Morlock Night by K.W. Jeter Page A

armour that covers a rotted heart!" His mouth tightened below his burning eyes.
    Â Â "But the Morlocks," I said in desperation. "Surely, even if everything you say is true, as many Englishmen themselves would agree, surely your land deserves a better fate than that!" Stirred by emotion, I crossed the room and gripped his arm – how frail it seemed! "That light – England's light is buried, but not gone out. Would you see it die forever?"
    Â Â "If it did die," said Arthur quietly, "then this would be my final life, my final death, and I could rest at last."
    Â Â I let go of him and drew away, my breast suddenly filled with anger and shame. "Then go to your rest!" I spat out. "Englishmen will fight and die without you, no matter how lost the cause." I turned from him, but before I could take a step my shoulder was grasped by his hand.
    Â Â "Stay." His voice, though still melancholy, had a measure of, warmth in it. "I can see from you that that light is not so weak or buried so deep as I had feared." He went on as I faced him again. "If I was filled only with despair, how much easier it would be. But my heart still loves the green island beneath the dark spots of decay, my hands still raise to defend it. My bitter feelings would not be so strong if Merdenne had not contrived to weaken my nobler instincts."
    Â Â "He has… enchanted you?" The recall of our adversary to my mind stiffened the skin along my arms.
    Â Â Arthur nodded, turned and stepped – the shuffling stride of an old man! – toward the bookshelves. From its resting place atop a row of books he drew a long, cloth-wrapped bundle. "This is Excalibur," he said. "Merdenne leaves it with me as a taunt."
    Â Â I took the bundle from his hands and unswaddled the weapon. A long blade, not ornate but impressively functional. Yet it seemed unnaturally light, as though made from some inferior metal. Disturbed by this sensation, I frowned as I studied the legendary sword. Tafe stepped up beside me and looked at it lying across my hands.
    Â Â "There are runes," said Arthur. "Inscribed along the blade. From them I derive my knowledge of my true self, and the strength that accompanies that knowledge. Tell me what you see written there on the blade."
    Â Â My eyes moved along the shining length of metal. "Why… they've faded!" I gasped. "The runes are hardly more than scratches! How could these be read?" I lifted my astonished gaze to his saddened face.
    Â Â "Yes," he said mournfully. "How could they? This is Merdenne's work, and I fear it means the end of all England's hopes."
    Â Â "But couldn't Ambrose do something about it? His power is as great as Merdenne's. Surely he could find some way of reversing whatever has been done to the sword."
    Â Â Arthur slowly shook his head. "The power of Merlin is bound up with Excalibur's fate as well, though to a lesser degree. Merdenne has struck at us both through this damnable cleverness, and hobbled us beyond our capacities to set aright."
    Â Â I shook my head and bent down to pick up the cloth at my feet. "What's done can be undone," I pronounced as I straightened up, sounding braver than I felt in my heart. "It's sad to see a noble weapon like this one degraded but if it can't be restored, then perhaps a Gatling artillery piece will serve as well to convince the Morlocks of their poor judgment."
    Â Â A tired smile lit the old warrior's noble face. "Words fit for knighthood, my son, but–"
    Â Â "Come." A desperate bravado had animated my spirits. I tucked the re-wrapped sword under one arm and grasped Arthur's elbow with my other hand. Tafe stepped to his side and caught his other arm, "My lord Arthur, we've dawdled here long enough. A little perambulation is good for the heart." Between us we nearly had him off his feet as we propelled him toward the door.
    Â Â "Well," said Arthur, "I would like one more good lager before it's all too late. Merdenne