“Are you going to be with John? Is he not returning either?” Ah, she truly did love him.
“I do not think he will come back, Abigail. Keep the place safe, study all the books. Treat it as if it were your own. It is our gift to you.”
Abigail’s eyes filled with tears. “But where are you going? Why can’t I come too? If you’re going to study somewhere, I could be of help to you.”
“I am sure you would be, but where I am going, you cannot go. Thank you, Abigail, for your friendship.” I rose from the chair. I could hear Nimue stirring. She had slipped outside and was waiting for me.
“No! I cannot explain it, but you cannot leave. I have to…”
I frowned at Abigail, which silenced her. “You cannot go with me, Dr. Lightfoot. Maybe one day I will see you again.”
I had no time for human emotions and no desire for long goodbyes, which I hated. But I would miss her curious mind and her kindness.
I left Faraday Manor knowing that I would never return there again.
Chapter Eight—Guinevere
Nimue could not travel as quickly as before. Her rescue of me and her working had sapped her strength. Igraine’s curse had succeeded, at least temporarily, in diminishing my strength too. It would have been wise to feed before we stepped through the portal, but ever since I agreed to make this journey, a strange urgency welled up inside of me. I had to be there, at my husband’s side. I had to stand with him even if only for a short time.
“Hurry, Nimue. Wrap your cloak about you. We will be near the circle now. See? There are the stones.”
Nimue would have to call upon her magic again to open the portal. She had done much on our behalf today. I would be remiss if I did not tell Arthur of the many sacrifices she had made for me. I did not know what the future held for Nimue and me, vampires in Camelot—I shuddered at the thought—but whatever time we had, whatever strength we had, it would be given in service to the King of Camelot. And maybe for one great moment, once more, Camelot would be a beacon of hope for both the worlds.
“I may need your help, Guinevere. Stand with me. Strengthen me, my queen.” Nimue’s sharp teeth glistened in the night. She was hungry, so hungry. She was not asking me for blood; she would never do that. I bit my own wrist and pressed it to her lips. Startled, she accepted my offering but took only a few sips. She pushed my wrist away, and I watched her as her color returned and her face softened. Even though I fed on a regular basis, and I was her unintentional Maker, Nimue was stronger. I had not considered that before. Perhaps her fasting made it so, or perhaps it was the blood of her father, Diones, that provided her strength. He was once known as the Bull of Cornwall and had died during the Odious Battle of Cornwall.
Surprisingly, my giving of blood did not diminish me at all. In fact, I felt strong, strong enough to focus on the air before us. I heard Nimue whispering and felt the darkness shift around us. Oh yes, the portal was opening!
“Guinevere!” I heard a voice behind me and was surprised to see Abigail Lightfoot racing toward me. “You cannot leave me!”
“Abigail? Why have you followed me? You should not be here!”
Nimue released my hand, and I could feel the wind blow my hair. The portal was open, and the air whirred about me. There was no time for this! I heard Nimue gasp. “Elaine!” She waved her hand, and the glamor which hid Abigail vanished like smoke. And there was Elaine, in her blue cloak and cotton-white hair. Her eyes were full of tears.
So stunned was I that I ran to her and held her. She cried on my shoulder, and I held her still. “There is no time, my queen. The portal will close soon. It is but a weak opening.”
“Elaine, why did you not tell me?”
“How could I? I did not know. I did not, Queen Guinevere. I only know that I love him.” She was speaking of Lancelot, of course. The old pain stung, but it was the way it should be. Elaine had never ceased loving her husband. Who was I to interfere with that? Lancelot and I had had our time together, and it had brought us nothing but pain and regret. He had always regretted Elaine’s death and held us accountable for it. But now she was here.
“Camelot will not be the same, Elaine. It may be very different from the way you remember it.”
“You cannot leave me behind, Guinevere. You cannot!”
Nimue was hurrying toward us. There was no time for such a discussion. I could see it in her face. “Your children are gone. My children are gone. Camelot is reworking itself; it is calling some home, but I do not know why. Nor can I promise you that you will be happy there.”
“I have been unhappy this whole life. I was only happy at Camelot, with Lancelot. Please, do not deny me this.” I could see in her eyes what she meant. I could read the undercurrent of her words. You took him from me once—do not do it again.
With a nod of assent, I took her hand and the three of us hurried toward the portal. It was shrinking by the second. “Nimue and I cannot bear the sun. If we pass through and it is the day, stay away from us. We will think only of our survival. We cannot help it, Elaine. It is who we are now.”
“I know. I know what you are,” she said sadly with no hint of condemnation in her voice. “I will help you if you allow me.”
“Let us go, then.” Nimue tugged the hood up around her face, as did Elaine and I. One by one, we stepped through the portal. It was a strange feeling moving from one world to another. The air felt lighter here, and thankfully the stars shone above us. But I had no idea what time it was. As if she read my mind, and she probably did, Nimue answered me. “It is early in the evening. I know where we are, between the lake and Camelot. We will arrive in plenty of time, I think.”
Suddenly, my hood fell back and I felt a tugging as if I were being lifted off the ground. I growled as Elaine screamed at the creature that attacked me. It was a great gray owl, and it could only belong to Vivian. Only she commanded such animals; they were her familiars, her eyes and ears across the land. She would know that I arrived, that Nimue was with me, and she would not be pleased.
Before I could speak, the sounds of horses’ hooves filled the narrow pathway. They rode hard, these horsemen, and they were around the curve of the path before any of us could hide. I shoved Elaine into the woods and commanded Nimue to follow her, but I would not be moved.
I had hoped that my first act on my return to Camelot would not be murder, but if these men belonged to Vivian, I would have no choice but to kill them all. The horses stopped, and I immediately knew they were not of Avalon. There were three men; one I did not know, but the other two, I would know anywhere. Without a word, the man at the front of the riders slid off the horse in his easy manner. Arthur was always a better horseman than I or even Lancelot.
At that moment, I knew the answer to the question that had always nagged me. That haunted me, in this life and the one before. Who do you love, Guinevere? Who do you love most? He had demanded to know before he left for Camlann, but I had been unable to tell him. I had been a fool then—I would not be one now.
As he walked steadily toward me, his arms outstretched, I cried out his name, “Arthur!” He caught me up, his gloved hands in my hair. He kissed me, uncaring that my teeth were sharp and my skin was cold.
“Guinevere! Is it really you?”
“Yes, it is me.” I wept with joy. I did not deserve to feel such pleasure, but I reveled in it. If this was all the joy I was ever to have, I wanted to enjoy all of it. Such was my love for Arthur, my king and my husband. I knew the answer now. The thing that had driven Lancelot and me together had been the loss of him. Arthur had been the center of everything for both of us.
“I should have told you. I should have told you before, Arthur. It is you. It is you that I love best. Always. Always, my king.”
“Guinevere, my beloved.” He held me close and then kissed me again. “But who is this? Nimue? Who is with you?”
Nimue smiled her greeting, but Elaine did not speak. She tossed back her blue hood and fell
to her knees. “It is I, my king. Elaine, wife of Lancelot.”
Lancelot did not move. “I think I am seeing a ghost. Are you truly here, wife?”
“Come down here and see, my husband.”
As slowly as ever he had moved, Lancelot did as she asked. I could see by the look on his face that he was himself again. There was no more John Faraday, timid scholar and lover of antiquities. This was the warrior, Arthur’s closest friend and Knight of the Round Table.
Elaine did not move, but tears were streaming down her face. “I have missed you, husband.”
“Elaine,” he said in a moan as he held her to him. “Elaine.” The tiny woman clung to him, and they whispered words of love to one another. That at least was something. Fate had allowed love to return to the ones who deserved it, but I was still as I was. Fate had not undone my curse or Nimue’s.
“Vivian is coming, my king.”
“I know. We have just left her. She said as much to us both. She blames me for Avalon’s disappearance. It is fading, Guinevere. It is only a matter of time. Although that saddens me, I cannot relinquish Excalibur to her. For when it leaves, it will be lost to this world forever. How can I rule Camelot without it?”
“You must not think of it. We will fight if we have to.”
He touched my cheek and said, “Always my Warrior Queen. Nimue, thank you for returning the queen. I know it was your magic that wrought this.” She bowed her head politely but said not a word. Arthur asked, “What of Merlin? Have you seen him?”
“Only briefly, but he is with us. I can feel it.”
“I am glad for it. We must go back to Camelot.”
“Please, Arthur. Let us do so quietly. I have no desire for a public spectacle.”
“It shall be done as you ask,” he said as I climbed onto his horse. He sat behind me, and soon our party was on the road, running toward Camelot.
I was going home.
Chapter Nine—Guinevere
I could see Camelot’s lights long before we arrived at the castle. I had not traveled this long road in almost a thousand years. Perhaps it had been longer than that? Surely it had been. A thousand years and the bricks still stood, the wild purple flowers still sprouted along the roadway. Life had continued without us. I had been here in my dreams at least a hundred times, but I had never hoped to actually step foot in the place.
Nobody knew I was coming, but I felt as if all eyes were upon me as we approached the gate. “The king and Sir Lancelot have returned! Open the gate!”
There were only soldiers inside the gate, but that did not last long. “Has he brought the Lady Vivian with him?” I heard them whisper, but they soon knew the truth. I would not hide. I did not want to be made a spectacle of, but neither would I hide. I glanced back at Nimue. She rode silently with the squire, a young man whose name I did not know. She met my gaze only briefly, then tilted her head down and tugged her hood as far down as she could.
That will not be my way, Nimue.
“It is the queen! Queen Guinevere has returned!” I heard a man shout, and then there was an eruption of sound. Was it of joy or otherwise? I could not say at first, but soon I knew—the men who knew me came to us and cheered as Arthur and I galloped through the gate. The darkness shielded me some, but surely they noticed that my hair had darkened, my normally tanned skin was pale and veiny, and my eyes sparkled fiercely. Yes, some of them knew. I could see their joy vanish—it was quickly replaced with fear. But they said nothing against me.
How long will this last? I asked Arthur, but strangely enough, he did not seem to hear me. He had heard me before, on multiple occasions.
It was Nimue who answered me. He does not have the sword with him, Guinevere. The sword gives him the power he needs to hear you in this way.
I see, I answered her, but she did not look at me. At least Lady Elaine appeared healthy and normal as she had been before her death. Did no one think it strange that she had returned? She died before Arthur returned when she heard about…
No, do not think of it, Guinevere. There are others here who listen.
I immediately invoked the Bricklayer to put up a barrier in my mind as I closed my eyes, leaned back against Arthur and rested in his strength. The peace of it all only lasted a few minutes. We were in the courtyard now, and Arthur called for Gareth, who had already come to meet him. The knight’s eyes met mine, and his mouth set in a grim expression. He was not happy to see me. And why should he be? To Gareth, I had betrayed Arthur. He had always believed so. Who was I to tell him otherwise? For it was certainly the truth.
“The queen has returned, Gareth. Tell them to make her rooms ready.” Arthur’s joy was contagious, but it did not affect Gareth. He continued to keep his face a mask of non-expression.
“That will not be necessary, my king. I will stay with you. If you do not mind.”
Arthur smiled broadly. “Of course I do not mind. Come, Guinevere. Lancelot, Gareth, we must prepare Camelot.”
We walked through the dusty courtyard and down familiar hallways. A sea of curious faces greeted me, most of whom I did not recognize, and I felt quite relieved. The ladies of the court dipped their curtsies, and I could easily read their minds. How disappointing that the queen has returned. Arthur will never set her aside now. Ah, this had been the discussion? Nimue cast me a disapproving look. Once again, I visualized the stone wall and worked at training my mind to stay focused on the task at hand.
We entered the Hall of the Round Table, and I immediately experienced abject sorrow. Oh, what a heavy place. What a horrible, sad place! But it had not always been so. It had once been a place of joy and hope. The Round Table had been built to house my father’s gift, one of the few kindnesses I remembered of him. The Round Table, though beautifully wrought, was not a true circle…and that had driven Merlin to tears. “Fool carpenters!” I could not help but smile at the memory. Poor Merlin. He did love perfection in all things and in everyone. I wished he were here to guide us. To help us find our way. Oh, the sadness.
I walked around the table, touching the chairs as I remembered each one. Brave knights, all. Except for one. I would not even speak or think his name. Ah, but here was Lochlon’s seat. I could not help myself; I sat in it and rubbed my hands across the shiny tabletop before me. Oh, my son. I love you! How I miss you, Lochlon, son of the dragon! Would that I had died before you were killed!
All of us were silent, though there was much work to do. I shook myself, for there was no time to weep anew for Lochlon or these others, my sweet Alwen or any of these that had gone to the Otherworld.
Gareth spoke first. “You should know that the High Queen Igraine rides against Camelot. She comes from the North, of course. Her army is not large, but the North will obey their queen.”
“What of their king? They do not obey him?”
Nobody answered, and the feeling of hopelessness grew like an invisible entity.
Gareth continued, “I do not believe that the army she brings is the entire contingent. There are only a few hundred men with her.”
“Which means she has some doubt. She is not sure about you, Arthur,” I said as I rubbed my fingers over Lochlon’s engraved name. “That means you have time to convince her that you are who you say you are.”
“She has refused the king an audience. He has written her twice,” Gareth answered with deliberate politeness. He sighed at his own words. Clearly, he was feeling the spirit of hopelessness that threatened to swallow us all. What was happening here?
I spoke my mind. “But she must have at least a thousand men at her command. She is the queen in the North, for all intents and purposes. They will be loyal to her, yet she holds back.”
“Where is Lancelot?” Arthur asked as he paced the chamber. “We have another enemy. Lancelot can testify to Vivian’s threats. She is coming for the sword. Am I to fight two battles?” He stopped his pacing and asked the question we all dreaded hearing. “Or has my own mother joined forces
with Vivian to take back the sword?”
“Lancelot is with Elaine. Let them have their time, my king,” Nimue said softly as she lit the candles on the wall. The shadows retreated, as did the feeling of despair that seemed to have permeated this holy room.
Magic, Nimue?
She finished lighting the candles and then blew out the taper. Yes, real magic. The kind that banishes sorrow and regret. Those two come with a magic of their own, but not the kind we welcome here. Not anymore.
The room felt noticeably better, and I allowed myself a small smile as Arthur called for wine and water. We sat around the table, and Arthur sent word for the new knights to join us. They were young, so very young, but they were honored to be called to the table by their king. They kept silent as Arthur recognized me and also introduced Lady Nimue. They pledged service to me, and I humbly accepted.
Arthur stood and began to share the grave news. Igraine was at the north, Vivian at the south. One of the young knights, Sir Marcus, asked a strange question. “The Lady of the Lake has an army? From where would she call one? Most everyone in these lands has abandoned the Old Ways and the Lady. I fail to see how she could present a real threat to King Arthur. Is not the sword his? It belongs to the Pendragon.”
I opened my mouth to correct this idiocy, but Nimue beat me to it. She rose from her chair in anger. Even though Vivian was no friend of hers, she was not going to abide any disrespect. “You speak of things you know not of, Sir Marcus. Avalon may be fading, and it is the people’s right to choose who they worship and how, but make no mistake, the Lady of the Lake is not to be taken lightly or disrespected. Excalibur was in her care before it came to Uther Pendragon. It served another dragon, long ago, a dragon whose name has been forgotten, and she was the Keeper of the Sword Terrible. It was Vivian’s magic that reworked the sword’s intent; she gave it a new language and a heart to match the New Dragon. In her mind—and I do not agree with her—she has the right to call back the sword.”
The Undead Queen of Camelot Page 5
