Royal Enchantment

by Sharon Ashwood

  They had nearly made it when she heard the troll’s roar. She started, disoriented. “It’s ahead of us!”

  Arthur was already pulling her the other way, pelting back the way they had come. Somewhere, there was another parallel route the troll had used to cut them off. Clearly, it was not as witless as they had assumed. And it was fast, so fast. Gwen sped with the desperation of prey, lengthening her stride to keep up with Arthur.

  They passed the lake again, bursting into the part of the tunnel lined by scaffolding. Arthur dragged her toward it. “Climb!” he ordered, grabbing her by the hips and heaving her upward.

  Gwen grasped the rough wood, scrabbling with her feet to find purchase. The spaces between crossbars were at odd intervals, making her wonder how goblins climbed—and then she was too busy to think. Arthur let go the moment she was secure, leaving her bereft of his comforting touch. A moment later, she heard Excalibur hiss from its scabbard. The urgency of the sound gave her strength and she hauled herself up the wooden structure. When she finally crawled onto the platform, she was far above the stone floor.

  The walkway was narrow enough that she knelt, gripping the sides with both hands. She had to twist her neck to see the troll bearing down on Arthur. Her husband stood braced for attack, his chosen ground below Gwen’s perch. It was clear he would defend her to the death.

  Chapter 16

  Gwen screamed as the troll leaped toward Arthur, slashing the air with its claws. The king ducked and rolled, dodging behind one of the carts only to wheel behind the beast and deliver a two-handed blow. Delivered with such force, the strike should have cleaved the troll’s legs from beneath him. Excalibur rang with the sound, but the blow had little effect.

  Gwen cursed, using a word no lady should even know. She’d seen this battle before—they were right back to where they’d been when the troll first appeared. She knew all Arthur’s heroism would avail nothing. She looked around, hoping for another bow and arrow or pot of miraculously boiling oil. What she had was a winch and a bucket of rocks.

  That made her sit up, forgetting how delicately she was balanced. She’d seen enough siege engines to understand the principles of the machine. The rope that held the bucket arched over an iron wheel barely a foot from the platform. The bucket was balanced by a counterweight, making the business of raising and lowering the load of ore more easily controlled. If the rope were cut, the full container would smash to the ground.

  Surely that much crushing weight would stop a monster? She glanced down, seeing Arthur aim for the troll’s feet one more time, but the creature was wiser now and evaded the flashing blade. Gwen choked on a gasp as one clawed hand streaked out, ripping through Arthur’s chain mail shirt. Arthur spun away, links pinging as they hit the ground.

  Gwen anxiously forced her mind back to her task. If she cut the rope, the massive stone block that balanced the bucket would drop. That was expected, but parts of the winch were torqued. With no tension to keep the weight in line, it looked poised to crash into the scaffolding’s supports. If the platform fell, she fell, possibly into the troll’s clutches. Or she might just break her neck.

  Another glance at the fight made her decision. She’d just have to take the chance. She drew the jeweled dagger from her belt and inched toward the spot where the rope was easy to reach. It was a matter of waiting for the absolute right time.

  For the briefest moment she caught Arthur’s eye, and made a frantic gesture.

  * * *

  Arthur saw Gwen waving, but he was fully occupied with the troll, who had picked up a boulder in one hand and heaved it like a toddler learning to throw a ball. Arthur jerked aside, feeling the rush of air as it sailed past. Apparently pleased with this new tactic, the troll bent to pick up another projectile.

  It was then Arthur looked up to see Gwen pointing down, and then mimicking a hammer squashing something flat. With a leap of excitement, he understood. A deadly simple plan, but it had a certain elegance. Despite exhaustion, he grinned. He’d all but lost hope, but Gwen—all the saints bless her—had just changed everything.

  He ran beneath the bucket, turning and raising Excalibur as if ready to make a final, desperate stand. With a grunt of satisfaction, the troll charged with fangs bared. There was a creak as weight shifted, then a snapping noise. The troll looked up in surprise, but by the time it bellowed in shock, Arthur had leaped away, hitting the ground and rolling as an avalanche of rock crashed down. Wood splintered and dust flew, creating a choking cloud that blotted most of the cavern from sight.

  Arthur coughed, scrambling to his feet. “Gwen!” There was no reply. He blinked and sneezed, still blind to anything but dust. “Gwen?”

  Rock shifted, and he heard a low growl. The troll was still alive! He groped for Excalibur and prowled into the cloud. It was then he saw her, lying full-length on a beam that tilted at a crazy angle. His heart dropped, and for an instant he forgot everything else. She was dirty and pale, but her eyes were defiant. When a faint smile curled her lips, Arthur forgot to breathe. She is so brave.

  And she had given him such a gift. He turned to the half-conscious troll, poised Excalibur over its vulnerable throat and swung the mighty sword. The troll’s head rolled free.

  It was over.

  The walk back to the goblin castle was slow and weary, Gwen leaning on Arthur’s arm. All the same, there was grim satisfaction to be had as they marched into Zorath’s dining hall. All conversation stopped and the crimson-skinned goblin rose to his feet.

  “You have returned!” King Zorath exclaimed.

  “We have returned victorious.” Arthur dropped a miner’s sack containing the troll’s head before the king. “There is all the evidence you need. Your mines and treasure are safe once more.”

  The goblin king’s expression moved from stunned incredulity to joy. Zorath snatched up a goblet and raised it into the air. “All hail King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, saviors of the goblin tribes!”

  There was a general roar and pounding of fists. It went on and on until Arthur raised his hand. “We have fulfilled your quest, and now claim your promise.”

  “The King and Queen of Camelot are granted freedom to come and go from the Crystal Mountains for as long as they shall live,” Zorath declared.

  The cheering and pounding resumed for a full minute. It might have gone on longer, but a fresh barrel of ale was borne in by servants, distracting the diners. Zorath sat and beckoned Arthur and Gwen to approach.

  “You sense trouble among the dragons,” the goblin king said. He kept his voice low, indicating the discussion was not for all to hear.

  “Yes,” said Gwen, speaking for the first time. “I think they’re in trouble.”

  The observation surprised Arthur. He wouldn’t have stated things that way, but she was completely right. “There is a fae involved,” he added.

  Zorath nodded. “The fae’s name is Talvaric. You know well that our borders are closed to outsiders, but he has roamed these parts for centuries and knows how to come and go undetected. He is also a magic user and skilled with portals. It is not easy to bar someone with such skills.”

  “What is his business here?” asked Arthur.

  “Until recently, we believed he simply liked the mountains. Fae walk in wild places.”

  Arthur shook his head. “That might have been true once, but fae lost their love of beauty along with their souls. He was here for another purpose.”

  “I know.” The goblin king’s expression grew crafty. “As time went on, I began to ask questions. And then I sent eyes and ears to verify what I heard.”

  Arthur gave a slow nod. Every king had his spies.

  Zorath leaned closer. “He came to the Crystal Mountains in search of magical beasts. He takes them prisoner for his own ends. When we tried to put an end to his raids, our trouble with the troll began.”


  That made a horrible kind of sense. “Is that all you know of this Talvaric?”

  The goblin shook his head. “As you well know, the Lady of the Lake has imprisoned Morgan LaFaye. That leaves the Kingdom of Faery without a ruler. Most are not bold enough to risk Morgan’s wrath if she should break free, but Talvaric wants to claim the crown.”

  “How does he hope to achieve this?” Arthur asked incredulously. “He is not one of the high lords of the fae. I’ve never even heard of him.”

  “He hopes to win support by proving to the world he can beat the great Arthur of Camelot. You wield Excalibur, the one sword that can kill Morgan LaFaye and cleave through the darkest of fae magics. If he can defeat you, then he will be worthy of their allegiance. Or so he would have them believe.”

  “How does he hope to achieve this?” Arthur demanded. “And what does that have to do with these mountains?”

  “Dragons,” Gwen said. “You said Rukon Shadow Wing dwells here.”

  “His weapon is dragons. Beasts. That’s why he takes them.” Arthur said it aloud, finding it hard to believe. Dragons couldn’t be tamed, and yet the ones who’d come to the mortal realm had behaved strangely. It all fit together.

  Gwen made a disgusted noise. “Talvaric needs proof of his victory, so he will use the dragons in the most public way possible, in full view of the human media. Haven’t you noticed all the TV cameras?”

  Arthur’s temper flared. It was bad enough the fae yearned to defeat him, but dragging the hidden world into the full view of mortal eyes was utterly unforgivable. “This Talvaric has a short and undignified future. Where can we find him?”

  “We do not know,” said Zorath.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Arthur asked.

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Zorath. “Believe that if I knew more I would share it, for you have done us a great service.”

  “And you have given me the name of the villain who threatens my realm,” Arthur replied. “That is also a service of great worth.”

  The goblin king rose, a wide smile on his ugly red face, and spoke so that all could hear. “King of Camelot, my new friend and ally, you have earned a place at my table, as has the lovely Queen Guinevere. This is an occasion to celebrate, so let us speak no more of dark things tonight.”

  Arthur bowed, recognizing the honor for its full worth, while Gwen leaned forward and left a kiss on Zorath’s cheek. The goblin beamed and called for wine and food, as well as water and towels so they could wash before they ate. Arthur suddenly realized that he was starving. By the way Gwen fell on the many dishes set before them, so was she. And the food was well worth a hearty appetite—tender greens, bowls of delicately seasoned grains, fresh berries and lamb in a rich, spiced sauce. Almost everything came from the mountains, but the spices were hardly local. The goblins had a vast trading network, and Arthur realized the value of an alliance with their kind. Much had been achieved during this adventure.

  And without Gwen, he never would have had it. He watched her eat, fascinated by her swift, precise bites and the delicacy of her hands. She wiped her fingers often, for there were few utensils. The goblins used triangles of a nut-flavored flatbread to scoop up their food, sometimes slathering it in a cool, herbed sauce. It was messy but very good, and Gwen gave in to the temptation to lick her fingers like a child. She caught Arthur’s gaze, her eyes bright.

  “Food tastes good after you’ve been frightened half to death,” she explained.

  “I know.” He wanted to say more, but his throat ached too much. On any other occasion, he would have been planning, calculating and moving pieces around his mental chessboard to find a path through the future. Now all he could do was relish being next to his wife, grateful they were safe and together. For once, the present was enough.

  The feast went long into the night, and Zorath offered them a bed. But Gwen and Arthur both wanted the free air outside the mountain, so they took their leave. The night was clear and cold, thick dew sparkling on the grass. Arthur sucked the freshness into his lungs, clearing them of the peculiar scent of goblins. The air was like iced wine after a mouthful of greasy stew.

  Zorath sent a guide to lead them back to the place where Gwen had been captured, and from there she easily found her way to the meadow where the gate had been. Arthur followed in her wake, oddly content to let her take charge of getting them home.

  It wasn’t hard to locate the gate itself, because there was a queen-size bed sitting in the meadow, along with a collection of coat hangers, bathrobes, extra blankets, the minibar and a nightstand. None of it was neatly arranged, but scattered as if hurled from a catapult, a few of the lighter items stuck in the lower branches of a pine tree. The bed at least was upright, although the covers were strewn everywhere.

  “I think Clary’s portal has developed a mind of its own,” Gwen said, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “I wonder if it’s actually safe to use it.”

  Arthur wandered through the meadow, picking up items as he went. Some things had been there awhile, judging by the heavy layer of dew. Others weren’t damp at all. He picked out the driest items and carried them to the bed. He stood for a moment, looking down into Gwen’s face. The moon was bright, picking out her features in a wash of silver. He’d always thought her delicate, which was true. Her bones were fine and graceful, and every part of her spoke of an artist’s love of harmony. But she was also incredibly strong. Perhaps that wasn’t a matter of muscle, but character. He’d seen it expressed in her stubbornness, but now he understood there was more to it than that. She had something the best of his knights had: a willingness to accept their own fear and fight past it.

  Arthur sat down beside her, lacing his fingers through hers. “Today I’ve been roasted by a dragon, captured by goblins and attacked by a troll. I’d rather not face a temperamental portal through time and space. Are you okay if we stay here tonight?”

  A laugh bubbled out of Gwen and she tipped her face up to the sky, showing the long line of her throat. “Am I okay? Yes. All I want to do is fall over.” And she did, flopping backward with her slender arms spread wide.

  Arthur lay down beside her. The stars above were dimmed by the moon’s full radiance, but even so they spread into a full canopy of lights. It made him feel tiny, a mote of dust clinging to the high mountains in one of countless realities. It was peaceful.

  “There are no people here,” said Gwen in a soft voice. “No cars, nothing electronic, no huge buildings to hem a person in. It feels like home.”

  Arthur turned to look at her profile, but became distracted by the strip of bare flesh where her neck curved into her shoulder. He kissed her there, nuzzling her warmth. “Camelot is in a different world now.”

  “I know. And there are so many opportunities for me there.”

  He heard it then—a note of hesitancy in her voice. She was expressing a desire she thought he wouldn’t approve of. It made him wonder how she really saw him. “Is that what you want—opportunity?”

  She turned toward him, eyes catching the moonlight. “I think I want to go to school.”

  It wasn’t what he’d envisioned for her, but every instinct told him to change course. Gwen was smart—wasn’t it her quick thinking that had felled the troll, just as much as his sword?—and the desire to fulfill that potential was simply part of her intelligence. “If you want school, then you shall have it.”

  She raised herself on one elbow, the shadow of her form filling his vision. Moonlight turned her fair hair into a halo, as if Gwen were as much angel as woman. “Thank you.” And her breath sighed out, as if in profound relief.

  Arthur’s heart stopped for a delicious beat, hearing the truth of her gratitude. He’d finally touched something essential in her—not the superficial place that could be pleased with jewels or clothes or even one of Gwen’s beloved hounds, but something dee
per. He’d recognized something about who she was.

  He reached up, burying his fingers in the silk of her hair, and kissed her deeply.

  Chapter 17

  Gwen caught her breath, lost for a moment in the pure sensation of his lips on hers. His breath was hot compared to the cold night around them, and she drank in the kiss as if eager to pull his warmth into her. She cupped her hands around his face, the feel of skin and beard and bone her anchor in the starlit dark.

  The kiss ended, but she remained kneeling above him, unwilling to release the intensity between them. A breeze stirred the trees, whispering icy secrets. She kissed him again, the sigh of his breath mingling with the wind.

  She shivered, and he pulled her down, wrapping his arms around her. She turned into his chest, feeling the hard, hot solidity of him. All the strangeness of the past few days battered at her, and a sense of spiritual vertigo made her cling yet closer. As if sensing her need for comfort, Arthur sat up and reached for the thick pile of blankets that were still free of dew.

  “Wait.” Gwen kicked off her boots and shrugged out of her clothes. She’d cleaned up as best she could before entering the feast hall, but she felt a thousand times better without the soiled garments. When she was done, Arthur settled the covers around her as he stripped down to his skin. Gwen watched him while his back was turned, letting her gaze play over the planes and shadows of his form. The moonlight turned his skin to marble whiteness, showing every curve and valley of hard muscle. Gwen knew swordplay had as much to do with speed and balance as it did brute force, and Arthur was perfectly proportioned, every muscle honed by training from childhood. Her pulse skipped as a sweet ache filled her belly.

  When he lay down and put his hands on her skin, she gasped at his cold touch. “Sorry,” he murmured, kissing her brow. “I’m afraid we’ll have to keep close to stay warm.”