The Black Knight swung the Ebony Blade in a mighty arc, the sword cutting through flesh and bone with the greatest of ease. Dane Whitman pushed the bloodied warrior to the ground, ignoring his cries of mercy. The warrior slid off the Blade with a sickening moan.
Dane strode forth, looking for more opponents but finding none. The battlefield was bare, save for the bleeding corpses of those he had killed.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, Dane Whitman knew that none of this was real - he knew that he wasn't back in the Crusades again*, that he wasn't once more under the thrall of the Ebony Blade's blood curse... but even so, the dream continued to play on. Dane Whitman was nothing more than a helpless participant in some old, near-forgotten film which was playing endlessly in his subconscious.
* (the Black Knight spent several years in the time of the Crusades, as best shown in Marvel Fanfare #52 - Barry)
The Black Knight sheathed his blade, struck by how strange it seemed to once more feel it at his side. In the modern day, he had long since abandoned the cursed weapon. He suddenly felt a strange yearning for the Sword of Light, the weapon given him by the Lady of the Lake, but it was nowhere to be found. He pushed such thoughts from his mind and continued his steady march through the field of the dead.
He halted only when an iron grip seized him by the ankle. Glancing down, he saw a gauntleted hand holding him. He followed the arm with his gaze until he made eye contact with its owner. A fresh-faced youth, but one with malevolent eyes, smiled up him. His brownish-red hair was caked with blood and dirt. A small goatee framed his leering smile.
"Halt, Sir Knight! Surely you don't mean to leave the field of battle before all of your enemies lay dead at your feet!" Thin, mystical tendrils of energy trailed from the man's eyes.
The Black Knight recoiled as if bit by a snake. He yanked his foot free and drew the Ebony Blade. The sword seemed to pulse with a life of its own, eager for the fresh taste of blood. "Who in God's name are you?"
The bloodied figure dressed in green armor rose to his feet. He bowed with a flourish. "I'm surprised that you don't recognize me, Sir Knight. Surely you know Mordred - the nephew of Morgan Le Fay, she who helped bring about the fall of Camelot?"
Dane nodded grimly, realization dawning. "You slew the original Black Knight - Sir Percy of Camelot..."
"Aye, that I did. And I'll slay you too, Dane Whitman - because I despise all that Avalon stands for... and your death will be the first blow in the war to eradicate Avalon forever!" Mordred clenched his fist in the air.
To Dane's surprise, the Ebony Blade wrested itself from his grasp and flew to Mordred's grip. The villain laughed at Dane's expression, striking with the blade before he could react. It sank deep, its' eldritch energies reaching out to claim Dane Whitman's very soul.
The Black Knight howled in agony as the cursed blade drank his life's blood. Mordred twisted the sword cruelly. "Die, Black Knight... and know this, that this dream death of yours will come true soon enough. It is time that I stepped out of Morgan's shadow and claimed my true birthright. Avalon will be mine!"
Dane Whitman sat up with a start. He was drenched in sweat, his body shivering. His open window clanged against the wall, the winds outside Garrett Castle howling. He ran a hand through his damp hair and let out a ragged sigh. "A dream... but not just a dream, was it?"
He slid out of bed, moving over to stare at himself in the mirror. The Lady of the Lake had warned him of a danger to Avalon*... and now he knew who it was that she had foreseen.
* (this happened in Black Knight # 0 - Barry)
Mordred.
"You made a terrible mistake revealing yourself like this, Mordred. You could have hidden in the shadows for a long time, plotting and planning. But now... now I know who to look for."
Dane's words were spoken out loud, designed more to calm his own unsteady nerves than to frighten any would-be listeners. But he meant them, nonetheless - to his core, he was devoted to defending Avalon. Mordred would have to be stopped...
Sersi sipped her drink slowly, staring out at the Riviera. She was wearing a low-cut black evening dress, her long dark hair cascading about her shoulders. She was the epitome of beauty and sensuality, but over her head hung a cloud of sadness. She leaned over the terrace railing, ignoring the party that continued without her within the hotel.
"Penny for your thoughts, Sersi?" Douglas Calhoun moved beside her, his handsome face creased with worry. He was an old friend of Sersi's - a sometime lover, but he hadn't been that in years. He was growing old now, of course, and that had long ago put a barrier between Sersi and himself. For an Eternal like Sersi, aging was a sad fact of her lover's existence.
Sersi glanced at him and forced a smile. "Just daydreaming, love."
Douglas nodded. Behind them, he could hear couples laughing. "I was very surprised - and pleased - when you arrived here a few weeks ago. I'd long ago given up hope about seeing you again... but you're different these days."
Sersi seemed surprised. "How so?"
"More serious, I guess. Almost... sad. And you've accidentally called me Dane twice since you've been here."
"I did...?" Sersi frowned and looked away. "I'm sorry, Douglas. I've been very unfair to you - I came here to relax and get back into the life of partying that I used to treasure so much. But now... you're right, I am different."
"This... Dane... he's your new lover?"
"Not quite. He was at one time... but it didn't work out."
"I see." Douglas placed his hand over Sersi's. "Does he not love you as much as you love him?"
Sersi closed her eyes, feeling the hot sting of tears. Imagine, she thought, crying over the love of a mortal! "I don't know... He was in love with another when last I saw him."*
* (Dane was torn between his love for Sersi and Crystal, the wife of Quicksilver - see Quicksilver #7 for an excellent examination of the situation - Barry)
"Well... he would have to be a fool to choose another woman over you. Why don't you check in on him - give it one more chance. I miss seeing you happy."
Sersi considered his words carefully. Perhaps it would be a good idea to give it one more try. She wouldn't crawl back to him - she had too much pride for that - but shee would give their love one last opportunity to flourish...
"You look exhausted, Dane. Are you getting enough sleep?"
Franklin Wright's voice was strained and hoarse - evidence that he had just come from a lecture. Franklin, one of Dane's few friends at Sycorp, was a thin man with a harried expression - in many ways, he was the epitome of the absent-minded professor stereotype.
Dane glanced up from the algorithms scattered across his computer monitor. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face, realizing with a start that he'd forgotten to shave again - a sure sign that he was feeling stressed.
"Hello, Franklin. You're right about me being exhausted - terrible dreams last night."
Dane flipped off his monitor and let out a long sigh. He'd been ineffective at work all day, his mind still replaying elements of the dream. Were they all just random fears dredged up from his subconscious or something more? Perhaps he still held some guilt over his actions in the Crusades, after all...
Franklin entered Dane's lab and moved over to his friend's desk. "I'm not surprised - living in that castle of yours. No offense, Dane, but castles are known for being drafty. If I were you, I'd sell the place and buy yourself a more modern home."
"Hmm. That's not likely to happen - I like the castle. It has a sense of history to it, an aura of tradition. I feel a kinship to it."
Franklin shrugged. "Have it your way." He sat down on the corner of Dane's desk, leaning forward in a conspiratorial way. "Listen, Marlene and I are having a little dinner party this Friday and her younger sister is going to be in attendance... she's 28 and a real looker. Want to come?"
A slow smile spread across Dane's face. "I'm not sure that's a good idea - I have horrible luck with love. Your sister-in-law is probably better off without me."
"I doubt that," Franklin laughed. "You're one of the most eligible bachelors in London these days. At least come and take a look at her - you never know, this might be the one that changes your luck around."
Dane shrugged, knowing that Franklin wasn't going to budge until he got his way. "Fine - I'll come to the dinner. But don't expect wedding bells, okay?"
"Good! I'll call Marlene right now and tell her to expect you. You won't regret this, Dane."
Dane Whitman shook his head as his friend stepped from the room. He knew Franklin meant well, but Dane had had enough romantic problems to last him a lifetime, and he was no hurry to fall into another relationship. He turned back to his computer screen and watched as the monitor flared back to life. Perhaps, he thought sardonically, he would actually get some work done now...
Alec Drake, the newest owner of the Ebony Blade,* read the note with an expression of extreme pleasure. He ran his fingers over the embossed letters, savoring the feel of each one.
* (see Black Knight # 0 - Barry)
"I'm in," he murmured under his breath. "I'm part of the Hellfire Club..."
Drake rose from his desk, crossing over to the locked chest that he kept on the far side of his study. Bending low, he removed the key from his pocket and inserted it with shaking hands into the lock. The tumblers clicked open and Drake tipped the lid back. Inside, sheathed in a scabbard forged of the darkest black, was the Ebony Blade.
Drake drew the scabbard out and smiled. He could feel (hear) the Ebony Blade pulse (whisper) inside its sheath. Since coming into ownership of it, Drake had found himself often sitting with it in the evenings - the Blade resting across his lap while he watched television or ate his dinner. It comforted him in a way that he couldn't begin to explain.
He drew it forth from the scabbard and watched (listened) as it sparkled (whispered) in the air.
"You and I are going to go far," he whispered, his eyes alight with desire. The Blade was quite seductive in its way and had drawn many great men under its' spell. Alec Drake, businessman and collector of things arcane, had seen and touched many objects of reputed occult origin in his lifetime. But nothing had charmed him the way that the cursed Ebony Blade did. Like a lover, he cradled the sword to his chest.
"The Hellfire Club has opened its doors to us... and they've gotten more than they ever bargained for in the process..."
"Avalon. The very name makes me feel ill. We should have destroyed it long ago - it and all the Pendragons."
Mordred lounged in his throne, stroking his short beard idly. He had one leg thrown over the arm of the chair and he reached over with a gauntleted hand to pick up a grape. He chewed it slowly.
"Why don't you do something about it, nephew? Something besides simpering that is..." Morgan Le Fey slowly walked past, her voluptuous form poured into her tight green dress. She'd kept a low profile of late, still smarting over her defeat at the hands of the Avengers,* but she still found the time to torment her long-suffered nephew.
* (Morgan and Mordred were defeated by the Avengers in Avengers (3rd series) # 1-3 - Barry)
Mordred frowned as he swallowed the grape. He hated being taunted by Morgan, hated it with every bone in his body.
"I am doing something about it. You don't have any idea of what I've been up to, Morgan. I've been consolidating my power."
Morgan couldn't resist a laugh at that. "Consolidating your power? What power, nephew? You live and die by my whim."
Mordred stood up quickly, knocking over the table and grapes. "I won't have you insulting me any more, Morgan! I mean it - I've made plans to destroy both Avalon and its' protector, the Black Knight. I'm very adept at killing Black Knights, remember?"
Morgan merely smiled. "One moment of glory that you've never been able to forget. A pity you haven't done much in the centuries since, nephew."
Mordred ignored her. He moved to the center of the throne room and lit a brazier. The flames danced to life and cast eerie shadows on Mordred's features. "I've sent someone to London to deal with Whitman... Look, even now the Black Knight moves through the streets unawares!"
Images in the flame flickered and jumped, finally settling down enough to show Dane Whitman stepping out of the Sycorp Building. From his expression and posture, it was quite easy to recognize signs of fatigue in the Black Knight. Dane moved to a nearby alley and mouthed the word, "Avalon." Immediately, Dane's form was hidden by the armor of the Black Knight, the Sword of Light and the Shield of Night both in his grasp. His winged steed, Strider, stood nearby, pawing at the ground in anticipation.
Mordred stared at the image with undisguised hate. "I wish we'd been able to eradicate everything related to Arthur and Camelot..."
Morgan stepped away from the flames. Mordred was a fool, with an addled brain. She wondered quite often how he could possibly be related to her.
"Enjoy your games, Mordred. But be careful - if the tables turn on you, don't look to me for help."
Mordred ignored her, instead watching the flickering images as his plan unfolded.
The Black Knight flew high above London, Strider's mighty wings beating through the air. Dane patted the horse on its flank, smiling. "You like being back in England, too, don't you?"
Strider's response consisted of a neigh and a whinny, bringing a smile to the Black Knight's face. Dane had tried hard to bring honor back to the Black Knight name, but he'd made many mistakes over the years. Since becoming the protector of Avalon, however, he'd felt somewhat reborn. He'd put his relationship with Crystal in the past, and once again had a purpose.
Strider suddenly stiffened, alerting his master to approaching danger. Dane glanced about, noting a change in the air - the sound of beating wings growing louder and louder. Silhouetted against the moon was a large figure possessing large bat-like wings. The Black Knight drew his blade, preparing himself for whatever might be coming.
The figure flew closer - it was a horrible, troll-like man with goldish-red skin and evil, beady eyes. A foul stench rolled out from the creature, and in his hands he held a gleaming battleaxe.
"Ho, Black Knight! My master bids you a most painful death! Look upon me, Trion, and know the face of your killer!"
The Black Knight swung the Sword of Light forward, catching Trion's attack. The axe clanged against the sword and nearly knocked Dane from Strider's back. "Who... sent you?" Dane grunted.
Trion cackled, goldish-red fumes issuing from his mouth. The stench made Strider jerk in the air. "Is it not clear to you by now, Knight? A war is afoot - and Mordred wishes to see you slain!"
Mordred... the Black Knight frowned. He'd meant to contact the Lady of the Lake tonight and ask her for advice on how to deal with the threat - but it seemed that Mordred wished to end things quickly. "Tell your master that Avalon is well defended - and if he wishes to keep his neck, he'd best call off any plans to attack the Lady!"
The Black Knight swiped with his blade, the broad side of it connecting with Trion's skull.
The assassin backed away, black gore trailing from his wound. Trion opened his mouth again, this time spraying out a thick goldish fluid which splattered heavily on the Black Knight's armor.
Immediately, Dane could feel a rising heat. Smoke rose into the air as the acidic goop began eating into his armor. The armor held fast, however, refusing to yield to the attack.
"You'll have to do better than that, Trion - the Lady of the Lake herself gave me this armor, and it will take more than you have to destroy it!"
Strider flew beneath and then behind Trion, while his master raised himself up in his saddle. The Black Knight, though still hundreds of feet in the air, leapt from his horse's back. He landed hard on the back of Trion.
The assassin roared, spewing forth eldritch energy. Dane grimaced as he held on, his arms wrapped tightly around the demon's throat. Trion's wings beat at the Black Knight mercilessly.
"No... Mordred has decreed that you shall die!"
The Black Knight let one hand go loose, lifting the Sword of Light into the air. The sword glowed with power, having absorbed Trion's energy barrage. "Not tonight, and not at your hands!"
The Sword of Light hummed as Dane released the stored energy at point blank range. It flooded into Trion, making him howl in agony.
In Trion's mad thrashing, the Black Knight was thrown free. He fell from the sky at an alarming rate, but he was far from worried. Strider, he knew, would catch him. Instead, he kept his gaze on Trion, watching as the injured demon flapped away, no doubt to return to the master who had sent him.
The Black Knight's descent was halted abruptly. He felt strong arms wrap around him and he knew immediately that it was not Strider who had caught him. He turned to see the face of his savior, anticipating another attack.
Instead, he looked into the beautiful face of Sersi.
"Hello, Dane... I've missed you."
In Black Knight # 2: The Black Knight has been reunited with Sersi, but does this mean their relationship will be renewed? Plus: more on the growing corruption of Alec Drake, the appearance of the London branch of the Hellfire Club, the Lady of the Lake suffers a personal attack, and Mordred recruits a deadly new ally!