Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #18 September 2015 | Page 37

“Indeed,” Arthur agreed. “So all we have to do
is find these swords and melt them down. No?” he saw
her frowning and tapping her fingers against one knee
that poked out from under her robe.
right?”

“It won’t be that easy, but I… are you all

Arthur was about to ask her why, when she
disappeared in a white flare of blinding light.

Merlin didn’t seem the smallest bit surprised
by Arthur’s story. He nodded and rolled the end of his
long, red beard between the tips of his fingers as if
he’d been expecting such a story sooner or later.

***
Mid-morning in Camelot, the sun was two
hands above the horizon as Arthur peered through the
window. He must have been dreaming, but he knew
he had not. He did not dream standing and still wearing the clothes from the night before. They reeked of
wood smoke, he stripped to toss them in a corner.

“That’s very interesting indeed, yes,” Merlin
turned to study the shelves before stepping forward to
lower one of the larger tomes into his hand. He swept
his arm to clear a place, then lay it on the table, open a
hundred pages into the tome.

Pulling on fresh clothes, he resumed pacing
as if he hadn’t stopped, the tip of his finger pressed
against his lips. Seven steps to the right, six to the left.

“Ahh yes, the prophesy. How remarkable that
it will still be remembered fifteen hundred years from
now. Yes, remarkable indeed. Now I wonder how.
Maybe I put it down in some…” The druid was mumbling to himself now, his eyes glazed in thought.

He had to do something. There had to be a
reason the gods returned him to Camelot and, for that
matter, sent him to the future in the first place.

“Merlin?”

Six steps, seven.

“Yes, my lord?” The druid blinked and squinted. “Oh, yes, sorry.” He leaned forward over the tome,
running his pointer finger down the pages and flicking
them one after the other.

He had to see Merlin.
He turned just short of bumping into the wall
at the far end of his chamber. Turn, start pacing back
again. If anyone knew what to do, it would be the
druid.

“Now, we need a spell to remove these swords,
you say?”

“Unless the gods want to help me directly?” he
asked hopefully, looking up at the ceiling.
No answer.
“I thought not.” Shaking his head, Arthur
rushed from his chambers in search of the druid.

Merlin’s chambers were a jumble of pots full
of dried herbs, liquids and other things Arthur didn’t
want to dwell on too much. Along one wall, the druid
had jammed half-made contraptions, the intended
use of which Arthur hadn’t a clue. Shelves lined the
opposite wall, crammed with scrolls, parchments and
thick, bound tomes. In the centre of the room, a huge
oak table took pride of place, every centimetre of its
surface covered with all manner of druidic items.

Arthur nodded. “Yes, but I’m not in the future,
won’t that…?”
Merlin waved a bony hand without even looking up. “One thing at a time boy, one thing at a time.”
Chastened, Arthur stood back and waited.
***

***

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