Chapter Twelve—Guinevere
As Arthur and I flew closer to Igraine’s camp, I summoned the Bricklayer to my mind. He arrived dutifully and began laying the barricade that would shield me from Igraine. The High Queen had become quite strong in her abilities since my departure from Camelot. She had always had them, but Uther disliked magic, even though he would never dream of refusing Merlin’s help in such matters as stealing the Duchess of Cornwall from her rightful husband. Then again, the Duke had been a traitor, or at least that was the rumor that had been put about at the time. And one that Arthur chose to believe.
Do your work, Bricklayer! I could hear the sounds of the bricks hitting the mortar, and soon I felt confident that my mind was protected. Yes, I can protect my mind, but what about Arthur’s? Arthur was not schooled in magic, and as far as I knew, only he and I had shared our thoughts. I had to trust that Nimue’s magic would keep him safe, but I was not such a fool as to leave him unguarded.
“The queen’s pavilion,” I said as I saw the tent sprawled across a mossy clearing. “Keep quiet and hold on to me until your feet touch the ground. You must move quickly, Arthur. I can see even from here that her guards are lax and not very near her.”
Arthur did not answer; he’d been holding his breath off and on throughout our travel as if doing so would prevent him from falling to his death. I held him tight and spirited him quickly behind the queen’s bright red tent. The golden dragon pennant, which had been Uther’s sigil, flew above it.
“Now,” I whispered as I planted Arthur’s feet firmly on the ground. I could hear his footsteps as he scurried around the tent. I listened, but no one stirred; nobody knew that we had even arrived except for a large gray owl, who peered at me from nearly a quarter of a mile away. Yes, just there in the black, I could see yellow eyes shining from the dark leaves. Before I could make a move toward it, the massive creature flew away. Vivian would know what we were up to soon. There was no time to chase down a bird. I had to stay close to Arthur.
I closed my eyes and crouched down behind the tent, willing myself to remain small and hidden. I could hear a man snoring not far away, as well as dice shaking in a cup and people whispering about the Upstart King who would take Arthur’s throne.
And then I heard Igraine’s voice.
“Arthur, can it be you?”
“It is me, Queen Igraine. Ask me whatever you like. I am your son.”
“How can it be you? You died. I saw you buried.”
“I do not know how it has come about, but I am nonetheless Arthur Pendragon. I had forgotten myself for a time, but now I remember all. I remember who I am, and I remember you. We should not be at war with one another.”
Igraine’s heart softened; yes, I could feel her love for her only son, but she did not fully believe him. “You were called the Bear of Britain when you were young, but not for the reason many believe. Why were you called this?”
Arthur’s voice broke as he said, “My grandfather, your father, was the first to call me by that name. Artorigious, Son of the Bear. It was his standard. His name was Amlawdd Wledig.”
“Why did he call you that?” Igraine whispered in surprise.
“Because of my hands, which were like his hands. He cared nothing for dragons and never liked Uther, my father. He remained friends with Gorlois until the Battle at Cornwall.”
Then there was silence, and I opened my eyes. I could hear stirring in the camp. Something was happening—had we been discovered?
“Arthur! It is really you.” Igraine’s joy turned to tears as the two embraced. They whispered things to one another, things that were meant to be private between a man and his mother. I closed my eyes and muted my mind, but I was quickly discovered.
“You there! What are you doing?”
“Get back!” I shouted as I rose to my full height and showed my teeth. I had not meant to appear so fierce, and never would I have believed that a mortal could surprise me. Nevertheless, both had happened.
“Step away from the tent, madam,” the tiny man ordered me. I did not recognize him, but I could tell he was in the service of Igraine.
“I am Guinevere, the High Queen of Britain. Stand down, sir.”
He appeared confused by my confession, but he was not alone. Many others were joining us, and the situation was quickly getting out of hand. I moved as fast as ever I had, much faster than Igraine’s man could perceive me. I stepped into the tent to see Igraine embrace her son.
“Queen Igraine,” the man shouted as he stumbled into the tent behind me. He had the nerve to raise his sword to me.
“Queen Igraine is safe, sir, but you put yourself in danger by threatening my wife. Step out of the tent.” Arthur’s hand was on Excalibur, a move that did not go unnoticed by the men who sought to protect Igraine.
“Please, Nova. All is well. This is my son, Arthur, and his queen, Guinevere. They are not our enemies.” Despite her call for mercy, I felt no love in Igraine’s words, not for me at least. But the man called Nova honored her wishes and sheathed his sword. He had many questions but expressed none of them. “Prepare a place for my son and his wife. They will need somewhere to rest their heads tonight.”
“As you wish,” he said as he left us alone.
The three of us made an awkward trio. Igraine’s dislike for me had not abated, despite the fact that her son had been returned to her and her arms were full now, whereas my son and daughter were gone. I made no move to join them despite Arthur’s pleading expression.
“I have a gift for you, Arthur, And you, Guinevere. I have kept something for you these many years.”
It was then that I heard a stirring in the corner, beyond the tapestry that hung so beautifully. We were not alone!
“Arthur!” I hissed in warning, but it was too late. The figure emerged from her hiding place, only there was no threat. No danger at all. It was a woman covered in a sheer purple cloth. Even without seeing her face or hearing her voice, I realized my mistake. This was no assassin, no murderer intent on killing Arthur.
I watched with glittering eyes as the woman pulled the cloth from her disfigured face. One side of her was burned, the skin melted, her lovely profile distorted forever. But despite the heartbreakingly strange sight, I knew the truth.
Before me stood Alwen!
Chapter Thirteen—Nimue
“Lady Nimue, I did not hear you come in.” Gareth’s expression was one of fear. That broke my heart, but there was no time to wallow in self-pity. I felt weak and more than that, hungry. If I did not find relief soon, I would be forced to sleep for a very long time. Ah, yes. I knew all about the power of sleep. Thanks to the Sleeping Queen. How many years had I rotted away in my glass prison waiting for someone to rescue me? And how could I have ever dreamed that my rescuer would be Queen Guinevere?
“Merlin is near, but I have yet to see him,” I said as I kept my head ducked. I must not let Gareth see me, for surely he would be terrified at the sight of me.
“I have not seen him either, Lady Nimue.” He rose from his bench; I think he had been poring over papers. I longed to speak with him, to find a friend, but the beating of his heart distracted me. Oh, the hunger. It was terrible!
“I must continue searching for him. Thank you, Gareth.” I exited the room and flung myself against the wall to steel my hunger. Why was the smell of Gareth’s blood so intoxicating? Of all the people in this busy fortress, his blood attracted me the most, but I would never commit murder. Especially not of such a good man. Yes, he was a good man.
I hurried around the grounds searching for any evidence of Merlin, as I had done for so many years after the Battle at Camlann.
How I miss you, Sagamaeus! Come to me now!
There was no answer except the cooing of birds. No, not just birds. Owls, many owls. And they were not cooing but calling, calling one another. They lined the top of the wooden fence, the inner barrier of Camelot. Gray they were and large, larger than any I ha
d seen before. And I was not the only one to see them. I heard the exclamations of the people. Some fool thought to fling an arrow in their direction.
“Stop!” I shouted, but it was too late. The owls took flight and were gone. I wanted to berate the young fool with the arrow. How could he know that by dispersing the birds, he was giving Vivian a measure of the people of Camelot? The people were afraid; the fear here was almost palpable. Arthur and Guinevere must return.
And I must summon them back but not from here. I would go to Merlin’s cave and call her from that protected place. I left the fortress, and no one stopped me. I had the distinct feeling that part of the collective fear that rose in Camelot had a direct correlation to my presence. And Guinevere’s. They were talking about us, the two bloody women of Arthur’s court. I was glad to leave them behind. The gate closed behind me, and I raced toward the cave.
I could see someone else on the hidden path, a tall man. I recognized him immediately. “Sagamaeus!”
He paused and glanced back but did not wait for me. The image flickered before me. Yes, what a fool I had been to look for him at Camelot. He would most certainly appear here, in the place he loved.
My heart leaped at the sight of him, but my mind spoke rationally. You are hallucinating, Nimue, and it is a hallucination born out of hunger. A nest of squirrels complained about my presence, but onward I went. Only a mile or so to go. I could not move as speedily as Guinevere; the magic I worked on Arthur had drained me of much of my essence, and that surprised me.
“Please wait,” I whispered, but there was no further sign of Merlin. “Merlin, wait for me.”
I stumbled on toward Merlin’s lair; the entrance of the cave was clear to me now. “What have you done to yourself, Nimue?” Merlin’s accusatory tone startled me. I stepped inside the darkness, and the smell of earth and fire greeted me. Yes, I could see a small flame burning.
“Merlin! I have done nothing but survive, my lord. Are you here to accuse me too?”
“I do not accuse you, Nimue. But you must gain your strength and serve the king.” The enchanter’s image faded slightly as he knelt before the fire. He cooked a pot of something, some sort of vegetable. My stomach did not rumble as it once did at the smell of it. I knelt beside him and could not help but stare at him. My own Sagamaeus. He was not overtly handsome, not as Arthur or Lancelot, with his aquiline nose, tanned skin and square jaw. He had been a warrior when he was young and had served many kings. Nobody quite knew how old Merlin was, but I suspected that he did. He never forgot anything.
I wanted to touch him; he appeared so real to me even though that could not be the case. It couldn’t be, could it?
“You may touch me, Nimue. I am real. But only for a short time.”
“Merlin,” I whispered as I touched his hand. My touch must be cold and lifeless.
“I am here, Nimue. See?”
It must have been some kind of illusion, yet it was a pleasant one. I squeezed his hand, and he patted mine. I dared not push back my hood, for my hands were frightful enough. What would he say if he saw my face?
“Why would you worry about such a thing, Nimue? If I had known where you were, where to find you, I would have come for you. The Sleeping Queen kept you hidden from me. I knew you were alive, but I could not find you.”
“It is all forgotten, Merlin. That time is in the past.” With a flick of his finger, he knocked back my hood, and I could not hide my face from him. He did not flinch or say anything at all.
“You must find a way to sustain yourself, Nimue. You must be strong for the king. Vivian is coming; even now, her army marches north from the lake. Amongst them are her Strong Men, twelve in all, each endowed with supernatural strength. Mere gates and walls will not keep them at bay. And her owls are at her command and work in one mind. Vivian has summoned all her acolytes to her, and they will die for her sake and for the claiming of Excalibur. Vivian is doomed to the mists of time, destined to be forgotten by all.”
“How did this happen, Merlin?”
“It is the way of things. Old Ways die to make room for the New Ways. Avalon will be lost to the world and forever, I think. It is a sad time for those of us who remember the Old Ways fondly. The May Dance, the Raising of the Trees, so many great and powerful things are to be lost to humanity, but it is by their choice.”
“I am loyal to the king and believe in his right to hold Excalibur—he has given even his life for Camelot once already—but I cannot help but regret the disappearance of Avalon and of Vivian. Perhaps if you spoke to her…”
Merlin patted my hand again and then stirred his vegetables. “Do you think I have not tried? Vivian will not go away quietly, and she has abandoned all that is good by what she has done. There is no redeeming the Lady of the Lake.”
“What do you mean?”
“To supplement her army, she has raised the dead. The Knights of Camelot, the fallen such as Bors and Pelleas, they march against their king.”
“How horrible! What has she done? Surely she has invoked terrible evil!”
“Words cannot describe the sight. I hate that the people of Camelot must see their beloved knights return as monsters.” He touched his mouth with the spoon and smacked his lips at the taste.
“I cannot understand her hatred,” I answered him honestly. The smell of cooking food disgusted me; in fact, it weakened me a little. It did not make me hungry but sick. “Merlin, please.”
“Go, Nimue. Strengthen yourself. Take the blood you need. There is a man named Llewellyn but a half-mile from here. He is a murderer and more. You must take what you need from him.”
I sank further and shook my head. “You ask the impossible. I will not murder for blood.”
“Llewellyn has no children because he has killed them all. The youngest was only four.” Images of this Llewellyn’s brutal savagery filled my mind; obviously, Merlin had witnessed the horror. “Yes, I did, but I could not help them. I was only a shade then, not as I am now. Go, Nimue. Rid the world of an evil man and end his wife’s suffering. She deserves justice, and there is no one to give it to her.”
“The king will help her, surely,” I argued as I rose to my feet, hunger and righteous anger welling up inside me.
“Shall I tell you what he did, describe it in detail? The king’s justice would be too swift for such a man. You know what he looks like and where to find him. I will stay a little longer but not for long. You must do what I ask. You need blood, Nimue, and the children of Llewellyn deserve their justice.”
I stepped back and away from the fire. “You think I should kill a man? I cannot believe you would ask me to do such a thing, Sagamaeus.”
“It is because I love you that I ask you to do this. You must live, Nimue. A little longer, I am afraid. We will all disappear soon enough, all of us who are tied to Avalon in any way. You were an acolyte there once, and I was once the Merlin of Britain and friend of the Lady. We will all fade from this world, but I cannot face eternity without you. Please, do as I ask.”
And that made all the reason in the world to me. I did as he asked. I killed quickly and took the blood I needed. I was careful to kill him completely and not leave a spark of life in him. Not as Guinevere had left Tom Morrison. Llewellyn would not return to terrorize his wife and his neighbors.
I left him as I found him and felt so strong that I flew back to Merlin’s cave. My lover had vanished, but the flame where he had cooked his pot of vegetables still smoked. He had been here! And his words were true. I would see him again soon, and we would be together.
Yes, Sagamaeus. I will do what I must to be ready for your return. I love you, my Merlin, my teacher. I love you always.
But now was the time for action. I must tell Guinevere what evil awaited us all. I squatted down in the cave and closed my eyes, speaking the words that would help me find her. And then I waited.
Ah, there you are, my queen! You must return! Vivian marches on Camelot.
&nbs
p; But the queen had no time to respond. The cave filled with screeching creatures; their wings flapped around me, and their talons scratched me and tore at my skin.
The first wave of Vivian’s army had arrived.
Chapter Fourteen—Guinevere
I wanted nothing more than to hold Alwen, to comfort her as any mother would. I would never have dreamed that my only daughter lived still and was standing before me. Before I could sweep her into my arms, Nimue screamed in my head, and I fell to my knees at the horrible sound.
GUINEVERE!
Until that moment, I had not fully appreciated the connection between the two of us. I was her Maker and she my child. I did not give birth to her—in fact, Nimue was a few years older than me in human years—but our connection was no less real. The blood of the shee was powerful, and it tied us together in a way I still could not fathom.
“What is it, Guinevere?” Arthur asked as he witnessed my struggle.
“Nimue! Vivian approaches, and I think…she is in danger.” The last thing I wanted to do was frighten Alwen, but indeed I did; she stepped away from us as I bared my teeth instinctively at the danger that threatened Nimue. My eyes focused on a distant place, though I could not see her. I knew my inhuman eyes were glittering, but there was nothing I could do to hide them or who I had become. Tears streamed down my face. How ironic—now that I could cry, I seemed to cry all the time.
“I have to go to Nimue, Arthur!” I clutched at my stomach as fear struck me hard, like an invisible fist.
Arthur helped me to my feet; he alone remained unafraid of me. Igraine clutched her silver amulet while Alwen sobbed a horrible cry. “Go, Guinevere.” Arthur’s handsome face was like stone as he too understood the threat. “I will return to Camelot straight away. We will march for home this night, I promise.”
I hugged him briefly and held a hand out to Alwen, but she turned away from me and hid behind Igraine. Her meaning was clear; she wanted nothing to do with me. “Alwen, I love you, daughter,” I said with regretful anguish as I sailed from the tent. The fabric shook as I disappeared into the black night.
The Undead Queen of Camelot Page 7
