Legend

by Shayne Silvers

  I turned back to Mordred. “How many swipes does it take to get to the center of a Knightsie Roll Pop?” I asked, smiling faintly.

  Mordred obviously didn’t get the reference. “My Knight told me they were dead,” he snarled.

  “Pffft,” I said, waving my free hand dismissively. “Only a little. They’re fine, now. See?” The Black Knight was now trying desperately to stump-punch his foes, but they wouldn’t even let him get away with that as they ripped off more plates of armor, faster and faster.

  Mordred studied me, looking apprehensive for the first time, which made me feel a whole lot better. I’d finally done something to disturb his plans. “Anubis,” he cursed.

  Gunnar leaned down and suddenly bit off the Black Knight’s head, bringing a brittle silence back to the clearing.

  I dusted off my hands dramatically. “That looked familiar,” I commented, smiling at Mordred.

  Because Gunnar had done the exact same thing to Mordred at Fight Club.

  Gunnar spat the head out in Mordred’s direction and we all watched it roll in front of him. Mordred visibly calmed himself, taking several deep breaths. “It is of no consequence,” he finally said. “I have more Knights. Let me introduce you to my Court.”

  And the runed standing stones around us exploded in a sandstorm of prehistoric grit.

  I flung up a hand, casting out a spherical shield so I didn’t choke to death on the sudden cloud. I hoped Gunnar and Talon had leapt clear of the explosion…

  Chapter 38

  When the sound died down, I dropped my shield and ran blindly through the cloud of dust to find Talon and Gunnar slumped together in a muddy pile. I checked that they were still breathing and let out a sigh of relief. I nudged them with my foot, but they didn’t stir. They weren’t getting up anytime soon, knocked unconscious from the blast.

  Luckily, I had been standing in the center of the ring. I was doubly glad that I had bargained for Alice when I had, otherwise her tiny, fragile body would have been obliterated by the explosion.

  The dust hung in the air, merging with the fog to create a thick mist, slow to settle as it hung in the air. And through that mist, an armored figure suddenly emerged not ten paces away. I hurriedly began walking backwards, towards the center of the ring, not sure if he was friend or foe, and knowing there were more where he came from. His armor looked bright and polished despite his hibernation, but I watched in horror as it began to grow darker, and a blood rune on his breastplate began to grow brighter.

  Soon, ten more stumbling knights stood around me, all of them clad in pristine armor and armed with deadly medieval weapons of some sort or another. But their armor was also growing steadily darker in direct proportion to the brightening red runes on their chests.

  “Fight it!” I snapped at one of them, panicking.

  He spun suddenly, lifting his visor in my direction. Those green eyes looked surprised to see someone other than a Knight present. “Only a Pendragon could break this sorcery!”

  I groaned inwardly as I watched him resort to scratching at the rune on his armor. It didn’t smudge in the slightest. Since it was growing brighter with each passing second, it merely looked like he was polishing it.

  And I suddenly understood what Mordred had done. He had set this whole reawakening up, so he would win either way. Because in addition to this curse that bound the Knights to him against their will, he was also a Pendragon—Arthur’s illegitimate son.

  Everyone turned as Mordred began to laugh.

  The Knight I had spoken to rounded on Mordred, settling his gauntlet on the hilt of the sword at his hip. “What is the meaning of this, Mordred?” he demanded in a defiant growl.

  Mordred was saved from responding as the ground began to rumble. Everyone pivoted to see a coffin slowly shimmer into existence in the exact center of the ring, rising from the mist not three paces away from me. The coffin was made entirely of glass and decorated with golden runes that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Runes that looked suspiciously similar to the ones I had seen in the Ichor from the Round Table.

  Like the Ichor currently filling my War Hammer. But…did I dare throw my freaking Hammer at King Arthur’s coffin while surrounded by his Knights of the Round Table? That sounded like a good way to get impaled a dozen times. Instead, I pointed desperately at the coffin, shouting. “Your King needs you! Arthur Pendragon needs you! Fight this!”

  The Knights turned to stare at the coffin—their posture hopeful and expectant. But the coffin didn’t open. No handsome King appeared to save the day. It just hovered above the ground, looking pretty. While the Knights’ armor continued to turn darker and darker.

  All too soon, the area flashed red and all the Knights fell to their knees, groaning.

  Then, as if in a stupor, they began to chant, the words seemingly pulled out from them. I didn’t bother paying attention to specifics, because it sounded like an age-old oath to serve their king with blind trust and devotion. Mordred smiled down at them adoringly, holding his hands open at his sides to accept their praise with kingly grace.

  Yeah. Screw that. One Black Knight had been bad enough. But to have close to a dozen of them running around doing Mordred’s bidding? Not on my watch.

  I hurled the War Hammer at Mordred with all the magic at my disposal, even feeling a bit of my Fae magic leaking into the throw. If I could kill Mordred, maybe I could break the curse he had used on the Knights. My Hammer struck Mordred right in the chest and sent him flying into a broken standing stone with a pleasant crunching sound.

  I panted, a slow smile creeping over my face. I did it. I had killed—

  The Knights continued chanting as if nothing had happened, swearing their allegiance to the dead guy on the rock.

  And I watched in disbelief as Mordred climbed to his feet, dusted off his shirt, and then frowned down at the War Hammer. “That packed more punch than I had expected,” he said, shaking his head.

  Then he shrugged and looked back up at me, flashing me a wink.

  “Mordred Pendragon, at your service. Thank you for not bringing the Ichor, Nate. I knew that if I told you to bring it you would leave it behind. It would have made things complicated—”

  Glug, glug, glug.

  We both turned to see Alex suddenly standing a few paces away from Mordred, chugging golden liquid from a glass vial. “Ahh,” he said, tossing it down and wiping a sleeve across his mouth. “That’s better. What did I miss?”

  I shoved a hand into my Darling and Dear satchel, frowning in utter disbelief to find the vial of Ichor missing. When the hell had the little thief stolen the vial of Ichor? Then I remembered who had offered to repack my satchel in Fae and I cursed. But why had he stolen it?

  Before anyone could speak, the runes on the coffin abruptly flared and the lid sprang open, making me jump since it was right beside me. Golden smoke rose up from within, and I gasped in disbelief. It hovered in the air, condensing into a stunning golden cloud of chivalry, nobility, and overall goodness—King Arthur’s soul.

  I could practically feel its warm rays of benevolence—

  It suddenly zipped towards Alex like an arrow fired from a bow, knocking him down to the ground like a harpoon.

  Mordred screamed.

  I screamed.

  We all screamed for the real King.

  Chapter 39

  The Knights finished their chant and rose to their feet, their armor now entirely black. Whatever Alex had done to turn the tide, it had been too late. Dousing himself with the Hand of God must have made him susceptible to King Arthur’s spirit. Add in the Ichor he had just consumed and…

  A king had been born. Or a poor bastard had been harpooned by a King’s spirit.

  But assuming this was a beneficial development, what did that mean? Was Alex now actually Arthur? Or maybe Arthur’s spirit really had decided to kill Alex for daring to drink the Ichor. The Ichor I had thought was Merlin’s blood. Had the Ichor in fact belonged to Arthur instead? Pandora h
ad implied that the Ichor was a piece of Excalibur—the Blood. Maybe another of the missing pieces was inside the coffin! I could grab it and then Shadow Walk Alex, Gunnar, and Talon back to Chateau Falco, re-forge Excalibur, and then return to face Mordred another day with a Pendragon of my own. King Freaking Alex.

  I was already peering over the lip of the coffin; my subconscious mind having made the decision for me. But the coffin was entirely empty. I dropped down directly into a puddle to find the possessed Knights all facing me, looking like they had a strong opinion on me grave-robbing their old boss’s final resting place.

  The Knights slowly lowered gauntlets to hilts, preparing to teach me a lesson. I hadn’t even been able to handle one of these clowns on my own, let alone close to a dozen! Maybe I could—

  One of the Knights suddenly shouted out as he pointed away from me. They instantly lost interest in me and turned to see what had alarmed their fellow Knight, and we all saw Alex climbing back to his feet. Alex shook his head, looking as if was shrugging off a good punch to the chin. Mordred noticed our attention and rounded on him with a territorial snarl, lifting his arms to destroy the new threat to his throne.

  “Alex!” I screamed.

  And I hurled the golden Mask at him.

  Earlier tonight, while sitting atop the mountain, surveying all of Fae, I had realized that I’d already come to at least one decision regarding the Horseman Masks.

  I wanted to ask Alex if he would join me as the Horseman of Justice. Especially after seeing his reaction to Gunnar’s death…

  He had proven himself numerous other times as well, and I believed he would fit this particular Mask well. I’d had other candidates in mind for consideration, but after seeing him against Thor and then the Black Knight…

  He had kind of skipped the try-out requirement.

  Of course, the actual decision to slap it on his rosy cheeks was entirely up to him, but Mordred was about to throw everything he had at Alex, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Alex saw the golden Mask hurtling at him and dove to catch it, grasping onto it the moment before Mordred unleashed a ball of green light.

  Mordred’s blow scorched across Alex’s side instead of striking him full on, and I saw blood fly as he landed and rolled awkwardly into a large puddle.

  Alex didn’t get back up. He didn’t even stir.

  I had a clear view of the Horseman’s Mask, and the light spray of blood across its face from it dragging over his wound as he tumbled through the mud.

  I waited, silently urging him to get up, begging King Arthur’s spirit to give him a boost of energy. Mordred grunted satisfactorily and turned to face me and his Knights.

  “Now, where were we,” he growled, his eyes locking onto me. “Oh, that’s right. You were going to take me to where the rest of the Ichor is,” he snarled. “So I can destroy it for—”

  The Knights shouted out, interrupting Mordred as Alex suddenly jumped to his feet and began sprinting behind Mordred’s back, clutching his wounded side with one hand and the Mask of Justice with the other.

  Mordred swore, and began flinging bolts of power at Alex, but Alex dove behind a block of stone, rolling to his knees out of Mordred’s immediate sight. I watched as he stared down at the Mask in his hand, and I saw him hesitate.

  He needed time.

  I began hurling bolts of lightning at Mordred and the Knights as fast as I possibly could, anything to keep them distracted long enough for Alex to make his decision. I flung the bolts blindly, panting and snarling, not even caring if any struck true or not. In fact, it was better if they simply struck all around my targets chaotically, confusing the hell out of everyone.

  Because if Alex donned that Mask, all the bad guys would be toast in about ten seconds.

  If my own Mask hadn’t been cracked, I would have slapped it on before even walking into this cursed place.

  As I continued throwing bolt after bolt, I saw Alex reach down for something in front of him that I hadn’t noticed a moment ago.

  My War Hammer sat in the mud, handle pointed up into the air. And it was glowing brighter than I had ever seen. The Ichor I had hidden within was responding to the Ichor now flowing in Alex’s veins. As his hand neared, the glow increased until it was almost blinding.

  His hand wrapped around the handle and it lashed out with golden tendrils of lightning that seemed to anchor the Hammer down into the mud. I stared incredulously as Alex tugged on the handle as if trying to dislodge the lightning anchors in time to save his life from Mordred.

  The stone mallet remained firmly rooted in the ground, but that handle…

  It just kept on rising as Alex continued to pull—now standing to his feet for more leverage as he dropped the Horseman Mask and used both hands to pull the Hammer from the ground, gritting his teeth in determination. But as he pulled…

  A stunning sword slowly unsheathed from the stone, inch-by-glorious-inch.

  The blade finally came free with an echoing chime that seemed to rise up into the sky. The golden arcs of electricity that had been holding the stone anchored to the ground abruptly snapped back up into the sword, crackling across the surface for a few seconds before fizzling out.

  I flinched as the coffin beside me suddenly let out a hissing sound and sank back down into the ground. We all just kind of stood there for a second, gawking incredulously at the dude with the sword in his hand.

  How in the world…

  My War Hammer had been…Excalibur? The godsdamned Sword in the Stone?

  The stone mallet crumpled into dust, and Alex finally lifted his eyes to stare at Mordred with a very broad smile.

  “Daddy’s found his sword…” he said.

  “Excalibur,” Mordred rasped in disbelief, his face paling. Then he abruptly Shadow Walked his ass out of Stonehenge. One by one, the Knights winked out of view as well, following their boss like lemmings.

  I shook my head incredulously, staring at Alex. No, at Arthur.

  “Dude…” I said, pointing at Excalibur. “You broke my War Hammer.”

  Alex blinked a few times and then let out a sigh. “I guess I did. Sorry.”

  “Are you kidding me? Don’t say sorry. This was better than any other outcome I expected after those Knights started changing colors.”

  Alex sat down on a rock, staring down at the gleaming blade. “It’s not complete. I think it’s still missing a piece,” he said, sounding troubled. “I don’t understand—”

  I cleared my throat, cutting him off. “Pandora said it was in the Armory, right?” I asked, thinking out loud. Alex nodded adamantly, as if I had just proven his point. I shook my head. “She said that when you were in the Armory. And when the War Hammer was in the Armory,” I said, growing excited as my mind raced down the rabbit-hole.

  Alex blinked rapidly. “Why…why didn’t she just tell us? Tell me?” he added, sounding betrayed.

  I smiled in understanding. I’d been through a lot of lies recently, and I had a budding understanding on the matter.

  “I think she did tell you, just in her own way.” He grunted, not buying it. “The whole hot tub thing,” I explained, nodding as the pieces kicked into place in my mind. “Like the Lady of the Lake. She said she needed to give you something, remember?”

  Alex’s cheeks flushed red. “She, um, gave me quite a lot in the hot tub. Several times, in fact.”

  And, kids, that’s what happens when you open Pandora’s Box, I thought to myself.

  I rolled my eyes at his joke, but he wasn’t laughing. Okay. Puppy love. I sighed. “In addition to the piece she gave you in the hot tub,” I said drily, “I think she gave you one of Excalibur’s pieces in the hot tub. Like a ritual.” I thought about it. “The Soul or the Name. One of those two.”

  Because the Blade was obviously the War Hammer he had stolen from me. I’d get over that one day. Maybe.

  The Blood—which Alex also stole from me—was the ichor from the Round Table—whether belonging to Merlin or Arthur, I wasn�
�t quite sure yet. Sometimes the easiest answer wasn’t the right answer when it came to magic. And several sources of mine had seemed to strongly believe that the Ichor had been Merlin’s blood.

  The Power was probably the Hand of God Alex had used—giving him the ability to harness King Arthur’s spirit, rather than a Beast. Just like Odin had said atop the mountain. Even then, he was giving me answers. I found myself wondering how many other answers I had been given without knowing it, but I quickly cut off that train of thought to focus back on Alex.

  All things considered, that left only the Name and the Soul as possibilities for remaining pieces for what Pandora had given him. Or, I was wrong, and Pandora had just let him check out her box. Pun definitely intended.

  I looked at Alex, realizing that he still looked depressed. Someone he obviously cared quite a bit about had lied to him.

  He scooped up the Horseman Mask from the ground, smiling at it.

  “I was going to ask you about that before Mordred almost killed you, in case you were wondering. You’ve earned it,” I said carefully, gauging his reaction.

  Alex looked down at it for a long moment, and then finally shook his head gently. He held it out to me. “It means a lot, Nate. More than you will ever know…but I think I have a different job to do,” he said, glancing back to where Mordred had last been seen.

  “And what job is that?” I asked, taking back the Mask, ignoring my feeling of disappointment, but understanding his decision at the same time.

  A slow smile crept over his face, and he began to chuckle. Soon, it was a great, booming laugh, loud enough to wake Gunnar and Talon. They glanced up sharply, staring over at us. I waved at them and then turned back to Alex.