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Chapter Twenty-Six

T he bird wheeled low overhead, opening wings that spanned at least twelve feet. The horses reared, screaming in terror. One by one, they broke free and bolted from the courtyard to the woods beyond. The bird’s great beak opened and spoke in the demon’s measured tones.

“I see the thieves who stole my books, I see the wretch who sent an army to my doors, and I smell deep magic. I see dark entertainment ahead.”

Fast as lightning, it stooped like a hawk, diving straight for them.

Gawain had fought the monster once before and he braced himself now, prepared to sell his life dearly.

But Mordred was ready, too, blasting frozen fire right in the demon’s feathered face.

The demon shrieked and flapped away only to dive again, the slashing claws inches away from Mordred’s flesh.

Gawain leaped in, chopping at the demon between Mordred’s attacks. Together, they gave the creature no rest. His breath rasped as the battle went on, skirmish after skirmish. The two cousins worked in tandem, as equal partners as they had always been relentless foes.

Sweat stood out on Mordred’s cheeks, yet he was in his element, turning the bright afternoon into a swirling mass of inky clouds.

Fork after fork of lightning crashed into the demon, setting it alight in a corona of blue fire.

The demon stretched its beak wide and belched down a blast of greenish flame.

Mordred raised his hand, fingers spread wide, and forced the fire back.

The collision of their wills shook the earth.

Mortar rained down from Camelot’s walls.

Gawain’s skin crawled from the after-burn of magic as the demon circled away, shrieking in pain. Mordred fell to one knee, his magic seemingly exhausted. His sword dangled from one limp hand.

“Well, that was unexpected.” He gave a sharp grin. “This forest never was the best neighborhood.”

Gawain braced his hands on his knees, breathing hard. For a fleeting instant, he saw what might have been—not Gawain and three brothers, but four, if only fellowship with Mordred had been possible. “We made a good team.”

“Indeed,” said Mordred. His chin jerked up. “Damn and blast, here it comes again.”

Gawain straightened, looking skyward. That instant of distraction gave Mordred what he needed. He drove Viper through Gawain’s mail, magic parting the steel like paper. If the slash to Gawain’s ribs had hurt, this was beyond pain. This was a white-hot forge inside his chest.

Gawain fell to his knees.

“Do you think I would ever willingly fight at your side?” Mordred murmured in his ear. “I would rather feed myself to my pet worms.”

The king held Tamsin and Hector at sword point, demanding answers. “Tell me again. What do you mean the knights have not awakened from the stone sleep?”

Arthur seemed disoriented, as if his mind hadn’t caught up yet. Maybe the concealment spell on top of the stone sleep had been too much.

“Only Gawain and his brother have awakened,” said Tamsin, still on her knees at Arthur’s feet. She’d answered the question at least twice before. “Something has gone wrong with the magic.”

She cast a sideways glance at her father. He didn’t look well, and she worried about the blow he’d taken to his head.

“Only two of my knights?” Arthur pulled her attention back his way. He was pale, his eyes filling with a mix of fury and panic. “Is there no end to the treachery of magic?”

Arthur also seemed a wee bit paranoid.

Swords clashed outside, but he was oblivious.

Maybe swordplay was a normal sound at Camelot, or maybe he was one of those people with amazing focus.

But, unlike Arthur, Tamsin couldn’t tune out the noise of combat.

She heard the horses whinny—they were frantic about something—but Excalibur’s tip did not waver from her father’s throat.

“Maybe you want to check on Gawain and Mordred?” she suggested, but the king didn’t seem to hear her.

“Why is it that every time something goes awry, there is a witch standing nearby?” Arthur’s jaw worked, his eyes sparking with temper.

“I wake from my sleep in the wrong place, centuries out of my own time, with LaFaye set to destroy the world and my army vanished, and what do I find but witches at my elbow?”

“Witches who want to fix the problem,” Tamsin said, earning a warning glare from Hector—but she was getting frustrated. “Maybe you should consider my father did his best to keep Mordred and his mother from smashing you to bits while you slept.”

The king’s cheeks flushed, turning a mottled shade that didn’t agree with his red-gold hair. Nevertheless, this time he listened. “Is this true, Sir Hector?”

“Yes. LaFaye’s predecessor granted me immortality to carry out the task.”

“What happens to you now?” Arthur asked, anxiety creeping into his tone. Was it a good sign that he was asking after her father?

“I’ve found my king. My mission is over, and my immortality gone,” said Hector, taking Tamsin’s hand in his. “I am relieved to be an ordinary man with a loving family once more.”

Tamsin caught her breath, shaken by her father’s words. “Isn’t that enough proof of loyalty, even for a king?”

The sword tip inched in her direction. “You are bold, Mistress Greene. An unbridled tongue is a dangerous attribute when speaking to a crowned head.”

Another clash of swords outside set Tamsin’s nerves on edge. “Maybe I am bold, sire, but we went through a lot to find you. I’m really hoping you’re as talented as I’ve been told you are, because we’re going to need some five-star leadership to get us out of this jam.”

Arthur held her gaze, meeting her challenge and matching it with his own.

There was wariness in his eyes, but also sharp, intelligent curiosity that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.

Tamsin exhaled, feeling the first twinges of relief.

She had no doubt waking from an enchantment was hard, but she needed the king to come around, and fast.

“You have known me from the cradle, Arthur,” said Hector, gruff with emotion. “Do not doubt me.” Tamsin’s heart twisted on behalf of her father. She folded both her hands around his.

Arthur saw the gesture, and his face softened, but his words did not. “After Merlin and Mordred and LaFaye, I cannot grant magic users the trust I once did. You woke me from the stone sleep, but that does not guarantee your intentions.”

“What kind of a guarantee do you want, sire?” Tamsin asked, almost pleading.

“Mordred tried to kill me. Then he tried to take my soul. I went to his dungeon and I hope never to see another worm as long as I live. Gawain and Beaumains shed buckets of blood for you, as well as Angmar and his friends. Witches, fae or mortal, we’ve all been there for the cause.

Gawain is out there fighting for you right now! ”

Arthur’s brows rose, and finally he turned his head toward the racket outside. “Gawain knows his business and his loyalty is above reproach. If he fights, it is in my name.”

“Then don’t question our commitment, because his cause is ours,” Tamsin said, getting desperate. “If what Gawain says about you is true, you’re better than this.”

It was a foolhardy thing to say to a king, especially one holding a huge sword, but she was tired and too much a woman of the modern day to coddle a king. He was going to have to earn her respect. Seconds ticked by, the air so tense it might have smashed like glass.

Then she saw a glint of something that might have been reluctant amusement in the king’s eyes. Excalibur’s point drifted to the floor. Arthur blinked, seeming to fully come back to himself, as if the last shreds of the sleeping spell had finally lifted.

“I can see you are Sir Hector’s daughter.

You have no fear of putting me in my place.

” He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

Tamsin suddenly understood why strong men swore to serve this king.

“I don’t recommend you do it often, but, once in a very long while, I appreciate correction. ”

Hector released a huge breath. Arthur bent down, clapping him on the shoulder. “Rise, old friend, and accept my apologies.” They got to their feet, Arthur enfolding Hector in a warm embrace.

“Who did you say Gawain is fighting?” Arthur asked, once he let Hector go. He asked the question casually, as if it were no more than a tennis match. Knowing Gawain, maybe he had daily bouts back in the day.

“Mordred,” she said, as Arthur took her hand and kissed it. She gave the curtsy she’d learned in ballet class, hoping it would do.

Arthur’s head snapped up from the kiss. Suddenly, he seemed to grasp the situation. “Mordred? He needs my sword!”

Before she could speak an unholy shriek split the air.

“The demon!” Hector exclaimed.

“Demon?” Arthur spun toward the door, Excalibur leaping to the ready. Tamsin’s breath caught as Arthur’s energy rose bright and hot. He was human, but all at once he was every inch a charismatic warrior king.

All three of them crowded into the doorway of the Great Hall just in time to see the monster flapping into the sky in a trail of smoke.

“What in all the hells?” Hector demanded.

And then Tamsin saw Mordred drive his black sword into Gawain’s side. She sprinted from the door, ignoring her father’s bellowed order to stay where she was.

King Arthur was a pace behind.

“Gawain!” Tamsin screamed from somewhere that sounded very far away.

Gawain swayed toward her voice, but he could not raise himself. A chill was stealing inward, robbing his hands and feet of sensation. He cried out, a groan robbed of breath. No more than a rattle.

Figures bolted from the Great Hall into the courtyard, gray shapes that surged in and out of focus. If he could only see Tamsin’s face—but a veil had come down, turning everything dark.

Mordred turned toward the figures. Shocked recognition twisted his face into a snarl. “You!”