Master of Swords

by Angela Knight

  From the corner of his eye, he saw that huge sword lift over his head. The bastard was going to decapitate him as he hung there helpless.

  Before Edge could strike, an energy blast boiled upward from his feet—Kel, launching a desperate attack. The monster staggered back, losing his grip. Gawain screamed as his own weight tore him free from those claws. He hit the ground in a rattle of armor, paralyzed by the tearing agony in his gut.

  As if from a great distance, he heard Arthur roar. Sword clashed on sword, and light exploded over his head. Arthur bellowed in pain.

  “Enough of that,” Edge snapped. “You and I have business, Pendragon. We’re going to finish what Geirolf started.”

  “Fuck you!” Arthur rasped, his voice weak.

  Blood filled Gawain’s mouth, but he struggled to lift his head and push himself to his hands and knees. Magic foamed to his left with the telltale tingle of an opening dimensional gate.

  Edge had picked Arthur up and thrown him over one shoulder like a sack of meal. He held Excalibur in the other hand.

  Gawain tried to lunge at them, but his treacherous legs gave, dumping him on the grass. Clutching his bleeding gut, he watched the gate wink out behind Edge and Arthur. “No.”

  A swarm of black fireflies descended on him and carried him away.

  Irritated with herself, Lark stalked down the cobblestone street, looking for Gawain.

  She’d been about to climb the steps of her brownstone when she realized he was right. She was being a coward.

  They needed to talk.

  Assuming, that is, she could find him. He wasn’t at his house; she’d checked there first. And Kel wasn’t answering her calls.

  If Gawain was already off getting laid, she swore to Merlin she’d…

  Something was lying in the illumination of a street lamp. It looked like a body.

  Frowning, Lark broke into a run, then skidded to a halt as she stared down at the still, familiar form. Cold horror rolled over her. “Guinevere?”

  And if Guinevere was here, where was Arthur?

  Heart pounding in sickly beats, Lark dropped to one knee and laid two fingers against the unconscious woman’s throat. There wasn’t a mark on her, and her pulse was steady and strong.

  But she stank.

  Oh, shit. Lark recoiled, her sense of sick dread increasing. She knew that smell. Death magic.

  But all the sorcerers were dead….

  Apparently not all of them, idiot. Grimly, Lark sent a spell rolling across the unconscious woman’s still form, trying to break the enchantment that held her. Nothing happened.

  Don’t panic, just call Morgana. She’ll know what to do. Summoning her magic, Lark reached for the Maja’s mind.

  And slammed right into yet another magical barrier that was obviously designed to prevent communication from anyone in the area.

  What the hell was going on?

  Frowning, she sat back on her heels, and conjured a pillow and blanket to cover the unconscious witch.

  It was apparently all she could do. Damn it to hell.

  In the distance, someone groaned.

  Lark looked around spotted something shining in the moonlight between the trees of the park next door. Armor?

  “Good God!” She leaped to her feet, conjured her own armor and sword, and ran.

  There, in the middle of a circle of trampled, bloody grass, lay two men, both bleeding and still. One was wearing armor that was all too familiar. There was no sign of their attacker, though the soft earth was churned with tracks.

  Hoofprints?

  “Gawain!” Her heart in her throat, Lark dropped to her knees beside him. He lay facedown. She started to turn him over, then hesitated, not sure how badly he was hurt.

  “Help him.” Kel’s voice sounded from the grass a few feet away. “I can’t heal him. Hell, I can’t even get him to come around. He’s too badly wounded. There was something nasty on that bastard’s claws.”

  Claws? “What about Bors?”

  “Here.” The knight groaned again, and she realized his was the voice she’d heard. “I think…I think I can change.”

  Magic flared around him. When it faded, a black wolf lay sprawled on the bloody ground. He rose to his feet and shook himself, whole again, before trotting toward her.

  Gawain, however, wasn’t even conscious, so changing was out of the question for him. And since he was the source of Kel’s major magic, if he was too badly hurt, Kel had nothing to draw on. She threw a look at the sword. “Drop his armor. Let me touch him.”

  Even as she reached for him, the enchanted scale and plate melted away. Lark rested a hand on the small of his bare back—and winced at what she sensed.

  He’d been all but gutted. A human would already be dead of such wounds.

  Closing her eyes, Lark let the Mageverse pour through her hands and into him, healing his horrific injuries, forcing his body to regenerate the blood he’d lost.

  “Arthur…” The word was so faint, at first she wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all. “He’s got Arthur.”

  Lark went cold. “Who?”

  “Richard,” Bors said. He’d returned to human form while she’d been distracted. “He attacked us.”

  Gawain lifted his head. His hair was matted with blood, his eyes wide. “He took Arthur.”

  Lark stared at him in horror. “Edge is dead. He must be—the last grail was destroyed!”

  “He survived,” Kel said, sounding stronger now that Gawain had recovered. “My uncle helped him.”

  “What? How?”

  Gawain pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Magic rolled over him as Kel clothed him in his usual jeans and shirt. “He said he and Arthur were going to finish what Geirolf started. Then he took Arthur with him.”

  “Why would he…?” Lark’s eyes widened. “The sacrifice! Oh, God, the spell that would have destroyed the Magekind! But I thought he needed a Magekind couple for that?”

  “Arthur would be even better,” Kel said. “Magically speaking, he’s the heart of the Magekind.”

  Lark bunched her fists, fighting panic. “Where did he go, Kel?”

  “Where else?” Kel asked bitterly. “The Dragon Lands. He knows he’ll be safe there.”

  Bors stood. “We’ve got to gather our forces and attack before…”

  “There’s no time,” Gawain interrupted, sitting up. “We’d all be dead before we finished. There’s only one thing we can do in time.”

  “No,” Kel gasped in horror. “Oh, fuck no. Forget it, Gawain!”

  His partner’s expression was cold with determination. “In dragon form, you’d have the power to get through those shields and save Arthur.”

  Lark stared at him in sick horror. “Only if he killed you! Gawain…”

  “If we don’t get Arthur back, I’m dead anyway.” He rose to his feet and handed the sword to Bors. “You’ll have to take my head.”

  “Oh, for Cachamwri’s sake, Gawain!” There was panic in Kel’s voice. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “No!” Lark leaped to her feet and grabbed his forearm. Her heart was hammering, and it was all she could do not to throw up. Gawain dead, his head cleaved from his shoulders. Like Antonio. “You can’t seriously…”

  “We don’t have time to argue about this, Lark.” Gawain’s expression was emotionless, but his eyes burned in his pale face. “Kel could penetrate Dragon Lands’ wards and rescue Arthur, but only in dragon form. He’s the only one with a prayer of saving the Magekind. It’s better to lose me than all of us.”

  “What if I can’t, Gawain?” Kel demanded, sounding as frantic as she felt. “This all would be for nothing!”

  Lark’s panicked mind worked desperately. “Wait—what about a strike through the heart? What if I could heal you—”

  “We tried that a thousand years ago,” Gawain interrupted impatiently. “Morgana couldn’t leave me dead long enough. It didn’t work.” He looked at Bors. “Bors.”

  “Shit, Gawain.” The knight
shook his head and lifted the dragon sword. “I wish to God you weren’t right.”

  “Truebond with me!” Lark reached out and grabbed him. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. “He could run you through the heart instead. It would be enough to kill you, but I can hold your soul here and heal you once Kel is free.”

  He looked at her, sadness in his eyes. “It won’t work, Lark. You’d only die with me. Just like Diera and Antonio.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Tegid growled under his breath, pouring more power into the wards around his cavern, but the pressure built as the ape fought him, forcing his way through.

  Abruptly the spell imploded, and the ape’s gate burst wide in the cavern’s main chamber. Cloven hooves clicked as the creature stepped through, another mammal draped limply over one crimson shoulder. Its prisoner was tightly bound in shimmering bands of magical force.

  The ape’s eyes glowed yellow, and its black lips peeled back from its fangs. “You tried to block my gate, reptile. I don’t like that.” Malevolent power boiled around it like lava. Cachamwri’s eggs, the thing was powerful.

  Nothing to do now but try to bluff. Tegid drew himself up, fanning his spines as he stalked toward the ape, smoke drifting from his nostrils. “I’ve decided I don’t want you here, ape. Work your death magic somewhere else.”

  The ape lifted its horned head, glowing eyes narrowed. “We’ve been through this, Tegid. That is your name, isn’t it? Tegid?”

  Tegid’s spines flatten in alarm. “How did you know that?”

  The ape bared its teeth. “Your nephew sends his regards. I think he recognized your handwriting.”

  His heart began to pound, a thick, slow beat. “I trust you told him he was wrong.”

  “Would he have believed me if I had?”

  “Ungrateful ape!” Tegid lashed his tail in a rage that grew even hotter when the creature only looked amused. “If Kel tells Soren…”

  “Kel isn’t going to be telling anybody anything,” the ape said dismissively. “When I’m finished with this spell, Gawain will be dead, and Kel will be well on his way to turning into a very large razor blade.”

  And Tegid’s problems would be over. He blew out a puff of smoke and reluctantly yielded. “Very well, ape. Work your magic and get out.”

  The creature lifted one shoulder. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. This particular spell will require considerable preparation.” He looked toward the entrance of Tegid’s chambers. “And I’d better get to work. I don’t care to be caught by the sunrise.”

  Tegid hissed a dragon curse and turned. Catching a stalagmite between his claws, he climbed up to his sleeping chamber and settled down to watch.

  However quickly the ape worked his magic, it wouldn’t be fast enough. The sooner the Magekind was dead, the safer Tegid would be.

  “I will save you,” Lark insisted, her eyes locked on his, willing Gawain to agree. “Just give me the chance.”

  He only shook his head. “Lark, you don’t have the power to hold me here that long. It would kill you.”

  “I won’t let it,” she said through her teeth. “I will not allow you to die like this.”

  “No,” he snapped. “Look, we don’t have time to stand here arguing. Bors…”

  She stepped against him, grabbed his face in both hands, and dragged him down for a hard, desperate kiss that tasted of tears. “He might as well kill me, too, Gawain,” she said against his mouth. “Let me do this. Please.”

  “Dammit!” Bors growled. “Kel, this is ridiculous!”

  They looked around. The sword had gone limp, hanging in Bors’s hands like a piece of wet spaghetti. “Let her try, Gawain! I didn’t endure sixteen hundred years of hell only to kill you.”

  Bors gave a snort and waved the blade, which flopped in his hands in silent demonstration of Kel’s refusal to cooperate. “Gawain, we don’t have time for this argument. Truebond with the girl before my son kills Arthur and we all die.”

  Gawain spat a vile curse, helpless anger in his eyes as he realized they had him outmaneuvered. “Dammit, Lark, I love you! I don’t want to kill you.”

  In her frenzy, his confession barely even registered. She rested her forehead against his and stared into his face. “Neither of us is going to die.”

  He took a deep breath. “Then do it.”

  “God, thank you.” Ignoring the tiny, panicked voice that told her she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, Lark opened herself to the Mageverse and drew its power deep, inhaling it, letting its warm, foaming energies fill her until her mind seemed to burn. She’d need every last erg of magic she could absorb to heal Gawain’s injuries.

  Once she had as much as she could hold, Lark sent a gentle spell rolling through her fingertips and into the warm, bearded skin between her palms. Without protest, Gawain opened himself to her. And for the first time, she made contact with his mind.

  Power. Deep, ancient, profoundly masculine, yet incredibly compassionate. He had a craving for justice, a need to protect those weaker than he was, which had been born from his centuries of seeing the best and worst mankind was capable of.

  And he loved her. She felt the warm purity of it shining through his consciousness like sunlight. Her willingness to risk herself for him had brought that love to the surface in all its sweet devotion. Though they’d known each other so little time, the depths of Gawain’s love stunned and humbled her.

  I haven’t been around all these centuries without learning to recognize someone worthy of love.

  God, Gawain, I love you! The thought burst from the core of her consciousness, almost vibrating with its intensity.

  She sensed his male satisfaction. Good.

  Despite the circumstances, Lark found herself laughing.

  Another voice spoke in their joined consciousness. Kel. I’ve got to end our bond, Gawain. We won’t be able to break the spell if we’re linked.

  Lark blinked in awe. Now that she’d become aware of him, she realized the dragon was an astonishingly massive presence in Gawain’s mind. Touching Kel’s consciousness, she glimpsed a kaleidoscope of alien memories: flying into the aching blue of the sky, the feeling of wings biting the air. Scaly, reptilian faces, dragon voices hissing and roaring.

  You’re right, Gawain said in their link. Warm winds, my friend. It was the traditional Draconian farewell.

  Warm winds, Gawain.

  Even through as he started to draw away, they could feel Kel’s regret, his fear that he’d end up killing them both. Worse, that their sacrifice would be for nothing.

  I won’t fail you, Gawain, he told them silently, thrusting the fear away. That I swear.

  I know, Kel. You’ve never failed me.

  Then the dragon was gone.

  They were alone together, floating in warm delight of their nascent link. Closer, Gawain said, reaching for her with his mind. We need to be closer. We’re not completely bonded yet. You’re still holding back.

  And he was right, she realized. Some part of her was afraid. What if he saw her as she really was and turned away? What if he….

  I love you. His soul wrapped itself around hers like warm silk. I love your strength. I love your intelligence and will and humor. And now that I’ve touched you, I know you can do this. You can save us.

  And he did. His certainty felt like sunlight cutting through the cold of her fear, like warm, fragrant water, like music, deep and low. Feeling that certainty, she couldn’t help but believe it, too. Releasing the last of her fear, Lark opened herself completely.

  And with a psychic click, their bond became complete. She could feel him in all his fierce courage, the love and loyalty, his devotion to the cause of saving humanity from itself.

  What could she do but love him?

  What could I do but love you? he whispered.

  “Are you ready?” Bors’s voice, breaking through the moment of peace, bringing them back to awareness.

  Gawain’s hands caught her shoulders and pushe
d Lark gently back. “We’ve got to do it now, Lark,” he said softly. “There’s no more time.”

  For just a moment, she felt fear stir again. Then she saw a memory in his mind: herself, stepping from the boy’s home after the fight with Clayton Roth, blazing like a torch. Gawain believed her.

  Her mouth firmed as she drew herself upright. She rose on her toes and kissed him just once, a brush of the lips that more promise of the future, then stepped away.

  Looking over at Bors, Lark nodded tightly. “We’re ready.”

  The knight moved and took her place in front of Gawain, Kel gleaming long and solid in his hand. The little dragon’s ruby eyes were very wide. Bors himself looked pale, his jaw tight. He lifted the sword and hesitated. “Gawain…”

  Gawain gave him a bracing smile. “I know.”

  “Dammit.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes a moment, gathering himself.

  Lark watched as Kel dissolved Gawain’s armor away, leaving him standing bare-chested, wearing only his jeans. He squared his broad shoulders and met her gaze.

  I love you, he told her in the Truebond.

  She licked her lips and fought the rise of terror. And I love you.

  Bands of magic bound Arthur so tightly, he could barely breathe. He was intensely aware of the icy stone floor he lay on, and the click of Edge’s cloven hooves as he paced around the huge, echoing chamber. The sorcerer’s voice rose and fell in a rythmic, alien chant that made every hair stand up on his body.

  Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated again, trying to reach out to Gwen’s mind. He touched only utter blackness. The bastard had her in a coma so deep, even Arthur couldn’t wake her.

  God, he missed her. And unless he did something now, he’d never touch her bright, lovely soul again.

  His mind worked furiously as his thoughts went back to Gawain and Bors. Both men had been seriously injured, but Arthur didn’t think it was anything a healer couldn’t fix. As long as they were found in time, anyway.

  But even if they were, what about the wards around the Dragon Lands? They hadn’t been able to break through them before…but maybe Soren could help. If they could get to him in time.