The siblings turn silent. Both stare at me with opened mouths and bugged out eyes. No way will this quiet last for long, though. These two can chatter for hours over chores. Being framed as villains in history? That could take days for them to process.
The Pendragon must have the same idea. He stands and raises his hands, palms forward. It’s a clear motion that means, no chitchat. “You did not come here to discuss such things. What has happened?”
Nimue and Merlin still look stunned, so I decide to take the lead. “Eight archdemons have escaped from under your castle. Now we need to stop Colossus from escaping his prison under Camelot. Since you three locked him up before, I’m feeling pretty good that we can nail this puppy. Not that I’d ever hurt a puppy, but you get the idea.”
“This time, we must convince Arthur to help us,” says Nimue.
The Pendragon sighs. “We all know Arthur is unreliable.”
“We do?” I ask. “Because I’d like a little more on that.”
“There is no time to speak of Arthur’s failings,” says the Pendragon. “We must empower a new Opus Magica.”
The Pendragon presses his palms atop the table. Blue power and light flow between his hands. The energy quickly congeals into a leather-bound book that holds two seals on the cover, one white and one red. “And here it is. A new Opus Magica.”
Merlin frowns. “The last Opus Magica took hundreds of years to charge with power, not to mention thousands of mages. The other archdemons are headed to Camelot right now. We don’t have time to start a fresh book.”
“Uh, guys?” I gesture to the Opus Magica. “Not sure how this thing locks up Colossus. You’ve got a book with two colored disc things glued to the top.”
“They are magical seals,” says Nimue. She looks at me as if to say, duh.
“Right.” I look to the Pendragon. “So how does all that work?”
The Pendragon rests his hands atop the volume. “Mages write their names in the book. That action pulls some of their soul and magic onto the page. Over time, enough power builds up so that the book can pull the eight archdemons into the first seal—” here he touches the white disc “—and Colossus into the second. They all can not be imprisoned together. Otherwise, Colossus is too powerful to contain.”
I tilt my head and look at the two round discs. Not a lot of real estate there. “And the seals are portals to a dungeon or something?”
“Precisely,” replies the Pendragon. “And a rather secure dungeon, if I may say so. I have built failsafes into the failsafes. It won’t be fast or simple for Colossus to escape, even with the other archdemons loose.”
I’m about to ask for more details on the whole failsafe thing, but Nimue jumps in first.
“Merlin and I were the final mages to write our names in the last Opus Magica.” Nimue stares at the new book like it’s covered in flesh eating bacteria. “We were hoping for something that we could use today.”
“This is what I have to give you.” The Pendragon yawns. “And now I must continue my rest. You may summon me again when the Staff of Pendragon recharges.”
A memory appears. Nimue and Merlin just raised this very castle with a silver staff. Now that thing has a name: the Staff of Pendragon. Another thought knocks around the back of my head. Something about mage staffs is important, but I can’t place what its.
“It will take months to charge the Staff of Pendragon again,” says Nimue. She runs her fingers over the at the gems along the staff’s top. Before, those stones looked blue. Now, they’re pure white.
“The time will pass more quickly than you think,” intones the Pendragon. He rests his head onto the table once more.
With that motion, the castle begins sinking into the lake. Water rushes through the entrance archway. Chilly liquid curls around my feet. Merlin grabs the new Opus Magica, then he and Nimue race for the exit. Great idea. I follow them out of the castle and across the thin bridge to shore. The moment I set foot on dry land, the castle sinks beneath the pond to a symphony of gurgling noises.
Merlin and Nimue stand nearby, chatting about all the mages they know who might sign the new Opus Magica. They seem to think there aren’t many.
From the corner of my eye, I see another white puffball flit into a nearby pine tree. My breath catches.
Could that be Fluff?
I scan the nearby line of pines, but there’s no sign of Captain Fluffbottom. A splash sounds behind me. I step up to the water’s edge, wondering if Fluff fell into the pond. Yet there’s no sign of a snow imp in the water. It’s just my own reflection.
And it winks at me.
That’s a shocker because I didn’t wink. Only my reflection did. I lean in closer to the water. Maybe it’s some kind of magical leftover from when Nimue and Merlin raised the Pendragon.
My reflection smiles. Again, I’m not grinning. At all. Then she speaks.
There is still time to save Drusus.
I’ve heard that voice before. It’s the one that sounded in my head back at the wrath coven. That time, she told me to turn around and talk to Allimari. Then later, she wanted me to chat with Remy, the new archivist. I thought this was some kind of spell to force me into making new friends or something.
So that theory is a bust.
Now, this person isn’t just a voice. She looks like me. And she’s giving pep talks about Drusus?
This is too much.
Ignoring this entity has gotten rid of it in the past, so that’s just what I do now. Merlin and Nimue are busy conjuring up stuff to camp for the night. I help them as best I can.
And I avoid going anywhere near the water.
28
Lincoln
For the rest of the evening, I sit by the fire and keep careful watch. Ximena, Null, and Rage don’t need to sleep, so I’ve extra incentive to stay awake. Still, Ximena is my main source for any company during the night. She reviews in detail the archdemon plans for a party, and explains exactly what my role must be.
The scheme seems solid enough. The archdemons will say they have changed their ways and wish to hold a celebration in the magical castle of Avalon. The archangels will be invited to the event. In Ximena’s opinion, said invitees will be gullible enough to attend. Once the celebration begins, the archangels will get locked up in Avalon.
I point out the obvious: the archangels will expect a trap. However, Ximena maintains that the Crimson Scourge has an unbeatable plan in place. And I cannot argue with the work the Crimson Scourge has done so far. The eight archdemons are loose now. And in my future, Colossus definitely got free. SO that’s another success for the Crimson Scourge.
Now it’s my job to figure out how that last part happened … and then stop it before it begins.
At last, the horizon lightens. Ximena volunteers to give me her horse to ride while she takes dragon form and flies the rest of the way. We take to the road (or in Ximena’s case, to the skies) and arrive at Camelot by late morning. It’s a boxy structure with a few towers. A steep wall surrounds the main building.
To be honest, my childhood imaginings of this castle were rather more grand than this reality. Most thrax palaces could consume multiple Camelots and still have room to spare.
I frown. If I’ve been misinformed about the appearance of Camelot, what else don’t I know?
We approach the front gate. Ximena has retaken her human form and once again resembles a lady of means in a riding coat and breeches. Null and Rage flank her. All three archdemons hang back while I step up and knock.
“All hail!” I call.
A small guard window slides open in the wooden door. “Who goes there?” Although the door-hole isn’t a large one, I can see that the guard has the mismatched eyes of a thrax. Good.
I step closer to show off my own irises: one blue and one brown. “I am a traveling knight who wishes to offer my services to King Arthur.”
“And those three behind you?” asks the guard.
“Part of my company.”
The
guard sniffs. “You’re dressed strangely.”
“I’m here with important information for your king. That should count for more than my attire. In thrax sic hunt.” This Latin phrase is a thrax password from Arthurian times. We still use it in the modern day.
The guard nods. “Enter.”
The door slowly swings open. It takes an effort, but I hide my look of surprise. Back home at Arx Hall, my guards would rather die than allow a stranger onto our grounds without my expressed permission. King Arthur is the one who supposedly built up all those rules in the first place.
Has something happened to the king?
The guard allows me to step through without even locking the gate behind him, so I take that duty on my own.
“This way,” says the guard. “I’ll show ye to the reception hall.”
“Thank you.”
As we step toward the castle proper, I carefully scan the open grounds between the main structure and the surrounding wall. There are no other guards nearby, at least not that I can see. What a disaster. This is quite possibly the worst castle security I’ve ever witnessed.
The guard guides me into Camelot proper. We pass through a series of stone corridors and finally, into a grand reception hall. The vaulted ceiling is lined with multi-colored pennants. I spot ones for my favorite knights of the round table. There are the Sirs Lancelot, Gawain, and Galahad. Percival, Tristan, and Kay. Of course, there’s no mention of Nimue or Merlin, but that’s to be expected, considering how those two magic users deserted their king.
The hall takes on a dream-like sheen. I can’t believe I’m here. Camelot.
The center of the room is filled by a large round table. Knights sit about it. Well, sit isn’t the right word. Lounge, perhaps? Lancelot even has his feet up on a nearby bench. I must have caught them all at a festival for relaxation. We thrax have one every five years or so.
The guard clears his throat. “Announcing a visitor for the king.”
That’s when I notice the star of this particular show: King Arthur. He sits on a raised platform at the far wall of the chamber. His golden throne is adorned with curlicues.
That’s unexpected. King Arthur is supposed to sit at the table with his knights. A first among peers, as the bard sings.
The king himself looks nothing like his picture in books. He’s a small and round fellow who wears wears a too-small tunic and pants. The clothing can only be described as overdue for the laundress. With Arthur’s every breath, the scent of stale alcohol wafts across the chamber. His skin looks so pale as to be unhealthy. A thinning mop of brown hair covers his head.
“Well,” says Arthur. “What do you want?” He accents his question with an exceedingly loud belch.
I blink hard, not believing what I’m seeing. This is King Arthur, the very thrax who rescued us all from the brutal time? The man who transformed our people from a ragtag bunch of part-angels into an elite fighting force?
Another bodily noise follows up the belch. Foul scents assault my nose. Evidently, Arthur had beans during his latest meal.
I shake my head. This is awful.
Still, Arthur locked up Colossus somewhere in this very castle. He’s my key to preventing the world’s end. He may be a gaseous rogue, but I’ll deal with it.
“My king,” I begin. “I’ve come to you with dire news. There are archdemons outside.”
King Arthur jams his finger in his nose. Honestly. Maxon has better manners. “You don’t say.” Thankfully, the king chooses to remove the offending digit from his head. With any luck, the bodily function roundup is over for now.
“The archdemons have changed from evil to good,” I explain.
“Which ones?” asks Arthur.
“All eight. They’ve been released from their prison under Pendragon castle. In honor of their change to goodness, they wish to hold a party here at Camelot.”
These words have an unexpected effect on the room. All the knights stand at attention. Arthur rises from his throne.
“A celebration in my honor?” he asks.
I frown. “Your honor? I don’t follow.”
“Think, man,” bellows Arthur. “It was my imprisonment of the eight archdemons which changed their ways.” He stomps his foot on the floor. “And I’ve still got Colossus locked up right under here. Without their king, the other archdemons aren’t much to worry about.”
It takes considerable self-restraint not to launch into a lecture on castle security. Leaders simply do not bellow out the location of key prisoners, even when under torture, let alone at the promise of a party.
For the first time, I wonder if the Crimson Scourge is a diabolical genius … or if King Arthur is merely supremely gullible. In either case, the demonpocalypse began here somehow.
“Bring the archdemons in!” cries the king. ”Let’s hold a festival to celebrate all the wondrous things I’ve done.” He turns to the knights. “See? I’m so marvelous, even the archdemons come to honor me.”
The guard shrugs and marches off to allow archdemons into Camelot. This can’t be happening. And by that, I mean, there must be another explanation. King Arthur simply is not this daft.
Arthur turns to his knights. “Galahad, summon my bard. Lancelot, go fetch Merlin and Nimue.” At these orders, the knights in question rise and leave the chamber.
That’s yet another surprise. Summon Merlin and Nimue? I thought the two ran off, never to be seen again. Arthur makes it sound like the greatest magic users of all time are nothing more than buttons left in the back of a drawer—something to grab the moment when needed.
There must be an explanation for all this.
Time to do some exploration around Camelot.
I bow to the king. “If you don’t mind, your Majesty, I should like a change of clothes.” And to see if this castle is under a spell.
“Aye.” King Arthur gestures toward the exit archway. “Find a servant. Or a wench. Do what you want, just don’t miss the celebration of me.”
“I shall attend. Of that you can be certain.”
All my life, I thought humans were the ones who didn’t really know King Arthur. They had the wrong castles, history, everything. Now I suspect that none of us truly understood the man. Turning, I leave the reception hall with one goal in mind.
Find out what’s really happening here … before Colossus is set free.
29
Myla
Grrrrrrr.
It’s late morning, and Nimue and Merlin stand under a tree, chatting about mage stuff. They conjured a pretty mean breakfast, but now they’re still sipping some kind of magic juice from huge mugs and making small talk. There’s no sign that we’re actually packing up camp and taking off any time soon.
Looks like some folks need extra motivation.
I sashay over to the tree in question. “Do you guys need help packing anything so we can leave? After all, we’re off for Camelot. Tick-tock.”
“It is a fine morning,” says Nimue. “Slow down and enjoy it.”
I stare at her and count off a good five seconds. “Wow, that was a nice break. Let’s get going now.”
Merlin cracks a smile. “That was no time at all.”
“I disagree. Back home, I’d have reviewed a million souls by now. Not to mention all my work with the fading angels.” I really drag out the words fading angels, hoping that will grab their attention.
Nope. The fading angels line does nothing. Nimue and Merlin keep yammering away. Something about crystals storing power. Whatever.
I clear my throat. “Guys?” They turn in my direction. “Honestly, all this sitting around is making me nuts. Can we go already? I haven’t been this bored since high school.” And that’s saying something.
“We are preparing ourselves,” says Nimue. “Magic users require extra time.”
“Well, everyone I know might be erased from all history unless I figure some things out, fast. Plus my husband is missing and may be running around here somewhere. So anything you can do to
actually get your magical asses in gear? That would be most appreciated.”
“Point made,” says Merlin. And he turns his back on me.
I come to a major revelation. Merlin is a total dick.
Looking away from Merlin and Nimue, I scan the road that I’d very much like to be traveling on. That’s when it happens.
A little black blob appears on the horizon.
Can it be? Yes, it is!
A trio of figures have appeared on the road ahead. Yay! If nothing else, I can hitch myself another ride out of here.
Nimue and Merlin notice the newcomers as well. Both frown so deeply, I worry that they’ll permanently crease their faces or something.
“Oh, no,” whispers Merlin.
“What is it?” I ask. “Archdemons?” Because I’ve been hoping to fight one or two of them along the way. It’s better than sitting on a rock and watching mages.
“No, it’s some knights of the round table,” sighs Nimue. The way she says the words knights of the round table, it’s the way I might say, annual vaginal exam. Not fun.
The knights close in and sure enough, it’s none other than Lancelot and some other medieval dudes I don’t recognize. My heart speeds. The Sir Lancelot! Amazing. Not that I’m the type to fan girl, but come on. Lancelot is Mister Romance. Anyone could get a little starry eyed.
The knights show up on their oversized white horses. Up close, I can see that Lancelot has a swoosh of blond hair under his helm and one of those pinch-lipped expressions on his face. “Bonjour,” he says in his cute French accent. “Your presence eez demanded at Camelot.”
Merlin nods. “We’ll be there within the hour.”
Lancelot and his dudes turn and gallop away. My mouth falls so far open, a bug flies into the back of my throat. Yuck.
Unlike before, Nimue and Merlin are now all action. They head over to their horses and mount up.
“Hey!” I call. “What was that?”
“A summons,” says Merlin. He doesn’t add a duh on the end of his statement, but it’s totally implied.
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