Royal Enchantment

by Sharon Ashwood

  He made it sound like a prison sentence, and Gwen recoiled in hurt. “It is that much of a burden, my lord?”

  His look was unreadable. “When the enemy knows what’s precious, it becomes a weapon in their hands.”

  “Precious?” she whispered, but he had already moved on. It suddenly made sense—his distance, his temper and his solitude. Arthur believed he was protecting everyone around him, but he was also protecting himself. Love for him was a perilous risk.

  How did I not see this? Gwen cursed herself as she hurried along behind him. She’d known him six years. At first she’d had too little experience to fathom such a complex man, and most of their marriage he’d been away at war. But at some point... She gave up, letting the past slide through her fingers. They’d done a good job of nursing their anger with one another, of making a mess of every attempt to truly connect. The real question was what they would do next.

  Arthur interrupted her roiling thoughts with a sharp gesture. Gwen froze, reading the urgency in his stance. Her senses stretched wide, trying to find whatever it was he had detected. For a moment, she was baffled, but she heard it—footfalls, far ahead. They were slow—not just unhurried, but as if the stride itself was long. If that was the troll, it was disturbingly large.

  Arthur’s glance went to the lantern. Gwen guessed his meaning and slid the lantern’s shutter all but closed. In the sliver of light that remained, the blackness around them seemed absolute. The troll’s footfalls were silent, but still Arthur didn’t move. They waited, Gwen’s knees unsteady, for a long time before Arthur advanced again. When they did, he leaned close and spoke in a voice that was nearly a whisper. “When we find its lair, we’ll study the beast for weakness. I’ll have one chance to strike. Even with a charmed blade, I’ll need to hit a vulnerable point.”

  The prospect of killing the creature became far too real. Gwen’s mouth went dry as she all but glued herself to Arthur’s side, hurrying into the next corridor. There, the tunnel ended in a dark, cave-like chamber. The map had indicated a series of such rooms, one leading to another. They’d reached their destination. “The map said this is a storeroom,” she said softly.

  Arthur took her hand in his, his mailed glove rough but welcome against her skin. He pulled her close as they stepped through the arched doorway. Gwen gasped as the faint lantern light swept over the walls.

  “By the saints,” Arthur breathed. This was no stash of picks and shovels; it was a treasure room worthy of a dragon’s hoard. There had been shelves and chests, but the troll had scattered it all. Heaps of gold dishes, coin and jewelry spilled over the floor in drifts, mixing with the gems that gave the Crystal Mountains their name. The lantern picked sparks from the treasure as the light flashed on facets of precious stones. To Gwen, it looked like a scattering of stars in the darkness. She wasn’t normally swayed by wealth, but it did leave her a little breathless.

  “Is this where I steal the silverware?” Arthur asked, his lips all but touching her ear.

  “I feel underdressed.”

  He bent and picked up a long dagger set with gems. He handed it to her, the gesture almost courtly. “Sometimes the best accessory is a blade.”

  She took it, not bothering to point out she’d brought her own knife. This one was bigger, and right now she was fine with that. They kept moving, placing their feet as silently as possible on the sea of shifting coins. It was no mystery why Zorath wanted to regain access to this room. The contents were a king’s ransom—enough to buy all of Medievaland, perhaps all of Carlyle.

  They emerged into a broad empty space, and then into another cave. The scene here was as awful as the treasury had been wondrous. Gwen clamped her mouth shut, swallowing hard. A thick, meaty smell hung in the air and sent a surge of panic through her gut. Every primitive instinct screamed to run, but her legs refused to move. Arthur stepped close, urging her back.

  “You don’t need to see this,” he said, his arm slipping around her shoulders.

  But she already had, and she sidestepped his protective gesture. A cool detachment slid over her, freezing the panic into a numbing fog. Her heart beat a little too fast, but she gave no voice to the incessant screaming at the back of her mind.

  There were torches burning in the next room, shoved into black iron stanchions along the walls. They gave a clear view of what had become of the missing goblins. What Gwen saw answered the question of what a troll wanted in the goblins’ mines. Not gold, but meat. Goblin meat. This was the troll’s larder, and it was a messy eater. Most of the torn and bloody limbs strewn over the floor still had clothing attached. Scraps of uniform said some were the soldiers Zorath had sent.

  Arthur stood rooted to the spot, his eyes incandescent with rage. But there was something else in his expression—fear. The thud-thud of the troll’s footfalls was back, and they were loud.

  “Run,” he said softly. “Run and hide.”

  Slowly, as if in a dream, he closed both hands around Excalibur’s long hilt and took a deep breath. In that moment, he shifted from the man she knew—king and husband—to a warrior she had never met up close. It sent a zing of shock through her bewildered mind.

  “Now,” he ordered in the voice of command.

  Her body obeyed out of reflex, making her back away from the scene of carnage. A protest rose in her—she’d come to help, to use her wits to help Arthur—and yet what could she do against a creature who’d turned the mine into a butchery? There had been more bodies and parts of bodies than she could count. It was hopeless. She was useless. Terror for Arthur choked her, as if her lungs were suddenly gone.

  She wasn’t sure if panic or despair claimed her first, but she stopped moving. She’d made it as far as the treasure chamber. Here, she was hidden from view but still close enough to see past where Arthur stood and into the larder. It wasn’t a good enough hiding place. As soon as she could gather her wits, she would run, but she couldn’t remember how.

  Then the troll lurched through the door where Arthur stood. Gwen bolted.

  Chapter 15

  The troll was massive, scraping the high doorway as it lurched forward. Its gait was top-heavy, unbalanced by its barrel chest and massive shoulders. It was wrapped in a kind of kilt made of hides, the long tail of the motley garment flung over one shoulder. What the hides had once been, Gwen didn’t want to know.

  Her feet moved of their own will, scampering backward until her shoulders hit a towering stack of treasure chests. She spun around with a squeak, flailing out to smack the cold, brass-bound boxes. Her lantern swung, making crazy patterns on the walls. With a curse, she dived behind the chests and sank to the ground, panting and trembling. She’d faced danger before, but a charging bull was nothing compared to this. She wiped her face with her sleeve, mopping away sweat and tears of fright, and then made herself peer around the corner to see Arthur standing firm as the creature charged.

  Black lips peeled back from the troll’s fangs as it gave a grunting roar and rushed forward with a rolling, side-to-side gait. For all its awkwardness, it was fast, closing in on Arthur in a blur. Arthur swung Excalibur, the blade ringing as it struck the creature’s leathery hide. The troll lashed out, its arms seeming far too long for the rest of it. Arthur spun lightly away, sword poised high. The beast grabbed again, sharp claws screeching against the stone walls, but Arthur smacked its knuckles before dancing away. Gwen could see the concentration in every line and angle of his movements. It was a game of cat and mouse, with the mouse the smarter of the two.

  Unfortunately, the cat was especially deadly. The shredded bodies in the next room made that clear. All the heat seemed to leave Gwen’s body as a fresh wave of fear overtook her. The troll’s head thrust forward, its prominent jaw jutting with annoyance as it swung toward Arthur one more time. The dance between monster and warrior could go on and on, ending when the loser made just one mistake.

/>   Arthur launched into a flurry of thrusts and slashes, aiming for eyes and throat, but the troll’s long reach made it all but impossible to get inside its guard. The beast hammered its fist, but Arthur dived and rolled, escaping the pulverizing force by an inch. As he rolled to his feet, he swept the sword low in a move that should have crippled the beast.

  Excalibur rang against the troll’s hide, achieving nothing.

  Gwen sprang to her feet, her own fear forgotten in her worry for Arthur. He couldn’t keep the fight up forever. Something had to change, and she was the only one with enough breathing space to do it. She jammed the jeweled knife through her belt and left the lantern on the ground. With her hands free, she tore through the treasure room, picking things up and tossing them aside. If she’d had a slingshot, there were plenty of jewels and coins to hurl at the monster. There were dishes and crowns and scepters of fine goblin workmanship, stockpiled and ready to trade at the unearthly markets where the realms met on Midsummer’s Day. All those riches were useless to her now.

  She kicked a pile of coins in frustration, causing a glittering avalanche. And then she saw what she needed, flung down in panic by some unlucky goblin in flight—a plain ash bow and quiver of arrows. She snatched it up, testing the string. The bow was made for a goblin man and so a good height for her, but the draw was stiffer than she liked. Too bad, she thought, slinging the strap of the quiver over one shoulder and climbing onto a chest to get a clear shot. She’d just have to manage.

  Gwen was a good shot and the troll made a huge target. All she needed to do was distract it long enough for Arthur to strike. She notched an arrow with trembling fingers and drew the bow, panic giving her the extra strength she needed. The battle was still in progress, a spinning flurry of sword and claw. She aimed, forcing herself to gauge the rhythm of the fight, to anticipate where her target would be. She loosed, snatched another arrow and loosed again.

  The first hit the troll between the shoulder blades, the second smacked its forehead when it turned to howl in protest. Arthur didn’t miss his chance, driving Excalibur upward at the underside of the troll’s chin. The sword tore through flesh, the point sinking deep, but not deep enough. A trickle of black blood coursed down the troll’s neck and chest, but it barely seemed to feel the wound.

  The troll caught sight of Gwen and charged. Fright stabbed through her and she leaped from her perch, bow in hand. She landed lightly and dodged around a tall golden statue, finding speed she didn’t know she had. The troll swung its huge head from side to side, peering among the treasure while she circled the room and dashed behind the beast. In a dozen strides, she was at Arthur’s side. With a look of fierce pride she’d never seen before, he grabbed her hand, and they ran.

  The only place they could go was through the scene of slaughter. Gwen quailed—though her feet kept flying. Behind them, the troll turned and roared its fury. Gwen kept her eyes fixed forward, refusing to look at the carnage on either side. She didn’t see the slick of blood in her path until she skidded, falling to one knee and coming face-to-face with a limbless torso, the rib cage cracked open like a walnut robbed of its meat. She made a gurgling shriek as Arthur hauled her up and dragged her stumbling forward.

  Gwen’s mind blanked for an instant, surrendering as Arthur led her from the scene of slaughter and into the tunnels beyond. There were torches here, too, but they were farther apart, at times providing only the faintest glow. The troll was behind them, each step a mighty thump, but it was slowing. Fatigue or blood loss was finally taking its toll.

  Arthur pulled her down one of the smaller side passages, finding a dark chamber filled with miners’ gear. Panting, they squeezed behind a huge wooden cart on wheels.

  “Did we lose it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  They sank to their knees, Arthur’s arms around her. Gwen buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him. Like a frightened animal, she needed his warmth and the comfort of his touch while she steadied her thundering heart.

  “Gwen,” he whispered. “My brave Gwen.”

  She couldn’t read his tone well enough to tell if it held sorrow or laughter or both. As long as he kept holding her, she wasn’t sure she cared. “I couldn’t leave you there,” she murmured.

  His lips pressed against her hair, the sigh of his breath hot as his arms curled more tightly around her. “Thank you.”

  They were two simple words, but there was an ocean of feeling in them, a bridge between them that she’d longed for. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, reliving the last minutes. He’d lifted her out of the blood. If he hadn’t, she might have died of despair. She dug her fingers into his coat, holding him tight.

  “Are you recovered?” Arthur asked softly. “We need to keep moving.”

  It was then that she heard the troll’s footsteps coming down the corridor, each slithering slap of bare sole oddly stealthy. It paused, snuffling the air. Gwen cringed with revulsion as she realized her pant legs were soaked in blood. The stench would surely betray them.

  Arthur released her, his hand silently gripping Excalibur’s hilt. There was no room behind the cart for Gwen to draw her bow, so she forced herself to stillness, her muscles coiled with fierce tension. The only possible way to survive was to outsmart the beast. Gwen had thought herself so clever as she’d barged her way into this expedition, but her mind was as blank as fresh parchment. The frustration of it burned.

  The slap-slap of the troll’s feet started again and stopped, then resumed. All the while, it sniffed the air like a bloodhound, steadily growing closer. Arthur made a low sound that was nearly a growl, lifting his sword and balancing his weight in readiness to spring. Gwen willed the troll to keep moving past their door, but it lingered outside, the steps dwindling to a shuffle as if choosing a new direction. Gwen shrank down another inch, hope crumbling. The scant light in the room dimmed as the troll’s hulking shape blotted everything else from view.

  Arthur sprang with a mighty battle cry, but the troll was too quick. A huge, clawed hand scooped Gwen up as if she were no more than a doll. An outraged shriek flew from her lips and she snatched for her bow, but it was lost behind the cart. The troll clutched her to its chest, the thick, hairy arm pinning her despite her desperate squirming. Wheeling in a two-handed strike, Arthur stabbed his sword straight down, driving the point into the troll’s bare toe.

  This time, the troll felt the sword. With a weirdly high-pitched yelp, it hopped in a circle, one foot in the air. Gwen flailed at the dizzying movement, arms and legs flying. The quiver emptied of arrows and they hit the ground with a clatter, snapping as the troll crushed them in its dance. Arthur stabbed again, aiming for the other foot. The troll howled, tossing Gwen aside to clutch at its feet. She smacked into the stone wall, skull ringing with the impact before she slithered to the ground. Stomach churning, Gwen struggled to her hands and knees. Dizziness made her falter, but Arthur’s strong hands were suddenly there, setting her back on her feet. She blinked frantically, clearing her head.

  Then her thoughts came into focus. She spun, stumbling a little as she searched for the troll. “Where is it?”

  “Gone.” Arthur looked down the corridor. Gwen followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of the creature loping away, whimpers fading as it retreated to nurse its hurt. “I doubt it’s felt true pain before.”

  “How did you know to attack its feet?” she asked. “No other blow seemed to damage it.”

  “Fingers and toes always hurt the most, even when the wound is slight.” Arthur gave a faint smile. “I gambled that was true for trolls.”

  The brief reprieve from danger left her in a strange free fall. She sagged against him, every limb tingling as her panic drained away. Arthur pulled her close, dipping his head to kiss her brow. But that wasn’t enough, and he cupped her face, pressing his lips to hers. His skin was salty with sweat and dust.
All at once, Gwen hungered for his touch, as if his kiss was the last breath of air before she drowned in endless dark. She returned the embrace, letting that need remind her she was still alive. Arthur’s breath caught with a ragged noise. They pulled apart, panting a little.

  “Will it be back?” she asked, regret thick in her voice.

  Arthur’s mouth turned down. “We’ve shamed it. It will want revenge.”

  And their luck wouldn’t last. “What do we do?”

  His gaze darted toward the tunnel where the troll had vanished. “Retreat until we have a better plan and more swords.”

  “I’m going to strangle Zorath for sending us here alone,” she said darkly, scanning the ground for usable arrows. Every one was broken. She tossed the empty quiver aside in frustration. “I understand the goblins are afraid, but these are their mines. He could have mustered some backup.”

  “I agree.” Arthur sighed. “In the meantime, can you run?”

  Her whole body ached, but her brief moment as a troll’s plaything had been worse. “I can run.”

  Arthur held out his hand. He’d made the gesture often at dances and during ceremonies, but here it was different. This wasn’t protocol. He was offering her his protection when she needed it most. Gwen accepted it, squeezing his fingers, and they set out at a gliding trot.

  They retraced their steps to the main corridor, careful to end up in no more dead ends. Gwen hadn’t noticed what was in the broad tunnel before, but now she saw carts piled with ore as well as winches and scaffolding. The goblins had been mining a vein near the ceiling, and they had hauled a huge bucket up by ropes. There were still picks and water bottles on the high catwalk, and the bucket brimmed with ore destined for the furnace. Judging from the abandoned worksite, the troll’s initial attack had been sudden.

  Farther along there was a pool of standing water to her left and what looked like an abandoned pumping station. More personal items were scattered along the path—a pipe, a hat and a pair of boots tied together by their laces. Gwen tried not to think about the fate of their owners. Their retreat led through the cavern littered with bodies.