by Skye, Sariah
“See? Just like riding Bash’s bike, huh?” Mathias said, and I laughed sharply.
“Ah, no. See the bike doesn’t have a brain. It won’t like, fling me off whenever. And it vibrates. Hard. This is just… well not that,” I insisted, glancing over my shoulder at him, giving him a small frown from the side of my mouth. “How did you get stuck with me?”
“This is the biggest horse they had,” Mathias explained, “can easily take my weight and then some. And besides, I’m the best rider.” A sparkle of playful jest lit his brown eyes, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well you are a good rider, I’ll attest to that,” I agreed with a snicker.
“Enough damn foreplay,” Xander scolded, attempting to look angry, but not succeeding with the gentle smile that quirked his sexy mouth. “Let’s get going.”
“Right,” Mathias agreed, as Percival, strode up beside him, confident on his large gray beast—errrr, horse. They nodded at each other respectfully, and Percival began the charge, his large, heavy sword sheathed at his side. The rest of us followed and I cringed, feeling every bump and movement under my ass as we traversed the woods and fields to the razed village that was about forty minutes away by horseback.
Mathias sensed my tension and kept one of his long arms wrapped around me, and urged me into his hard-upper body, the other hand held tightly on the reins. I wore a pair of dark colored skinny jeans, my long-sleeved plum shirt and black boots that went over my calves with a fur trim. Guinevere had given me a gray hooded cloak that allowed for a bit of warmth, but wasn’t as stifling as my parka. I was grateful for it because my back pressed against Mathias’ front was scorching at his overheated temperature. The gladiator was menacing—and sexy as fuck—in dark jeans of his own, and a tight gray thermal Henley over his upper body, the seams nearly bursting over his shoulders and chest.
Okay so yeah, the ride could have been worse.
Bash and Xander rode next to each other and seemed to be talking in quiet voices. I didn’t know about what, but I had a feeling that it had something to do with what transpired between us today. At least that’s what I was going to pretend it was. It was probably in actuality like manscaping or movies or jock-itch or something.
Rhys rode alongside of Mathias and I, and my father took up the rear, with a line of Avalonian rebels behind him; no less than about thirty people riding into the village to either battle Nimue and Arthur’s army, or pick up the pieces.
Trystan flew overhead, gliding for long lengths and beating his wings when needed. Every now and then he swooped down, flying in tandem alongside of us, his green eyes almost seemed to wink before he darted back up into the sky.
The sun hung low on the horizon and night was fast approaching. Despite the chill in the air which didn’t feel that bad right now, smashed up against one of my incubus fiancé’s, I marveled out loud at the gorgeous sunset; painted in bright oranges and fiery reds.
Mathias’ chest rumbled a growl. “I don’t believe that’s part of the sunset, Ava…”
“What do you—oh my. Oh no.” The strong smell of burned wood was carried on a light breeze and in the muted sunlight, billows of smoke rose over the treetops.
“Fuck.” Not waiting for the others, Mathias’ kicked his heels against the horse’s sides and flicked the reins, urging the animal go faster. I winced, as high-pitched shrieks and loud yells began to grow louder and louder, and the thick forest grew more sparse.
“I’m guessing we are too late,” I said, my voice barely audible.
“As long as one person is still alive, you’re not too late,” Mathias whispered comfort into my ear, brushing his lips over my cheek before quickly nuzzling my temple with his forehead. I would have normally sighed at his sweet gesture but I was too mortified by what lay before us to think about it.
We stopped just outside of the village’s border, the screams and heat from the burning fires were blinding and heavy on the ears.
Trystan landed beside us, quickly shifted into his human self, looking dire. Bash had been carrying his weapon—a jagged, nasty looking sword, dipped in green poison—and tossed it to him. He sheathed it in a belt at his side and appeared determined. When his eyes took in the flames that remained, though, I watched him falter.
I exchanged a terrified look with Rhys and nodded towards Bash who looked like he was about to panic.
Rhys immediately knew what to do, and wiggled his fingers gently in Bash’s direction. Suddenly, the man sat up straight, all anxiety and fear of the fire gone.
Thank you, I mouthed to Rhys, who replied with a slight grin.
We all jumped off the horses—rather, everyone else jumped off, but Trystan had to clutch me by the waist and help me down because my sore leg and ass muscles. “Remind me to work out more when this is over,” I grumbled, rubbing at my backside and wincing. “Ow…”
“Never fear, priestess.” Rhys could only manage a small smile, but he did touch my back, willing his healing magic into me and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Mathias removed his mace from a leather bag at the horse’s side. He exchanged a look with Xander, and with a jerk of his head indicated they should take the lead into the town just behind Percival.
“Are you okay, Ava?” My father asked, after tying his horse off at a nearby tree.
I nodded hesitantly, flinching every time I heard a scream or sob from inside the village.
“Ava, you and Rhys stick together, okay?” Mathias instructed by pointing at the two of us. I looked over at Rhys who stared helplessly down at the leaf-littered and snow-covered ground, but he quickly looked up when he heard his name. He nodded once, and I held out my hand for him. He set his in mine and I squeezed his tightly, pulling him into me.
“We’re gonna get through this, Rhys. I promise. If Mordred did…” I dropped my words, because the mere mention of it made Rhys’ lower lip quiver. “I’m here for you.”
He managed to give a slight smile of appreciation. “Thanks, Ava. I’m glad I know you.”
“Me too, Merlin. Me too.”
“By the gods,” Mathias muttered, arms folded imposingly over his massive chest as he took in all the destruction, while his eyes narrowed into fierce-looking slits. He lifted his weapon and everyone else generally followed suit, from Bash to Lachlan to the army just falling in behind us. It was only a handful of Avalonian rebels but hopefully it’d be enough.
I set my hand over Excalibur and willed it into its full form, the bright light illuminating everything directly around us as it shifted and settled into its golden-edged, rune-etched form. There was a collective gasp from the rebels nearby, and even Percival’s pale eyes widened with awe. I couldn’t help but flash them all a triumphant, side-eyed smirk.
“Given the severity of the situation,” Rhys said quietly next to me, “I don’t even want to say the obvious joke here about the big, long… sword.”
I reached out and squeezed his hand once, willing him strength. “Will you be okay?”
Rhys nodded, with a sigh. “We don’t know anything yet, right?” He observed, not needing to mention Mordred’s name.
“No, we don’t.”
We heard a metallic thrum as Xander sided up to me, drawing out a long, purple-handled katana; I knew it was his favorite. “Stay with me, okay dearest?”
I nodded with appreciation. At my side I felt the fingers of Xander’s free hand stretch out thread with mine as I swallowed nervously.
“Don’t worry, we’ve got you.” Bash was behind me and he bent in, aiming for my cheek but his kiss landed on my ear instead. I felt his firm hand on the small of my back as Mathias rose his sword and we all began our entrance into the small village.
Rhys didn’t opt for a weapon of course, but he did carry a very ominous mass of churning green and black magic in his upturned palm. The magic was so strong it rose the hair on the back of my neck; I even felt Bash tremble behind me. He appeared to be concentrating on the magic intently, and I watched his hand as a sim
ilar mass of magic appeared in it. I would have been exceedingly impressed, but a long, loud shriek rang out in our ears as a fireball shot out and landed nearby us just before we reached the village.
Rhys was quick and dissolved it with a blast of water magic from his other hand—his other magic never wavering. It appeared as easy to him as breathing.
Just about every straw rooftop in the village was covered with dark, ominous flames, the center of each spark was shadowed with deep colors that flitted between black and maroon red. Definitely not natural. Several shops were razed completely to the ground, people standing nearby in tears, clutching each other in tears and despaired sobs. Many more ran around, screaming the names of loved ones, or kneeling down on the ground beside the fallen.
The only thing more prevalent than the dark flames were the splatters of blood that splashed over the ground or on the walls of surfaces that hadn’t yet burned.
From next to me, Rhys let out a gasp, releasing his magic and covering his wide mouth with his hand. “Oh my god…”
“Shite…” Trystan echoed his sentiment, although in ruder ways.
The group of us all looked upon the destruction, feeling grim.
Xander’s grasp was still on mine, and I heard him mutter in his native language. I wasn’t exactly sure what he said but I managed to pick out the words for “horrible” and “asshole”.
I shook in fear where I stood; it was only Xander’s unwavering grasp, the other guys’ presences, and the solidarity of the sword I held in my hand that kept me from falling to my knees and submitting to the ultimate despair and helplessness I felt.
It appeared though that whatever caused the destruction was gone, which was almost a relief. Almost, because that meant we didn’t know for sure who caused it—though we all had a pretty good idea of who it actually was.
One gentleman with wiry, gray hair, tattered tan clothing and a ripped fur pelt was darting around from group to group, person to person, talking and consoling who he could; he seemed to be some sort of leader. He didn’t even notice our presence; no one did. Swallowing nervously, I took in a breath, and stepped forward, lowering the sword slightly to not be intimidating.
Mathias immediately joined me, but I put my hand on his arm, and shook my head, trying to tell him I wanted to do this alone. His mouth set in a firm line, but he stepped back, and nodded resolutely. I did however motion for Rhys, Lachlan, and Percival to follow behind me.
The man was speaking with a frantic young woman, wearing a deep blue dress and white chemise underneath. Soot marks from the fire smeared the sleeves, her hands, and her face. She was the first to notice me and she let out a startled gasp, causing the gentleman to swivel on his heels.
“Who—who are you?” He asked, peering just beyond me, breathing a relieved sigh when he noticed Percival, wearing his Camelot tabard just behind me. “Are you—part of the King’s army?”
Rhys let out an undignified, obstinate snort. I elbowed him sharply, giving him a deep glare. “Stop it,” I scolded, and he reluctantly relented.
“No, we’re—ah—” I stammered, when the sword’s hilt buzzed in my hand and I lifted it gently. It lit up bright gold momentarily, and the man’s hand flew to his mouth.
“Oh—is that—Excalibur?” He asked in awe, and I nodded. “But you’re not sent by the king?”
“No, she’s from Avalon,” my father interjected, and the man took a horrified step back, pointing a shaking finger at him. “This is my daughter.” My heart actually swelled a little at the pride in his tone.
Pride… for me.
“No—Lancelot? It… can’t be,” the man breathed in a squeaky tone.
Percival stepped forward next. “Allow me to explain—quickly—good sir.” From what little I’d seen of him, Percival seemed fairly calm and subdued. Like the calm sky before the storm rolled in. But right now his speech was unshaken, and his tone seemed to placate the old man. “The king is not quite what you think. I’m afraid over the years he’s gone… corrupt. These people—” Percival gestured towards us, and the Avalon rebels nearby, “—are here to liberate us from tyranny, and save the kingdom. I fear though we are too late for your village.”
The man frantically looked between the two of us, a tortured expression on his face, like he wasn’t sure what to believe.
“Ava—notice that cut on his cheek?” Rhys whispered to me, leaning in.
I raised a brow and observed. It was a very small cut, but blood was pouring down his face, and I nodded. “Heal it.”
“Why can’t you?” I protested. Rhys gave me a pointed glare. I sighed reluctantly, dropping Excalibur to my side. I took a step forward, pulling my other hand away from Xander’s and rising to touch the man’s face.
He balked severely. Excalibur trembled in my hand, and the golden light that emanated from it shot from it, up my arm, over my chest and through my outstretched fingers.
“Would Excalibur align itself with evil, good sir, I ask you?” Percival inquired, and the man grimaced.
“I would never have thought so, but…”
“Let her show you,” Lachlan said calmly. He nodded imperceptibly at me, and I took a step forward and connected with the man’s cheek. He gasped lightly, and my fingers warmed and tingled as I poured the healing magic into him. The blood began to dry and evaporate while the cut disappeared, leaving nothing but uninjured skin behind. I pulled away and the man’s hand quickly flew to his cheek. Surprised to feel himself healed, he peered at his hand, searching for the blood that was no longer there to smear his fingertips. He smiled slowly and turned to me.
“Thank you…”
I gave a small, polite smile and nodded gently.
“Allow me to introduce everyone… Priestess Avalon, her protectors—Mathias, Trystan, Sebastian and Xander. And surely you remember… Merlin.” My father spoke Rhys’ proper name like he’d just licked a sandbox filled with cat shit.
The man flinched, before looking in amazement at the wizard who was currently preening—actually preening—by flipping his hair over his shoulder and puffing out his chest. “I prefer Emrys Ambrosius now… but you can call me Rhys.”
“I…” the man stuttered. “Is it really you?”
“Is it—?” Rhys snorted with amusement. With a pompous roll of his eyes, Rhys made a wide, swooping gesture and we felt nothing until he flicked out the magic with a push, and all the nearby buildings flames fizzled out and faded with no effort. “Need more confirmation? I could turn you into a newt if that would help…”
I slugged Rhys in the chest and glared at him. “Quit being an ass.”
Rhys tittered with laughter, and the man’s lips formed a careful smile. It was good to hear Rhys laugh, though.
Mathias stepped forward, setting a hand on my shoulder in solidarity. “Do you know who caused this?”
The man shook his head, flinching as he looked the exceedingly tall, former gladiator over. He was obviously intimidated. “I… we cannot tell. Everything turned black, like someone pulled a blanket over the entire village and when we could see again, everything was on fire. But, this isn’t your average fire…”
“No, it’s magical,” Bash offered, exchanging a dire frown with Xander.
“Black magic,” the man whispered in terror, as his voice shook.
“Something like that,” Bash agreed somberly.
“When… when we could see again, people were randomly being struck down by unseen forces. It was still dark, but a few people said as they were dying, ‘they came out of the shadows…’” The man looked bewildered. “I do not know what it means…”
I let out a low growl, exchanging glares with the guys and Rhys.
“Shadow fae…” Lachlan said.
“Fucking Nimue…” I muttered, as my grip on the sword tightened. The sword seemed to sense my mood, and shook quickly, flashing a bright red before returning to its normal color. It was pissed, just like I was.
“Magistrate!” An older child, probably
around the age of around twelve, came tearing through the town square, carefully carrying a precarious object and a piece of parchment.
“What is it, child?” The magistrate turned away from us to regard the child. The young man wore tattered linen clothes, burned and singed in various spots, and his face was covered with bruises and black soot. He thrust the parchment and the familiar dagger at the magistrate.
Rhys gasped, setting a hand over his heart. “No…”
“Oh fuck…” I said, feeling like the world was crashing down on me.
“May we—?” Bash asked, reaching for the objects. The magistrate nodded and gingerly handed them to the siphon.
Bash glared menacingly, holding a twisted metal, black dagger in his hand.
Mordred’s dagger.
“What does it say?” Lachlan inquired, peering over Bash’s arm at the parchment, with ink scrawled and splattered over it. “‘This is what happens to those who align themselves with Avalon and it’s debauchery…’” Bash read aloud.
“Nimue,” Rhys said, barely over a whisper. “Oh god… he really did betray us…” Rhys let his magic fizzle out and he fell to his knees, tears immediately running down his face. “He used me. He—”
Percival and Lachlan knelt by the wizard—I was most surprised by my father of course—and attempted to console him.
I spun around and glowered at the guys. “Well. I guess we know for certain.”
Mathias hung his mace at his side, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and shook his head with regret. “Yeah, we sure do. He was a traitor all along.”
I sighed lengthily, letting Excalibur fall at my side. “She got us. She got us… again.”
“Ava.” I heard my father beckon me and he nodded his head in the direction of Rhys. He looked very uncomfortable and I knew he wanted me to take over the job of consoling the wizard. I smiled wryly and went to kneel down at Rhys’ side.