Enchanted Guardian

by Sharon Ashwood

  The beast pounced again, this time hitting his chest. Dulac flew backward, only the water saving him from a brutal collision with the cement. The beast was on top of him, its weight crushing his lungs. The smell of it was at once intoxicating and revolting, and when it opened its mouth, Dulac gagged. Water washed over his face, obscuring his vision. Its long fangs streamed with pale green ooze like sticky sap, its tongue the vivid green of rotting leaves. As it reared its head back to strike, Dulac drove his long knife into the roof of its mouth. It crunched as it punched through the beast’s head, and he slashed with all his strength toward the thing’s throat. The effect was immediate. The beast jerked away, bounding backward with green liquid coursing from its mouth. Dulac scrambled to his feet, still clutching the knife.

  Eyes burning, the beast screamed in pure rage, sounding more like an eagle than any cat. Triumph and dismay pounded through Dulac. He’d hurt it, but now it was furious. Despite himself, he took a step back. The sun streamed in just behind him, and he needed the sanity of that light.

  The creature prowled forward, tail whipping in anger. The water barely came to its belly, the boats mere stepping-stones in its path. Its head hung low, green drool dripping from its jaws. Dulac’s muscles twitched with tension as he backed away. The beast’s red eyes fixed on the knife that had hurt it. Suddenly a paw batted out, slamming Dulac’s injured shoulder. The lancing pain drove Dulac to his knees and the thing snarled in triumph, closing in. That was its last mistake. Dulac drove the knife deep into its fiery red eye.

  As he drove it home, he pushed up to free himself. The beast fell backward, its huge head lolling as the eyes dimmed, the spark in them guttering to nothing. Dulac got to his feet, suddenly aware that he was freezing cold from the water.

  Gawain appeared, breath heaving from haste. His face twisted in disgust. “That thing smells like compost.”

  “I’m not sure it’s dead yet,” Dulac warned, drawing the long sword from his back. There had been no room to fight with it in the tunnel, but it had its use now. “Stand back.”

  He brought the long blade down, severing the head with a crunch. Instantly, the body shriveled, the twisted vines and pulpy leaves withering and shrinking until it looked like no more than twigs, and then dried grass, and then nothing at all. The water carried away the last shreds of it and the two knights stared at an empty space.

  “I heard the gardeners complain about the weeds,” said Gawain. “I never imagined this.”

  Chapter 18

  When Nim arrived at Medievaland, there were people gathering outside the gate. Some were in costume—probably staff—and a few looked like early-bird tourists with sun hats and cameras. Two grim-faced bruisers in security uniforms were standing at the entrance, arms folded and feet planted in a way that kept arguments to a minimum. The official story was that a ferocious dog was on the loose and the Medievaland staff was in the process of capturing it. If any of the guards knew more than that, it didn’t show.

  Deciding to save time, Nim circled the perimeter fence until she was behind the stables. The fence was very high, the top angled outward in a way that made climbing difficult. Only the most agile humans could have scaled it, but she was fae and in no mood for games. She swarmed up it quickly and dropped to the ground inside the park, breathless with the heat and exertion.

  Before she had time to rise, boots and a sword point filled her field of vision. She glanced up into the cold blue gaze of Arthur Pendragon. She hadn’t seen him since the demon wars, and the merry young king he’d been was long gone. He looked harder with lines etched beside his mouth. Gone were the rich robes and crown, and now he wore only scuffed boots and blue jeans, a faded blue T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest. But one thing was the same—there was no mistaking the air of authority that wrapped him like a cloak.

  “Nimueh,” said Arthur.

  It wasn’t a question. Her stomach sank as all hope of secrecy vanished. “My lord.”

  “I thought you were in hiding.” His gaze swept over her hair and clothes, a look of distaste forming as he took in her disguise. The sword tip flicked one tendril of her black hair. “Or should I say that Dulac insists on keeping you out of sight?”

  “He wants the best for me.” She raised her hands, making sure Arthur saw they were empty of weapons. His mood was clearly dangerous. “But I understand LaFaye may have unleashed something in the park.”

  “Is that so? Or perhaps it is the work of another fae enchantress?”

  She refused to take the bait. “I may be able to help. I have knowledge of magic that you do not.”

  He said nothing for a moment. Nim tried to stand, but the sword flicked toward her eyes, keeping her in place. It seemed ironic that she was being threatened with the very sword she’d enchanted for the king.

  “I used to trust you,” he said slowly. “Some of my men still do, but the fae swore vengeance on Camelot. Given what you are, that leaves me in an interesting position.”

  “Are you going to trade me to LaFaye for a few months’ reprieve?” Anger knotted in her chest.

  “So Dulac told you about that?” Arthur shrugged. “I can’t say the prospect of peace isn’t tempting.”

  “Then I am at your mercy,” she said. “Where is Lancelot?”

  “The knights have the creature penned on the other side of the park.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked bluntly. It wasn’t like Arthur to hang back and let others confront danger.

  “Because one rampaging creature is far too obvious.” The king nodded toward the stables, a crease between his red-gold brows. “The horses are restless. They know danger better than any man, so I stayed behind to keep watch.”

  Excalibur’s point touched lightly against her chest. “Was it you that I was watching for? Are you the danger?”

  She refused to flinch. “I’m no danger to you. I think you’re the best chance the fae have for freedom from LaFaye.”

  “You flatter me. Is it to soften my heart?”

  There was enough sarcasm in his tone that she winced. “I can’t pretend I’m not interested in your opinion of me. If you hand me over to the queen, I will come to a slow, painful and lingering end. I know those are her terms for a year’s peace.”

  His gaze bored into her, his light blue eyes uncomfortably intense. “I don’t do anything on Morgan’s terms.” He lowered the sword and stepped back to let Nim rise. “Don’t make me regret my choice.”

  “Am I your prisoner?” She stood slowly, one eye still on the sword. She could feel something in the air, like pressure building. It set her nerves on edge.

  “I know better than to think that I could hold you,” said Arthur. “I will, however, watch you closely.”

  “You won’t regret this.”

  “Hmm.” Arthur gave her a narrow look. “Words are words. I reserve my opinion for deeds.”

  That wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was something. Then she felt the faint quiver in the air again, almost as much a sound as a breeze and yet neither. “There is a spell at work.”

  The horses felt it, too. Nervous whickers sounded from the stalls, and one steed kicked its door with a resounding thump. Arthur beckoned and led the way toward the disturbance. At least for now, he seemed willing to work with her.

  Nim followed a step behind, thinking through her repertoire of spells. She couldn’t stay off LaFaye’s radar any longer. She’d made the decision to help, and helping was the opposite of hiding. Merlin had been right to say that she was wasting her time trying to repress her magic, and he’d given her his assurance that she could unbind her magic at will. That was as it should be. Nimueh was a fae, an enchantress, a power to be reckoned with. Magic was who she was.

  Arthur stopped so suddenly she all but crashed into him. She moved to his left, ready to act, but then recoiled at what she saw. Something was crawling out of the trash. It was long and thin, with a small red head and a silver bow around its neck. “What is that?”

 
; “LaFaye sent us roses,” Arthur replied in a strangled voice. “When we learned they were from her, we threw them away. We should have burned them. It was a foolish mistake.”

  The first rose dropped from the trash bin and writhed on the ground like a snake. Arthur rushed forward and crushed it beneath his boot, leaving a green smear in the dust. But others were following too quickly to stomp them all, even though Nim sprang forward to help. Two rolled away, wriggling and crawling in movements no plant was meant to make. Nim blinked in horror as the long stems swelled, folding and refolding and weaving together to form the muscular body of a hunting cat. The dark red petals became a sleek head and mane; the thorns formed wicked teeth and claws.

  They’d barely taken shape before they attacked. One sprang at Arthur, who sliced Excalibur through the air with a cry. The other beast turned on Nim, who moved to rip the binding from her power and let her magic fly. Despite the danger of detection, her heart soared in affirmation of everything she was. She would hide no longer!

  She felt the echo of her magic’s flare, but nothing happened. The beast was almost upon her when she tried again, but her power was cold and silent. Stars! Merlin, what have you done? Despite his promise that she could access her magic if she needed it, her power was beyond her reach.

  Loss and confusion made her freeze, helpless as a rabbit in the face of oncoming horror. Then anger kicked through her stasis. Magic or no magic, she still had to fight—or die.

  Nim leaped to the top of the fence and from there scrabbled to the roof of the stables, dust flying and slivers digging into her hands. She looked down to see her attacker crouched on the ground, tail lashing, while its twin wrestled with the king. Her stomach twisted, bile rising up her throat. The creature made a noise that wasn’t a hiss or a roar or a shriek, but was some of each. The sound crawled over her skin. There were magical beasts—like unicorns, dragons and griffins—but they were made from nature, however rare. This creature was simply wrong.

  And Nim wasn’t sure what to do about it. She should have been able to unravel LaFaye’s spell with one of her own, but Merlin’s binding had gone too far. What had he done? Had he deceived her? Simply made a mistake?

  She would have to destroy her attacker using only her wits. But how? She was desperately vulnerable, as helpless as a human. Nothing mattered if she didn’t survive.

  Nim crawled up the roof on elbows and knees until she reached a skylight. Pushing it open, she dropped inside the stable. The horses barely noticed her arrival. Every ear and nose was pointed toward the beast outside, the stamping hooves marking their nervousness.

  Nim began a search of the building. She had taken weapons from Lancelot’s stash, but they were all for fighting at close range. She wanted something less up close and personal. There was a storeroom at the right that held the usual horse-related medicines, grooming equipment and tack, but it also held a few general supplies. She wondered if there would be any weed killer, but quickly decided she’d need a vat of the stuff to do any good.

  The stable door crashed open and the horses screamed, rearing and lunging at the walls in panic. Nim’s first instinct was to protect them, but she knew LaFaye wouldn’t waste her deadly magic on livestock. Nim pressed herself to the wall, making herself small. There was a door at the back of the storeroom that led back to the yard and she began to inch toward it. Her nape prickled with horror as she heard the beast scrabbling over the floor, snuffling from stall to stall in search of her scent. The horses continued to kick and pound.

  Silently, Nim pushed open the rear door of the storeroom. She slipped back into the yard, disappointed by the fruitless search. When the beast found her scent and howled, she doubled her speed, dashing past a maintenance building. She dodged around a gardener’s trailer sitting next to a wall. A jumble of equipment spilled out and she slid to a stop, still anxious to find a weapon. Her eyes darted over the mess, picking out a fire extinguisher, a rake and a chain saw. She was tempted by the chain saw but not sure how to use it. However, there was a can of gasoline. She grabbed it and was relieved to find it full. Flame had possibilities.

  And then the beast was coming again, sprinting as fast as any cheetah. Without stopping to plan, she took the gas and ran, scrambling up a fence and sprinting along the top rail. With a last burst of speed, she leaped from the fence to the crossbeam above the gate to the tourney ground, hauling the gas can with her. She squatted, balancing on the balls of her feet.

  From there, she could see Arthur battling with the other beast, sword flashing in the sun. That wasn’t all. At least ten of the nervous horses had broken out of their stalls and were milling in mindless distress. And her beast—how had it become hers?—was leaping and racing through the yard, trying to find a scent that had vanished the moment she’d climbed the fence. Apparently monsters made of vegetation were not enormously bright.

  Nim unscrewed the cap of the gas can and then gave a sharp whistle through her teeth, hoping to call the beast her way. Unfortunately, the horses stampeded instead.

  It really was a beautiful sight—huge, sleek dapple grays and coal blacks, shining bays and the snow white of Arthur’s mount. Nim was in no position to appreciate it. There were no handholds on top of the gate and very little room to balance. She was surefooted, but the crush of horseflesh toward the familiar tourney grounds meant thousands of pounds brushing and bumping against the supports. The monster brought up the rear with snarling roars that put wind beneath the horses’ hooves.

  Determined not to miss her chance, Nim leaned forward to empty the heavy can of gas over the monster’s head as it passed. It was a bad mistake. One final thump to the gate sent her toppling forward, can and all. She missed the beast by inches, falling face-first into the dirt.

  The impact knocked her breath away. The fall would have killed a human, and for an instant Nim wasn’t sure it hadn’t broken every bone. There was an instant of nothing, and then she heard the glugging of the gasoline pouring out of the can as it lay on its side. Nim turned her head and was confronted by the beast’s face inches from hers. Long tendrils coiled where whiskers might have been, and fangs trailed over its bottom jaw.

  Terror coursed through Nim’s limbs, turning them to ice. The foul odour of its breath mixed with the gas to stomach-lurching effect. Nim bent her arms to push herself up, but a heavy paw landed between her shoulder blades. There was a prick of claws sinking into her flesh, and Nim was sure LaFaye had won at last.

  Abandoning caution, she snaked out a hand and grabbed the handle of the gas can. The creature’s weight shifted as if to snap at her hand. That released Nim enough to roll, backhanding the can against the beast’s snout. It jerked away with a snarl, allowing her to spring to her feet. With renewed horror, she looked directly into its burning eyes. There was no intelligence there, but then it was not a truly living thing.

  “Hold still,” said Lancelot.

  Nim’s breath stopped. He was crouched a dozen feet away, his sword in both hands. The sun glinted off the rubies in the hilt, matching the eyes of the beast for their fire.

  The instant Lancelot spoke, the beast spun, eyes blazing and fangs bared in an unholy snarl that sent Nim springing back in terror. The creature was nothing but hate and hunger, bundled with magic and given temporary form. It coiled and sprang in the same motion, razor claws reaching for the knight.

  Lancelot swung the sword, slicing through the beast’s foreleg. The creature twisted in the air, graceful and terrible as it lunged to retaliate. Lancelot reared back, ducking under snapping jaws to strike again. The sword sheared through its ropy flesh to strike the ground.

  The beast gave an outraged roar, but its anger was short lived. Sparks flew as the blade scraped on rock, igniting the spilled gasoline. There was a sound like soft thunder and a fireball erupted in midair, the rush of it sending hot wind in all directions.

  The beast exploded in a ball of flames.

  Chapter 19

  Lancelot leaped aside to avoid the flames�
� trajectory, his sword falling as he rolled in the dust. Alarmed, Nim darted back to the equipment shed in search of the fire extinguisher. It was right where she’d seen it, so she grabbed it in both hands and bolted back to the fire.

  Without any kind of greeting, Gawain intercepted her, taking the canister and spraying where the gas had strayed closest to the fence. He was all efficient action, but there was little need for it. In an eye blink, the fire had blazed and was gone—a byproduct of the magic involved. As soon as the spell unwound, the fire’s energy died. Only the bitter smell of gasoline hung in the air, mixing with the stink of the beast that was now no more than ash.

  Lancelot was dusting himself off and retrieving his sword. He sheathed the blade and joined Nim where she stood next to the fence, his expression wavering between furious and relieved.

  “Don’t tell me I should have stayed home and let you fight this alone,” Nim warned in a low voice.

  Silently, he looked her over, wiping the dust from her face with his thumbs. She could feel his emotion in his hands, but he would not meet her eyes. He was angry.

  “That was the last of the beasts,” said the king. “Good work, all of you.”

  Nim looked up. The king was a few feet to her right, leaning on Excalibur. He looked exhausted, his sword and clothes coated in green slime. There were deep scratches over his hands and down his face. One inch over, and they would have cost him an eye.

  Lancelot stiffened at the sound of Arthur’s voice and moved to stand between Nim and the king. Nim took his arm, drawing him close to her side instead. She had a sudden need to sit down, but she refused to show weakness before Arthur Pendragon. Instead, she leaned against Lancelot, hoping the shaking in her knees didn’t show. “What was the purpose of those creatures?”