“Together, we will lead them and take back what is rightfully ours,” Carman declares.
“How?” I ask.
“You should be happy to learn that those knights of yours will be the first to fall,” Carman says, her dark eyes sparkling with loathing, “for they are the worst of sinners. Done are the days when they usurped our powers for their own gains.”
I bite down on my lip, hating how my own thoughts and feelings sound when coming out of her. If the knights hadn’t broken their pact with the Fey, if they hadn’t decided to hunt them down, Carman would never have been freed, and I wouldn’t be in Hell with her, planning for mass destruction.
“So how do I fit in?” I ask.
Carman’s smile turns feral. “That depends, dearest.”
“On what?”
“What you can do for me.”
Saint George’s balls, she really does expect me to join her! She must really be insane if she thinks I’ll so much as lift a finger to help her.
With a knowing smirk, Carman looks past me, and a jet of dark sparks curls up from her outstretched hand in some kind of signal.
My blood runs cold as a terrible shriek resounds across the valley.
“Keva!” I breathe, lunging across the walkway, all thoughts of the demon city forgotten.
I scan the wide valley below, and my eyes fall on Gwyllion’s distant shape as she swings her arm around, bladed whip slashing Keva’s bound figure, tearing another heart-wrenching cry from her.
“Stop it!” I scream.
Blazing pain shoots down my arm as Carman yanks me away from the crenellations.
“There, there,” she says soothingly, “we wouldn’t want you to fall over the wall now, would we?”
“Please,” I beg, cringing as Keva’s body jerks under a third strike.
“There can be no pity for such a mortal,” Carman replies coldly, “not after all her kind’s done to us. Unless…you can convince me otherwise.”
My knuckles go white over the stone parapet. I taste the sharp tang of blood, before I realize I’ve bitten my lip open. But the clean pain of it momentarily clears my mind, enough to feel my power rising to my need.
“When Gwyllion finishes her work, your little friend will be just another draugar,” Carman continues, hissing in pleasure.
“No.”
The word escapes my lips, barely a whisper, but I let my power rip free along with it. It bursts out of my fingertips, long bolts of blue flames arcing through the air and across the valley with blinding speed.
Gwyllion barely has the chance to turn around before the lightning strikes her, over and over again, until the ground is seared black, all trace of the old hag obliterated.
A loud, plaintive whine rises in the silence that follows. Barguest, crying for its mistress, horned head hanging low in distress.
I gasp as Carman yanks me back by the hair, pain slicing through my head at her touch.
“Not exactly what I was expecting,” Carman says, with barely-veiled jubilation, “but I believe I can finally see what Dain saw in you. And, my dear, that means it’s time for us to negotiate.”
Chapter 9
Every knight’s face looks tense in the moon’s pale light, eyes drawn outward to the encircling line of trees, as if awaiting an attack. But when I look down, I see that the battle’s already taken place.
The ground is gouged, the grass and flowers burned off in large patches, and everywhere my eyes settle are bodies. Those of the tapir-like creatures Mordred likes to use in his army, and those of a few knights I don’t recognize, but mostly of pixies. Lots and lots of pixies.
My throat grows tight with sudden tears.
“How many?”
The voice sounds strangled, but I recognize it at once, and the vice that was around my heart loosens.
Arthur.
I know I won’t see him, I almost never do in these visions, but at least I know he’s still alive.
“Two of ours,” Hadrian answers, his face covered in grime and blood, “Bastien and Penelope. Of theirs…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t have to.
Gauvain tenses next to me, all senses alert.
“Someone’s coming!” a girl shouts from the edge of the torn field as a pale figure detaches itself from the forest’s deep shadows, carefully picking its way through the rubble and the dead.
All at once I’m moving, heading down to meet the newcomer, the knights parting before me. The pale figure stops at my sight, bows, then straightens up again, and I recognize the plain features of the albino man who used to live in Lake High’s asylum before it burned down.
“Sir Rip,” Arthur says tightly, “what news do you bring?”
“Nothing that will alleviate your present sadness, I’m afraid,” Rip van Winkle answers with a small gesture towards the ground.
“She refused to join us?” Lugh asks, his sudden appearance startling me.
Despite the battle, he looks like he always has: An alabaster statue walking amongst mortals. Only the patch that now covers his missing eye denotes he ever got close to anything life-threatening.
“More like she was prevented from doing so,” Rip answers somberly, and my heart skips a beat at the horrifying implication.
“Is it still worth it to offer Lady Maeve our help?” Arthur asks.
Rip shakes his head ‘no’ as Arthur’s pixie settles on his shoulder, casting a red sheen over his pale features.
“How could it be?” Arthur asks. “Her Demesne is further away, surely Mordred’s troops couldn’t have gotten to her so quickly.”
“I would have thought he would go after Aengus next instead,” Lugh adds.
“Unless Aengus has joined the Dark Sidhe’s forces already,” Oberon says, stepping out of what appears to be a tunnel leading inside the hill, its entrance torn open. “Maybe that’s what I should’ve done. Maybe there’s still time for me and my people—”
He stops, shoulders hunching as he gazes at what’s left of his Demesne. All these pixies were his to protect, and he’s failed them. We all have.
“You know the outcome would have been the same had you chosen their side,” Lugh says. “Worse, you would then be at Carman’s mercy, and you know how little goodwill she bears you. But if you choose to join our side, you can help put an end to all this senseless killing.”
“You are the one who forced that choice upon me!” Oberon barks, spinning around to face us. “How many times have I pleaded for you to stay away? But each time you came back. And look what it got me!
“Do you know what it feels like to have the deaths of thousands of innocents upon your conscience?” Oberon lets out a grating laugh. “Of course you don’t. You have no conscience. Let me give you some advice, then, free of charge: Learn to mind your own business. From what I hear, Avalon’s falling apart at the seams already. So if you care an ounce for your people, you’d better go back there and defend them.”
A muscle twitches in Lugh’s cheek, but before he can reply, a dark snake slithers its way out of the tunnel and into the bloody grass, followed closely by a lithe Fey.
“My Lord,” Sameerah says, bowing respectfully in front of Oberon. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for failing you tonight. It is as you say: Had we not sought you out today, this terrible calamity would not have happened. At least not tonight. But you know, as well as I, that they would have eventually struck at you, whether we’d come to you or not.”
“They might not have known where to find me,” Oberon says, voice glacial. “Now get off my land, all of you!”
He turns sharply away, his cape swirling around his shoulders, but not before I see the angry tears glistening on his round cheeks.
“Lord Oberon, your losses are ours to bear,” Arthur says. “Believe us when we say we understand the weight you carry, and I do wish we could abide by your wishes, but we cannot afford to wait any longer. Our forces, like yours, are much diminished, while Carman’s are growing every day. But if we s
tand united, we still have a chance to stop her.”
Her forces are growing every minute, actually, I silently say, what with that draugar-making pot of hers.
The draugar!
With a jolt, I realize I need to let them know about the impending danger. But no matter how much I try to speak, I cannot utter a single sound, not even the shadow of a whisper.
The world suddenly wobbles around me, and Rip hurries to help me stay up.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly.
As the tremors slowly subside, Arthur’s all-too-familiar voice whispers back, “I just didn’t expect…I thought I heard…I’m OK, thank you. Just tired, I guess…”
Arthur lets his voice trail off, caught in his own thoughts. Rip looks up then, straight into my eyes, and a light smile touches his lips. I let out a muted gasp. Did he just see me? Does he know I’m watching them?
“If it’s any consolation, I did find out more about the Siege Perilous,” Rip says. “Before she passed away, the Lady Maeve revealed that it can be destroyed, and, thankfully, the one weapon that can do so is in our possession.”
There’s a collective intake of breath.
“Excalibur?” Lord Oberon asks, incredulous.
“All’s not lost, then,” Sameerah breathes, reaching down for the snake slowly twisting its way up her leg.
“I propose we move along with the plan then,” Lugh says.
“Plan?” Oberon asks, sounding slightly intrigued despite himself. “To destroy the Siege Perilous?”
“Correct,” Lugh says. “But before we do, we need to give others a chance to join us as well.”
“There’s no time to waste,” Arthur says. “We need to get to the other Demesnes before Mordred has a chance to find them.”
Shivers run down my spine, for that’s the trouble, isn’t it? Mordred always seems to be a step ahead of us.
Chapter 10
“I take it resisting didn’t do much good, huh?”
I cough up some more blood, letting it trickle down my chin, too exhausted to spit it out, then nod. I wince as the movement pulls at my bound wrists.
Keva lets out a heartfelt sigh. “Bloody hell.”
“Literally,” I rasp, my voice grating from too much screaming.
I sag against the whipping post to ease my shoulders, eyes automatically gliding over to the thick fumes still rising from the Pair Dadeni.
From what I’ve seen over the past few days, the cauldron’s kept fed with a constant string of human victims—thanks in no small part to Mordred and his squad—and is churning ever more draugar to strengthen Carman’s army.
The only positive thing about it is that these soulless corpses seem to freak the demons out as much as us, so we’re usually left alone down on the plain.
“Were you able to find out anything at all?” Keva asks as always, though the answer never changes.
“Not a thing.”
Though at first it seemed like the quick plan Gale and I hatched together was working, Carman put an end to it quickly enough. I should’ve known her taking me under her wing and talking partnerships was just that—an act. A ploy to get me to show her how to use the Sangraal. And when that didn’t work, she was quick to force me to do it for her.
Keva grunts in annoyance. “So which daeva[5] did she make you heal this time?”
“The one that guards the draugar,” I say.
“The necrophiliac?” Keva exclaims. “She’s the worst! Have you seen the way she keeps rubbing herself all over those poor draugar? You know, the handsome ones. And they’re too dead to push her off.”
My laugh surprises us both. “Are you going to start a movement against the harassment of handsome draugar?”
“Maybe I should,” Keva replies petulantly. “Think how great it would be if I ended up subverting Carman’s army right from under her nose.”
“I’d not voice that quite so loudly if I were ya.”
We both jump at the nasally voice. But it’s only Nibs, and I expel an annoyed breath as the clurichaun threads his way through the last of the draugar to stop in front of us.
“Yer both in surprisingly high spirits, considerin’ yer current state,” Nibs drawls, pulling out his silver flask and waving it at us. “So, what do a starved human and an infected half-Fey have to laugh about?”
“Nothing, thanks to you,” I say glumly.
“Don’t blame me for ya not runnin’ away when ya had the chance,” Nibs retorts. He takes a deep gulp of his whiskey, then sputters as something dark jumps onto his back. “Off!” he exclaims, turning a bright shade of violet.
The cat jumps back down onto the ashy ground, then pads over to rub itself against me, its fur warm and soft against my bare legs.
“Yeah, yeah, stupid pussy showin’ off,” Nibs mumbles loudly, wiping the spilled whiskey from his shirt front.
The feline lifts its dark head, leveling its one golden eye at him, the other closed shut by a long scar.
“Morgan,” Keva whispers.
“I’ve noticed,” I say, wondering whether we’re both having the same hallucination.
“Doesn’t it look a lot like—”
“The stupid geezer must always be a pain in the ass, mustn’t he?” Nibs says, eyeing the cat with unmistakable distaste.
With a sniff, the cat sits on its haunches, looking reproachful. Nibs makes to add something, but grows suddenly still, all senses alert. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, he picks up the furry creature and flings it far into the ranks of impassive draugar.
“Hey!” Keva exclaims.
But Nibs shushes her, and by now I can hear it too. A familiar clip-clopping coming from the hills behind us, getting rapidly closer.
“Fraternizing with the enemy?” a laughing voice asks that makes my skin crawl.
“Fraternizing with AC’s sister,” Nibs retorts as Urim lands next to him in all of his white splendor. “Besides, we’re old acquaintances, she and I, goin’ back much longer than AC’s known her.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Mordred says, jumping off his kelpie before it even comes to a halt.
“What are you doing here?” I growl.
“Aw, can’t a guy show some brotherly concern?” Urim asks.
“We’ve seen the results of your latest activities,” Thummim says, strolling up to the nearest draugar. “And I have to say that all those newly-restored demons frolicking with humans again is quite a sight to behold.”
“But you do seem a little worse for wear,” Urim adds.
I flinch as Mordred crouches in front of me, his eyes traveling up my bound arms, taking in the long cuts Carman’s given me, the latest one still fresh and painful.
“Ah, Morgan,” he says with a soft sigh, “when will you ever learn?”
I keep very still as he slowly reaches over my head. What kind of game is he playing now?
“Why do you keep fighting us?” Mordred asks. His fingers graze my arm, and I have to bite hard on my lip not to cry out. “Is it because of these knights? Because of that…Arthur? Even after all he’s put you through?”
“He didn’t put me through…,” I start, feeling my stomach twinge at the beginning of the lie. “It wasn’t like that! Arthur was just trying to stop me from…from…”
“From being yourself,” Mordred says through clenched teeth, surprised at my vehement defense of Arthur. “But what did you get out of all those years spent struggling to be like those petty humans? Or is it that you enjoy playing the sacrificial lamb? Does it make you feel special?”
“As special as it is to be here like this?” I retort, thick chains jangling.
“This isn’t permanent,” Mordred says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’ve got to understand Carman’s reticence to trust your sudden change of heart.”
Urim nods. “You’ve built yourself quite the reputation.”
“Traitor, is what they call you at the school,” Thummim says offhandedly.
“
Heard it was demon strumpet,” Nibs says, hawking up phlegm before spitting loudly in the Dark Sidhe’s general direction.
“If they only knew you don’t stab people in their backs like they say,” Mordred adds, tucking a strand of greasy hair back behind my ear. “No, you like to look into their eyes while you do so, just to savor their feelings of betrayal to the fullest. Just like I do.”
“Shut up!” I snarl, hurling myself forward.
But my shackles keep me from head-butting Mordred like he deserves, and I’m forced to blow angrily in his face instead, tears prickling my eyes.
“Don’t delude yourself,” I say at last, “you and I are nothing alike, and never will be.”
Mordred smirks. “No matter your wishes, we’ll always be linked. In fact, I’ll let you in on a little secret—the Gates would have opened for you too, if you’d chosen to sit on the Siege Perilous instead of me. It is, after all, what we were born to do.”
Keva lets out a surprised hiccup.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, blood draining from my face. “Nobody’s born to do anything.”
“There’s evidently a lot for you to learn still,” Mordred says with a small sneer. “But we’ve got time yet, and once I figure out how to keep those Gates open at all times, I’ll be able to come visit you down here more often.”
“What a lovely thought, truly,” Nibs’s sarcastic voice cuts in. “And I’d hate to burst yer bubble—”
“Not really,” Thummim chimes in, stopping beside the standing corpse of what must have once been a well-fed banker, judging from the dirty suit and spotty shoes.
“—but have ya seen the state she’s in?” Nibs continues. “At this rate, I give her a week, tops.”
“I concur,” Thummim says, poking his finger into what appears to be a bullet wound in the side of the dead banker’s head.
“The girl can’t even heal herself proper anymore,” Urim says, stifling a yawn.
Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3) Page 6