I shrugged. “You’re wrong.”
Mordred smiled sadly. “Tomas did get one thing right. You see… he told me about your parents’ Armory. Their fascination with history. How they spent their years acquiring… heirlooms from old families. And I’m very interested in perusing the shelves for one or two items that hold a certain… familial significance.”
“Just say it already,” I said, feigning bored impatience. “I know you want to. Your charitable foundation kind of gives it away.”
Mordred nodded, but for some reason, he didn’t look overly happy like I’d expected – that evil villain gene kicking in to make him cackle and laugh as he announced his greatest desires.
“My family betrayed me – my father killing me on the battlefield, and my mother ensuring I was sent to the deepest pits of Hell… My father has already paid for his betrayal. I vividly recall the moment I stabbed him in the stomach, and also the moment he stabbed me,” Mordred said, absently touching his stomach as he stared off in the middle distance. “His death was a bit more prolonged, which if I’m being honest, suits me just fine. But Camelot must fall to satisfy my justice. Not just the city, but the symbol. Then the Fae Courts, and my dear old mother.”
“We already talked about this part,” I reminded him. “You were supposed to be telling me about St. Louis, remember?” I offered helpfully.
“Ah, yes. Merlin’s treasures. Excalibur and his Round Table,” Mordred finally said.
Chapter 44
He appraised me silently for a few uncomfortable seconds. “But do you have any idea why?”
I pretended to think on it for a moment. “You already have the Nine Souls for power, so I’m guessing you just want to destroy the table and sword for symbolic reasons.”
Like a nervous tic, he narrowed his eyes abruptly, straining his neck to the left, as if stretching out a sudden muscle cramp. He… was in pain. He noticed my attention and let out a breath. “The Nine Souls chafe. Even now, they writhe inside of my body like oiled serpents, squirming, hissing, biting at each other… biting at me,” he added, gritting his teeth and rotating his neck the other direction this time. He took a calming breath, mastering himself. “Although they granted me much power, having helped to fully restore my rightful body,” he said, gesturing at himself from head to toe, “they grow restless, now. I’d like to be free of them, and I think they’re rather opposed to that idea. I can control them, but it is a struggle. They fight to dominate my own soul. Number ten, as it were,” he mumbled, gesturing vaguely.
Shit. That was one question answered. I had to contend with his own soul, not just the Nine.
I almost told him about my suggested treatment plan to help relieve him of his collection of Souls – the surgery where he stood still as I stabbed him through the throat ten times – but I was confident he wouldn’t like the location of the rehabilitation center.
Hell.
Odin’s guess had been right. Mordred wanted free of his Nine Souls. How could I use that to my advantage? “Well, why don’t you just end the relationship?” I offered, hoping to buy some time to think.
He smiled. “What do you think I’ve been doing, Nate?” he asked, sounding very amused. “Why do you think they are so restless all of a sudden? As soon as you mention my family heirlooms?”
I concealed my shiver. He really did want Excalibur and the Round Table for power, like I had both hoped… and feared. In the long run, this news was very not good. But in the short run…
“They’re not in my parents’ Armory, Mordred. I will even swear it on my power.”
He was silent for a moment, using the time to sip at his drink. “I do hate to be rude, but Merlin showed me how to wiggle out of that little oath, so I can’t take your word for it.”
“There are plenty of other forms of power,” I continued on, as if thinking out loud. “Why not just go after them, like I have? Shouldn’t you want to destroy the Round Table and Excalibur? The whole symbol thing, remember?”
He didn’t look remotely surprised or impressed at my subtle humble brag. “I would love nothing more, but first, I must study the Round Table and Excalibur. Like I said, Merlin was constantly toying with them, modifying them somehow. Merlin was powerful in his own right, I cannot deny it, but he was even more famous for his association with Arthur. The teacher and mentor to the greatest King that ever lived,” Mordred muttered acidly, as if reciting a commonly-used phrase from his day. “And the people bought it, basking in the radiance of their beloved wizard. They came to worship him, over time, perhaps more than they even worshipped Arthur. But to keep that adoration flowing, Merlin was always tinkering, dreaming up new reasons for the people to love him. Some cure, some magic, some new legend he could birth…” Mordred let out a steadying breath, carefully unclenching his fingers from the armrest. “I need to see what he did with the Table and Sword before I make my decision. Perhaps there is a way to remove and harness his upgrades, granting me freedom from the Nine Souls while allowing me to destroy the cursed heirlooms.”
I nodded, appearing to consider the topic academically. “And what will you do with this new power? After you have destroyed Camelot and all that.”
Mordred thought about it. “Any number of things. Maybe even set down roots here in St. Louis. The locals seemed to appreciate me.”
“I disagree. This crown thing of mine is pretty new, and I kind of want to let it play out,” I told him, ignoring his amused smile. “The world is a big place. What if I told you to pick somewhere else?”
He considered it for a time. “I walk these streets, and at every intersection, I taste power in the air. Gods, monsters, legends, angels, demons…” he looked wondrous. “It’s incredible, making even my memories of Camelot seem dull and drab in comparison. I’m surprised the city isn’t driven mad by it.”
“Well, it is a little mad,” I admitted, thinking on his words. I hadn’t noticed power just floating around in the air or anything, but maybe I wasn’t as attuned to these types of things as Mordred was. Or… his senses were just overwhelmed. He’d been locked away for so long that even smelling a hot dog might seem magical to him.
But…
He was also not wrong. Gods, monsters, and many other powerful Freaks and legends had been flocking to St. Louis for years. None of us knew why – at least no one had shared any explanations with me – but it seemed everyone always found a reason to move to St. Louis – the Gateway to the West.
I’d always assumed the subconscious magical attraction was related to the Armory. Or, at least that it had been triggered by my parents bringing the Armory to St. Louis. But that was just an educated guess.
I finally shrugged. “You can’t have St. Louis,” I told him. Again, not rudely, but conversationally. I couldn’t afford to fight him here in the hotel. I needed to set the hook.
Mordred rolled his eyes. “What are we really doing here, Nate? You know what I want, and why. I doubt you came here just to learn my motives. And you’ve already sensed my strength. I can assure you that even without the Nine Souls, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me. You must have a more personal reason for your visit. Some request?”
I made a last-ditch mental sweep of my plan. Mordred’s words hadn’t really changed anything, merely confirming my suspicions. And I had sensed his power during the speech. All he had done was embrace it for a moment, like flexing his muscles. I wasn’t sure about the wizard-to-wizard assessment, without his Nine Souls, but that didn’t really matter at the moment. So, I met his eyes and nodded. Then I slowly reached into my satchel and withdrew a small vial the size of my finger.
It was filled with the liquid metal from the stream circling the Round Table – swirls of silver, gold, and copper that never completely blended together. The symbols and runes in the molten metal were vaguely noticeable if you looked closely enough. This part of my plan had made Tal’s hair stand up on end. A sample from the Round Table as bait.
Mordred broke composure, gasping in disbe
lief. He didn’t instantly tackle me for it, but he did appear to be gripping the chair as if holding himself back. His eyes also danced with pain, no doubt his Nine Souls were reminding him that good wizards said no to illegal drugs.
“Obey me,” he suddenly snarled to no one in particular, his voice laced with power that I could feel even from my chair. And the Nine Souls apparently listened, judging by the triumphant look on his face. I wondered where his own soul – number ten – fit in on the pecking order inside his body. Was it hiding in a corner somewhere? Or maybe it had allied with the new roommates.
“I don’t know what this is, exactly,” I said, swirling the vial in my fingers, “but it seems like you have some idea. I think you can trust me when I say the Round Table is not in the Armory. And if you get any funny ideas about killing me for this, the Table will be destroyed before you even leave this room.”
“And Excalibur?” he whispered.
I shrugged. “I wish I knew, man,” I admitted.
He let out a frustrated breath. “Why show me this?”
“I propose we throw down in a big, knockout brawl. Like gentlemen, of course. Winner gets the Table.”
He looked surprised, no doubt wondering how in the world that could work to my benefit. I didn’t stand a chance in a fair fight, no matter what tools I had at my disposal, and Mordred knew about most of them.
I tipped back my drink, finding it barely held one last sip. I stared down into my empty glass, frowning. “Well, that’s not symbolic or anything…” I murmured.
Mordred proffered his own empty glass. “How would this work, exactly? I imagine a fight between us would not go unnoticed,” he said sarcastically. Because of all the likely craters, explosions, and destruction we would leave behind.
I pretended to think about it. “You want to go duke it out behind the farmer’s shed?” I suggested, wondering if he would understand the reference.
Mordred’s eyes twinkled, immediately catching on. “Sure. Tomas told me a little about that place. It’s about the safest location for our little wager,” he agreed, nodding.
I pretended to ignore the hunger in those eyes as I pocketed the vial.
“Cool,” I said, climbing to my feet. “I think it would be good for our relationship to let out some pent-up aggression. Get a good punch or two in, you know?” I asked jovially.
“Sounds productive,” he agreed, nodding seriously as he climbed to his feet and set down his glass. His eyes definitely tracked the pocket where I had tucked the vial, but I pretended not to notice.
“I should warn you, though. I don’t fight fair. Dick-punches, hair pulling, the works. None of that Knightly stuff for me,” I warned him, shaking my head meaningfully. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
He smirked, shrugging. “That’s fine. No matter how this plays out, are we still on for our meeting tomorrow? Our subjects are expecting it.” I nodded, putting the Macallan and my glass back into my satchel. “How do you want to get there?” he asked curiously. “Make a Gateway?”
I shook my head. “I was hoping we could do something dramatic. Get some free press. Do you mind standing over there in front of the window?”
Mordred nodded, smiling curiously before walking over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking St. Louis. He turned to find me crouching down, dry-washing my hands with an eager grin on my face. “The glass is pretty thick,” he commented, not even remotely concerned about my obvious plan.
I grinned wider, feeling adrenaline flooding into my system. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan on hitting you pretty hard. I think you can take it, Sir Knight,” I told him, grinding my foot into the ground like I was waiting for the start of a race at a track meet. I swung the satchel behind my back, not wanting it to cushion the blow for Mordred. “You ready?” I asked.
He nodded, holding his arms out invitingly. His eyes danced with anticipation. At the knowledge he would soon have the Round Table in his grasp.
“I want you to know that I truly appreciate your class-act,” I told him. “It’s a nice change of pace.”
He chuckled. “What are Knights for?” he asked, waiting.
Without further ado, I sprinted at him as fast as I could, flinging my hands out ahead of me with blasts of air to either side of him.
The glass behind him shattered outwards to rain down on the streets far below, and I rammed my shoulders into Mordred’s chest hard enough to make him grunt, sending us both sailing out into the night sky.
Mordred was soon laughing.
I had been laughing upon contact.
The air whipped about us, the shards of glass surrounding us like a cloud of insects. Right when I felt our momentum ebb, and gravity begin to take over, I Shadow Walked us to our spot near a farmer’s shed.
Midas Kingston’s farm. And behind this farmer’s shed was the Dueling Grounds.
Old King Midas had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.
And on that farm, he had a Minotaur, E-I-E-I-O.
We hit the ground on our feet, stumbling slightly, but not tipping over. Asterion stood before us, 100% Greek-Angus Beef. He was much taller than us, and covered in a thick blanket of brown fur. He wore his usual prayer bead necklace – each bead slightly smaller than my fist – a leather skirt designed for battle, and a pair of big ass boots. His stained horns reared up from his temples, the tips glinting in the moonlight, and the thick metal ring from his snout dripped with Minotaur snot. He wasn’t surprised by our arrival since I’d told him my intentions earlier, but I knew he believed that a fight between us was both reckless and a waste of time.
I had only shared my entire plan with a few people, after all.
Mordred and I were clutching each other for support, still laughing loudly from the rush of jumping out of a freaking building. As Mordred assessed the Minotaur for some kind of attack or deceit, I slipped the vial from the Round Table into my satchel.
Neither noticed. Perfect.
Asterion watched us with a curious frown, snorting loudly enough to set his thick nose ring to swinging. We probably looked like drunk college roommates. We were supposed to be enemies, after all. We still were, but what was the point in letting hatred hold our hearts when we were getting ready to settle our differences in a place where neither of us could really die? A place where, when killed, our bodies…
And souls…
Would return home.
So, Mordred and I were laughing for entirely different reasons. He just didn’t know it yet.
“Follow me. Everyone is waiting,” Asterion finally said, shaking his head again before turning to lead us to the entrance to Fight Night at the Dueling Grounds.
Mordred frowned over at me upon hearing the Minotaur’s comment, but didn’t hesitate to follow.
I waved a hand dismissively. “I invited a few friends,” I told him nonchalantly.
Chapter 45
I’d taken a gamble and told Alucard to send his new vampires far and wide, telling everyone that they should really, really consider attending tonight’s Fight Night. And they were obviously very persuasive, because more people had listened than even I had anticipated. If things went south, this was about to get very embarrassing for me. Everyone would watch as I got my ass kicked.
No real harm in that. I’d learn a few valuable lessons and wake up at Chateau Falco with only a bruised ego for my troubles.
However…
What if some asshole had more than one soul? When you killed one, wouldn’t the other eight— no, nine, fight to keep the body in place at the Dueling Grounds, effectively banishing the killed soul back home?
In Mordred’s case, back to Hell?
I was betting everything on the hope that it would.
The Dueling Grounds was eternally sunset, casting the immediate area in a dusky, crimson tone, thanks to the fiery setting sun raging on the far, far horizon. The space itself, like most sporting arenas, consisted of a massive fight ring – large enough for dragons, even – and then a wide walkway followed by a row
of bleachers and benches. A few concessions stands sold a variety of finger foods, primarily consisting of various meats on a stick, and they were doing a brisk business, the smells drifting through the area. I noticed a new shack between two sets of bleachers with a sign above it that said Carl’s Heel, and a crude painting of a white stick figure lizard wearing red stilettos. They were serving booze, judging by the crowd of Myrmidons lingering beside it, and I found myself smiling at the twist on Achilles’ own bar in St. Louis, Achilles’ Heel.
Several trees dotted the area – hulking monstrous oaks of a sort – but the rest of the Dueling Grounds was grass and dry earth.
About ten feet past the bleachers was a solid perimeter of flaming torches, and beyond that ring of fire was an impenetrable darkness, not even vaguely illuminated by the setting sun in the distance.
In that Dark Land one could hear creatures murdering and slaughtering one another. Asterion had warned me profusely that to enter the Dark Lands was suicide by violent dismemberment from the locals.
Coincidentally, my unicorn had been living in there before deciding to move in with me. And my unicorn was a homicidal psychopath on the best of days. I could only imagine what his old neighbors must have been like – especially if they gave Asterion pause.
I saw Mordred studying the Dark Lands thoughtfully, likely sensing the danger for himself.
Or maybe his stolen Nine Souls had considered it a nice vacation spot, like driving beside a coastal beach.
There were more people in the crowd than even the vampires could have found in the brief time I had given them, meaning that others had blabbed, too, and word had spread that...
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