"You are correct, oh mighty King," Arthur jested. "I have been many, many people over my nearly endless life. At times it feels nearly tiresome, having to find a mortal whose body I can possess."
"Was there ever a beggar?" I asked. For some reason, I simply had to know who it was whose life had been sacrificed in order to entrap me.
Arthur's smile grew even wider. Then, in a burst of smoke and flash of light, he transformed himself into the very beggar who had appeared before me one a few short days before.
"Ohhhh, Sire," he said in that same old, croaking voice I had heard. He trembled, just as he had when he stood before the throne. "I am so very frightened and unsure of what will happen to be if I do not deliver the message with which I have been tasked!"
"Did he ever really exist?" I asked, unimpressed by the show of power before me. "Did you kill him simply to toy with me?"
The old, wrinkled face broke into a frown. The eyes narrowed. "Yes, I existed," he said, still in the form of the beggar. "I lived my life as a beggar, traveling from place to place on foot. I relied on the generosity of strangers simply to live from day to day. I was kicked aside, abused. The gentry avoided me when we passed on the road, averting their eyes on purpose as if to pretend they didn't see me. Many people preferred to act as though I did not exist. Mine was a miserable life. The wizard did me a great service, by ending my pathetic mortal existence."
"You're so certain that it was pathetic," I observed coolly. "You have no knowledge of any love the man knew in his life. Any beauty he observed on his endless travels. The kindness shown to him by those he encountered. You only know of one side of his existence. You've ignored everything else."
Again the eyes narrowed, and with another burst of light and smoke Arthur returned to the form in which I'd first seen him.
"Silly boy," he murmured, and clicked his tongue. "You believe, in all your youthful naiveté, that love matters. That beauty matters. That there is anything other than power which really matters. Only power, and force. Love means nothing. It isn't real, it isn't tangible. It is as weak, shifting and unreliable as a wisp of smoke."
"I believe you're wrong," I said, simply. "I've felt love. I know it. I know it's real. It is just as real as the ground beneath my feet."
"It is a LIE!" The ground shook with the force of Arthur's fury. I staggered slightly from the shock under me, but stayed on my feet. "Do you mean to tell me, fair King," Arthur posed, "that after 20, 30 years you'll feel the same love for your beautiful mate?" He circled me, and I turned to follow his every move. "You mean to say that when her skin is not so smooth and white … when her luscious figure is not so firm and ripe … when her flaming red hair has turned white and her eyes are no longer like the bright, blazing emeralds they currently resemble … you'll feel the same love for her?
"When her youthful vitality has been replaced by fatigue? When she moans unhappily over the pain in her body as it winds down near the end of her life rather than moaning in pleasure at your touch? You mean to tell me that you'll love her the same as you do today?"
His words gave me pause. I thought about this momentarily. I imagined Anabelle as Arthur had described her. I thought of the way her skin felt under my hands, the way she responded so eagerly to my touch. Her purity and beauty, her lushness and passion. The passage of time would dull all of this.
"Love is more than that," I finally answered. "You debase the love I have for her."
Arthur laughed coldly. "The love you have for her rests solely in your cock, little boy," he jested.
"It is true," I told him. "Yes, she is my mate. I want her. The dragon in me takes great pleasure in her. She is mine, I possess her. But the love I have for her is more than that. It runs far deeper." Again, Arthur laughed. "I enjoy her company. She is clever and witty, and she faces me without fear. She was not even afraid to be shown the dragon within me. She's the bravest woman I have ever known. She brings me joy. She is truly my mate, not just simply a body into which I pour myself." I spoke simply, from my heart. Even as I spoke I realized that I was nearly quoting Anabelle herself when I told Arthur she was not simply a body.
"Your words are very lovely," Arthur said in mock seriousness. "I begin to wonder if your union with this perfect woman has robbed you of the true fire of the dragons. I will be doing the people of your kingdom a service by destroying you. They don't deserve such a womanish ruler on their throne."
The dragon roared in protest within me. I struggled to hold myself back, knowing that the wizard was merely trying to goad me into flying into a rage. That was what he wanted. He wanted me to lose control.
I decided to turn the tables and give him a dose of his own medicine. "Perhaps you feel the way you do about love simply because you were thwarted in yours," I observed quietly.
Again the ground shook, more strongly this time. This time, however, Arthur did not scream as he had before. His face was as smooth as stone. "So you think you know the legend, child King? You think that a silly little story that's been passed down since before the days of the written word is exactly correct?" He sighed. "You mortals know so little about the passage of time, about the way history is rewritten to favor those in power. You only know of the miniscule span of time in which your pathetic little life is lived. I pity you."
I was intrigued; I didn't know whether I could or should believe the dark wizard's words. "Why don't you tell me the true story? At least one person will know the truth of your story."
"She was MINE!" Arthur screamed, his head thrown back and the veins appearing on his neck. His arms were bent at the elbows, his palms facing the sky. The clouds darkened and gathered over the place where we stood. He pointed to the sky again, and again, and again.
Every time he did so, a bolt of lightning zigzagged from the clouds and touched the ground, the waters of the loch, the trees. Thunder rolled and the wind blew. I struggled to maintain my balance and keep my head high to face him.
"She was MY Dubheasa!" In his voice I heard the pain and rage of a thousand years. For a thousand years, at least, he had been nursing this great pain. He had fed it, and nurtured it, and allowed it to grow until it consumed him thoroughly.
He looked at me once again, and the storm quieted some. "She was mine, and she told me I was hers. She was the great love you describe. I was willing and ready to give myself to her, body and soul. Until the dragon came. Kellen mocked me, beat me, and tossed me about. He had set his sights on Dubheasa, and the power and magic of the dragons was too much for her to resist. She was enchanted by him, she wanted to be part of that power. She told me she wanted his power inside of her, and to feel his dragon child grow within her."
"Her love was false, as all love is at its core. She had never loved me, I knew. She allowed him to possess her, to turn her from me as he had intended to. He made me into a fool. Those around us laughed at me and mocked me."
"Have you ever heard, child King, of the great fire that took place the night of the union between Kellen and Dubheasa?" I shook my head, and Arthur smirked knowingly. "Of course you did not," he told me. "As I said, history favors those in power."
He continued. "As the King and his wretched Queen enjoyed their wedding night, a great fire broke out in the village at the foot of the castle. It was a mighty conflagration. Hardly a soul survived, in fact. The following morning, only a few women and children were left; the rest were blackened and charred, lying dead in the burned-out shells of what were once their homes."
He chuckled bitterly. "A shame what can happen on such a special night, don't you think?"
I stared at him in horror. "You killed those people? All of them?"
"Trust me, my boy," he said with a thin laugh, "their number is but a small portion of the number I've killed since. As I said, they laughed at me and mocked me. No one does that and survives. Not even a child King who believes he's strong enough and brave enough to mock the betrayal and mockery I endured."
He outstretched his left hand, and lightning sprang from it as it had from the sky. I threw my shield up in front of me, so quickly it was by sheer instinct and without a split second to lose. The bolt was deflected and redirected to he who had thrown it. He spun out of the way.