“I don’t know, Lancelot,” Geraint said exasperated, “but we have spent all day walking around the inside of a hollow hill which goes down as far as it goes up, so let’s not be caught up in semantics.”
“Sorry,” I said again. I guessed his temper frayed because of the pressure. I tried to be more sympathetic.
“If we follow the marks that make sense in the story we should reach Arthur safely,” he said.
“And if we don’t?”
“I don’t know, but I really would rather not find out. Fey are known for their tricks so let's not get carried away.”
His eyes challenged me to defy him. I merely stood quietly and allowed him his victory. I’d already be dead if I’d been here alone, so he’d won as far as I was concerned. Geraint nodded once and took the first step on the story the fey had written. I followed quietly, attempting to hold my temper. Geraint muttered under his breath and frowned. He translated what he saw as we inched forward. I didn’t even try to listen, my attention focused only on Arthur. He lay so still and I found we were going in a circuitous route, making me more impatient.
Geraint stopped and I almost walked into him, “What now?” I asked exasperated.
“You need to listen to this,” Geraint said pointing. “I know this is hardly definitive but it speaks of the ash taking the oak’s place.” Hardly in the right frame of mind, I stared at Geraint blankly, he sighed, clearly suffering the idiot, “The fey think you are going to replace Arthur.”
I snorted, “Don’t be ridiculous. I will never and can never replace Arthur. This is madness. Just get me to him.”
“Lancelot,” Geraint tried to make me understand.
“No, we don’t have time. We need to reach Arthur and wake him up,” I refused to believe he might be dead. “Then we find Merlin and Else and leave.”
I watched the scholar in my friend do battle with the soldier, who would follow my orders. I have always been Arthur’s second and as King’s Champion I would always be the one Geraint looked to for instruction. The soldier won.
“Fine, just remember we need to discuss this when we leave this place,” Geraint muttered and returned to his task.
He walked forward once more slowly and carefully. I followed. We grew closer to Arthur. He lay so still, so quiet. We finally arrived close enough for me to see his eye lashes on his cheek. Geraint studied the ground. I opted for a more direct approach.
My impatience finally outweighed his commonsense. I placed my feet, crouched slightly and launched myself into space. My legs stretched to reach the edge of the dais, Geraint yelled for me to stop. I struck the edge of the low platform and threw my weight forward so I didn’t slip backward. My knees hit the next step, but I’d landed.
“Ha, easy,” I said.
“You bloody idiot,” Geraint bellowed, “What have you landed on?”
“Nothing, a blank stone.”
“And how do you know that’s the right place to stand?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Geraint, have pity on me. Not everything is that complicated.”
“Are you certain?” Geraint knelt on his tile and banged the torch on the one next door, sparks flew from the torch and the tile smashed into a hundred sharp pieces as a spear shot from the centre. My friend wiped his cheek where a piece of shrapnel bloodied him.
I looked at the spear and I looked at Geraint. I didn’t move. “Do you think I’m safe here? Can I reach Arthur?” I still had three steps before I would be at his side.
“Are any of the stone steps marked in any way?”
“No,” I said after looking closely at what I could see. “They look the same as the ones we walked down.”
“Fine, then you can go, but be careful, Lancelot, please.” Geraint began walking again, studying the ground. I sprinted up the stone steps. I finally stood beside Arthur’s still form. I touched his jaw with my hand and kissed his brow.
“Wake up, Arthur. I beg you wake up,” I whispered. Geraint finally joined me and took Arthur’s hand.
“He will not wake until I allow it,” came an imperious female voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Light flooded the inside of the hill. Geraint cried out and I cursed, finding myself blind. Noise filled the cavern and I blinked back tears, trying to focus. Instinct drove me. I grabbed Arthur’s still body and pulled it free from the bier, holding him to my chest. I sank to my knees and covered his still form with my back to the room. Sheltering in the shadows, I forced my eyes to adjust. Geraint crouched beside me, his knife hand out, waving it rhythmically in front of us, acting as a barrier.
A slow clapping finally brought my attention toward the woman who’d spoken. Either side of the most regal, the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, stood an army. Else’s gagged and bound body slumped between two of the male fey. The woman’s fey heritage glowed from her long red hair a shade impossible in a mortal, her eyes resembled those of a fox and her teeth were slightly pointed at the ends. She smiled. Her gaze focused on me. The hunger there I did not recognise or understand. Her tall, elegant form, the narrow waist, firm round breasts and long legs were covered in golden figure hugging armour. It moved like a second skin. She moved like a true predator.
“Welcome, son of Aeddan,” she said quietly.
I let my eyes register the soldiers. All were similar. Tall, broad, blonde, perfect and really well armed. There were twenty five. Not the best of odds.
“Let her go,” I said pointlessly waving the knife toward Else.
The woman smiled, “No, I am her mother and I can do as I wish with my flesh and my blood.” She wafted a slim pale hand and one of the soldiers holding Else forced her down onto her knees. Tears filled her brown eyes, he didn’t do it gently. I heard Geraint curse in sympathy.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“How disappointing, straight to the nub. Don’t you want to bargain? Most mortals want to bargain with the fey,” she said. Her accent made her voice sing in my ears. She smiled and stepped toward me, her hips almost serpentine in their movement.
“I’m not like most mortals,” I stated. “Why have you brought us here?” I reiterated.
Her smile widened, “So, true. But I am certain you will deal before the end, your nobility will force it upon you.”
I did not like the sound of that, what, who would she use to force a deal? I thought about laying Arthur down, leaving me free to rush the fey woman and strike at the heart of our troubles.
The Queen licked her lips and pointed at Arthur, bringing my attention back, “I won’t play games then, Lancelot du Lac. Especially for you, I shall keep this plain. I want you to kill him and take his place as king. It is your right. Your father may want you dead, but I need you alive, to be my new consort. Together we will bring Albion back into England. It’s quite simple really.”
Geraint actually laughed, “You are mad. Lancelot hurt Arthur?” the laugh turned into a giggle. I glanced at my friend, tears coursed down his cheeks and I heard Else make strangled noises. I looked at her, she sobbed.
With my gaze firmly locked on the fey witch, I asked, “What the hell are you doing to them?” With Arthur in one arm and the other hand grasping the knife too tightly, I couldn’t touch Geraint to bring him back.
“I am showing them, inside their simple minds, with the small gifts I possess, what will happen if you do not kill Arthur. It’s sending them quite mad,” she stepped closer, immune to the floor’s defences. “If you don’t kill him England will wither and fade under his reign. Disease will flourish and the land will be barren, as will Guinevere,” she stood just beyond my reach. Her skin shone with a strange phosphoresce. Geraint moaned, his knife clattered to the floor and he grasped his head. “I will keep showing them this, and other horrors, until you consent to kill the usurper.”
“I don’t believe that Arthur living a long happy life will harm England,” I ground out. “Let them go,” I said slowly and calmly. “Let them go and deal with me, take me, do what you like to me bu
t release them. They have nothing to do with this.”
“You see, I knew you’d deal. I had hoped you’d hold out a little longer.” Her hand reached for my face and I remained very still. I might have cut her with the knife, but with Arthur in my arms, if I’d tried I’d have missed her body. Anything other than a death strike would just make her angry and I didn’t think that would be a good idea.
“You are so beautiful,” she said. “Your entire father’s perfection made human. I always knew his light would shine brightly within your creation.” She didn’t touch me but the heat from her fingers brushed my skin and I watched the lust in her eyes make her elongated pupils dilate. I swallowed, finally very scared. This woman, this creature leaked power all over me, suffocating me. She smiled, delicate, tentative and brushed the golden curls on Arthur’s head. I didn’t want her touching him. I drew him closer to my chest.
“Kill him and become king, or I will make your world suffer,” she murmured. I so wished she screamed. It would be easier.
“Never,” I said very quietly. Such a simple word. She blinked and smiled. Else and Geraint screamed. The sound ripped into me, my ears split with the shock and pain it caused. The great wave crashed and broke against my body. I tucked myself into Arthur’s shoulder and used him to prevent my mind from smashing apart inside that sound of agony.
The noise died, “Kill him and become king,” she hadn’t moved.
“No,” the word leaked out of my mouth but my body trembled in fear for those I loved. I didn’t for one moment consider sacrificing Arthur to save them. I would have taken the pain myself to protect them, but I would not hurt Arthur.
Geraint screamed for so long and so loudly his voice broke and I watched his mouth stretch soundlessly, in agony. Else fainted but her voice reverberated inside my mind.
“Kill Arthur,” she said.
“I love him,” I told her defiantly. Geraint lay beside me, his head on Arthur’s thigh. Blood trickled from his nose, mouth and ears.
“You will kill him, Lancelot,” she smiled. The fey Queen waved her hand and the world turned black.
I woke to my own agony.
My shoulders and wrists screamed at me and I couldn’t breathe properly. The air stank, fetid and heavy with heat. Sweat dripped into my eyes and I finally understood my predicament. I dangled from my wrists over a pit full of coals. My shirt gone, my boots gone, my King gone. I tried to call out, the light around me too dim to see, it hid everything but my immediate environment. My own weight stretched and crushed my ribs and neck. Just breathing proved a fight, never mind talking. The heat, the pain in my shoulders and the foul air made me sick. I should never have gone blindly into the hill after Arthur. I should have returned to Camelot somehow, raised an army and torn the fucking thing down. The only thing I’d accomplished was the near certain destruction of my family.
I strained against the metal cuffs, trying to pull my weight up, my fingers encircling the chain. Every muscle fought for release, but my own body weight defeated me, too many large muscles fighting too many small muscles. Next, I tried raising my legs, hoping to use momentum and kinetic energy to alter my odds of escape. The only odds I managed to change were the ones involving the skin on my arms to stay whole. Blood dripped from fresh wounds, elegantly tracing the muscles down my arms.
A door opened in the gloom, “Oh, good,” came the fey bitch’s voice. “You woke up.” She stepped into the circle of light surrounding me. The gold of her armour glowed red in the fitful torch light. She smiled, “You look so perfect.”
“Funny,” I managed to grate, “I feel like shit.”
Her hand reached out and her fingers, hotter than the coals burning my feet, traced lines over my chest. She caught a little of the blood on the end of one small finger and sucked it clean, watching my face the whole time with those strange intense eyes. Her intimate gestures caused my breath to hitch, sending confusing signals to my brain.
“Tell me you will kill Arthur and I’ll let you go,” she cooed in my ear.
“He is my King. I am a knight of Camelot. I will never betray him,” I told her through gritted teeth.
She stood on the edge of the pit, unaffected by the heat, arrogant and beautiful. Her hands gently turned me around where I swung. I felt her begin to trace the lines of my scars. “Somehow, this tragic imperfection makes you more desirable. The flaw in an otherwise perfect gem.”
My skin prickled under her gentle touch. I didn’t want her examining me. I didn’t want her touching me. Those scars were mine and I horded the memory of the pain they created close to my heart. A deeply personal and horrific memory. I used it to remember the vagrancies of life. I twitched, then I thrashed, trying to force myself around to face her, so she couldn’t trace each line, just as Arthur had done while he wept for our grief.
“You say you won’t kill him,” she murmured lovingly, “but he has hurt you so badly. I don’t understand why you won’t punish him the way he punished you. He betrayed you. He stole your wife. I created Guinevere for you and he took her. All your grief, your loneliness, your suffering comes from that one selfish, childish act and you won’t hate him for it.” Her fingers continued to play over the ridges in my skin. I panted for breath unable to stop her fiddling with me. I thought about her words. If they were true, if such a thing were possible, Arthur and I should be mortal enemies. “She is your perfect woman, the only woman in this world you could ever have truly loved.”
“Arthur is my life, he can do with me as he wishes,” I ground out through clenched teeth.
“I’m sure he can,” she said suddenly turning me back. I stared down only slightly into her eyes. “After all, you want to fuck him don’t you?” she asked her eyes dancing merrily as she planned her verbal baiting.
Feeling like a cat’s toy made me grumpy in the extreme. I hawked and spat at her. I’d never spat at a woman and to be honest it wasn’t effective, my mouth too dry. It made her react though, her hand whipped up so fast I didn’t find time to brace. She slapped me hard across the face. The world bloomed with new agony and my stomach lurched with the instant need to vomit. “Fucking animal,” she hissed. Stars chased each other around my vision and I tasted blood in my mouth.
“Where is Arthur?” I managed to ask.
“You want your precious King then fine, have him,” she snapped. Her hand waved and light washed through an enormous room. My eyes, blurry from the smack, took time to adjust. I saw Geraint first. He hung over a pit like mine, still unconscious. Else hung with him, they were both dressed and hung face to face. The fey woman waved her hand once more. I considered what it would be like to cut that hand off. Geraint roused, jerked and cried out when he realised his predicament. Else woke and flinched, her small body bucked into his, they saw me and Geraint closed his eyes in understanding and acceptance of his fate. He spoke quietly to Else. I felt love for my friend as he tried to bring her comfort.
My eyes finally found Arthur. Or rather his back. His body lay prone, tied to a post, just like the one used for me all those months ago. His shirt lay torn around his hips, mirroring my own half naked humiliation before the court of Camelot. Sweat gleamed in the ethereal light and his blonde head sagged. He remained unconscious and unhurt. I trembled in the knowledge this status quo wouldn’t remain so for long.
“Please,” I found myself saying. “If you want me, you have me. Let them go, my Lady. Show mercy, I beg you.” I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“Nimue, Lancelot, my name is Nimue,” she stroked my chest once more. “And I will be your Queen.”
“I thought you were already Queen?” I asked, trying to draw her into conversation and away from thoughts of Arthur.
“I am. I am married to your father, but he is an ignorant selfish pig,” that came from her perfect lips sounding like a pout, “and I want you not him on the throne of Albion.”
Great, I thought, so we are the pawns in the centre of a game between rival fey who are fighting over our throne and
sulking about it.
“Well, Nimue, if you let them go, I will fight for you and kill this fey king of yours to give you the throne of Albion. We need not involve Arthur at all.” It was worth a try.
She giggled, “No,” she said and Geraint cried out. My head ripped up to see him and Else lowered several inches toward the coals under their bare feet. I heard Else call out to me. Impotent, I just watched as they hung and twisted now closer to the fire. Else talked to Geraint, his legs moved and he hooked them over her hips, pulling on her small wrists but taking his feet away from the worst of the fire. Blood flowed down her arms.
“I want Arthur dead and I want him dead by your hand,” she said very slowly, poking me in the chest to emphasise each word. “I need Albion and England to become one again. I need the mortals to worship in the old style. I need you to be king. My people will accept you and your people will accept you, with some gentle persuading.”
“Why do I have to kill Arthur?” I asked. “Anyone can do it.”
Her fingers played in my blood drawing lines, “True, but I need you to do it, so you understand who and what you are. I need you to kill him and take his place. I’ll even throw in Guinevere if you want her that badly. Call it, training,” she said slowly, choosing her words. “If you kill him it will stop you from loving him and it will please me. You want to please me don’t you?”
Her strange eyes held me captive as she spoke. I wanted to kiss that mouth, those full lips. My brain screamed at me, the warrior in me reacting to something horribly familiar. The spell, the love spell the other fey used to trap me with Else. The lassitude crept slowly over me and my dick stirred. She smiled and I ached for her mouth on my hot wet skin. “Yes, you see, you are weakening to me already,” she whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A small whimper escaped me. I hated that spell, more than anything else I did not want to feel it pouring through my body and forcing me hard. Her hand strayed over my growing erection and I closed my eyes in shame, “Impressive,” she informed me.
Lancelot and the Wolf Page 21
