I took a good look at the king. Rampart was near twenty-five years old. He had thick, black curly hair that made a nice bed for the crown on his head. His eyes, like Morgause’s, were dark brown and cruel. Unlike his pale grandmother, he had olive skin that suggested his mother had been of exotic descent.
“So Arthur really is alive,” Rampart said. “When the Boar’s Mouth would not wake to your brother’s touch, I knew that could be the only explanation. My reign is still in its infancy and no knight had come to me seeking a quest before your brother, so I had not discovered the truth. Needless to say, I was disappointed.”
Ten knights emerged from the shadows behind Rampart and Morgause. The king removed a Mark Two magic compact mirror from his pocket and passed it to Morgause. “Grandmother, tell Arian that we have her. And that if he gets here soon, he’ll also have that show I promised.”
Morgause brusquely raised her other hand.
There was no time to act. Silver light coated Morgause’s palm and instantly consumed Jason and Blue, slamming my friends against the back wall so hard it knocked them out.
In the next instant the same silver light enveloped me. I was curtly pulled forward onto the floor at Morgause’s feet. Several knights lunged in and cuffed my hands together. I tried to summon my magic to defend myself but was met with a surge of pain.
“Game over, Crisanta Knight,” Rampart said. “Though for your friends, it’s only just begun.”
ood news: After climbing out of the temple, I saw three guards frozen in blocks of ice near the entrance of the Knights’ Room, but no SJ. Which meant that hopefully Rampart’s men hadn’t captured her.
Bad news: After being knocked out by Morgause’s levitation slam, Rampart’s guards had taken Jason and Blue away. I didn’t know where they were, which made me uneasy. Another thing that made me uneasy was the fact that I was currently being escorted through the castle’s dungeon by Rampart and several of his men.
I fidgeted under the weight and discomfort of the shackles.
“Don’t bother trying to get out,” Rampart said. “Those cuffs were forged in Stiltdegarth blood. You won’t be able to use your magic.”
Yeah, thanks. I figured that out already.
My escorts and I had taken a staircase behind the throne room to reach the dungeon. My heels clicked with every step we took deeper into the mountain. A draft caused goose bumps to rise on my skin.
Up ’til that point, I’d been preoccupied with thinking of an escape plan, running scenarios through my head as I sized up my captors. But as we turned a corner something red and shiny caught my attention. Through the lone barred window of a solid steel cell on my left, I noticed a glittering silver and ruby object zoom by. It seemed to hesitate for a moment by the window, allowing me a good look before it zoomed on.
Holy cow.
The right shoe of Dorothy’s famous “there’s no place like home” magic slippers was imprisoned in Camelot. I couldn’t believe it. Dorothy’s slippers could not only send their wearer home with three clicks of the heel; they could send messages too. When Dorothy and the ruler of Oz, Princess Ozma, were attacked in Neverland by the Questor Beast, they had sent one slipper to the Emerald City to let Julian (the Wizard of Oz and Ozma’s older brother) know they were in trouble.
My friends and I had recently visited the Emerald City. While there, Julian had shown no sign of ever having heard from his sister. However, when I explored his home, I had found a secret room where this slipper had been locked away. I’d freed the slipper, and it had taken off through a window to find its mate, as it was designed to do after delivereing its message. Seeing the glittering shoe inside the cell now made me realize the truth.
“Ozma …” I said aloud. “She’s here.”
Rampart turned to smirk at me. “You’re pretty smart.”
“And you’re pretty stupid,” I replied. “Ozma is the rightful queen of Oz. She has powerful magic just like her brother and his wife. How long do you think you can hold her here before one of them comes looking for her?”
“Fairly long given that they do not want her back,” Rampart replied. “I have specific instructions from the ruler of the Emerald City to keep her here indefinitely.”
I felt darkness sink inside of me. Rampart had just confirmed my suspicions about Julian. When Ozma disappeared he had become the sole ruler of Oz. He’d left her to the wolves so he could continue to rule in her place.
“So long as they don’t know that Ozma had her Simia Crown at the time of the abduction, they have no reason to care what I do with her,” Rampart continued.
“What’s a Simia Crown?” I asked.
“Hm.” Rampart gave me a patronizing look. “Maybe not as smart as I thought. Tell me, Crisanta Knight, haven’t you wondered how Arian and I came to be working together in the first place?”
I had wondered about that. While the antagonists wanted Excalibur to access Paige’s memories like we did, Alex and Mauvrey had already been in pursuit of the sword before they learned about the whole memory stone situation. Which meant they wanted Excalibur for another reason too. I just didn’t know what that was.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rampart smiled. “Where would be the fun in that?”
His guards shoved me forward and we continued past a dozen more cells, several of which were uniquely customized. There was one made entirely of crystal, inside of which a number of pixies buzzed around angrily. Another was pure silver, holding back a black wolf with red eyes. Next came a cell that was modeled like a large fishtank. A mermaid who was floating inside screeched loudly when she saw us, like she was trying to break the glass with her voice.
Finally, the guards directed me to a cell constructed compeletely of black rock. The cell opposite was hidden by a green velvet curtain.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Jacobee stone?”
“Precisely.”
“I don’t know whether to be intimidated or flattered, Rampart,” I scoffed as one of the guards opened the door. “You built this cell just for me?”
“Aw, there’s more of that cockiness Arian has told me so much about,” Rampart said. “This cell wasn’t built for you, Crisanta. If I ever find where that old fool Merlin is hiding, this will be his prison. But since Arian tells me you have Pure Magic like Merlin, this shall be your cell until I am ready to bring you out.”
A couple of epic questions popped into my head:
Merlin has Pure Magic?
Bring me out for what?
However, the question that actually escaped my lips was: “What’s behind the curtain?”
I gestured to the cell across from mine that was concealed behind the hefty drapes.
“Interesting choice of words …” Rampart said. He nodded to one of his guards, who pulled on a golden rope to reveal the hidden cell beyond.
It’d been thirty minutes since Rampart had left me in my cell. Since then, I’d had nothing to do but play with my Hole Tracker, formulate ideas for escape, and stare at Ozma.
The missing ruler of Oz was imprisoned in the cell across from me in some sort of suspended animation. Her cell was made of thick glass and filled with a translucent blue gel, which I assumed was magic in some way. She floated in the middle of the gel peacefully. I studied her with fascination and pity.
Ozma looked a lot like her brother. She had dark hair and a regal jaw line. Her nose was like a pixie’s and her eyebrows were perfectly arched. I knew from Dorothy that she was only thirteen, but she looked painfully young.
Her mint green jacket, white top, and black pants were tattered—no doubt the result of her encounter with the Questor Beast. While one of her feet was bare, the other featured Dorothy’s second slipper.
I wished I could get her out, although for the moment I was as stuck as she was. I still had my wand, but it would be useless against the Jacobee stone. Add to that, I couldn’t even transform the wandpin out of its clandestine state, let
alone into another weapon while I was cuffed. It only took a tiny bit of magic to change the wand’s form, but when I tried to summon even that, I received a substantial shock. It seemed where Stiltdegarth blood was concerned, any amount of magic was met with absolute resistance.
In another attempt I tried to pick the lock on the cuffs with the wandpin. When that didn’t work either, I huffed and sat back on my stone bench and stared at Ozma again. Looking at her, I was filled with all kinds of emotions. Sadness, because this young princess had been captured by an evil jackwagon. Anger, because her older brother had sold her out. And empathy, because exactly the same thing had happened to me.
Yet Ozma’s presence also filled me with another, much stronger emotion.
Hope.
When my friends and I met Julian in Oz, we’d also met his wife Eva, who used to be the Wicked Witch of the West. As mentioned, she and her three sisters (Glinda included) had all been carriers of Pure Magic Disease, which caused them to turn evil. But Eva had overcome her disease. The former Wicked Witch of the West hadn’t beaten it by will or control like Liza; she’d been cured. During Dorothy and Ozma’s first quest to Camelot, they’d recovered a magic liquid from the Isle of Avalon called the “Four Waters of Paradise.” These enchanted waters were said to be the most powerful magic cleanser and purifier in all the dimensions.
Mixing the sample they collected with a bucket of regular water, they’d doused Eva during the Vicennalia Aurora—when carriers of magic are most vulnerable—and cured her of Pure Magic Disease. Eva still retained her magical ability of producing fire, but it was now normal magic. This meant that it was not nearly as strong, but it wouldn’t corrupt her with power.
Before hearing this story, I’d thought that there was no cure for Pure Magic Disease. But now there was proof. Eva had been cured. Which meant if I found the Four Waters of Paradise on the Isle of Avalon while searching for Excalibur, I could be cured too. And that was so tempting a possibility it churned my stomach with optimism.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Three guards arrived alongside Rampart.
“Time to go,” Rampart said as a guard opened my cell.
“Not until you’ve told me what you’ve done with my friends,” I replied.
“Jason Sharp and Blue Dieda,” Rampart mused. “I was particularly interested in meeting the latter. Fate has predicted an interesting course for her life. Not that she will ever see it. You can, however, see them if you come with me.”
Reluctantly, I followed him down the corridor. I glanced back at Ozma before we turned a corner, adding her to the long list of people I intended to save one day.
“So at what point did you spot us?” I asked Rampart curiously. “Was it the second we entered the ballroom, or was it during the dance?”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Rampart said. “In all truth, neither me nor my men actually recognized you at the gala. Arian had warned us that you were on your way, and I knew that the best time for you to make a run at the Boar’s Mouth was during the party. Soon after the festivities began, my men and I concealed ourselves in the temple. Based on everything I’d heard about you, I was sure you’d eventually find it. It was only a matter of waiting to see if you received the boar’s blessing.”
“You wanted to know whether or not you could kill me.”
“Precisely. I want Excalibur, so it was a win-win either way. If you were blessed, then we had a back-up Knight to go after the sword should your brother not prove adequate. If you failed, then we could kill you and I would get to see the boar bite off your hand. I’ve never witnessed that phenomenon. As I mentioned, knights don’t ask for formal quests anymore; they’re such an old-fashioned thing. It’s a shame really …”
We turned and continued through a narrow tunnel. I felt us going deeper beneath the mountain still. I hoped Camelot never suffered from earthquakes. There was probably ten thousand pounds of rock above our heads right now.
At the end of the tunnel we arrived at a circular door made of metal. One of the guards pulled a crank on the wall, causing the door to spiral open and reveal a moderate-sized capsule with a low ceiling. Fashioned like an escape pod, it was maybe five feet in diameter. The floor and couch inside were white. The top half of the capsule was made of glass and offered a view of the dark, narrow tunnel ahead, which was rimmed by a runway of tiny lights.
Another crank opened the capsule. When it did, bright white lights glowed on the capsule’s floor. The metal table in the center of the pod shone.
Rampart gestured for me to enter the capsule. I stepped inside and the guard behind me secured my shackles to a set of short chains attached to the table. I sat on the couch as Rampart and the second guard entered. They took their seats, Rampart placing himself across from me. One guard remained outside. He used the cranks to close the capsule and shut the circular metal door.
One of the guards sitting next to me pulled a handle that protruded from the ceiling of the pod to reveal a simple control panel. It had several buttons, including a red one beside a black knob with numbers from one to ten going around its circumference. The guard pressed the red button and the capsule jarred into motion. Then he twisted the black knob slowly to number six; the capsule increased in speed correspondingly.
“I suppose you must be wondering where I’m taking you,” Rampart said.
“When you get captured as often as I do, you learn to roll with the punches,” I replied with a shrug. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m getting out of here pretty soon.”
Rampart looked me over. “You’re an interesting protagonist, Crisanta. I can see why Arian and the antagonists are so obsessed with catching you. It almost makes me hope that Alex won’t be blessed by the Boar’s Mouth. If you’re the only one capable of retrieving Excalibur, then it means I won’t have to kill you. At least not for the time being.”
My brows furrowed at the mention of Alex’s name, which caused Rampart to smile.
“Sore subject, isn’t it?” He leaned back. “Your brother betraying you the way that he did? Well, it is a good lesson for you. There’s no room for heart where thrones are concerned, Crisanta. It all comes down to one crown and how many people you’re willing to step on to get it. So what if some folks die or are betrayed along the way? History will forget those people. The only ones who truly matter are those who win in the end. Take my grandmother, Morgause. She wanted to rule Camelot, but it was her sister Igraine who married King Uther Pendragon. So she hatched a different plan, one that required patience and many years of planning.
“She married King Lot of Orkney and had six of her own children, but also seduced Uther and bore a son with him—my father Mordred. Over the years, she secretly worked with various rebel factions throughout Camelot to start a war. And when Uther died and Arthur took power, she heightened her efforts and trained my father to defeat Arthur, which he eventually did. Father took power for a short while, but the realm was in turmoil, and he was weak. My grandmother never had faith in him as a ruler. She just used him as a tool to get Arthur out of the way.
“She had a similar lack of faith in my older brother Melehan. So when war ravaged the land and my father was killed, she chose to smuggle me to safety alone. Melehan was eventually tracked down and killed, as were the series of kings that succeeded my father through wars, coups, assassinations, and what have you. Then when the dust settled, the armies my grandmother had assembled took the citadel and I—the last living noble with Pendragon blood—claimed the throne as the true king and heir of Camelot.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re right, Rampart. Your grandmother’s ruthlessness is exemplary. But excuse me if I take a different world view.”
“You’ll understand soon enough,” Rampart said. “It’s easy to stay on your high horse when you’ve never faced tough choices—when you’ve never had to decide who lives and who dies based on what you want and what would benefit your needs. If push came to shove, you would be no different
than your brother.”
“I am nothing like my brother!” I snapped. Surprised by the rage in my voice, I reined it in a little. “And for the record,” I continued, “even if Alex doesn’t get blessed by the Boar’s Mouth and you have to keep me alive to retrieve Excalibur, I won’t be retrieving it for you. I’ll be doing it for Arthur. I’m not some pawn in your game.”
Rampart shrugged, unfazed. “I have faith in you, Crisanta Knight. You’re capable of a lot more than you might think. You’ll play your part one way or the other. And as for Arthur, I am not concerned. Arian and Alex have already taken a wormhole from Neverland to Camelot. What do you think that means for your king?”
My eyes widened.
Oh no. If Arian and Alex were coming to Camelot, that meant they’d gotten to Arthur and forced him to complete the pledge of The Pentecostal Oath with my brother. They wouldn’t have left Neverland if they hadn’t. I couldn’t believe it. I genuinely thought Arthur was unbeatable. And if my enemies already had what they wanted from him, did that mean …
A horrible feeling sank in my chest.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Rampart replied. “Arian informed me of Arthur’s condition. Your king can’t leave Neverland or the poison of my father’s blade will kill him. We have him imprisoned there for the time being. I want him kept alive long enough to see me reclaim Excalibur. Whether it is you or your brother who helps me, I will be the rightful king that fulfills the prophecy and Arthur will go to the grave knowing so.”
Our conversation stopped when one of the guards pulled the handle in the ceiling again. He turned the black knob slowly. As it went from six to five, to four, and so on, a sound like metal grinding against metal emanated around us. I felt the capsule slow down. Shortly thereafter, our ride was ejected from the tunnel and emerged in a large, circular cavern. The reddish rock interior had enormous white lights built into the jagged ridges. The top of the cavern was far above us.
Crisanta Knight: To Death & Back Page 12