Perilous Times

Kay crawls up from under his hill, up through the claggy earth.

Marlowe stands close and lights it for him, smelling of hair cream and something else as well. The faintest whiff of brimstone. Marlowe enjoys a different kind of immortality, achieved by different means. No magic acorns or slumbering under trees. He sold his soul on the dotted line, joined an exclusive members’ club. Eternal life. But not eternal

There’s not much he can do with just his shield. Even his sword wouldn’t help enormously. Ancient warriors risen from the very ground with their arms untarnished are less useful than they used to be, when there are men doing wicked things with automatic rifles. If Merlin foresaw everything that would come to pass, why didn’t he account for guns? It

What has happened to the Medlwc? Does it just empty into this basin now, becoming a canal, losing all sense of itself as a wild thing that flows down from the hills? Kay hates it, the way people treat the world. People used to worship rivers. Now they brick them in, they make the water bend to their own will. They play at being gods themselves.

‘I’m not a hero. I’m not like Kay.’ ‘I reckon that might be where we went wrong the first time,’ says the child, ‘creating heroes. Reckon we should have trusted normal people to guard the gate in the first place. Reckon that’s what we should do now.’

The mud isn’t so bad, at first. He wades through it with barely a grimace. It’s no worse than Agincourt, or the Somme. At least there’s no bullets flying, no hot shell fragments raining down or French coursers charging at him. The only problem is the mail, which weighs him down. And Christ, it’s a hot day. Summers never used to be this hot, he’s su

‘Look, comrades,’ says Tarquin. ‘It’s mostly targeting the forces of capitalist oppression. Perhaps the dragon is an ally of the revolution?’ Leo shakes their head. ‘Dragons are inherently bourgeois. The whole concept of dragons was invented to justify the existence of the land-owning warrior elite.’ ‘Ah,’ says Tarquin. ‘Yes, comrade. It must be de

She’s speaking English, the bastard horse-trading language that people have been speaking since the Normans arrived. It still sounds new and vulgar to him, ringing strangely in his ears, but Merlin’s magic makes it so that they can understand each other. Part of the covenant. The gift of tongues. Give him knowledge of the words which are spoken by

There are swords to be wielded by kings and then there are swords to be wielded for kings, with which to do their dirty work. His is the latter.