The Forever Queen (Pendragon Book 2)

by Nicola S. Dorrington

  “You want to do what?”

  Wyn and Percy stood facing me, and neither of them looked particularly impressed. We were at the dilapidated farm house they were currently calling home. No one had lived there for about twenty years and the place was falling down around them, but they didn’t seem to mind. It was out of the weather, though it certainly wasn’t warm.

  I paced away from them. “Look, Mackay said they might have some information that can help us get to Lance.”

  “And you believe him?”

  I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I did believe him, not really. After all, the whole Order of Camelot sounded like a bunch of nutjobs. But whilst their ‘cause’ seemed utterly crazy to me, they were essentially harmless. “It’s worth a try. If they have any information, any at all, then I have to try to get it.”

  “But this is dangerous,” Percy didn’t look as furious as Wyn, instead his face was tight with worry. “I’m pretty sure Lance wouldn’t like this.”

  “Lance isn’t here,” I snapped back. I didn’t need reminding. “I’m doing this, whether you like it or not.” I sighed. “Look, they’re hardly going to hurt me are they? They think I’m some kind of saviour. Mackay said I won’t be able to find out what they know unless I speak to the elders. The only way to do that is to go to one of their meetings.”

  “I still think we should come with you,” Wyn protested.

  “Mackay said you can’t.” I reached out and squeezed his arm, feeling the muscles tensed beneath this skin. “Please, Wyn, don’t make this harder. I’ve said it to Lance, and I’ll say it to you. You can’t always be there to fight my battles for me.”

  The next day at school I could barely concentrate.

  I’d agreed with Mackay to leave with him after detention; Dad thought I was staying the night with Sam. He approved of that, he thought it meant I was getting back to my old self.

  That evening I trailed behind Mackay across the parking lot. It was empty, the school silent and dark behind us. We were pretty much the last people there. Mackay had planned it that way. It really wouldn’t look too good for him to be seen getting into a car with one of his students. I didn’t need any more ugly rumours being started about me.

  It was late enough that it was already getting dark, but just outside the gates I could make out the shape of Wyn and Percy’s jeep idling by the curb.

  Mackay noticed it as we pulled out of the carpark.

  “I hope they know better than to try to follow us.”

  I nodded. “They do. I made them swear.”

  “And those two would never go back on their word.” Mackay was apparently satisfied.

  In the rear view mirror I watched the lights come on at the front of Sam’s rusty old mini. Mackay only had eyes for the 4x4 and didn’t seem to notice as Sam pulled out and followed us down the road.

  We hit the motorway without exchanging a word and I was more than happy with that. I had agreed to go with him to meet the Order, but I still hadn’t forgiven him for what felt like a betrayal. I sat with my forehead pressed against the cool window pane, staring out at the landscape flying by.

  We drove for hours, passing through towns and villages, skirting the edges of cities. I saw signs for Leeds and Nottingham and knew we were heading south.

  For a time I thought we were going to Wales, after all that’s where Camelot was, but Mackay didn’t take the road I expected and we continued deeper south, crossing into Cornwall.

  It got dark as we drove, the sky turning from the grey of dusk to deep purple, and eventually to the darkest black. The cities we passed became glowing domes of light, the clouds reflecting back the orange glow of thousands of street lights. I found myself missing Arthur, trying to picture the country as he would have seen it, with no light pollution to hide the stars. It must have been beautiful. We were in one of the early parts of Albion now.

  It was gone eleven PM when we came off the motorways and took the smaller roads through little towns and villages. I’d never been to Cornwall before so I could only imagine the landscape from pictures.

  I knew we’d reached the coast as soon as I smelt the brine of the ocean.

  It was 11.40 when we finally pulled to a stop and Mackay climbed out of the car. He didn’t speak to me, but I followed him, muscles stiff from sitting too long in the car.

  A cold wind hit me the second I stepped out of the car, snapping me awake. Waves crashed against nearby rocks and I realised we were at the edge of some cliffs. The air tasted of salt.

  Without a word Mackay turned and started down a path that wound down the slope of the cliff. It was too dark to make out much, but right near the edge of the cliff I could make out the shadows of ruined walls and suddenly I knew where we were.

  “We’re at Tintagel Castle.”

  Since the confrontation at Stonehenge I’d spent a lot of my time researching Arthur, scouring the internet for every scrap of myth and legend that surrounded him, and so this was a place I recognised. Tintagel Castle was often rumoured to be the place where Arthur was born. I would have liked to have seen it in daylight, to have explored the ruins. The magic in my blood would have told me immediately if the rumours were true.

  “You’re a smart girl,” Mackay said; the first time he’d spoken to me since we’d gotten in the car. “I always said so.”

  I grunted but didn’t reply. I didn’t need to see Mackay’s face in the dark to know he was smirking.

  “Of course we’re not going into the actual castle. Not that much remains there anyway. We’re going there.” He pointed through the darkness and I tried to follow his finger.

  The cliff curved around in a small bay and across from us, at the base of the cliff was an even darker patch of shadow. A cave.

  The path we followed was probably perfectly safe during the day, but the darkness made it treacherous. I stumbled often, and once my foot slid on a pile of gravel. Only Mackay’s quick reflexes stopped me falling.

  My eyes finally started adjusting to the dark. The tide was low, and the cave mouth easily accessible, but during the highest tides it would be all but impassable.

  We had almost reached the bottom of the path when an orange glow lit the cave from within. The light flickered and moved, then someone stepped to the edge, holding a burning torch to light our way.

  “Wait here,” Mackay told me just at the edge of the cave. He moved forward alone to meet the torch bearer. He was young, barely older than I was. Even though Mackay spoke to him he barely took his eyes off me. There was a strange kind of hunger in his gaze. He’d obviously been fed the legends, probably since birth.

  “All right, Caronwyn. Let’s go.”

  I flicked my gaze to Mackay and found him looking at me impatiently, like he hadn’t been the one to make me wait in the first place.

  The boy took the lead and we followed him and his flickering torch down a dark tunnel at the back of the cave. The tunnel was almost concealed, looking like nothing more than a crevice in the back of the cave until we got closer.

  The air smelt of the sea, and the tunnel walls were green with algae. At high tide the tunnel would be underwater and the thought made my stomach tighten. I’d hate to be trapped there when that time came.

  Slowly the tunnel began to slope up and the walls lost their slimy green coating. The tunnel floor became dryer too, layered with a fine coating of grey sand.

  There was a door ahead of us. It was so out of place that I almost stopped walking. It was solid oak, black with age, the huge hinges rusted and pitted.

  The boy with the torch hammered on the wood – a strange pattern that try as I might I couldn’t figure out.

  I didn’t have time to memorise it; the door swung open almost immediately and Mackay and the boy filed inside. I hesitated just for a moment before stealing my nerve and plunging through after them.

  In my mind I had pictured every secret society meeting ever depicted in a movie or book, so I was expecting hooded robes, ominous chanting and flickering t
orch light. I couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  The room was lit by the bright florescent glow of half a dozen camping lights spread throughout the room. Idle chatter and conversations, too many to follow, filled the room. A group of ten or so men, and a few women sat or stood in small groups. Instead of robes they wore a variety of styles of clothing, from severe black work suits to jeans and t-shirts, to one woman in a slinky black cocktail dress.

  They sat around a table. A circular table large enough to seat forty people comfortably. A table I’d seen before, even though it had been so many years in the past it was impossible to count.

  Chapter Seven

  “The Round Table.” The words fell from my mouth like a breath, but silence fell and every eye turned to me.

  A man rose at the far side. His hair was pure white, but his face was more youthful than it should have been, his posture straight and strong even though he held a black walking stick in one hand.

  The room was so still, so quiet that each click of his cane as he walked towards me sounded unnaturally loud.

  He stopped in front of me and slowly, using the cane to help him, got down onto one knee.

  “Caronwyn, of the line of Pendragon, heir to King Arthur, the Once and Future King. Hail.”

  “Hail.” The word was echoed by every voice in the room and the hair on my arms lifted.

  The man climbed painfully back to his feet. “My name is Thomas Monmouth. Oh, my dear, we have waited for you for so long. Your place at the table awaits.” He gestured behind him to the seat beside the one he’d been occupying. It was high backed and lined with faded, worn velvet that had clearly been replaced many times, the armrests carved into grasping talons, the top of the high back carved into the shape of a proud Griffin’s head. I knew that chair. But how had it come to be there, in a cave beneath the ruins of Tintagel castle? Which knight had liberated it from Camelot over a thousand years ago? Or was it simply an excellent copy?

  I stood frozen, my feet rooted to the ground, but Mackay took my arm and pulled me round the table. I felt powerless to resist as he positioned me in front of the chair. A gentle push to my shoulders was all it took for me to sink into Arthur’s throne.

  Whispers rose around the room. Thomas closed his eyes and sighed, as though some great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

  I sat straight backed, my fingers fitting perfectly into the grooves carved into the wooden arms. It felt as though the chair had been made for me.

  My eyes fluttered closed and I saw an image, so perfect in clarity and detail. An image of me sat at the Table in a great hall rather than a dank cave. Each seat at the Table was taken by wise and noble looking men and women. On my brow I could feel the heavy weight of a crown. But the weight was not unbearable, instead it made me sit straighter and lift my head higher.

  I could feel the power of the crown thrumming through me like an electric current.

  In my hands lay the power to decide the fate of a nation. The power was heady, almost overwhelming. A part of me wanted it. A part of me wanted nothing more than to claim the power as my own.

  The image shifted focus and I saw clearly the person sitting opposite me. It was Lance, looking out of place in his ripped jeans and faded leather jacket. He watched me with one eyebrow cocked, a sad smile on his face. He bowed his head at me and rose from the Table, walking away toward a distant door. I wanted to jump up and run after him. I wanted to bury myself in his chest. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to envelop myself in his faith in me, the faith that made me realise I was special; that even without the blood of Arthur in my veins I was capable of anything.

  But the crown was suddenly too heavy, the weight of it crushing me into the throne. I was pinned there, watching him walk away.

  I gasped and snapped my eyes open, the vision fading.

  “No.” The word came out a croak but I cleared my throat and tried again. “No. This isn’t why I’m here.”

  The faces around me came back into focus. The awe had been replaced by something else. Something darker.

  The vision hadn’t been real, at least not the start of it. The ending had been my own – a warning of a kind – but the rest of it was fake. I’d had a vision placed in my mind before. I knew what it felt like.

  “How did you do that?” I snapped at the old man. “How did you get inside my head?”

  He smiled thinly. “You are not the only one with the magic of Avalon in your blood, Caronwyn.”

  I shook my head, pushing back the fear that bubbled up inside. The last time I’d faced someone with magic in their blood she’d tried to kill me.

  “I’m not here for you to put a crown on my head. We already have a Queen. What you want to do is treason.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because he told me you had information about what happened in January. That you know something about why the gateways sealed.”

  Thomas looked at Mackay and then back at me. “He didn’t lie. We do have information.” He sighed, and suddenly he looked older. “Caronwyn, whilst it is the deepest desire of my heart to see the rightful Queen on our throne, I will not deny that there is a bigger threat facing us.”

  “A threat?” I remembered Lance’s words from my dream, but I wanted them to tell me what they knew. “What kind of threat?”

  “Morgana succeeded in opening the barriers and magic flooded through.”

  I knew this, I’d been there, but I let him talk.

  “I felt it. My powers are weak and useless without the old magic in this world. But for that brief time I felt unmatched power. For that brief moment I felt young and strong again. But I knew it couldn’t last. You had to close the barriers and it was right that you did. Despite my belief in you and your bloodline I know that this world cannot withstand the old magic in full force again. And so I was glad when I felt you rebuilding the barriers and gateways. I felt them seal and the separation of this world and Avalon, and I knew something had gone wrong. Because even through the barriers were rebuilt and the gateways sealed shut there was still old magic in this world.

  “It is not as strong as it was when the barriers were open, but it is still there, and something or someone is controlling it. They controlled it enough to manipulate you so that you sealed the gateways rather than just closing them. Something that wanted to be in this world without the interference of the Fair Folk. Something that wanted them shut out.”

  In my mind I could picture that night at Stonehenge, and again I could sense something in the shadows watching and waiting. I thought of the scorch marks Wyn and Percy had found when they’d taken a trip to Stonehenge a few weeks after that night. I thought of Lance’s warning, and my own growing thoughts about the dragon. The last dragon.

  “A lot of things came through that night,” I said carefully. I wanted to hear it from them before I told them anything I knew.

  “Yes, we understand you, Sir Percival and Sir Gwain have been tracking them down.”

  I glanced at Mackay, knowing the information could only have come from him. He must have been following us. I’d had no reason to think anyone would have an interest in us so we hadn’t exactly been careful. “We tracked down an ogre a few days ago, and a cockatrice a week before that.”

  “But we are not talking about simple creatures – as dangerous as they may be – we are talking about something far more intelligent and far more powerful. Something with magic of its own.”

  I knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t want to admit it. Even though Wyn, Percy and I had considered it we hadn’t wanted to believe it. “The Last Dragon.” I lifted my eyes to meet his and I knew I was right. My fingers clenched around the arms of the throne. As deep as we were underground I could almost hear the flapping of wings, in my mind I saw a dark shadow crossing over the moon. Suddenly I didn’t care about being trapped by the rising tide, I never wanted to leave that cave.

  Because I knew there was one thing the dragon wanted more than anythi
ng. Me.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?” I didn’t really expect an answer to the question; I still firmly believed that those people were not my friends.

  “Stop him,” Thomas said simply. “You are the last Pendragon, only you can stop him.”

  I wanted to scream. I’d done my job of saving the world, wasn’t it someone else’s turn now?

  Arthur was long gone, vanished behind the sealed gateways, but I didn’t need him in my head to know what he would say to me. We don’t get to choose our destiny. Fate picks us, not the other way around. But I was so ready to be done with fate and destiny.

  “Let me guess,” I said finally. “Only Excalibur can kill the dragon?”

  He snorted. “”I wish it were that simple. You could not hope to face the dragon alone. I can help you.”

  I made a face. “Oh? And what’s in it for you? Surely plunging the country into chaos would suit your plans perfectly? The country is terrorised by an ancient mythological creature and a hero of an ancient bloodline rides out of obscurity to save the day?”

  I noticed uncomfortable glances being exchanged around the table, but the old man stopped the looks with a single raised hand.

  “You mistake us, Caronwyn, if you think we would gladly see deaths - and there will be deaths if the dragon is not stopped.”

  I watched him carefully. He seemed sincere but I still didn’t trust him. Yet if he knew things I didn’t I might just need him.

  “How come we haven’t seen the dragon yet? Surely someone would have noticed it by now?”

  “You know as well as I do that the dragon is smarter than that. He will not reveal himself until he absolutely has to.”

  “So he’s hiding out somewhere?”

  “Oh no, he could be in plain sight. He could be in this very room and you wouldn’t know it.”

  A shiver raced up my spine. “What do you mean?”

  “Like humans the dragons’ magic exists in different forms. Some can know what a man is thinking without him uttering a word, others can manipulate reality, much the same way I am able to place an image or a vision in a person’s mind. One legendary dragon had such a gift of foresight that according to the tales one of the great Caesars sought her out and showered her with gold and jewels if she would tell him the future of Rome.”