by Skye, Sariah
“What… did you want me to do?” Arthur stammered, shaking his head in disbelief.
Nimue grinned diabolically. “You succeeded in turning the kingdom against Avalon. You succeeded in attaining an army, ready for the conquering. Right now your army, and Avalon’s are outside these gates, fighting, even though you’re both on the same side essentially, and they’re falling by the dozens. All that glorious energy I’m missing out on, but this is worth it to see the look on your face when you realize you’ve been had.” Nimue tipped her head back and laughed evilly. The sound was disturbing, echoing through the stone corridors. “When everyone is dead and Avalon finally falls, I will take my place as ruler of Camelot and open the portals to Earth. Camelot will take its rightful place down in the human world, and my brethren will finally have a place to call home, and all the humans we can drain. It will be glorious!”
Arthur narrowed his pale blue eyes defiantly. “You won’t get away with it.”
“Won’t I? Ugh, just like one of those stupid Hollywood movies.” Nimue snickered, rolling her eyes and scowling. “You know how many movies have been made about you and your legend, Arthur? Books written? Countless stories told about all the wonderful things you’ve done. Just imagine what they’ll say now, after they learned that it was you that basically allowed them into servitude for me.” Nimue clicked her tongue shamefully.
“Movies?”
Nimue waved him off with a flick of her hand. “Not now. I… sense something. A connection with our son…”
Arthur weakly ambled to his feet, thrusting himself against the bars, clinging on to them with determination and dear life. “You leave my son alone.”
“Ugh, like I care about him. He was only a mistake—I didn’t actually think that a shadow fae could successfully mate with a—” Nimue shuddered violently at the mere thought, “—human. Though I have to admit, with enough motivation you can be quite satisfying, you know?” She grinned salaciously, thinking fondly of all their times in bed together; times that only served to enhance their connection, make him trust her more. Same thing that happened with Lancelot, of course.
All part of her master plan.
“What are you then, really?” Arthur inquired.
“Shadow fae. Dark fae at one time. Well…” Nimue thought carefully. “See, we once hailed from this place called the Dark Realm—in your banal language at least. But when humans came to be, they started sending their dead to a place they called Hell. Or… whatever. There’s many names for it. For what you humans lack in strength and magic, you make up for in ingenious minds, not realizing that with their stringent beliefs and intentions they created an actual portal between their world, and mine. But they were the vilest, most atrocious, ugliest souls possible. Their essences mixed with ours, and the shadow fae were born. We became hooked on their energies, and began to learn ways to siphon it from them and eventually it wasn’t enough. We turned on and drained each other. I drained an entire family line, which is how I am able to stand here today and take over your kingdom. The Dark Realm is most unpleasant—not to be confused with the Shadow realm by the way. Another horrible place, full of—” Nimue cringed in disgust at the mere idea, “—disgusting dragons. Shadow dragons? Can you imagine?” She laughed uproariously.
“Would they eat you?” Arthur demanded, and Nimue shrugged.
“Doubtful. Or magics don’t really mix; we’d cancel each other out, I believe.” She shrugged carelessly. “No matter, really. Now…” Nimue swiveled on her feet, and outstretched a hand, gripping at Arthur’s throat, choking him until his eyes bugged out. “If you want to live, you will tell me; Mordred, is he on my side, or the side of Avalon? He has flip-flopped so much I just cannot tell.”
“I… do not know,” Arthur replied, strangled. Nimue flinched, feeling discomforted as she tuned into her son’s subconscious. Since absorbing the energy of a telepath long ago, she had been able to tap into people with the same magic, particularly useful for seeing into her son’s head. She couldn’t always do it, just when she was near full-strength like she was now. Nor did she usually want to… being inside a human’s head, even if half human? Not pleasant at all, and it drained her nearly empty each time. Right now though, she was glad for it. She’d drain someone else along the way.
The armies fought, archers atop the palace walls, shooting arrows and hitting the unprepared Avalonian rebels square in the chests. Some had shields, others fell immediately, but anyone who approached the palace was immediately shot it. In the distance of the open field, Arthur’s well-trained army with their silver armor and tabards clashed with the rag-tag band of rebels with rusty swords or shields. Some were actually quite skilled but could hardly hold a match to Arthur’s skilled army, and people fell by the dozen. Especially when her shadow fae entered the mix; they were disconcerting and followed behind Arthur’s soldiers, feeding off the humans before they fell, not even bothering to wait until struck, some of them just took from the living, leaving them to die agonizing, painful deaths. Blood drenched the battlefield, turning the pristine white, snow-covered ground crimson, like a damning scarlet letter.
But that wasn’t what peaked Mordred’s interest. From atop a hill, he scanned the battlefield, sword in hand, looking for his target. Hundreds of soldiers fighting outside of the palace, yelling, crying out loudly when they fell…
A misty orb came through the trees, unseen by the soldiers, and landed by one of the fallen. Mordred didn’t recognize him, but he breathed heavily and bled from a chest wound. He knew it was painful, and the misty orb landed nearby him, shifting into a light, humanoid form with long silver hair, white robes, and a pleasant smile.
“Igraine,” he said to himself with frustrated anger, shaking his head, watching several more orbs appear on the battlefield. They couldn’t be seen by the soldiers unless they were near death, or the shadow fae, but there was one clear way to take them down.
Get to their leader…
Where is my cousin? Mordred thought furiously, shaking his head, scanning the expanse of the battlefield, everyone fighting their pointless battle. Finally his eyes landed on a blast of bright magic; that wizard Merlin shot a blast of it in the air, aiming for several of Arthur’s soldiers and their shadow fae. Priestess Ava and her protectors weren’t far behind; Ava bending down to attempt to heal when she could, and the four of them with heavy weapons, quickly struck down anything in their path. One of them shot lightning from his fingertips, and another was monstrous in size, easily towering Mordred’s height, easily taking out five soldiers with a swipe of his arm and a bash of his mace.
A “swarm” of shadow fae suddenly appeared behind them. Two of the rebels were nearby, and immediately turned on them, engaging in an equal battle with two of them, but were slowly being overcome, descended upon by more of the shadow fae. The protectors were momentarily distracted from guarding the priestess who was busy healing a rebel who lay sobbing in the field. How pathetic, Mordred thought, and Nimue had to agree.
But it was enough. The one that remained—the redhead—had no innate powers, and Mordred’s skill could easily overcome him. He was a brilliant fighter, yes, but not supernaturally gifted unless he wanted to shift into a bird and claw someone’s eyes out. That didn’t help him much here.
The biggest protector roared ferally, the blond grew in size and stature, meeting his same height doing the same, and the dark-haired one with the storm magic was quickly overcome by three shadow fae who were strengthened form just having sucked the life out of a soldier or two, each.
The priestess knelt on the ground, the wizard nearby doing the same, his back turned to her.
Now was my shot, Mordred thought.
Nimue watched as her vision darkened, turned into a puff of smoke, and reappeared in the battlefield. The noise was unbearable, all the yelling and weapon-clanging, and the smell of rotted death and blood was putrid in his nose; Nimue could feel it. Glancing around quickly Mordred found the priestess, still kneeling beside a sold
ier, completely distracted, surrounded by golden magic: Avalon magic. “It’s okay, it’ll be okay…” she crooned to him over and over again, while the soldier began to smile slowly, peacefully.
She was completely unaware and distracted by healing she hesitated to put up her shield, assuming that her protectors were caring for her. Ha, Mordred thought, reappearing right behind her. “Priestess?” He asked in a careful tone, like he was trying not to distract her but really, that’s what he was doing.
The priestess—Ava—stood slowly and eyed Mordred carefully before her mouth slipped into an easy smile. “Oh I’m glad you’re here. I could use your help.”
“Help?” Mordred had asked. “I think not actually. For Camelot!” He shouted, drawing his dark blade from his waist and while Ava gasped he plunged it directly into her stomach, pushing it through organ, flesh, and bone; the blood spurting out, landing on his face while she looked upon him in horror.
“Mordred? You… I…” Ava clutched her chest, her eyes rolled back in her head… and she fell to the ground in a heap.
“No!” The wizard was first to react, reappearing at her side, abandoning his knight. The protectors seemed blindsided momentarily, like suddenly being slapped in the face. The biggest was the first to react, falling to his knees the moment he noticed her on the ground, lifeless and breathless. The others followed suit; Mordred avoided looking at them. He actually kind of cared for them, they’d been good to him while he was there, he didn’t want to see their sadness realizing their beloved was dead.
“No! No no no no!” The wizard sobbed hysterically, tossing himself over her lifeless form. “She was—no! The closest thing to a sister I’d ever have! Mordred—why?” The wizard looked up at him with a red, pleading and sobbing face. His lip trembled violently and tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood from her stomach and falling to her white cloak.
Mordred peered around him briefly, eyeing her lifeless body for breath or any sign of life. It was hard to see over the four of her protectors, or hear over the wizard’s ridiculous tears, but he was satisfied: she was definitely dead. “How could I? I am a shadow fae; that’s what we do. We manipulate emotions and deceive in order to get what we want. Did you really think I’d be interested in you, wizard? And with the other witches distracted there is no way she can be healed; even you cannot bring someone back to life.”
The wizard sat up slowly, covered with blood and smelling like iron. “But… she’s immortal. Isn’t she? This isn’t possible.”
Mordred grinned devilishly. “She is half demon, essentially, isn’t she? Like you? What can kill another demon but another demon, wizard? A demon like me, huh?” Mordred laughed at his misery and he collapsed back on his fallen friend and sister in a crying, sobbing, pathetic heap. Mordred thrust up his fist in the air and shouted. “Spread the word! Avalon has fallen! The shadow fae will take their rightful place in Camelot and eventually, Earth!”
“You fucking asshole!” The blond incubus roared, spinning on his heels, he rose his fist and Nimue cringed, feeling it connect with Mordred’s face; she cut her connection with her son before she could feel the bone break.
That was all Nimue needed to see.
With a triumphant grin, Nimue called for her magic, and began to teleport.
Chapter Forty-Nine
“She’s out.”
“How can you tell?” Trystan asked, bending over and holding out his hand to the dark prince who was crumbled on the ground.
“Now that I know she’s doing it my mind just feels heavy when I know she’s there,” Mordred replied, with a groan, allowing the eagle-shifter to pull him to his feet. He rubbed his cheek where Bash’s fist had connected with the potion hoping to block Nimue out further and moved his jaw around. I heard a clicking sound and Bash audibly winced.
“Sorry, man,” he replied, with a cute, sheepish grin that I could barely make out over Rhys’ trembling, fake-crying self draped over me.
I gave him a shove and groaned. “Dude—laying it on a little thick there, huh?”
Rhys fell on his ass, grinning at me, waving a hand over his face and “removing” the magically-induced flushed cheeks and tears. “Hey, I wanted to make sure it worked. But—goddammit, Bash, your red shit got all over me! What the hell is this, it smells… what the fuck does this smell like?” Rhys asked, whisking his hand over my mid-section, scooping up some of the red stuff with his fingers, bringing it to his nose.
“Modified blood,” Bash said, with a shrug. “More or less.”
“Yuck, that is nasty,” Rhys protested, jumping to his feet, leaving me on the ground in a heap still.
“Even nastier if you knew what went into making it,” Bash replied, with a mischievous wink.
“Oh, you’ll survive, Merlin,” my father said, giving him a good-natured, and probably sarcastic, pat on the back.
“Survive? You survive this, you—” Rhys started swiping the “blood” off his arms, moving to flick it at him.
“All right, Rhys, that’s enough.” Mathias scolded at him, setting a hand over his outstretched, accusatory finger.
“Really, I’m just fine down here, I’m not like dead or anything, no one help me,” I quipped facetiously, still down on the ground, waiting for one of the guys to notice me.
Xander was busy giving orders to the immediate surrounding soldiers—Avalon and Camelot—to stop their fake fighting but remain in battle position for when Nimue blinked in; those quick seconds before Nimue realized that she’d been had would be crucial for us to subdue her.
“This is disgusting,” Percival said, grimacing, wiping off the fake shadow magic, supplied by Mordred and enhanced by one of Bash’s explosion potions. He and several others had “posed” as Nimue’s Shadow fae soldiers, fighting the Avalonian army.
“Sorry, beautiful.” Mathias finally leaned over, scooping me up in his arms and bringing me into his chest, placing a series of little kisses all over my cheek as I giggled.
“Think she fell for it?” Gawain asked, bringing us back to the matter at hand. Mathias sheepishly blushed and gently set me to the ground. I winced as I tried to brush the “blood” off of me.
“I know she did,” Mordred replied, with a huge grin in my direction. “Brilliant idea, cousin.”
“Well we’ll see if she actually appears and falls for it,” I said, glancing around. We stood outside the palace, yes, but the moment we emerged with the Round Table knights, Mordred called off the fighting, acknowledged by the rest of them, and Bedivere spread the word and the fighting stopped. Thankfully we’d gotten there in time before too many had fallen, and Rhys and I had been able to heal quite a few of them with the help of Igraine and the witches. They’d stayed long enough to help “trick” Nimue before I sent them away to safety.
Some soldiers had been lost, senselessly, but it could have been much worse. And still could be once Nimue learned of our deception. We knew she still had her army out there, somewhere, and I didn’t know just how convincing we’d be. Mordred did his best to convey the images of there being hundreds fighting when really there were only about a hundred of us and with Rhys magic and Bash’s alchemist trickery we thought we did a good job conveying a huge battle.
We assumed that if Nimue thought I was dead she’d come quickly, ready to take advantage.
“Be on guard,” Xander warned, nodding at the knights and rebels closest to him, and they all set hands on their weapons, or nodded in affirmation. He came over to me, and wrapped an arm around my middle, pulling me under his shoulder and setting a grinning kiss atop my head. “Nice work, dearest.”
I shrugged, winking at Rhys who still stood nearby, grousing about the “blood” on his clothes, and arguing with Bash about the best way to get it off. “I learned from the best, I think,” I said, with a gentle snort.
“Yes you did!” Rhys remarked back before turning back to snarl at my fiancé.
“Even though it was fake, lass, I didn’t like seeing you dead,” Trysta
n said quietly with a frown as he and the others surrounded me, and we waited in the open clearing for Nimue to appear. “But back on your arse before she sees you standing,” he said, with a wink.
“I know,” I said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it quickly before I sat back down on the cold ground, and the guys plus Mordred surrounded me, blocking me from immediate view. “But we don’t know if it worked. Where is she, even?”
“She’s probably getting her army I would assume, ready to come take over,” Mordred replied bitterly. “But with the element of surprise, we should be able to subdue her,” he said. “I don’t know that she can be killed, but… we should be able to take out her army and she’s left with nothing, then I can teleport her back to Avalon to shove her into the grail until we know how to kill her.”
“Right,” I replied, with an uneasy grin, as I took Excalibur from my wrist and willed it into a blade and waited, laying my head down as lowly as I dared. I wished that I could tell them that I had a solution for that problem, but I couldn’t divulge the sword’s true secret still. They would learn soon enough.
“And we will be ready to face her demons,” Percival said, nodding to the other Round Table knights.
“We have seen first-hand what they can do,” Gawain said, with frown, keeping his sword close by his side. “It is… disturbing.”
“Avalon will be here to assist if need be, I’m sure,” Rhys told him. “And bird-boy here will be ready to notify the rest of the army to descend if need be.”
“Aye,” Trystan agreed, with a nod.
“Back in to formation,” Lachlan instructed, and everyone became fake battle-ready again; some falling to the ground, others raising swords and shields, ready to pretend to fight. My dad appeared to look like he was duking it out with Mordred, or about to strike. You know, a dad seeking revenge for his fallen child.
I shuddered suddenly, feeling an overwhelming, sickening feeling overcome me. I tightened my grip on the hilt of the sword, and next to me, Trystan slowly reached for his jagged sword at his side; I knew he felt it too.