She began trudging up the slopes, her mind echoing with the word Darkling. If it was her destiny, there was no point in fighting it.
CHAPTER 15
A fter a half hour of hiking, Ursula reached the ridge’s peak, completely winded, her legs aching. But she’d been right about the view—she could see clear down the side of the mountain, and its gentle slope that led to the apple blossom forests, and on to the mist-shrouded castle. A black column of smoke rose from the turrets. The dragon was wreaking some serious damage, and she needed to put a stop to it.
Above her was the great ring of basalt that marked the rim of the Tor. Sunlight glinted off dark, volcanic rock—pumice and obsidian. Okay, so it’s not just a hill. It’s a bloody volcano.
If there was ever a good time to have her fire magic, it would be now, but she’d have to do without it.
SHE’D BEEN HIKING for at least an hour when she came upon the trail that wound between the rocks—a narrow path barely more than a game trail. She would have mistaken it for exactly that had there not been a pile of stones twenty meters up the mountainside. A cairn—a landmark of rocks. Mountain goats didn’t build cairns.
Moving as swiftly as she could, she hiked up the treeless trail, bathed in sunlight. Here, a few forlorn tufts of grass grew from the gravel and scree. She was probably imagining it, but she had the sense that the grass seemed to bend away from her as she walked, as if she terrified even the plants. Could they sense her Darkling powers? Up here, a cold wind whipped over her skin, and the temperature dropped, but the hiking kept her warm. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She squinted in the sunlight, looking out for the next cairn when she felt a familiar prickle up her spine. Someone was watching her.
Up here, she had nowhere to hide. She was totally exposed on the mountainside. Why couldn’t Niniane have grabbed a blade? Even a kitchen knife would have been better than nothing.
Footfalls crunched over the gravel path. Ursula whirled, ready to fight with her hands if she had to. And there was Bael, the sunlight gilding his powerful body. She took in his beauty—the perfect sweep of dark hair, the golden skin and gray eyes, the combination of colors like sunlight piercing storm clouds. Finally, he’d found clothes that fit him—black, as usual, with short sleeves that showed off his thickly corded arms, inked with vicious tattoos. A sword hung from his hip, and he carried a jacket under one arm.
She put her hands on her hips. “Fancy meeting you here. Were you looking for me?”
Bael shook his head. “You shouldn’t be up here.”
“And yet I am.” She wasn’t about to tell him about the Darkling prophecy. She’d already seen how he reacted to the fact that she was from Mount Acidale, and she didn’t need to make matters worse.
He stopped a few feet in front of her, and she breathed in his seductive sandalwood scent. “Why are you here, Ursula?”
“I’m after the sword, obviously. You said it was the only thing that can kill the dragons.” Ursula eyed him suspiciously. What is he doing up here on the mountain? “I thought you were in the infirmary.”
“I was. They stitched me up, and when the dragons attacked, I started searching for the sword.”
“What about your wings?”
“They put Vesalius Ointment in the wounds before they closed them. They won’t fully heal, but they no longer require magic to keep me from bleeding to death.”
“You still don’t have your shadow magic?”
Bael shook his head. “The queen and the maidens hid the apples.”
Ursula studied him closely. If he was after the sword, too, maybe he was the Darkling. After all, he was the one with dark, shadow magic—not her. Perhaps her betrothal to him had been enough to set off Merlin and the queen’s senses.
“Isn’t the sword supposed to be nearly impossible to pull from the rock?”
Bael shrugged. “I’ve done many things that are supposed to be impossible.” There was something about Bael’s casualness that almost seemed feigned. What wasn’t he telling her?
“We’ll find it together, then.”
They walked in silence along the path, toward a towering wall of basalt. It was awe inspiring—extending at least a thousand feet in the air, and perfectly sheer. She didn’t think she’d be able to climb it without her hellhound strength.
At the wall’s base, the fields of scree transformed into boulders, splintered and chipped. Stopping by Bael’s side, Ursula glanced up at the cliff nervously. At some point, the boulders had been ejected from the volcano’s mouth. Ursula stared up at the sheer, gleaming gray rock face. It didn’t exactly look easy to climb.
As she surveyed the rock, a carved inscription caught her eye. Written in Angelic was the phrase, “A Knight bears a token of the Lady’s Favor.” Next to the inscription, a shape had been carved into the rock—an arch, like a door.
Already, Bael was inspecting it, running his fingers over the carving. “This is the entrance.”
“What does the text mean?”
“There are supposed to be a series of challenges to get to the Lady of the Lake. I suppose this is our first one.”
Ursula walked up to the cliff, her shoulder brushing against Bael’s forearm. At the brief contact of his skin against hers, a wave of heat surged through her, and she forced herself to focus on the rock. Like Bael, she brushed her fingers against the stone, finding the gray basalt cold and a little rough. The groove in the rock was maybe as deep as her fingertip. It didn’t seem to extend into the rock any farther. “It feels solid.”
Bael frowned. “I don’t sense any magic.”
“You can normally feel it?”
“Yes. Move away.”
As Ursula stepped back, Bael took a step back, then charged at the stone with a lowered shoulder. A crack echoed through the air, and Bael stepped back, rubbing his deltoid.
“A noble effort,” said Ursula. “But I imagine we need to do what the inscription says. A token of some kind. What’s a Lady’s Favor?”
Bael scrubbed a hand over his chin. “Ladies used to give knights little trinkets to show their support. Hairpins, handkerchiefs.” He glanced at her, and for the briefest of moments, his eyes slid down her body. “A bit of bodice lace if you were lucky.”
“Bodice lace?” At the look Bael had given her, Ursula suddenly felt very aware of just how much flesh she was exposing in her tiny dress.
“A piece of cloth torn from the neck of her dress.” His gaze flicked to her dress again. “Where did you get that dress?”
When he met her gaze again, his eyes half-entranced her. A pure gray, with faint flecks of blue, framed by black. There was always something so sad in his expression, and right now, she had the strongest urge to reach up and stroke the beautiful planes of his face—but they were here for a reason. “From one of the girls. It doesn’t quite fit, I know.”
A spark of heat flashed in his eyes as he stared down at her. “It looks perfect on you.”
“Right,” said Ursula not trying to hide her skepticism. “So we need a favor for the Lady to open the door? What should I give her? Do you want to help me tear of a bit of my bodice?”
For just a moment, a wicked smile curled Bael’s lips—and then, so fast she wondered if it had been there at all, it disappeared again, replaced by his usual stony expression. “Whether I do or not, your bodice won’t help us. The inscription says a token of the Lady. We need a token from the Lady of the Lake. Not for her.”
“Right. But that makes no sense. We need a token from her in order to get access to her.” She bit her lip. “Maybe it’s a metaphor.” Then, the answer struck her like a bolt of lightning. “Do you have Mordred’s pendant?”
Bael’s eyes widened with understanding, and he pulled the golden apple from his pocket. Sunlight glinted off it, nearly blinding Ursula, and immediately the surface of the rock began to move. A pale light raced along the deep, rocky groove. Then a loud bang echoed through the air, the like the report of a gun. Slowly, the stone swung op
en.
CHAPTER 16
A t Bael’s side, she stepped into a dim interior, and Bael called forth a glowing orb to light their way. It cast a dull, amber light over a rocky alcove that led straight into a twisting rock stairwell. Bael pulled his sword from its sheath as he moved up the stairs, and he directed the orb to float just above them. Quickly, their steps fell into a rhythm, her shoulder sometimes brushing against Bael’s warm skin, as they wound round and round. As they climbed higher, her lungs burned and her thighs felt like Emerazel had set them on fire, but Bael hadn’t broken a sweat.
By her side, Bael climbed like a god—graceful and smooth. Slow, even breaths. Dark shadows moved around him. Even without his magic, he exuded pure power. Truly, if either of them were the Darkling, it was him.
As they walked, the stone around the stairwell lightened to a pale cream color. Ursula’s tongue was dry against the roof of her mouth, and the dip in the icy mountain stream seemed like something from a past life. Speaking of which, it seemed like nearly a lifetime since she’d eaten. In fact, she hadn’t eaten since Merlin’s. She tried not to think about it, but her mind wandered straight to the rabbit stew he’d served her. The rich flavors had melted in her mouth, a dish Kester would spend fifty dollars on at one of those fancy farm-to-table restaurants in New York.
Thinking of the stew, her stomach rumbled loudly. Gah, what I wouldn’t do for a proper meal.
Bael stopped sharply and turned to look at her. “You’re hungry.”
She gripped her stomach. “Yeah. I didn’t get to eat yet today.”
A line appeared between his eyebrows. “When we leave here, we’re getting you food. You need to eat.”
“No arguments here.”
Bael turned his head, putting his finger to his lips. After a moment, he whispered, “We’re near the top.”
Faint light shone in the stairwell. Up here, the air smelled different—faintly of smoke and charred wood. “We’ve reached the top.”
Bael moved forward slowly, holding his sword ready. They rounded the final turn of the staircase and stepped out onto the top of the cliff.
A cold wind kissed her damp skin, and Ursula shivered. A whirling mist surrounded them, and the wind whistled faintly in their ears. Around them, were the dark outlines of stone buildings, their surfaces covered in lichen and moss. Maybe it was the mist, but somehow the buildings’ outlines looked indistinct, like they’d been plucked from an impressionist painting. Ursula studied the closest one. Broken windows interrupted the pale stone, and rotting wood formed the roof.
“What is this place?” she asked
“I’m not sure.” Bael’s feet crunched over a gravel path that wound into the mist. “Come with me.”
Ursula followed close behind him. Unlike Bael, she didn’t have a weapon, so she kept alert for any signs of movement in case she had to run.
As they walked further, a conical shape became clearer though the mist, close to the path’s edge. Ursula frowned at it, taking in the irregular shapes—a pile of stone rocks. “There’s a cairn. We’re going the right way.”
Their footsteps crunched over the gravel as they moved further along the path, until another building came into view, this one in better condition than the others. Built of pale stone and with towering spires, it looked like a cathedral.
Ursula stared at it, her skin growing cold in the misty mountain air. “What is that?”
Bael paused, studying it through the fog. “I think I know where we are. This is Camelot.”
Shivering, Ursula crossed her arms. “I didn’t realize Camelot and Avalon were so closely connected. I thought Camelot was somewhere on the mainland, in Cornwall or something.”
“It was, but when Arthur left, the kingdom disappeared. And apparently, this is where it went.”
“And it’s been in ruins ever since?”
“So it seems.”
Ursula looked up again at the ancient church, its pale stone crumbling. Is this what will come of New York one day?
As Ursula stepped closer the building, it became clear that calling it a cathedral had been generous. One of its steeples had crumbled entirely, and the other looked like it might collapse at any moment. An ancient iron fence surrounded the small yard in front. In its center stood the remains of an elm, half decayed. Bael paused, his gaze fixed on the trunk. She followed his line of vision to the trunk’s base, where two stones lay, carved in ancient-looking words. Ursula strained her eyes, trying to read them, surprised to find they’d been engraved not with Angelic, but in Latin.
A shiver licked up her spine. “Rex Arthurus. Regina Gwenevere. The graves of King Arthur and Guinevere.”
“Arthur was a great man.” Bael looked serious, almost solemn.
“You knew him?”
“Only by reputation. Nyxobas tried to bring him onto the council, but he refused.” Bael paused, the shadows around him thickening in the air, staining the mist with black. “Never refuse the demands of a god. It tends to end badly.”
She had a feeling he was talking about himself, but he wouldn’t be ready to explain. “It ended badly for Arthur, I suppose?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Could have been worse.” He turned, starting down the path again. Suddenly, the air had iced.
Ursula followed “So—what, Nyxobas invited Arthur to join him on the Council, Arthur refused, and Nyxobas killed him?”
“It serves no one to speak ill of the dead.” There was a note of tension in Bael’s voice. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, lengthening his stride, until a towering wall became visible through the mist, looming above them. Made of dark stone, it stretched into the fog in either direction. Inset into the wall was a tall door of dark granite, above it more Angelic text: A Knight is Honorable.
Bael was already striding up to the door. When he pushed on it, it swung open with a groan. He turned, fixing Ursula with his pale eyes. “The second trial is through here.”
CHAPTER 17
T hey crossed through the doorway and into a courtyard of tall grass. A small stone hut stood at the far end, and a large oak stump jutted from the center of the yard, its surface deeply scratched. It looked like what a woodsman might use for chopping firewood—except that a deep red blotch stained the surface. The hair rose on the back of Ursula’s neck.
Bael stiffened as a man stepped from the door of the hut, stopping immediately outside the rickety building. At the sight of him, an icy jolt of fear raced down Ursula’s spine. He wore pitch-black armor and gripped a massive battleax. The knight stood ramrod straight—didn’t so much as twitch. If Ursula hadn’t just seen him step out of the hut, she might have mistaken him for a statue.
Bael unsheathed his sword, stepping forward. “I am Bael, Lord of Albelda.”
Almost imperceptibly, the knight nodded. With a creak of iron, his helm turned to Ursula.
She took a deep breath, “I am Ursula. Hound of Emerazel.”
The knight nodded. He spoke, his voice dry and raspy, like his larynx was made of sandpaper. “Two contestants, unusual. I am Balach, protector of Camelot.”
Ursula jumped when he walked swiftly toward the oak stump, moving faster than should have been possible in the heavy armor. Rearing back his arm, he slammed the head of the ax into the wood, the crack echoing across the courtyard. “Only those who accept my challenge may proceed to the chasm.”
Bael raised his face. “What is your challenge, Knight?”
“I won’t tell you that until you accept.”
This isn’t good. Ursula touched Bael’s arm. “Don’t do it.”
Bael bowed his head slightly. “I accept.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Balach stood stiffly, hands tight on his battleax. Ursula could feel the fear prickling along her limbs. Run away, it seemed to be telling her.
Whatever was about to happen, it wouldn’t be good. Maybe she could stall long enough for Bael to reconsider.
She raised a hand. “Before you start, I have a
question. Has a man named Kester been here, by any chance?”
“The names of the challengers are not important to me. Either accept, or leave.”
Bael glared at her, gray eyes burning. He obviously wanted her to accept, yet there was something about the knight that warned her away. He moved too little, then too fast. Then there was his broken voice. Why do I feel like I’m signing my own death warrant?
And yet—she trusted Bael. She didn’t know why—he told her nothing, and maybe he was the Darkling himself. But she trusted him with her life.
She took a deep breath. “I accept.”
With a jerk, Balach pulled the axe from the stump. He flipped it around, so the handle faced them.
“Excellent,” he said, his voice pure gravel. “The task is simple. I will choose one of you to take this ax and strike a blow. A strike of the ax, through another person’s neck.” He pointed to the blood-stained stump. “There. When the first person has finished, the other will strike the last person standing.” Balach paused to let his words to sink in. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Bael.
Ursula was trying to work out the logistics in her mind, but she was pretty sure there was no way she and Bael were both getting out alive if they truly agreed to the terms.
Balach nodded. “The lady goes first.”
Before Ursula could protest, Balach moved swiftly forward, thrusting the ax handle into her hands. She examined the blade—it was razor sharp, but poorly weighted. Ursula had a sinking feel that ‘former Ursula’—the Ursula she had been before she lost her memory—had never wielded an ax.
“You must choose,” said the knight. “Choose who you want to strike.”
Darkling or not, she wasn’t going to strike Bael with an ax. What the hell was he playing at? Once she struck clear through Balach’s neck, they’d simply move on. Right? She pointed the ax at Balach. “I choose you.”
The knight nodded, then knelt in the grass with a great groan of iron. Slowly his lowered his head until it rested on the surface of the stump. Bloody hell. He’s serious about this.
Primeval Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 3) Page 14
