The Welsh Knight
Chapter 1
Romania
Present day, early autumn
Francesca Radcliffe, or Frankie to her friends, turned the small clay pot over in her hands. At about three inches wide and tall, it was a one of a few found at their current dig site that was still intact.
The Bronze Age archaeological site where she and her team were located had been looted many years in history. It had been settled and resettled multiple times, so it was difficult to precisely attach some objects to any one group of people.
Doing so wasn’t her job. She was there for one reason. Fortunately, the object they’d been sent to retrieve was present, still in once peace. It was in her tent, already tagged and guarded by a soldier sent from the government.
“What’ve you got, Frankie?”
She glanced at her work partner, then shrugged. “Looks like an herb container. Possibly some kind of incense holder or smudge pot. Not sure. We’d need to get it back to the lab so they can do their thing,” she answered as she examined the object closer.
“So, it is magical?”
“Yeah, I can sense it, but not enough to write home about. We’ll tag it and pack it anyhow.”
“Why? We’ve got a trunk filled with artifacts bearing only small traces of magic. Just like that axe head. What do we need to pull ‘em out of the ground for if they’re not significant? Taking extra time to dig this crap up is dangerous. We should get outta here.”
Frankie turned to her male counterpart and stared at him. “George, we don’t leave any magical object behind. Period. Those are our orders.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded.
She half-smiled. If George rolled his eyes one time on this mission, he’d rolled them a thousand times. She tucked the little pot into a vest pocket, and gave their dig site a good long look. Maybe George was right. Maybe it was time to go.
Some of her team members were growing anxious. They were only allowed in this country at the discretion of the government. Rogues had been seen only a few miles to the north, and Romanian immortals working with the local authorities were chasing them down, even now.
She climbed out of the carefully dug pit, and walked toward her tent. As she pulled back the flap while simultaneously nodding at the guard posted there, her phone rang. She quickly pulled it out of her pocket.
“Radcliffe here.”
“Frankie, we need you back home as soon as possible. Did you get the item we were looking for?”
Since she immediately recognized the voice as her superior in Washington, her response was quick and clean. “Yeah. We got the axe. It’s ready to go.”
“Pack up and get out. Romanian immortals caught the rogues they were after, but government officials are afraid that having strangers in the region is stirring up too much attention. The government doesn’t know how much longer they can keep a lid on this. If there’s anything else that needs to come out of that site, make a note of it. You know the drill.”
“I do, sir. We’ll be on the jet tonight. It’s fueled and ready to go. I’ll make sure a full, itemized list is filled out. I assume someone from our embassy will be at the airport to take it to the Romanians?”
“Absolutely. I’ll double assurances that their government will get their artifacts back whenever they feel the circumstances are safe.”
“Sir, the Romanians do know that we might be hanging onto these for some time,” she advised. “None of us knows when our mutual enemy will attack—”
“I know, Frankie. Officials there still want that relic out of their control. We’re operating under the same conditions in existence for some time now.”
“Just like WWII.”
“Precisely. I’ll brief you and George when you get back. Monday morning. Bright and early.”
“We’ll be there, sir.”
She ended the call, and put her phone back in her pocket. The steel case bearing all the artifacts was just where she’d left it. A swift check of the contents let her know that they were, indeed, ready to go. The only thing she had to do now was add the small pot in her vest pocket to the inventory total.
Though all magical objects were classified as items of concern, and therefore contracted to be taken to the US for safety, the main relic they’d been asked to find and remove—the same one her superior had referred to as the item — was a beautiful Bronze Age axe head with elaborate designs inscribed on both sides. The magic in it wasn’t terribly substantial, but enough. Which brought up the question of why any previous looters had missed it. Still, items did get missed in archaeological sites all the time. The tomb of King Tut was an example.
It wasn’t up to her to determine why Romanian and American officials believed their mutual enemy might want an old axe head. She didn’t ask questions.
She quickly exited the tent, turned to the nearest Romanian guard and spoke to him in his own language.
“Load up. We’re done here.”
The armed and uniformed man curtly nodded, and called for other nearby guards to help him get that chore accomplished. One of them ran toward a nearby truck, and backed it toward the tent she and George shared as a work area.
Her friend and colleague, George Burin, quickly approached. “Thank God! I was afraid we might have to fight an entire pack of rogues before we got orders to leave.”
“Call the airport. Make sure the pilot is in the cockpit. I’ll take care of the paperwork.”
George nodded as he pulled a broadsword from a baldric wrapped around his shoulder. “Where’s your weapon?”
“By the trench. Where I was working,” she replied.
“Goddammit, Frankie! Pull your head outta your ass, will ya? Keep it within reach! Until we’re in the air, none of us is safe,” he scolded as he turned away.
Despite the very appropriate scolding, she couldn’t help smiling at the odd site her friend made. How many times did a person get to see a guy brandishing a sword while talking on a cell phone?
But then she reacted, walked the few yards back to the trench, and grabbed up her own custom-made broadsword while simultaneously scanning the nearby woods.
George was right. She shouldn’t have even walked a few feet away from her best means of self-defense.
The only way to kill any immortal, including rogues, was by either digging their hearts out of their chests, or by taking their heads. She didn’t relish the first option since that meant getting physically close to criminals who, if they showed up, would be well prepared to decapitate her and everyone on her team.
Though she’d just been told that legally registered Romanian immortals had caught a pack of illegal rogues, there could be more of them nearby. There often were. Rogues were cowards. They usually hunted in packs in this part of the world.
She and George had not only been charged with looking for a magical object and securing it, but with protecting the very human guards who’d led them to this site, and who’d kept curious citizens away.
As the code always stood on such missions, no human ally must ever be harmed while American immortals did their job. Especially since the Americans in this case had been asked to come to this country to keep the entire world safe.
If anything was going to happen, it’d be now. When anyone watching them would likely know they were leaving because they’d found the axe head. If rogues were out in the hillsides, this would be their last chance to attack. That was why George was on guard.
Time moved fast, but their luck held. An hour later, the truck was loaded.
They reached the airport two hours after that, without incident. An itemized list of all the objects found was handed over to an American Embassy official. It would be given to the Romanians who’d trusted them to be honest in their reporting.
She knew that efficiency and trustworthiness were two reasons that she and George had been sent. As a team, they had a reputation for always handing over a thorough and accurate accounting of items, in any country to which they’d been invited. Now, more than ever, honesty between nations meant everything. No one knew when a very common and deadly enemy would make her appearance. The magical objects that were taken to the states, and safely stored there in various undisclosed locations, were the last, best chance at keeping that enemy from getting her hands on them.
Securing magical objects was her job. She’d done it for well over a century.
When their private jet lifted off, with its magical cargo safely locked down, George broke out a bottle of Irish whiskey, offered her a tumbler, then moved toward the cockpit.
She sipped her drink and stared at the sword she’d carried for so long. It leaned against another seat, like a waiting friend.
All the intrigue and danger aside, this wasn’t a bad life at all. Things could have been much worse. Yes, she was a very long way from an old life — a long way from Galveston.
***
Cumbria, England
Jon Merdwyn stood on the hillside, looking up. At the crest stood a man of enormous size and irruptive temperament.
Macsen Rhys, or Mac to his friends, was one of the best immortal agents Britain had ever registered. If the man’s skills hunting down and bringing rogues to justice were superlative, other more congenial traits were quite absent. In short, Mac wasn’t known for making a lot of friends. But those he did have would drop whatever they were doing and come to his side, on a moment’s notice. More to the point, Mac had the queen’s trust and her ear.
There was nothing else to do but announce the bad news and hope for the best. As Jon approached his massive companion, the usual angst Mac radiated hit him like a wall of cement. The big, blond Welshman turned to him and frowned, but then the Thor-like megalith rarely ever displayed as much a smirk so, nothing new there.
“How is your evening, Mac?” Merlin amiably addressed.
“What do you want…Merlin?”
“You really should use my pseudonym, you know. What if you slip up when some normal human is present?”
Mac simply stared.
Jon, aka Merlin, noted how the other man’s bright blue eyes seemed to pierce the coming darkness like lantern light. If he hadn’t been alive for so many centuries, he might have been intimidated. Knowing why Mac was always so angry caused him to speak with a great deal of tact. “Why don’t you come inside the castle? It isn’t necessary for you to stand guard in the hills all night, every night. She isn’t going to sneak onto the property. Morgan LeFey never snuck anywhere in her life. I’ll give her that much.”
No response.
“Mac, you can come inside, get a hot meal, drink some good whiskey, and sit by a warm fire. How long has it been since you slept in a real bed? You can have your pick of rooms on the entire third floor of the castle.”
“What do you want, Merlin?” Mac repeated with more ferocity.
“I’ll repeat what I just said. Morgan isn’t going to attack tonight. We both know this.”
“I like to stay ready.”
“Yes. I can see that you do.”
“You didn’t climb up here at this hour, just to entice me back to the castle with the lure of good whiskey. I’ll ask one last time…what to you want?”
Merlin cleared his throat. “I want to talk about the person who’ll be working with you.”
Mac crossed his arms over his chest.
Merlin noted the stance as one his companion used often, particularly when Mac wanted to be left alone, or was about to hear something he found objectionable.
“Tell me, Merlin. You have all the insight…you know everything,” Mac sarcastically drawled. “Who is stupid enough to take me on as a partner? Did you warn this person that their life expectancy isn’t worth the obscene amount of money they’ll be paid?”
“Well—”
“You have to be alive to enjoy the perks, or didn’t someone at home office advise this unfortunate soul?” Mac asked in a bitter tone.
“Her Majesty is making an exception in your case.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “The law says—”
“With rogues targeting every human claviger on the continent, it’s not your fault that we can no longer find people who want to work alongside immortals. That’s why your new partner is…what she is,” Merlin cryptically finished.
Once more, Mac stared with ferocity that anyone else would have found daunting. Fortunately, he was not anyone else. “Mac, you have no choice. She’s probably got her marching orders from Washington by now.”
One of Mac’s brows shot up. “What have you gotten me into, old conjurer? I knew you’d sent for an American, but she wasn’t supposed to be here as my claviger. The law says I’m supposed to have a human watching me. A British human. You’ve already overstepped every regulation by not having a claviger for Garrett Bloodnight. In fact, I can name about twenty ways you’ve gone around every rule and regulation by convincing Her Majesty it’s in the country’s best interests. Why she listens do you, I’ll never understand.”
“The relationship I share with Her Majesty is not up for discussion. I’ve already told you this agent was on the way. You’ve known since Garrett left the castle and headed for Scotland. So, don’t throw a tantrum over the subject now.”
Mac opened his mouth to argue, but Merlin kept speaking.
“As to her country of origin, we need the Americans with us, Mac. Unlike what happened during WWII, we need them onboard before this battle starts, not afterward. By asking for this particular immortal, we’re showing the Americans our willingness to share certain sensitive information that would have otherwise never been forthcoming. We fully believe that the Yanks will reciprocate.”
“And Her Majesty agreed to this?”
“She was the one who suggested it,” Merlin declared.
“What about Parliament?”
“The few who know about any of this are taking their cues from the queen. If anything does come to light, it’ll be Her Majesty who’ll take the blame. She is, as she has always been, fully aware of the situation and the stakes.” Merlin moved closer to the bigger man. “This is for keeps, Mac. It’s the end times. We’re all in this together. Her Majesty is simply bringing the Americans in now, so they’ll understand the full weight of what we’re dealing with. They’ll share their resources.”
“Let me get this through your head, wizard. I don’t care if this American is their best immortal agent. I don’t care if Her Majesty has me thrown in the damned tower! The law requires that I have a human claviger from this country. Not some damned Yank immortal!”
“Mac—”
“I spent my mortal life, and a great deal of my immortal one, as a Wolf’s Head. I won’t live like that again. Go back to the castle, get on the phone, and undo whatever current absurdity you’ve gotten me into, Merlin. And do it now!” he angrily commanded.
“Mac…you’ll do this, or you’ll wish such punishment as the tower still existed, I promise you. Furthermore, this petulant attitude will cease. Here and now! Need I remind you of the oath you took when you joined the organization?”
“I know my damned job! But there is nothing remotely suggesting that this kind of pairing is either legal or productive. This chicanery smacks of you, old man. You’ve used your wiles on the queen, and you’ve got ‘er convinced that bringing an American here serves a higher purpose.”
“It does.”
“It’s preposterous, never mind impossible. I know this land like the back of my hand. When Morgan LeFey shows up to fight, she’ll know this land as well,” he said as he pointed at the ground. “What does some entitled, rich American know about this part of the world? What do any of them know of our history or traditions? Christ almighty…they tear down fifty-year-old buildings and think landmarks are being decimated!”
Merlin sighed heavily.
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Answer this, conjurer…why should the Americans be informed of top secret information that not even our own immortals can access?”
“I decide who accesses what information regarding Morgan LeFey. As to this person being American, you had no such qualms with them coming to ‘this part of the world’ as you put it, during the war years.”
“That was different and you know it! This coming battle will consist of magical elements the Yanks have never heard of.”
“It’s done, Macsen Rhys. Whether you like it or not.”
“And who the bloody hell told this American agent all our secrets? Since when was Washington privy to what’s going on with an Arthurian legend?” Mac railed.
“I had this same argument with Garrett, don’t make me have it with you.” Merlin shook his head in frustration. “This agent has known the facts about me and Morgan LeFey since 1939. Even then, there were a few people in her country who were foresighted enough to believe America’s best interests were in allying themselves with Britain. Though nothing could sway their stubbornness until Pearl Harbor, this agent did what she could to help Britain, even before events of 1941took place.”
“That’s wonderful. Send her a fruit basket, but tell ‘er to stay home! I need a claviger…a citizen of the realm who’ll report back to the powers that be that I’m behaving myself. I need an agency human who knows and plays by our rules, and who will leave any fighting to me.”
“Whether you like it or not, you’ll get no claviger for now. We don’t need a human running about these hills, not when the situation could get them killed.”
“We just agreed that Morgan wasn’t attacking tonight. Likely, not anytime soon.”
“We don’t need another human knowing certain secrets. Whether you like it or not, the American will be here in a few days. She knows about me, and about Morgan LeFey. This agent has proven, for many decades, that she can keep her mouth shut. I suggest you do the same. Moreover, if you do not work on your attitude, I’ll work on it for you. You’re not too big or so powerful that I couldn’t turn you into a damned litter box…anytime I bloody well please!” He lifted his chin. “Now…is there anything else you’d like to say?”
Mac simply scowled.
“I’ll take that as a resounding no,” Merlin affirmed. “You have your orders. Carry them out.”
Merlin turned and stomped away. Whatever Mac thought of the matter, it was done. The news was delivered, if not particularly well received. He could only imagine how Frankie would respond. Of all the Americans he’d ever worked with, she was one of the most cunning and the most strong-willed. She wouldn’t tolerate his boorishness.
Just thinking of her putting Macsen Rhys in his place was amusing. Jut the idea of her confronting the giant Welshman made him smile.
Frankie was Frankie. In every way, she was the exact opposite of the taciturn warrior now cursing loudly on the hilltop behind him.
Mac had quite a surprise coming.
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