Enchanted Warrior

by Sharon Ashwood

  “That’s it exactly,” Hector replied gently. “Arthur’s safety has always been paramount.”

  And trust between father and daughter came second. Tamsin looked away, hiding her hurt. “Did you tell the Elders?”

  Gawain had been occupied with tending Hector’s horse. Now he set out more food and ale, pushing a tankard into her father’s hands. Hector drank deeply, wiping foam from his mustache and beard and then heaving a satisfied sigh. “No, never. But after centuries of drifting from coven to coven, covering my tracks as best I could, I slipped and Waller figured it out.”

  “And?” Tamsin asked.

  “Things became complicated, but let me launch this story at the beginning. When Morgan LaFaye took the crown from the old faery queen, it took a long time to consolidate her power.” Hector took another long swallow of ale. “It was only in the last fifty years that LaFaye gathered enough strength to mount her campaign on the mortal world, and her first order of business became finding and destroying the tombs. That was my signal to act. To keep our scent covered or at least confused, I was instrumental in arranging the move of the old church to America. In time, I also scattered the tombs across the States. I reasoned that if I split up the tombs, Mordred or his mother might find some of the knights, but not all.”

  “So you’re the culprit who put me in a museum basement,” grumbled Gawain.

  Hector chuckled. “I thought Los Angeles would suit you. Somewhere there is an action-adventure movie in want of a barbarian.”

  Gawain raised his eyebrows as if about to utter a scathing comment, but Hector went on. “You were just a girl, Tamsin, when I went to Carlyle. Not long before that, Angmar’s friends had whisked Arthur’s tomb to the Forest Sauvage for safekeeping. This was not my choice of hiding place, particularly since the rebel fae closed the portal when they left and promptly went into hiding. I had no means of getting here.”

  “Why did they do that?” Gawain asked.

  “LaFaye was hot on their heels and they weren’t thinking about my problems. I understand many ended up in a dungeon after that.”

  That detail fit with what Angmar had said. Tamsin wondered how many of the bones in Mordred’s dungeon had belonged to those fae. It was the stuff of nightmares.

  Hector continued. “I knew the church in Carlyle had Merlin’s old books and the spell for the forest portal was in those pages. He learned it from the Lady of the Lake and recorded it there.”

  Tamsin had been sitting with her head bowed, unable to look up at her father. Finally, she met his eyes. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. You’re talking about something that happened ten years ago. Why didn’t the fae mount a full-on attack then?”

  “The fae are immortal and have time on their side,” Hector answered. “They do not march an army into the human lands, but they come in twos and threes, set up lives among the population, and bide their time. When they rise up and conquer the human world, there will be no place of safety left to hide in. Excalibur is the only weapon that will defeat LaFaye and her son. Failing that, the only spells strong enough to combat fae magic were in Merlin’s library, and he is gone.”

  “Not quite. We found his books in the house of a man named Henderson,” said Tamsin.

  “Henderson bought those books from the church,” said Hector. “I approached him as the loremaster of Shadowring. When I asked to use them, he agreed. However, he kept very close watch on everything I did, and that is where I made my mistake. He determined I wanted to build a portal to the Forest Sauvage. Not a common desire, to say the least.”

  Hector sighed, as if the events still depressed him. “It turns out Henderson was a close friend of Waller and told him everything I did. Unknown to me, Waller had a diplomatic understanding with LaFaye and my cover, as they say, was blown. Fortunately, I’d told Waller I was researching demons. They had no idea I was trying to reach Arthur’s tomb. All they saw was a way to get rid of a pesky guardian.”

  “So Waller convinced Henderson to trick you?” asked Gawain.

  “Indeed. Thus I ended up trapped here without the spell to get myself home.”

  “Why not simply kill you?”

  Hector laughed, the sound like an amused bear. “It is one thing to trick me, but I am not so easy to kill, either by sword or by spell. Not by the likes of Henderson, at least.”

  Gawain swore. “What Waller doesn’t understand is that LaFaye will destroy or enslave the witches. Mordred already killed Henderson.”

  “Pity,” said Hector with genuine regret. “He was foolish, not evil.”

  Tamsin studied her father, everything he’d said churning in her mind. As a child, she’d seen him as a bulwark against the world, protecting her from every possible harm. He’d been the center of her love and admiration as only a father can be to his girl. She’d given him everything and yet he’d only shared a sliver of himself. Did she really know him at all?

  Hurt hardened to resentment inside her. It would have been so much easier to live with these revelations if she didn’t love him so much. Then she wouldn’t have been so disappointed. Her fingers curled in her lap, crushing handfuls of her dress.

  The men were still talking. “You have Merlin’s books!” Hector exclaimed. “That was well done. We can make good use of them to locate Arthur’s tomb.”

  “Haven’t you found it?” Gawain asked in confusion.

  “Oh, I know where it is, more or less,” Hector replied with a grimace. “But we’ll need the spells to get it back. In the meantime, we can build a portal and get Tamsin home to where it’s safe. This is no place for my daughter.”

  That was it. Tamsin sprang to her feet and met her father’s eyes, letting her anger show. “That’s not up to you anymore.”

  Shock spread across Hector’s features. His mouth dropped open as he clearly struggled for words. She didn’t wait for his reply as she stormed into the courtyard to let her temper cool—but it didn’t. Since hearing Hector was alive, Tamsin had dreamed of meeting her father again. She’d wanted him to respect the person she’d grown to be. That wasn’t at all what was happening.

  Tears of frustration leaked down her face, hot in the cool autumn air. She wasn’t a child, to be ordered to bed early. Most of all, she deserved more than lies and secrets from the father she loved so very much.

  Tamsin wasn’t sure how much time passed before she heard Hector’s footfall behind her. Her stomach tightened, as if bracing herself. Every instinct said the conversation they were about to have wouldn’t be easy.

  “What would you have had me do?” her father asked from behind her. “I swore an oath of silence. Gawain just told me of your visit to the dungeon. You saw what was there. If Mordred had caught wind that someone in the coven knew about Arthur, he would have cheerfully filled every cell with Shadowring witches. How could I risk our family that way?”

  Tamsin closed her eyes, the cold wind fanning her cheeks. She was shivering, but refused to turn around and go inside. “I get it. But think how I feel. You’re not the father I knew. You’re standing there in a chain mail shirt with an ax strapped to your saddle and a mission that doesn’t include me in the slightest. Children always have a moment when they realize their parents have their own lives, but this is a little extreme.”

  “I understand it’s a shock.”

  “Really? I don’t even know how many families you had all this time. Am I your first daughter? Your hundredth? Do I rank among your favorites? After all these centuries, I could share DNA with a lot of people. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”

  Hector cleared his throat. Even so, his voice cracked as he spoke. “You’d be surprised how few times I’ve sought the comfort of a family. Living forever is a more frightening prospect than you would think. I’ve watched everyone I loved die.”

  Tamsin’s heart lurched, and she turned around.
Her father’s expression made him look oddly naked, as if a barrier she’d never even noticed had been stripped away. “At the very least, you could have warned me that the fae weren’t gone from the earth.”

  He nodded, looking at his feet. “You’re right about that much. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not going home,” she said. Her chest ached, wanting to end this and take her father in her arms, but she needed to make this one last point. “I’ve held up my end on this mission. Ask Gawain.”

  “He’s told me in glowing terms.” Hector looked up. “He is the reason you have to go. He’s not for you, Tamsin.”

  “What?” His words hit her like a slap. “Don’t even start. I’ve had enough talk about suitable matches from Mom and Stacy. I choose who I’m with.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” Hector took a step closer, his eyes dark with sadness. “I see the way Gawain looks at you.”

  Tamsin shivered, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. It was the thrill of hearing her private hopes aloud. “But?”

  “It’s bad enough his view of the world is centuries out-of-date, but in the end he will turn on you because you are a witch.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “He has no reason to. He knows what I can do already.”

  Hector shook his head. “If you say that, then you don’t understand the true nature of his struggle. You’re better off far away. It will save you a great deal of pain.”

  Tamsin pressed her lips together, breathing deep before she answered. In truth, she wanted to scream with frustration. After Richard, she hadn’t cared much about marriage. That relationship hadn’t been a selling point for romance of any kind, but with Gawain, she’d known what it was to feel cherished. To be in a partnership. She would rather be alone than settle for less, pain or no pain.

  “I’m not going back,” she said. “For a lot of reasons, including Gawain, but also because that’s what Waller wants. He’d rather I ended up an obedient servant of Shadowring.”

  “Who asked his opinion?” Hector growled.

  Tamsin rubbed the vine tattoo around her wrist. “We had a long conversation during which he tried to shame me and threaten me, and when that didn’t work he said he’d make me an Elder if I gave him Merlin’s books.”

  “He did what?” Hector demanded in a rising roar.

  “He faked your funeral, you know, just so nobody would wonder where you’d gone. I think I’m safer here with the demons.”

  With a huff of disgust, Hector folded his daughter in his thick, strong arms. “Hush, lass. We’ll knock his head in later.” He rocked her gently, rumbling words of comfort like a great bear cradling his cub.

  That was when Tamsin knew for certain that she had her father back.

  * * *

  An hour later, they were on the road to Camelot.

  As a historian, Tamsin had read stories of the place—the name seemed to refer to a castle, a town, or a kingdom, depending on who was telling the tale—but serious human scholars treated it as a legend more than a fact. Witches knew it had been real, but most of their records were lost during centuries of persecution. Now Tamsin would see Camelot Castle—or a reasonable facsimile thereof—as no one had for centuries. A thrill of anticipation washed away the strain of the morning.

  She clung to Hector as they rode through the forest. On horseback, a war ax hanging from his saddle, he seemed utterly at home. It would take some time to work through her feelings, but she was beginning to enjoy this version of her father.

  Gawain had ridden ahead on his great bay stallion. Now he returned along the track through the forest. “The path looks clear.”

  “Good,” said Hector, and he urged the gray to go faster.

  After another few minutes, they emerged from the edge of the trees, and there it was—Arthur’s castle. It stood on a rise overlooking the surrounding land, the round, pale towers gleaming in the sunlight. Tamsin craned her neck to get a better view over her father’s shoulder. The crenellated walls and pointy towers were straight out of a storybook. Hundreds of colored pennons snapped in the brisk wind, as if the place had donned its party clothes. But like Gawain’s home, it seemed deserted.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “It represents all the Round Table stood for,” said Hector. “Arthur brought peace to the land from this place. Camelot was a promise he kept for a good long time.”

  Gawain moved his horse beside them. “What next? I am curious to know how you have been here so long and yet have not located the tomb.”

  Hector shifted uneasily. “Oh, I kept Arthur’s tomb in a stronghold not far from here until a demon drove us out. I had gathered a library of grimoires and he must have smelled them all the way to whatever unholy haunt he hid in. Some demons fancy themselves scholars and can’t resist a decent collection. At any rate, he moved in and took the place for himself. I fled with the tomb and little else.”

  “We met that demon,” said Tamsin.

  “It killed Mordred’s fae army when they attacked the place yesterday,” said Gawain. “Did they come expecting to find Arthur’s tomb?”

  Tamsin answered. “Nimueh said Mordred questioned the rest of his prisoners to death.”

  Hector bowed his head. “A few knew I intended to come here. No doubt that’s how he tracked me.”

  They were silent a long moment before Hector spoke again. “With a demon in the neighborhood, I took extra care. I hid the tomb in Camelot using the strongest spell I knew. The tomb’s not just invisible, it’s completely undetectable. I need a good seeking spell to find it.”

  “If you were the one who hid it, why don’t you know where it is?” Tamsin asked.

  “It’s the nature of the spell. When it hides something, it hides it.”

  Gawain squinted at the castle on the hill. “Camelot is a big place. Will the spell lead us directly to Arthur?”

  Hector nodded slowly. “Yes, the time a spell saves makes up for the risk.”

  “What risk?” Gawain asked sharply.

  Hector gave a rueful smile. “Magic attracts the attention of others. When you cast a seeking spell, you never know who else might be watching.”

  Despite his caution, they were decided. The party dismounted and stretched their limbs after the long ride while Hector sorted through the spell books Tamsin took from her backpack.

  Tamsin felt the pull of the surrounding beauty—the cool forest and sun-drenched meadows. If this was anything like the real Camelot of old, she understood why Gawain spoke of it with such feeling. The fact that he’d given it all up to save the future—her world—struck her more deeply than ever. The next few hours would decide if his sacrifice had been in vain.

  Sobered, Tamsin turned to watch her father. She’d seen her father do magic before, but now she felt a twinge of anxious anticipation.

  Hector had selected the book with a dark blue cover tooled with gold leaf. He found the spell he wanted, read it through and then handed the book back to Tamsin to stow away again.

  “You will see the thread of the spell,” he said. “Follow it as soon as it’s visible and send me a signal along the thread when you’ve found its destination. I’ll dismiss the spell and catch up to you.”

  Tamsin didn’t like the idea of separating, but Gawain nodded his agreement. They mounted his bay and waited while Hector got to work. It took about five minutes before she glimpsed a pale blue ribbon of light snaking toward the castle, the air around it shimmering like a heat wave.

  “There!” Tamsin pointed. “I can see it.”

  Gawain followed her gesture, frowning. “So can I.” He urged the bay forward, and they cantered toward the castle. Already familiar with the twists and turns that led them up the hill and through the gate, Gawain rode with confidence, eagerness in every line of his body. Tamsin held on tight. At th
at speed, all her focus had to be on staying in the saddle.

  They thundered into Camelot’s courtyard, the bay’s horseshoes ringing on the stones. The blue thread of magic had thinned the farther they’d traveled from Hector, but Tamsin could see where it snaked into one corner of the yard, where a heavily carved door stood open.

  “That’s the Great Hall,” said Gawain. He dismounted and lifted her down from the bay. “Let me have a look around before coming in.”

  “I could provide a light.”

  “The less magic the better, if spies are watching.” He drew his sword and marched toward the door.

  Tamsin cursed inwardly as Gawain disappeared inside. He was right about the magic, but it was hard to accept. She was too much a twenty-first-century woman to stay behind while a man did the fighting, especially when she had effective weapons of her own. The horse snorted, as if agreeing with her thoughts, and began cropping the grass that sprouted between the cobblestones. Time passed. Tamsin looked at her watch impatiently, realized she wasn’t wearing one and then took her backpack from the horse’s saddle and started for the door.

  Her stomach churned with impatience. This was Camelot—home of a king who’d led armies, battled demons and convinced the Round Table to travel through time. Gawain spoke of King Arthur with affection and reverence. Her father guarded Arthur even though the king had banished him. Tamsin hadn’t known it, but Arthur and his deeds were a magnetic force around which much of her life had revolved. It felt as if he had the power to make or break her happiness.

  She wasn’t waiting a moment longer to clap her eyes on this man.

  Chapter 25

  Gawain lingered in the gloom of the Great Hall. Before him stood the Round Table and the hundred and fifty tall chairs that surrounded it, each hung with the shield of the knight who had won the right to sit there. Tapestries lined the walls in brilliant hues, showing the exploits of Arthur and his knights. Above, there was a gallery for onlookers and another for musicians. The feasts in the glory days had been something to behold.