The Darkest Knight (Guardians of Camelot #3) - Victoria Sue

Prologue

522 AD

“He is born of evil and must be slain.” Mordred slammed his fist down so hard on the worn oak surface it was a wonder the stone floor the huge table sat on did not crack. Arthur was silent, despite each of the other three knights that sat with him looking at their king for his order.

The room was empty save for these. Merlin knew Arthur trusted them with their silence, and even if their opinions differed, they would carry out their sworn duty till their last breath. But right then, not even he knew which way Arthur’s hand would fall.

The decision could not be tarried over though. Arthur would ride to France tomorrow to intercept a Roman army that thought to annex England once more. The last thing they needed was a problem at home, but reports said Morgan was seeking followers and practicing evil sorcery. The rumors were gaining ground, and Arthur could ignore them no longer. A week ago someone had delivered poisoned wine to the castle, and a servant had died. It was supposed to be served at a feast for all the court, and only when the vintner had sent a message apologizing that his delivery had been stolen had they discovered what had happened, too late for the servant, but minutes from it being served at the feast. A black crow had flown into court at the end of the feast and landed at the king’s table with some parchment attached to its leg. It was from the queen of the fairies, or Fei, hoping Arthur had enjoyed the gift.

It had been a bold statement, and now there was a child involved.

“And are we absolutely sure the child is hers?”

“Yes,” Tristan answered his king. “There is no doubt. We do not know, however, who the father is.”

“Someone unsuitable, or she would have had no need to hide him,” Arthur sighed. “We could have found him a good home or found her a good husband. She had no need to run.”

“Sire, I don’t think the boy is the reason.”

Arthur gazed at Palamedes. “You think it’s because I forbade her practicing magic.”

“You didn’t though,” Tristan pointed out. “You insisted she train under Merlin, but she didn’t like her wings clipped.”

“How powerful is she, Merlin?”

Merlin looked at his king. “Now? Far less than I, but the main reason we disagreed is because she wanted to learn banned spells. Dark arts such as necromancy, and I refused. She argued a good wizard needed to be aware of them to guard against them, but I wanted her to have more experience first.”

“And she had no patience,” Tristan agreed.

“But plenty of raw talent,” Merlin said.

“Vile practices should be outlawed,” Mordred insisted. Merlin glanced at his king for his reaction. Mordred was one of many who thought all magic should be outlawed, as it had for a time when Uther was crowned. It was only when Merlin defeated an old witch that struck down Uther’s father that he allowed magic to have a place once more at Camelot. It was precisely this sort of behavior that gave reason to the fears of men like Mordred.

“I think it is too late for that,” Arthur said. “Nothing stays hidden forever.”

“Which doesn’t help us decide what to do with the boy,” Mordred urged.

“Merlin?” Arthur looked to him.

“We cannot kill the boy,” he said quietly.

Mordred scoffed, but Arthur raised his hand for silence. “Let him speak.”

“Do you have any other reason for your opinion other than it being wrong to slay an innocent?” Tristan asked.

Merlin looked at Tristan. He would never disobey a sworn oath to his king, but asking that simple question made his feelings clear.

“I do,” Merlin continued. He looked at Mordred. “You are right in saying that to allow him to remain alive is a huge risk, but”—Merlin carried on ignoring Mordred when he opened his mouth to agree—“he would be a far greater weapon should he be slain.”

Sir Mordred leaned forward. “Cryptic even for you, Emrys.” Merlin tried not to roll his eyes. Mordred always delighted in using the druids’ version of his name. Although he wasn’t sure being called the Beginning of the End was much of a compliment. Mordred was just trying to be clever. Maybe he should encourage him to use Myrddyn, the Welsh variant. No one else called him that.

“Morgan’s evil is fed by hatred.” Merlin paused, knowing if he tried to explain that the very earth they stood on was crying out in warning, Mordred would