Sophie pondered this. “Maybe it’s his way of making sure he gets to fight Tedros himself.”
“Maybe,” said Nicola. “But it seems strange somehow . . . artificial, even. Like he’s setting something up.”
Sophie peered at her, mind churning—
Professor Dovey suddenly swept into the dining room, her hair a mess, her face tired and gaunt, and a bag on her arm.
“I came as soon as I could,” she said to Tedros. “I did what you asked—I cast a barrier over the outer gates so the scims can’t fly in. It’s a spell the School Master showed Lesso and me to seal the school in a crisis. If Rafal’s sealing of the Sheriff’s sack worked on the Snake, then the barrier is guaranteed to work too—” She coughed, clutching at her throat. “Sorry . . . I’m feeling a bit . . .”
“Professor Dovey, you shouldn’t be here!” Nicola said, running up to her. “Merlin sent you a note telling you not to come!”
“And Tedros sent me a note saying he needed me,” Good’s Dean countered, turning to the king. “What else can I do to hel—”
Her knees buckled, her body starting to slump. Instantly, Tedros seized her waist and propped her up. Sophie and Agatha sprinted to help him.
“I’m okay—I just . . . I just need to sit down—” Professor Dovey stammered.
“I’ll take her into my room,” said Agatha, grabbing her from Tedros.
“I’ll come with you,” said Sophie, taking one of Dovey’s arms.
“I’ll come too—” Tedros started.
“No,” Agatha said to him. “Get the others in position.”
Sophie noticed her friend’s voice was unusually harsh, but Agatha’s focus stayed on Good’s Dean, helping her towards the queen’s chamber at the end of the hall.
As soon as Professor Dovey was safely inside, Agatha closed the door. “Tedros should never have sent for you,” she said, laying the Dean on the bed. “And you should have stayed at school like Merlin told you to, Professor.”
“When Camelot’s king calls for me, I will always be there,” Professor Dovey rasped, hacking another cough. “It’s this crystal ball. . . . I’ve told Merlin I can’t handle it alone. . . .” She pointed at her bag, half-open. Through the flap, Sophie could see the top of the glowing orb. “I brought it here in case something happens to me.”
“Nothing will happen to you,” said Sophie, feeling the Dean’s forehead. “You just have a slight fever. That’s all.”
“But no more using this ball until you’re better,” Agatha said, taking the Dean’s bag and slinging it onto her arm.
In the hallway, the clock struck a quarter hour. 11:45. Fifteen minutes left.
“And until you’re better, you’re to stay here and rest,” said Sophie. “Don’t move from this room.”
“That’s an order, Professor,” said Agatha—
But Professor Dovey was already snuffling softly, fast asleep.
Sophie blew out the lamp and closed the door.
The two girls slipped onto the Blue Tower balcony, only a short distance from Excalibur, still protected by the glass lockbox, while the fleet of guards usually manning it had been dispatched to the perimeter with the army.
“I’m worried about Dovey,” said Agatha, tucking the Dean’s bag in a corner of the balcony.
“You heard her. It’s that crystal ball. Whatever she’s been doing with it clearly drains her,” said Sophie. “Just keep it away from her and she’ll get better—”
“Tedros knew she was ill. He could see it when she appeared on the ship. Why would he make her come all the way here in the dead of night? Why would he risk Professor Dovey’s life?” Agatha harped. “And then that rambling speech in the Hall . . . and going to see Lady Gremlaine instead of taking Lance into Sherwood Forest, where Lance would have been safe . . . and everything that happened at the coronation . . .” Agatha shook her head, a sad look clouding her face. “Maybe you’re right about him.”
Sophie stared at her. “Right about what?”
“Don’t make me say it. I know full well you doubt him as a king,” said Agatha. “I believe in Tedros. I really do. I defend him as much as I can. His quest for glory was to be a true king to Camelot. And I want him to succeed. But sometimes . . . sometimes he just doesn’t think like a king. Or act like one. And the fact I’m saying this when my quest was to be his queen . . . well, maybe I’m failing my quest too.”
Her focus moved back to Sophie, who’d gone stiff as a board. For a moment, she thought her friend was shocked at her confession—but then she noticed Sophie’s eyes. They weren’t looking at her. They were looking past her.
Slowly Agatha turned.
“It’s five minutes until midnight,” said Tedros, shadowed under the balcony. “Sophie, you should be with Rhian.”
“Of course,” Sophie said, giving Agatha a nervous glance before hurrying away.
But Sophie didn’t go to Rhian like she was supposed to. She hid behind the balcony wall and peeked around the edge. . . .
Agatha and Tedros stood together in silence, Excalibur hovering above their heads. In the distance, they could see Dovey’s magical barrier glinting green in the moonlight over the outer gates. Behind the gates, Camelot’s army walled off the drawbridge, while the three witches patrolled the temporary rope bridge. Beneath Agatha and Tedros, Rhian waited in the courtyard, right in front of the castle doors.
“I’m sorry, Tedros,” said Agatha, holding back tears. “I just was worried about Dovey and I got frustrated. I shouldn’t have sai—”
“You’re right,” said the king.
Agatha looked at him.
Tedros met her eyes clearly. “It’s why you tried to take over my quest. It’s why you’re always jumping in to help me. Let’s face it, Agatha. You don’t think I’m a good king. And the truth is . . . you’re right. Everything you said about me is right.”
Agatha reached out, searching for words. “Tedros—I . . . I . . .”
Shouts rose from the outer gates.
Agatha and Tedros turned sharply. So did Sophie.
There was movement on the rope bridge . . . shadows barreling towards the three witches in charge of defending it . . .
Then suddenly, Anadil, Hester, and Dot were fleeing back across it, onto the castle grounds, along with a crush of soldiers jamming onto the rope bridge, which swayed and teetered under their weight.
Tedros’ eyes flared. He sprinted past Sophie, calling for Rhian, Agatha chasing behind him—
Sophie ran out onto the balcony and watched the rope bridge snap between the gates and the courtyard, sending dozens of soldiers plunging into the Savage Sea below.
Booms echoed nearby from the broken drawbridge, sealed between the gates.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The drawbridge smashed open, battered down by desperate soldiers, who stampeded across its splintered planks towards the castle. Sophie could see Reena, Beatrix, Hort, Guinevere, and panicked leaders of allied kingdoms bolting into the courtyard, along with the rest of Tedros’ army—
Sophie gasped.
Because now she could see what everyone was running from.
Scims were stabbing the army from behind, razor-sharp at both ends, impaling bodies and then whipping around and spearing them through the front, like killing machines. They moved so quickly and brutally, each one with a life of its own, that the soldiers didn’t stand a chance. They fled in droves as scims slashed through Camelot’s defense, before the eels started veering sharply towards the castle.
Shell-shocked, Sophie looked up at Dovey’s shield over the outer gates . . . completely intact.
In a flash, Sophie was scrambling down the stairs, as soldiers’ screams tore through the courtyard, along with the scims’ searing shrieks—
It’s impossible, she thought. The barrier over the gates . . . He couldn’t get through. . . . He was supposed to need an army. . . .
Which left only one explanation.
He didn’t need an army.
Sophie’s heart thundered.
The Snake had been inside all along.
28
AGATHA
The Princess and the King
Tedros met her eyes.
“And the truth is . . . you’re right,” he’d said. “Everything you said about me is right.”
Agatha struggled under his gaze, searching for words.
But a warning pounded in her head.
“I’ve already told you how this story will end. With your fairy tale shattered . . . With everything you thought true turned untrue . . .”
Six months ago, she and Tedros thought their story had ended. They’d been off to Camelot Castle, destined to restore it to glory as queen and king. Good had won, Evil vanquished, with the success of their quests a foregone conclusion.
But now they were atop that castle, admitting they hadn’t won after all. That their quests to be that glorious king and queen had failed, no matter how much they loved each other. The End wasn’t The End at all . . . but the beginning of something thornier, twistier, where every truth about her and Tedros’ love story suddenly seemed untrue, just like the Snake had promised.
Was this the final crack in her and Tedros’ fairy tale? A fairy tale that would shatter forever?
Were the Snake’s Lies really the Truth?
Agatha looked at her prince. “Tedros . . . I . . . I . . .”
Shouts exploded near the outer gates.
It happened so fast.
Drawbridge smashing down . . . the witches fleeing across the bridge . . . the scims stabbing soldiers from behind, before the eels turned and flew towards the castle . . .
“RHIAN!” Tedros yelled as he dashed from the balcony and down the stairwell to find his knight, while Agatha chased him, her heart slamming.
“Dovey’s barrier—it’s still intact—” she called out. “He was inside the gates all along!”
“RHIAN!” Tedros yelled again, leaping down stairs as he drew Lance’s sword from his belt.
How did the Snake get in? Agatha thought, trying to keep up with her prince.
But there was no time to think. She and Tedros dashed out of the archway and into the courtyard, only to see a slew of scims shoot for their heads—
Someone tackled Tedros and Agatha to the ground, making the scims miss, before the eels circled around and savagely killed a dwarf right in front of them.
Agatha lifted her head from the dirt as Rhian grabbed her and Tedros and pulled them both into an archway behind a stone pillar, where Sophie was already hiding.
Across from them, Hester, Anadil, and Dot crouched behind a second column, with Beatrix, Reena, Nicola, and Hort’s man-wolf behind a third. Reena had a gash in her thigh, her shield dented. Hort let out a growl of pain as he ripped a spasming scim out of his calf muscle and crushed it in his hairy palm.
Agatha peeked out from the pillar to see the once-quiet field in front of the castle turned into a deathzone, with soldiers trampling each other across muddy grass, desperately seeking cover in the dark while scims stabbed them left and right. A Son of the Lion took a scim to the arm a few yards in front of Agatha before one of his friends yanked him behind a bush.
“They’re going to find us. All of us,” Beatrix said, watching scims easily take down a giant before they went off to search for fresh prey.
“We have to kill as many as we can,” Rhian urged. “The scims are his armor. We can strip it away. Kill enough of them and he’s nothing but flesh and blood.”
“We need fire! It’s the only way to kill them!” said Agatha.
“Where will we get enough fire to kill that many scims?” Sophie retorted.
Tedros jolted straight. “From oil.”
He spun to Rhian. “Cover me.”
Rhian took Reena’s shield and blocked Tedros as the two boys moved towards the courtyard. As soon as Tedros was out from under the archway, he tilted his head upwards and whistled between two fingers—
Bogden and Willam peeped over the edge of a Blue Tower balcony, their bodies hidden behind a fortress of barrels.
“Use the oil!” Tedros called as Rhian smashed scims away.
“How?” said Bogden.
“How?” Tedros barked.
“No one told us!” said Willam.
Tedros seethed. “It’s oil! Just take it and—”
Rhian snatched Tedros by the arm and flung him back behind the pillar.
“Why’d you do that!” Tedros berated, starting to get up again—
He froze still.
Four scims peeked around the side of the pillar at him, Agatha, Sophie, and Rhian. Their sharp, eyeless tips squiggled with glee, before they looked past the king’s group and saw Hester’s and Hort’s teams across the archway. The scims murmured high-pitched gurgles, taking in the bounty of flesh. They hewed together like a single arrow, drifting between targets, as if they couldn’t decide who to kill first. . . .
Then they flew at Tedros.
“Tedros, move!” Agatha gasped, shoving him left just as Rhian shoved him right, trapping Tedros straight in the scims’ path—
A gush of amber liquid suddenly slopped down from above, drenching the eels and splashing to the ground.
The scims looked up, startled. So did Tedros.
Bogden and Willam gaped down between pillars. “Bogden thought we’re supposed to pour it,” said Willam.
Tedros groaned.
But now the oil-soaked scims had turned back to the king, their lethal tips glowing green. They slashed towards him—
Tedros lunged forward with his gold fingerglow just as the scims hit his chest, and with a lion’s roar, he swiped his fingertip across them, setting the eels aflame.
Instantly the scims detonated into a fireball, shrieking and sizzling before they crumbled into dirt.
Anadil’s three rats set upon them, scarfing them up like they were crisped bacon.
The entire group slumped with relief.
Rhian squeezed Tedros’ shoulder. “Good thinking, Your Highness.”
Tedros glanced at Agatha. “Occasionally I can think like a king.”
Agatha flinched. “Tedros—”
“Sorry to interrupt your drama but we’re still about to die,” Sophie said as more scims shot through a seven-foot nymph in front of them. Somewhere Kiko screamed. “Tedros might have killed a few scims, but how do we kill the rest!”
“Brains,” said Hester, eyeing Anadil.
“Talent,” said Anadil, eyeing Hester.
The witches turned to Sophie. “Neither of which you have,” said Anadil. She snapped her fingers and her three black rats hopped onto her shoulders.
“Rats?” Sophie sniped as Anadil whispered to her pets. “That’s what’s supposed to save us—”
Anadil’s red eyes sliced through her. “Watch.”
The rats jumped off her shoulders and cannonballed into the puddle of oil like pigs into mud, slathering every inch of their fur, gulping up mouthfuls of it and hissing gleefully. . . .
Then they took off, scrambling up soldiers’ bodies and onto their heads. They whipped their rat tails and sprayed oil onto any scims within reach, before leaping to the next soldier’s head like a landing pad, dousing eels as they flew. Like stealth trapeze artists, they swung across the battlefield, twirling and tumbling and shaking out their fur to make sure every scim got a flick of oil, careful not to wet the soldiers. Agatha’s eyes tried to keep up with them in the night sky, ping-ponging in and out of torchlight like kamikaze fairies. Locked in battle with Camelot’s army, the scims didn’t notice three tiny furballs silently crisscrossing the air above as they executed spiral death drops and aerial dives, squeezing every last drop of oil from their bodies onto eels and spraying them with whatever they’d gargled in their mouths . . . until at last, their work was done and they collapsed exhausted and reeking in their master’s lap.
Agatha and the rest of the group blinked at
the rats.
“Now what?” Sophie said, unimpressed.
Hester glared. “Now it’s my turn.”
With a searing cry, the demon on Hester’s neck flew off her skin, grazing Sophie’s cheek as he whizzed towards the battlefield, inflating to red-skinned, full-blooded life. Conjuring glowing firebolts from his mouth, he hurled them at unsuspecting scims, igniting the oil and combusting the eels to ashes.
Soldiers ducked in shock as flame-bombs exploded all around them like a fireworks show, scims’ screams multiplying until they were all Agatha could hear.
Rhian and Tedros looked at each other, then whirled to the group—
“Let’s go!” said Tedros.
The crew charged into battle behind the king and knight, who hacked at flaming scims with their swords. Bleeding and struggling with a limp, Hort’s man-wolf snatched scims out of the air and let out savage roars as he tore the eels apart. Sophie slit blazing scims open with a dagger she’d swiped off the ground; Beatrix and Reena shot them through with bows and arrows; Hester and Anadil ran to help Kiko, tormented by a burning scim that had yet to die, while Nicola wielded Reena’s dented shield like a frying pan at her father’s pub and smashed scims to pieces. . . .
But Agatha still hadn’t moved from the archway. She’d never fought without magic nor used a sword before. She didn’t have Tedros’ strength or Rhian’s skills or Sophie’s Evil.
But neither did Nicola or Hort or Dot.
They had something else to fight with, she realized, her heart thumping like a war-drum. The same thing that had fueled her in every war against Evil.
Her friends.
She grabbed a pickaxe from a fallen dwarf and stormed into the fight, chopping scims out of the air and spinning round to bludgeon more. Burning scims came from every direction like falling comets, streaking at Good’s future queen. Over and over she took them down with vicious yells, spraying the air with firedust, until Agatha was bent over and heaving, with no more scims to kill. Slowly she rose, her axe over her shoulder, her face smeared with ooze, her hair matted to her head. The rest of the group gathered at her side, looking out at a field awash in bodies and mist. Wounded soldiers stirred; others looked out from their hiding places, stunned to still be alive.
Quests for Glory Page 40
