could.

“
Aylwin
.” Merlin breathed, as shocked as Brendelon.

Mordegrant loo
ked over his shoulder at Merlin. “I am rather disappointed on how my son was raised,” he said to him. “Disrespectful and undisciplined to be sure, but more than that he is
content
being a serving boy,” he said disgustedly, turning back to the horror stricken face of Brendelon who still hadn’t quite recovered. “The Oracle told your mother that a blood relative would be the one who killed the future High King. Naturally, we assumed you to be the heir and after the last incident I had with you, we thought Oracle meant
I
was the one who would kill you. It was arduous to keep my temper with a boy so dire; never listening, unable to even focus for even a
sliver
of time, always doing the wrong thing.” His jaw clenched, looking elsewhere. His face scrunched upwards as though his anger was renewed by the memories. “I had to leave before I did any permanent damage.” His features straightened, and he focused his eyes back on Brendelon. “It was difficult to walk away not knowing if my son would be raised correctly. Unfortunately, I was right in doubting it so.” He gave another evil look to Merlin. “Eight years later we come to find that Arthur is to become the High King,” he turned to Brendelon, “and it is actually
you
who was meant to kill him.”

“You are lying,” Brendelon said but his voice was quieter, childlike.

Mordegrant laughed. “Ask your precious Merlin!”

Merlin shook his head, not making eye contact with either of them.

“Imagine my anger at disappearing and being forced to create a whole new identity, all to ensure your rise to the throne, but only to find that all this time you had been raised by pathetic insubstantial men who coddled you and tricked you into thinking you
love
Arthur just so they can control you from destroying him.” His face twisted. “A disappointment to be sure! It took all my will power to not reveal myself then. After all, you were only fifteen; I still had time to mold you into a suitable warrior.” He glanced at Morgaina. “But my patience did me well because after Arthur pulled the sword, we acquired another ally.” He smiled at Morgaina. “And then Baedan was revealed.”  

He pulled the black sword from a sheath behind his back and held it out in front of Brendelon. His dark eyes flittered to the sword, illuminating to green, entranced. “It took
years of planning to acquire it.” He swung it gracefully in his hand and Brendelon watched his every move like a dog waiting for a treat. “A sword forged from the isle of Avalon. A sword made only for a male heir of the Pendragon blood line. A sword meant for
you.”

I s
ucked in my breath at his words. I was right; he was connected. Mordegrant held it towards Brendelon; his emerald eyes became brighter and brighter at every centimeter it came closer. “See how it makes you feel?” he whispered.

Brendelon stayed motionless, green eyes awestruck by the sword; he slowly re
ached his hand out. “Meant for
me
?” he whispered.

“Brendelon, no!”
Merlin shouted, clapping his bound hands twice behind his back, Brendelon flickered his eyes towards Merlin, moving his hand away, but within a split second they were back on the sword. “Eyes on me!” he demanded. He shifted his eyes momentarily, but once again they were fixed on the sword. 

Mordegrant
let out a short laugh. “Of course he wants to keep it from you, but it is your sword, son. It calls to you. The draw you feel is for you alone.”

“It is not for him al
one, Mordegrant!” Merlin yelled. “It will call to Arthur too and it will destroy him!”

For the first time Brendelon lifted his gaze from the sword to actually focus on Merlin, the conflic
tion was elucidated in his eyes. “What are they speaking of?” he asked him. 

“Bran
, please understand, the more you know the more power it gives the sword.”

“He will no
t tell you because he knows the more you know the less he can manipulate you!” Ravenna hissed. “The same way he manipulated the sword in the stone to give Arthur the crown!”

“Arthur was born first and is the legitimate son of Uther Pendragon. He is the rightful heir and is the High King of Britain!”
Merlin shouted at her.

“Tell me
, Merlin!” Brendelon yelled, angry now.

             
Merlin gave a long sigh, and shifted his tired blue eyes toward the sky. “Yes, in a way the sword was meant for you.”

             
“What do you mean in a way?” he asked, clenching his fists.

             
Merlin sighed again. “Excalibur could only be elicited by the blood of the Pendragon. The same way Baedan can only be elicited by the blood of a Pendragon. The same reason all these vipers are here, waiting for you.”

“The same reason you kept me in your watch,” he growled.

“No, I kept you in my watch because I took pity on an abused seven-year old child.  The sword was never meant to be found. The knowledge gives it power as it finds a place in you, and the power will lure you in only to consume and destroy you,” he said, scrunching his eyebrows down further as he spoke. 

             
His nostrils flared slightly and his breathing increased. “So Arthur is the shining sun, and I am nothing more than his dark shadow, the counteractive to his good.”

             
“No Bran,” Merlin said softly, “it is not your fate. Though you are the one who can trigger it, the Lord gave you free will to choose your own path. Once the sword is activated, it will call for Arthur, the same way Excalibur will call for you. Good means to overcome evil and evil means to destroy good. It is an endless battle and the only solution will be the death of one of you. You do not have to follow that path.” He looked at him with a pleading expression.

“Why did it not activate
when I held it the first time?” he muttered.

“Because the emerald was removed,
” Mordegrant cut in officiously. “A smart move on Vivian’s behalf, and one we took note of. We could not trust you with a power that strong while you were at Cadvic’s, but the emerald is the power source of the sword and it will always find its way back.”

“Why even involve
Cadvic? You had me, the emerald, and the sword yet you let them slip through your fingers for what? Foolish revenge?” he derided.

Mordegrant
snarled. “It is not simply revenge you imprudent boy. It is strategy; battling Cadvic’s army depletes Arthur’s forces while also diminishing his allies, leaving them weak and vulnerable, distracting them from one side while we sneak through the cracks and finish them off from the other.”

“It will never work,”
Brendelon spat disgustedly. “Arthur will find a way to make peace.”

“You have
a lot to learn boy,” he boomed. “There will
never
be peace; Arthur is an ignorant fool to expect such. The world thrives from war; it generates a need for hope, gives workers a purpose, and creates a false sense of camaraderie and unity. It is easy to manipulate ones emotions: kill a few innocents, put the blame on an enemy, and see how many warriors you suddenly have all aimed for one goal. It keeps the commoners uniform and controlled because they begin to fear what could be and stemming from that fear, they willingly give up their freedoms for protection from higher authority.
That
is power! It is the way of it, the way it has always been. After all, you cannot really appreciate the glory if you have not felt the suffering.”

“So you attacked and slaughtered your own people just for control?” Brendelon yelled.

“I would not have had to do so if you had just done as you were meant to by giving Arthur the sword!” he roared. “My men who lost their lives were simply a sacrifice for a greater purpose. Arthur’s warband will be vulnerable from battling Cadvic and their time of weakness will be the perfect moment for my united, blood-thirsty men to attack and finally sit you on your throne as High King.”

Brendelon
snarled. “And what makes you think that if I am king I would not have your head on a spike the moment I am crowned?”

Morgaina
grinned. “Because I will control you, like the little pawn you are.” She pointed to his wrists, and his face twisted up in disgust. “You began the bargain; you slaughtered innocent lives for power to win the sword. I kept my end, and you are indebted to keep yours. If you do not, every moment that passes binds you more and more so to me. Blood for blood, Brendelon. You may be defiant now, but you
will
be responsible for the lives that you took.”

He was breathing deeply, clearly disturbed with the information he heard, his eyes moved rapidly back and forth
. “And once I complete the deal, the bonds disappear and I am free, so what control do you have, wench?” he snarled. But she didn’t respond, her thin lips curled upwards and her eyes remained lazy, satisfied, and uncaring.

“The metal bands are only a physical control but the bond of the sword will take you into the depths of darkness
, Bran, where your mind and soul become consumed and that is where she is most powerful,” Merlin replied quietly.

Brendelon’s chest heaved up and down as he kept murderous eyes on the ground. “Blood for blood,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to her. “I can repay it and I will. I would rather die than let any of you have power over me,” he hissed.

I wanted to shout no, but I couldn’t find my voice and all I could feel was my body turning to liquid and my stomach fighting to swim its way out of my throat. Morgaina must have felt the trepidation too, because for the first time her smug face twisted into abhorrence and the look made him laugh, which only added to her fury. I glanced to the side, regretful that I had, because if I had thought Brendelon had sinister looks, it was nothing compared to what his father could do.

He stomped forward, and grabbed
Brendelon roughly by his shirt. “Well gallant knight, allow me to do it for you!” he roared as he reached back to swing his fist towards his face but as he came close, Brendelon blocked it with his forearm, and pushed forward to stand but the guards at his sides grabbed him by the arms pinning them behind him and hitting the back of the legs once again to bring him down to knees, as Mordegrant backhanded him across the face, so hard his cheek welted instantly.  

Mordegrant clenched his jaw
and wrapped a thick hand around the back of his son’s neck, leaning in close. “I liked you better when you wept in the corner, begging for forgiveness,” he snarled cruelly.

“And I liked you better when I thought you dead,” he spat back wit
h burning eyes.

Mordegrant gripped him by the back of the hair with his left hand, smashing his face down into the ground, as the guards continued to hold his hand behind his back, immobilizing him. It was dirty and unfair. “You disrespect
ful, arrogant brat!” he growled. “If I did not need you, I would take your life right here!” He pulled him back up as his right arm went back and came forward, burly fist into the beautiful face, bloodying his lower lip.

B
rendelon’s eyes flashed upward—black and malevolent—as the guards pulled him to his feet then Mordegrant uppercut him in the stomach with his left, doubling him over. “Beg me now!” he roared then he came down hard with his right hand across Brendelon’s face followed by a left hook. Brendelon stumbled falling to the left, not even able to defend himself or brace his fall with the knights holding his arms back. Mordegrant laughed at the bloody and bruised face of his son. “I forgot how much I enjoyed this,” he sneered cruelly.

“Take your hands off him!” Merlin shouted.

“You stay out of this Merlin!” Mordegrant threatened. “You have already done enough damage in the upbringing of my son.”

“You are a coward,” Brendelon sneered, black hair flopped across his eyes as
he spit out a mouthful of blood. “A pathetic man who only fights those at a disadvantage.”