Knight Spellbound

by Jason Hamilton

  The sound of chairs scraping against the floor and suddenly everyone surrounding her was on their feet. All eyes were on her, and no one said a word. She could no longer see the big man sitting in the corner as several of the men had obscured her view upon rising to their feet.

  “This one’s not from around here,” said one of the men, probably a Saxon from his hair and accent. “She’s probably a Briton.”

  “I am not a Briton,” she said, indignantly. Though that wasn’t exactly true. Her father was from South Wales, though she had never known the place.

  “A Pict then, or a Scot. I killed many of them two decades ago and survived to speak of it.”

  “As did I,” yelled another in the back.

  “We ain’t afraid of you, girl,” said the first man, darkly. “And no Briton, Pict or any other kind of trash will tell me when I can or cannot slap a pretty girl’s rump. You should take it as a...”

  Brit punched him full in the face.

  The man staggered, so taken aback by the suddenness of her blow that he acted surprised when he fell backwards onto the floor, barely supported by his friends. He stared up at her and dabbed at his nose which had begun to bleed.

  “Thank you,” said Brit. “For telling me who it was who slapped me.”

  “Get her!” yelled the man, scrambling to his feet.

  Brit’s eyes flashed as her pulse only strengthened, adrenaline rushing into her, giving her vision a slightly hazy look. Time slowed as the man’s nearest friend rushed her.

  Just as the man came close enough to swing a fist, she ducked the blow and while still low, hurled herself forward into the man’s gut. Air brushed her hair as the man lost whatever breath he had in his lungs before he fell backward into his comrades. Next, Brit slashed downward with her blade, not enough to permanently injure the man, but enough to put him out for the count. The man screamed and clutched at his leg where a long, shallow gash had emerged.

  Brit snarled in glee, watching the man bellow in pain. But she could not revel in the moment just yet. Others were coming for her. She did her best to avoid them, ducking, weaving, and occasionally slashing at exposed arms and legs as they tried to grab her.

  Two powerful arms caught her from behind, holding her tight in a bear hug, pinning her arms in place. Others rushed forward, eager at their perception of her vulnerability.

  She threw her head back into the man who held her, feeling a satisfying crunch, accompanied by the faint yelp of one of the onlooking serving maids. Brit smiled again as she whipped around and brought her sword slashing at the man’s chest.

  Unfortunately, the man had some basic gambeson armor, which kept her blade from doing much damage, but it wouldn’t protect against a stabbing thrust. She brought her sword at the ready, preparing to thrust it into the man’s heart. Her eyes tinged with red as she smiled with wide eyes at her victim. It was the same man who had confessed to slapping her, the man she had punched. Now his nose was doubly bloody from her headbutt, and he was clutching at it as it spurted red liquid down his face and shirt. He stared at her with wide, fearful eyes.

  For a moment, everything seemed to pause. It was as though it was just her and this man in the room. All others watched with bated breath to see what she was going to do. As if in slow motion, she tightened her grip on her sword. This was it. She would tear into this man’s heart, punish him for what he had said and done. It would teach all others a lesson on how not to treat women, to not take them for granted, to not view them as objects. Word of this day would reach far and wide, and others like this man would quiver with fear. They would pray that someone like Brit would never visit them in their homes. For she would do the same to all those who behaved thus.

  Brit bared her teeth, feeling the fury surge within her. She pulled her blade back, preparing to thrust it forward, directly in the center of the man’s chest.

  Unexpectedly, a vision swam in front of her eyes. Suddenly the man no longer appeared to be the same. His face had changed to that of a grizzled face with shoulder-length red hair and a wicked smile on his lips. She recognized the face as the man they had encountered near the beach, the man who was not a man. Wrath.

  Judging by the Sin’s expression, he was exultant, as if had just stepped from a snow-covered wasteland into a warm, fire-lit room. A sort of pleasure washed over him: ecstasy. And he shivered.

  “It’s you,” she breathed. Without pausing for a response, she grabbed the Sin by the tunic and thrust her sword into his stomach.

  A cry. Blood splattered her face, and her vision seemed to blur at the edges. Women in the room screamed. But all Wrath could do was smile.

  For a moment, all around her stood still, seeing what she had done. Brit spared a glance for each of them. Should she try to explain that her victim was one of the Seven Deadly Sins? Or should she just assume they would not understand and try to kill her anyway?

  “You...you killed Edgar,” cried a man. There was pure anguish on his face.

  “He wasn’t…” Brit began, but when she looked back at the man, she froze. It was no longer the smiling face of Wrath who stared back at her, but the man who had first taunted her, the one who had slapped her. His eyes had rolled up into their sockets, and his mouth fell open. Brit’s breathing increased. Just moments ago, he had been Wrath. What had she done?

  “Kill her!” shouted the bar man.

  At the call, everyone rushed forward, no longer caring that she held a sword and most of them had no weapons. They grabbed chairs, eating utensils, knives, whatever they could find. And they rushed her.

  She tried to cry out, tried to explain that she hadn’t meant to kill one of their own. But the sound of her voice was lost in their shouts and curses. She defended herself as best she could with her sword, causing more than one to stagger back. But more kept coming. Nothing but rage filled the room. Pure Wrath. Suddenly, she saw the Sin’s face again, but not just in one man but in the faces of all who pressed in around her. They were all Wrath.

  Was this some sort of trick?

  She didn’t have time to decide. Men grabbed her from behind. She cut at their hands and a few released her, but more took their place. They fought for a hold of her.

  A white-hot pain blossomed in her shoulder, and she knew that someone had cut her with a knife. She would not last long if she stayed here.

  She had to get out.

  Pushing one man off of her, she made a sweeping cut with her sword, driving all away from her. Then she stumbled forward, clutching at a knife that lay embedded in her shoulder. With a wave of pain that threatened to overwhelm her, she threw it to the ground.

  Her vision had grown even more hazy. As she pushed back and stabbed at the men that got in her way, it appeared as if they had morphed from images of Wrath to images of that same creature that had nearly killed her as it had probably killed Una. Dark green eyes stared at her from all around.

  This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t.

  “Get away from me!” she screamed and continued slashing and hacking at anything that came within arm’s reach.

  Something caught her eye. The man she’d been pointed to earlier, the one who apparently knew something of Artegall, was moving through the crowd of demons. Unlike all the others, his face remained the same, and he glanced at her with no emotion whatsoever before finding the door and exiting the building.

  Brit’s eyes darkened. Was he behind all this?

  She didn’t have time to think as a creature from the bar lunged at her. She sidestepped enough to redirect his movement with a swipe of her blade, the beast crying out with an oddly human scream as she moved past.

  She grabbed her helmet from the bar, cutting at two demon shapes at the door as she exited the building.

  Her vision was red, the light pulsing with every beat of her heart. Was she going mad?

  The strange giant knight had already mounted a horse and was disappearing into the distance. Without thinking, Brit surged forward, cutting at the reins of the ne
arest horse and throwing herself atop it. It whinnied and took several steps back, but she patted it gently as she’d done with her own horse, whispering gentle words of affirmation.

  Demons came pouring through the door. Whether they appeared as demons to the horse or not, Brit could not tell. But the commotion was enough to startle it, and it took off. Brit clutched at its mane and guided it as best she could without control of the reins. Thankfully it set off in the same direction as the giant man.

  She clung to the horse as it ran, barely bothering to keep watch of where they were going. No wonder the Faerie Queen had instructed Una to stay with Brit. She was no good without the magical woman. This was now the third time that Brit had felt a strange redness overtake her, like going mad. It was more than just her anger, though it was certainly related. This was some power that had overtaken her. The first time in the presence of Malecasta, Una had helped her find peace. The second time was during their first encounter with Wrath.

  As she rode, and her mind and vision cleared, Brit could clearly see that the nature of her anger had been the same all three times, consuming to the point of madness. Yet the first two times, Una had been there to calm her. Now she was gone.

  The Faerie Queen had given her instructions too. And now she did not understand them. They were instructions she would never have shared with Una or her male companions. This Gloriana had instructed Brit to stay by Una’s side, and to kill her if she became too much of a threat. So she had remained wary of Una’s magic, knowing that if that magic ever turned on the free people, she was tasked with ending the woman’s life.

  Yet it seemed it was Brit who needed help. Una’s magic had been the only cause of peace since they had first encountered each other.

  Now, she did not know what she would do without her.

  19

  Wrath opened blood-shot eyes, a ripple of pleasure washing over him. Even where he was in the City of Pride, his elation coming from the hate and anger pouring out of the female knight from Armorica entered into him like the most delicious wine. The pleasure came not only from her, but from all that surrounded her. Everyone radiated wrath, and he enjoyed every exquisite second soaking it all up. It was a veritable feast.

  Anger came from all directions, of course. Not just from Britomart and those who surrounded her. There was unrest in the land, and invaders of any type always stoked his power. He restrained himself from physically flexing the muscles in his body. He was more powerful now than at any time since the reign of the gods. And he loved it.

  “You’re looking confident,” said Duessa ahead of him.

  Wrath quickly brought himself back to reality. He and Duessa were back in the circular room at the top of her tower where she had first brought him. The girl, Amoret, was gone now, safely in the clutches of his defeated brother and sister in the Shadow Realm. Now it was just him and Duessa left alone in this tower, though the rest of the castle was filled with Duessa’s minions. Duessa sat at a raised bench in the center of the room, looking through some papers and studying while he stood by.

  “The knight called Britomart is angry,” he said with a sly grin. “Her wrath is delicious. Far more significant than the rest of the rabble in this country.”

  “And what of Una?”

  Wrath’s smile faltered for an instant before he replied. “I don’t know. She has not been in my visions of late, but I am reasonably certain the two are no longer traveling together.”

  Duessa nodded. “That is good. Perhaps that means my demon has her and is bringing her here as we speak. Though I would have preferred that it had killed the female knight. I wonder how she survived.”

  Wrath shook his head. “I only catch glimpses of their travels, and only when one of them feels anger. I have felt nothing of Una for some time.” He couldn’t quite stop himself from taking an unconscious step forward, as though eager to go out and search for the girl himself. He would not be happy if she was hurt.

  His gesture was not lost on Duessa, who paused her work at the bench to peer at Wrath. “Do not even think of leaving to find her, Wrath. You know well enough that you would be at risk in their presence.”

  Wrath scowled. “You take far too much faith in outdated, possibly misread prophecies.”

  “And you do not trust them enough. We are not invulnerable here, not even me. We will not have a surety of success until our master joins us.”

  Frustration boiled under his skin. “And so what? You’re just going to make me stay here, doing nothing like you? If our suspicions are true, then we will need the girl to bring our master back to this plane. Why not trust me instead of some mindless beast to bring her here?”

  “Because mindless beasts are expendable,” replied Duessa in a cool voice. “And I am hardly doing nothing.” She went back to her notes, poring over them again as though he didn’t exist.

  Pushing back his frustration, he took a seat on one of the descending platforms that led down to the center of the room. After a momentary pause while he watched her reading and cross-checking her notes against several of the books she had lying out, he finally said, “I’ve never seen you so studious before.”

  “This is important,” she said without looking up.

  “I assume you’re trying to figure out how to bring our master here?”

  “Oh I already know that ritual like I know my own claws. No, this is something else, something far more complex.”

  “Care to elaborate?” She looked up at him with an annoyed look and he splayed his arms outward. “What? It’s not like I have anything else to do but ask you questions when you’re so keen on keeping me here.”

  Duessa shook her head slightly as if in acquiescence and went back to her notes. “It is becoming more and more clear that the girl, Una, will not choose to help us when the time comes.”

  “Does that really matter? It won’t be the first time you’ve forced someone to your will.”

  “This is different. The ritual will require her willing participation. While I could brainwash her, it would take time, and we do not have time. And let us not forget that her magic is strong enough that we might not be able to restrain her for long.”

  “What do you propose?”

  Duessa lifted up one of her books, peering closely at its pages. “It’s a complicated spell, one I wouldn’t bother with if it weren’t for the circumstances. But it could be the key to everything.”

  “Save your mysticism for the others,” said Wrath with some annoyance. “Tell me what you have planned.”

  Duessa glanced back at him, her face mirroring the annoyance in his own. “If we cannot force Una to give us her help, then we must find another who can.”

  “I thought she was the only one, assuming we are right about her parentage.”

  “We are right about that, I am certain of it. And I don’t mean that another can take her place, I mean we must create someone who can be her, an exact duplicate, but one that will listen to our commands.”

  Wrath furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “This spell, it will allow me to create a...copy, for lack of a better term, of the girl. She will have the same blood, virtually indistinguishable from the original Una.”

  “And how does that help us if Una won’t lend her aid in the first place? Wouldn’t an indistinguishable copy behave in exactly the same way?” Wrath was beginning to grow impatient. He wasn’t so sure that Una wouldn’t listen to reason once she learned of her father’s identity. In fact, he was certain he could convince Una himself with enough time to do so. He was very persuasive when he wanted to be. Once Una knew how he felt about her…

  “That is where it gets complicated,” said Duessa. “But I am certain that with the right adjustments I can create a clone of Una that will serve the powers of darkness and will give us a measure of control over her mind. Besides, the spell is one of shadow. No clone would ever emerge from its magic without some...differences in temperament. I am almost ready, but I just need the blood
and magic of the real Una to make it all work.”

  Wrath paused for a moment to watch her continue poring over old notes and moving back and forth between the desk where she sat, and shelves of various potions and pickled innards that lined the walls. As she worked, she took several of the potions and began combining them into two different jars. A smell like rotten fish reached his nostrils and Wrath scowled.

  “Then you’re certain that she’s his daughter?” he asked after observing Duessa for a time.

  She did not glance up from her work. “Do you see any other alternative? Who else could possess such a strong potency of old blood?”

  “Her mother could have borne it.”

  “I have no doubt she did, or she and her husband could have never opened the first breach. But no, there are no mortals alive today who possess old blood in the quantity that Una carries. Only those born of our realm could possibly carry that strength. The man, Merlin, for example.”

  “But even he does not match Una in sheer potential.”

  “Exactly. Only a union with one of the strongest of our realm could possibly result in offspring as strong as her.”

  Wrath considered that. That explained why he was so drawn to the girl. She was more powerful than any mortal, though she likely did not know it yet. He could teach her, maybe. He could show her the full potential of her powers, and then she would be grateful, perhaps grateful enough that she would agree to rule at his side. Together they would be a force more powerful than any in the land. More powerful than the rest of the Sins. Perhaps they could even eliminate the master or leave him to rot in Annwyn.

  With the two of them ruling the world, hate would flourish. Armies would kill each other for no other reason but that he willed it. And if any tried to lay a hand on him or any under his protection, Una could wipe them from existence.

  His eyes caught the light of the setting sun through one of the narrow windows and sparkled. He quickly turned to his seat at the side of the hall before Duessa could notice the hungry look on his face. Yes, he would have to deal with the Sin of Pride eventually if his ambitions were to come true. But unlike what most people expected from the Sin of Wrath, he was a patient man. After all, if there was one constant in the world, it was hate. His power would never fade. He could wait.