“What are you going to do?” Gwen demanded.
“I’m going to have a word with your dear husband.” He stepped toward her cage, and she instinctively backed up. “Do put on the dress. If Arthur truly is a heroic fool, he’ll give himself up for you. I think you owe it to him to look your best.”
With that, Talvaric walked away, leaving the dryads to gather up their fallen friend. As he went, he sang an old and lyrical melody Gwen knew from her first days at Camelot. Sung with such malevolence, the tune made her weep.
* * *
Medievaland was in full swing, tourists streaming in and out of the gates. The appearance of dragons—whether or not anyone believed in them—had spurred public interest. During Arthur’s brief conversation with management, it was clear they were less concerned about potential bad press than they were sales at the gate. Furthermore, Gwen’s interview had turned the conversation to a more manageable direction. On this one front, at least, news was good.
Or it would have been. Despite the fox’s message, Arthur hadn’t called the media but as he approached the arched entryway to the park, Arthur saw news vans circling the parking lot. Talvaric had been busy.
“I believe there is a movie where two warriors fight at high noon,” Owen observed.
The Welsh knight walked at Arthur’s side, gaze roving over the crowds. He had a patient stillness that made him excellent security, and Arthur valued his presence. He wasn’t so sure about his taste in entertainment.
“I don’t know that story,” he replied.
“It is a hero tale not so unlike our own.”
Arthur would rather have skipped heroism for something involving fewer casualties. Arthur and Owen were dressed in full armor, as were Palomedes and Beaumains, who brought up the rear. Gawain was inside the park, watching for trouble there.
The autumn day had grown sunny and light shone on the polished weapons, drawing the attention of the crowd milling at the gate. Cameras flashed and a few approached for autographs, but the younger knights gently sent the fans on their way. The reporters were less easy to deter.
“Arthur, where’s Guinevere? Why do we never see her at Medievaland?”
“Arthur, hashtag Iseedragons is one of the top-trending topics in North America. Care to comment?”
Arthur kept walking, allowing the eternally cheerful Beaumains to deal with the questions. As King of Camelot, he had one purpose, and that was to rid the mortal realms—make that all the realms—of the fae named Talvaric.
“There,” Owen said, “by the information kiosk.”
A man stood with his back to the knights. He was tall and well built, but slender. A long pale braid escaped a baseball cap to trail down his back. As soon as Arthur saw him, he turned. In spite of the sunglasses, it was clear he was a fae. By the way he moved, Arthur could tell he’d recently consumed someone’s life. It was a subtle difference, but he’d learned to spot it—the nervous twitch of the hands, the eagerness in the step. Cold dread weighed in Arthur’s gut. Who had died so that this villain could enjoy the pain he caused?
Arthur approached the fae with only Owen to watch his back. For his part, Talvaric strolled to a neutral territory between the kiosk and a photo booth. It was a well-chosen meeting place, public but away from listening ears. Arthur came to a stop a few feet away, leaving distance between them. Neither man bowed.
Talvaric pulled off his glasses, narrowing his eyes against the bright sun. “I see my messenger performed his duty. Where is the vermin?”
Senec was curled up in the back of Owen’s truck, sleeping in a nest made of an old sweatshirt. The fox and the knight had bonded at once. “Safe.”
“The fox is mine.”
“Not anymore.”
Talvaric shrugged. “We shall see. For now, there are more important concerns, such as who owns your wife.”
Arthur didn’t reply, letting the silence speak his contempt.
“I will trade your life for hers,” Talvaric said. “Come quietly, and the exchange will be made without fuss or bother to these good people.”
Arthur followed the fae’s gesture toward the crowd. There were children with balloons, grandparents using walkers, and baby carriages. A sense of nightmare seeped into him, as if Talvaric had literally spread a cloud of horror. Somehow, Arthur had to keep these people safe, but what was the best way to do that? Not by following Talvaric’s rules. There was no way Arthur could allow the fae the upper hand.
“Do you truly believe I’m going to give in and hope for the best?” Arthur widened his stance, ready for a fight.
“You don’t care what happens to your Gwen?” Talvaric chided. “I took you for the heroic type.”
Fury speared Arthur, and his hand flew to Excalibur’s hilt. “Do not hasten your death with meaningless chatter.”
“I’ll take that as a maybe?”
“Touch her and I’ll use your guts to lace my boots.”
“Then come with me, king of mortals, and I will let her go.”
Arthur didn’t move. Gwen was foremost in his thoughts, his heart and in the yearning of his body—but he was king and responsible for all the mortal realms. Giving Talvaric control meant condemning everything. He had to—he would—save Gwen and the girl in the stroller by the ticket booth, her mother and her grandfather, who was purchasing a pink balloon with a dancing unicorn. The only way he could save everyone was by destroying the fae here and now.
That was fine. Cutting Talvaric to pieces was going to be a pleasure. “I’ll save time and kill you here.”
Surprise flickered over Talvaric’s face, followed swiftly by derision. “You can’t. There are laws here about murder, and I will fight back. You’ll never expose the hidden realm to the curiosity of all these mortals. All this press.”
Arthur smiled. “I have one advantage you don’t.”
Talvaric raised a brow. “What?”
“Friends.” Arthur held up a hand to signal the figure who stood hidden beside the photo booth.
Talvaric caught the gesture and spun to see who it was. “Merlin!” he snarled.
Merlin gave a finger wave. “The mortals won’t see us chopping you to bits. I promise.”
“Then see if they’ll notice this!” Talvaric released a storm of magic.
Chapter 25
The world around him jolted. Arthur fell into a crouch, sword in hand. He didn’t need to look at the blade to know it was glowing with a faint iridescent light. Excalibur detected magic and reflected it away from Arthur, saving both sword and man from the effects of any spell. That was why Morgan LaFaye feared it—even her darkest enchantments couldn’t keep her safe from its edge.
But Excalibur could only do so much, and the sky was cracking open like a shattered egg, revealing a visible split in the sunny autumn blue. The next moment, Merlin was at his side, chanting a spell under his breath and weaving intricate shapes in the air.
“Not even you can hide this forever, Merlin,” Talvaric jeered, and made a tearing motion with his hands.
The crack leaked brilliant flames of light, and then another sky beyond. They were looking through a portal. Was this where Gwen was being held? Heart pounding, Arthur sprang to his feet, ready to run and leap through. Any chance of finding her was better than none.
As if reading his thoughts, Merlin grabbed his arm. “No! It’s not stable.”
Arthur understood the enchanter’s plea a moment later. Another jolt shook the ground, rumbling like a small earthquake. The babble of the crowd rose in alarm.
“Portals aren’t meant to be so large,” Merlin muttered.
And neither were they meant to release a Noah’s ark of fantastic beasts into the mortal realms. All at once, they spilled out of the air, falling where the bottom lip of the portal sat a dozen feet from the ground. Some were
naturally airborne: gargoyles and griffins and birds with fabulous plumage. Others ran on hoofs or paws or claw-tipped feet, bearing the green-tipped tails of the Charmed Beasts. Still others slithered and swam, floating in bubbles of water that bobbed and rolled in the air, seeking a lake or a stream to deposit their cargo. There had to be hundreds of strange beasts, each one a scrap of the hidden world just waiting to be revealed.
So many creatures were impossible to contain, even for Merlin. The enchanter grew red faced from weaving an increasingly complex spell. It forced some of the creatures back through the breach, but just as many streamed past. With a sinking stomach, Arthur saw the television cameras fasten on a griffin wheeling in the sky.
He rounded on Talvaric. “Call them back!”
The fae raised his hands in a mock-helpless gesture. “They’re yours to protect, Pendragon. They’re all part of the mortal realms, even if they are magical.”
Arthur ignored the statement. The attack was meant to overwhelm their defenses, and it was doing a good job. He had to stop the onslaught of creatures, and the fastest way to close the portal was to cut off its supply of power. Excalibur in hand, he rushed Talvaric.
Swords sang as they clashed, the fae’s saber snaking through the air to meet Excalibur. Arthur had battled fae before and knew their fighting style, but Talvaric was quick and strong. Arthur’s focus narrowed until nothing else mattered but blade and pattern. He had to move faster than with any mortal swordsman, and one misstep would cost blood. At any other time, such an opponent would be a gift, but too much was at stake now. Gwen’s life depended on victory.
The saber slashed the air and he ducked, feeling wind kiss his cheek. He parried, Excalibur shedding sparks as blades scraped together. Arthur forced the fae’s blade away and circled the tip with his own, following with a thrust that could have skewered an ox. Talvaric stumbled back, falling into a roll that returned him to his feet yards away.
“Well done,” the fae said with a panting grin.
His eyes gleamed with excitement, but there was fear, as well. They were evenly matched and Arthur guessed he wasn’t used to that. Then Arthur’s instincts flared when he saw a flash of deviltry flicker in Talvaric’s gaze.
“Look out!” Merlin cried from behind Arthur.
Arthur ducked, and it saved his life. Fangs snapped the air where his head had been moments before. Arthur spun, lifting Excalibur in both hands. He nearly dropped it from sheer surprise.
He’d never seen a manticore outside paintings, but there was no question what the thing before him was. It was the size of a lion, with reddish fur, but a scorpion’s barbed tail curled above its back. Black bat wings flared from its shoulders, beating hard to keep it aloft. The noise was like a steady roll of thunder broken only by its blaring, cawing cry. The worst feature was its face, which might have once been human. Whatever had made the manticore—surely it wasn’t natural?—had bent and stretched the features into a muzzle crammed with multiple rows of sharklike teeth.
The manticore dived, slashing with claws unsheathed. A spear would have been a better weapon against such an enemy, but Arthur used what he had, leaping into the air to deliver his blow. The tip caught the creature’s belly, sending it bolting into the sky. That gave Arthur just enough time to spin back to Talvaric, sure there would be another attack from the fae. Instead, Arthur saw the fae dive into his own portal.
Talvaric had Gwen, and he was getting away. Furious, Arthur bounded forward, hand outstretched to grab him. The two men regarded each other for a fraction of a second, one will testing the other. Arthur expected mockery, or a wild grin, but there was none of that. Talvaric’s expression held the cool calculation of a mathematician working out his figures. He was certain everything would end according to his plan.
That he was correct, this time. He grasped both edges of the portal as if they were curtains and drew them together with a flick of his wrists. The portal stitched itself shut in a blaze of light, leaving Arthur behind. Simple grass and pavement took the place of shimmering magic. Arthur spun, dark rage crawling through him.
The manticore swooped, bellowing its trumpeting call. Arthur charged, using the momentum to power his blade. Luck was against him this time, the clack of claws against steel the only contact. He turned the motion into another upward swipe, this time catching the deadly barbed tail. Screaming, the manticore swerved in midair, the damaged appendage spraying blood. The beast rolled in the air, doubling back to make good its revenge.
Arthur readied himself, wishing one more time for a spear’s extra reach. But this time the manticore dodged toward Merlin, lashing its injured tail. As the tip swung the enchanter’s way, barbs flew as if ejected from a crossbow. One stuck in Merlin’s side. He stiffened and fell, shaking as a seizure swept over him. Poison!
Fury drowned Arthur in a red haze. This time Excalibur sliced all the way through the creature’s tail and the beast screamed in agony. It stooped like an owl, claws extended, but Arthur’s armor saved him as the hind legs kicked with razor claws. But where the steel kept his skin whole, it couldn’t stop the impact. Arthur skidded to the pavement before the manticore flapped skyward, trumpeting its pain. It banked awkwardly, the missing tail skewing its ability to steer, and disappeared over the midway.
Arthur scrambled to Merlin, placing a hand on the enchanter’s chest to feel for breaths. It was there, but faint. With a savage curse, Arthur pulled the barb from his friend’s side. The wound wasn’t deep, though it released a trickle of blood. “Merlin?”
There was no response. The enchanter’s skin was clammy and his eyes were closed. Meanwhile, screams rose from the crowd as a flock of gargoyles tormented a tour group. One man was swinging at the bat-like creatures with his selfie stick. Arthur swore long and hard. The glamor Merlin cast had vanished.
Owen skidded to a stop beside them. “What can I do?” the knight asked. There was a long scratch on his forehead, but otherwise he looked unhurt.
“Call Clary. We need a witch’s healing powers.”
It was then Arthur saw the manticore circle around again and snatch the girl from the stroller. The pink unicorn balloon floated skyward as the mother screamed.
“And watch Merlin,” Arthur ordered as he scrambled to his feet, already sprinting after the beast. He dodged through the crowd, scanning the sky. He glimpsed the manticore weaving past the Ferris wheel and roller coaster, working hard to stay aloft with the child in its claws.
Arthur jumped the turnstile to the rides, chain mail rattling as he landed. He was hot and sweating, but fear for the girl made him put on more speed. The creature was flying lower now, wings angling in a way that predicted a landing. Arthur sprinted toward the Merry Minstrel restaurant, fearing the worst.
The manticore landed in the middle of the restaurant’s patio. Terrified patrons streaked past, barely noticing a man holding a huge sword. More were scrambling to crawl over the glass pony wall that separated the eatery from the crowds.
Chairs and tables tipped over. Food was strewn everywhere. In the middle crouched the manticore, the little girl trapped between its front paws. The child was sobbing, long wails punctuated by red-faced hiccups. She had sunshine hair like Gwen’s, Arthur thought, hating Talvaric all the more.
Arthur delivered a single swift kick to the pony wall. The Plexiglas panel flew off its brackets with a clatter, bouncing once before it came to rest. When it saw Arthur, the manticore rose to its feet, looming over the child. Arthur couldn’t help but glance at the stump of its tail.
“If you choose to return to your home in peace, I will see to it you get there in safety.” Arthur made the words clear and loud, hoping manticores spoke English. He repeated himself in French, Greek and Latin, just in case.
There was no flicker of recognition in the creature’s eyes. If anything, they looked insane, filled with formless rage. This wouldn’t be as easy as
helping the talking fox, who had been content with a can of tuna and an old shirt to sleep on. Worse, Arthur could hear the child’s mother sobbing somewhere behind him.
This was up to Arthur. Merlin was down, the other knights were chasing their own monsters and Medievaland’s security guards were—perhaps fortunately—nowhere in sight. He began advancing with slow, deliberate steps. This would either spook the creature or provoke it, but either way he had to get close enough to grab the girl. Why had the beast taken her? As a hostage? Parental instinct? Dinner? By the drool dripping from the creature’s fangs, Arthur assumed the last.
“Let her go,” he said softly, not sure he could be heard over the wailing child and the thousand clicks of smartphones taking pictures. He just kept talking, his voice as smooth and quiet as Excalibur was sharp.
The manticore snarled, the nightmarish teeth on full display. While the fangs were appalling, Arthur paid more attention to its stance, watching for any sudden shifts in weight that meant it was about to pounce. Of all its mismatched parts, the lion was at its core. It would be those instincts he had to watch out for. “Just back away,” he said. “Then we can all go home.”
Miraculously, it did take a step back. But then the manticore rushed him, bowling the girl over as it raced forward. Arthur barely got his sword up in time. Alarm surged through him as the manticore reared up, displaying paws like dinner plates. The thing cuffed him hard, claws scraping on his mail shirt. The links tore, slashing claws flaying the flesh beneath. Arthur staggered, his shoulder suddenly numb. Excalibur dropped to the ground, but before he could dive for it, the manticore lunged, knocking him flat. It landed with rib-cracking weight on his chest, but Arthur slid away, using speed to outmaneuver it. Confused, the manticore looked around for its prey but Arthur grabbed its rounded ears.
Arthur felt an instant of regret, but he twisted its head sharply. Bone crunched and the creature collapsed, neck broken. Arthur sagged, his mind and soul a blank for one heartbeat before the world rushed in.
Royal Enchantment Page 21
