by Ines Johnson
Gwin was not surprised to find that she recognized them. They were the same two Templars from the Perceptory. And they still weren’t happy with their new weekend job.
“This is utter bull shit,” said the Doubter. “I’m done with traipsing around old homes and graves for this wanker. Stay if you want, but I’m out of here.”
The two rounded the stones. There wasn’t enough room to hide both her body and Lance’s. The Templars looked from Lance to Gwin and back again. Then they looked at each other and grinned.
“Finally,” said the doubting defector, drawing his sword. “Some action.”
Lance reached for his brooch and released his sword. The men’s confident smirks fell a bit. Lance didn’t hesitate.
He lunged into the Doubter. The fight was over before it began as Lance disarmed the man who was apparently all talk and inept action. The Templar’s sword went flying and landed at Gwin’s feet.
Lance looked from the sword to Gwin, and back to the neutralized man. Lance's gaze blazed murder.
Before Lance raised his sword for the killing strike, the second Templar did the stupidest thing a man could do. He launched himself and his sword at Gwin.
Gwin ducked the man’s advance. She bent down and grabbed the Doubter’s discarded sword. She rose with the weapon in her firm grasp. With a parry and an overhaul strike, she had the second man disarmed and on his knees beside his partner.
"My grandfather was Sir Galahad," she said. "Do you really think he'd leave his daughters or granddaughters not knowing how to handle a sword?”
The men were mute. The Doubter openly wept. Gwin felt not an ounce of mercy.
“Where’s Malegant?” said Lance.
Without hesitation or any semblance of loyalty, the two men pointed to the far side of the field.
“Please don’t kill us,” whimpered the Doubter. “We’re not really on their side.”
“You took the vows of the Templars?” Lance’s blade was unwavering as it pointed at the man’s heart.
“They were just words,” whimpered the other man. “I’m just a banker. I wanted some excitement.”
“I still live with my mum,” said the other.
Lance didn’t lower his sword. “Stand up.”
The men sobbed and sniffled as they rose.
“Take off that tunic.” Lance’s growl was low and controlled. “You are a disgrace to the men who died protecting the true meaning of that cross.”
The two men bared their chests. They handed over the white tunics. Lance made them turn the fabric inside out so that the red of the cross was muted.
"Now run into town and pray the authorities find you and not my brothers who are en route."
The two men took off running, tails between their legs.
Once the men were out of sight, Lance took hold of Gwin. He pulled her to him with one hand, loosening the sword from her grasp with the other. Gwin let him hold her, but she stood firm as she did so.
“Don’t you dare send me away,” she said. “Or leave me behind. Whatever happens to you, it happens to me too.”
He didn’t argue. He took her hand firmly in his own. They made their way quietly across the expanse of stones.
The magic got stronger and stronger the closer they got to the water. But no one was in the direction the men had pointed to. Had they been duped? Gwin was about to ask when a ringtone sang into the night. There was only one person that had the number.
Lance pulled the phone out of his pocket. He clicked the phone open. But then they heard another click.
Gwin knew that sound from being around a weapons room all of her life. It was the sound of a crossbow being loaded. The sound repeated through the air, at least half a dozen crossbows were loaded.
Lance put the phone to his ear. “I hope you’re nearby.”
“We got turned around,” Arthur’s voice was clear in the silent night. “We’re in a bit of traffic. You guys there?”
“Yup. We’re here. And we’re not alone.”
29
In the moon’s light, Lance caught the glint of six sharp points aimed directly at his chest. The only reason he didn’t fly into a blind fury was because all the arrows were aimed at him and not Gwin. Though all of the arrows held steady in their quivers, it didn’t detract from the sharp pain in his heart.
These men were mostly novices. They were close range and would certainly hit their target if they loosed those arrows. Any of those arrows could quiver, miss their intended target, and hit Gwin. The thought caused his heart to beat so violently blood pushed at his veins to let loose its rage.
He needed to get her to safety. He needed to find a distraction that would allow her to take cover. Even as he thought it, he knew she would never leave his side.
They’d spent so much of their lives together apart. If this was going to be his last, she was coming with him. That was the depth of her loyalty to him. In the face of this danger, he wanted to turn to her and pull her into an embrace.
But he couldn’t. Not because of the danger surrounding them. Because of her.
Gwin’s hands were lit with witch fire. An angry, red fire that was not meant for healing. No, this fire would tear asunder any flesh that came near it.
God, he loved that woman.
Malegant tsked. “I’d put that out if I were you, my lady. Make it too hot and fingers get slippery.”
The villain stalked forward between the large brawler of a man Lance had tussled with back in Champagne. Instead of a weapon, Malegant held an ancient tomb in his hands. It looked like a copy of the journal Gwin had found back in Paris. They must’ve left it out in the Arville Perceptory.
Did Malegant already have the words of the curse? He wouldn’t be able to break it on his own. He’d need someone with magic to do it for him.
“Let her go,” said Lance.
"You know I'm not going to do that. I need her to free my brothers." Malegant raised his hands in the moonlight, lifting them up and indicating the stones surrounding them. "This army of hundreds of devout Templars came to the coast ready to cross and take on Camelot. Tonight, they'll be freed and that mission that began hundreds of years ago will finally see the light of completion."
The raging blood coursing through Lance’s veins rushed to a stop. What if they’d gotten it wrong? What if these Templars hadn’t been fleeing for help? What if they’d been mounting an attack?
Lance did the one thing he was taught to never do. He turned his back on his enemy and looked down into the face of his love. Gwin’s determined chin was raised. She didn’t believe Malegant’s view.
Could Lance chance it? Better the devil he already knew? Or the one who may or may not be on his side?
“I’m not going to shoot the witch because I need her,” said Malegant. “But I will have them shoot you if she doesn’t do what I ask.”
That was all it took. Gwin clenched her fists. The fire died out, but the red heat remained. She plastered on that fake smile he hated so much; the Hostess Smile, Morgan called it. It was the look she gave when she subjugated her happiness and comfort for others.
She was going to do it. She was going to break the curse and free the Templars. Lance reached for Gwin as she took a step.
The glint of arrows nearly blinded him as they raised up and at him. The desire to pull her close into his protection warred with the need to shove her out of danger.
Gwin reached over and unfurled his fingers from her forearm. She smiled up at him. So much was communicated in that one glance.
I love you.
Don’t worry about me.
I really wish I could kiss you right now.
I’ve got this.
He wasn’t so sure if she did have this. He didn’t have any of it under control. Once those Stone Templars were free, there was no guarantee whose side they’d be on. They’d have hundreds of confused warriors coming out of stone, with swords in hand. It would be chaos.
Speaking of swords, Lance unfastened his brooch and dropped i
t to the ground at his feet. Whether she was able to break the curse or not, he was not about to be turned to stone and leave her completely unprotected.
Gwin took a deep breath. Lance felt her inhalation all the way down into the pit of his stomach. They exhaled together. His breath was anxiety-ridden. Hers was confident. She had every belief this would work out for them. He hoped she was right.
She spoke the words. And … nothing.
The wind whistled, rustling a few blades of grass and turning over a pebble or two. The heavy breathing of a few of the untried Templars could be heard over the strain of holding a taut bow for so long. That left Lance less fearful of what would come out of the stones and more cautious of the weary arms all around them.
Gwin took another breath and said the words again. Night creatures raised their voices to hers in chorus. But no stone turned.
Did the curse have a time limit? Was it now irreversible? Or had there never been any men encased within those stones to begin with?
Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw a few bows lower. The part-time Templars were a bit away from him, but he felt the same doubt from a few of them that had been seething in the two defectors who’d run off into the town. The rest of these men were losing faith in their leader.
One glance at Malegant told Lance the man wasn’t the least concerned about his life. Malegant’s mind was focused on the Stone Templars and their lack of arrival. But unlike Lance, Malegant’s doubt was only momentary. He turned a cold gaze on Gwin.
“If the hag wants to play games, I’ll play too,” he snarled. “Shoot him.”
Unfortunately, for Malegant just as his stone army was stiff, his living army was also not at the ready. Unlike Lance.
Lance shoved Gwin to the ground with one hand and grabbed his brooch with the other hand. A flick of his finger turned the piece of jewelry into a sword. A flick of his wrist sent that sword into the gut of the large brawler whom Lance assumed was the best shot and the most alert.
The brawler hadn't yet hit the ground by the time Lance was up and gunning for two more Templars. Behind him, Lance felt the heat of witch fire at his back. He didn’t need to turn to know that Gwin was putting a blaze to the Templars on the other side of them.
Lance went for the shins of one Templar, knocking him down with one blow. Then he lifted the man’s sword as he came to stand, slicing upward and relieving the guts of the man who’d stood at his right. Three men down. Just three to go, depending on how Gwin had done with her adversaries.
When Lance came to standing, pride filled his heart to see the other two Templars had been blasted back a dozen feet with witch fire. They were either unconscious or no longer with the living. He didn’t care which. He only cared that Gwin was whole.
That left only one Templar. Malegant. As if he heard his name being whispered, the man reappeared.
There was no one left to fight his battles. All of his toy soldiers were fallen. And the stone ones he was relying on were either forever encased in stone or had never been there to begin with. He was done.
Only he wasn’t.
Lance cursed himself for not seeing it coming. Malegant’s son, Accolon, had pulled the same trick with Morgan. From a charm around his neck, Malegant produced a locket. Before the villain opened it, Lance knew what was inside that locket.
The fire died out of Gwin’s hands, and she fell to her knees.
Lance tried to run to her, but moving against a Sarsen stone was like moving through quicksand. A blade glinted beside the stone. Malegant produced a dagger and held it at Gwin’s neck.
Gwin turned her gaze to Lance. There was no fear. Neither was there resignation. Gwin’s eyes shone with a love so pure, so sure, so bright that it blinded Lance. He sank to his knees, partly out of weakness. Mostly out of devotion to this woman.
“I love you,” said Gwin.
Lance opened his mouth to say the same, but the sound of a blade cutting into flesh tore through the air. The sickening sound was followed by a scream. The scream was a masculine one, not a feminine one.
Lance shifted his gaze from Gwin’s face to the blade that had been at her neck. It was no longer there. Neither was the hand that had held it. Nor the arm that belonged to the villain. Malegant’s arm was on the ground. Blood dripping from his shoulder.
A Templar soldier lifted his sword and placed it to Malegant’s neck. “You dare threaten a lady.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a sentence. The chivalric code held that no knight ever raised his hand or his blade to a lady, even if she were a foe. The penalty was death.
“No,” Malegant whimpered. “She’s a witch.”
“You would dare harm a sacred child of God?” said the man. No, not man. He was a Templar. But not one of the toy soldiers from modern day. His clothing was that of the original Templars. The cross emblazoned on his chest was two unadorned lines. No hooks, triangles, or arrows of modern day. The red covering his chest was a true cross. “You are no man.”
Malegant opened his mouth to protest, but the Templar’s sword separated his head from the rest of his body.
Lance looked up to see other Templars coming out of their stones. But not all came out alive. Some keeled over and died on the spot right before their eyes. Lance couldn’t come to their aide. Another sword was pointed at his throat.
30
Death. Death was all around Gwin. It clawed at her skin, threatening to pull her into its stone cold depths. The smell of it rose and fell inside her like the tide, sending her internal sense of balance off. The taste of it clutched at her throat, but she dared not swallow the lump that formed there.
When she’d broken free of one tendril of darkness, another would reach up and ensnare her. It would whisper that sleep would be easier than fighting. Just a moment’s rest in the ice cold, crashing waves and the pain would stop.
She was tempted. She was so tempted to close her eyes to the dead bodies all around her. The dead bodies of Templars falling out of their stone prisons and into pain-filled deaths.
She was tempted to ignore their cries of pain. The agony of men who emerged from their rock graves with breath in their lungs but confusion in their heads. She couldn't heal them all. But she had to try. She was the only one who could, and she was failing them.
Gwin unfurled the cold dead fingers of the man at her feet. His fingers cracked as she loosed his hold. As death claimed the men, the Templars turned back to stone. Some of them crumbled into broken rock after their final transformation. Gwin got to her feet as another man cried out in pain.
“That’s enough, Gwin. There’s nothing more you can do.”
Lance’s warm arms came around her, stopping her advance. The moment they did, they breathed new life into her. She felt invigorated. She could do this with him by her side. She could save a few more.
“No,” he said firmly. “They’re gone. Those men weren’t born with enough magic in their bloodline to keep them alive in the curse for this long. You won’t give your life away again to heal someone who is already lost. I won’t let you. I love you too much.”
She knew he was right. There was nothing more she could do, save pour out her magical soul. Even then, many men would still die. Already dozens lay dead, their flesh hardening and crumbling to stone. While a few others gasped one last breath before their hearts hardened again. Permanently this time.
Less than two dozen made it out alive with beating hearts.
“We’ve been here for over seven hundred years?” said Sir Rex. He was the first knight to emerge, the one who’d saved Gwin’s life from Malegant.
Rex, the Resilient, he’d called himself as he stared down at Lance and judged him from the end of his blade. Luckily, Rex had read Lance correctly and saw that the man was an honorable knight of Camelot.
Rex had lowered his sword and come to his knee. Not out of deference. But because he’d been weak. The other men followed soon, falling out of the stones and either dying or clinging to life.
&nbs
p; “What’s the last thing you remember?” asked Arthur.
Arthur, Percy, and Tristan had arrived in the midst of the coming out party. Arthur sat down beside Rex, offering the man a bottled water.
Rex stared at the plastic. He winced as he squeezed the bottled and it crackled. He took a swig and then a gulp.
Sir Rex looked to be around Author’s age, early thirties by human standards. The rest of the survivors looked relatively younger.
They were mostly sitting amidst the rubble of rock, staring out or up. They were all shell-shocked from their long imprisonment. Many appeared afraid to move. Others kept moving and massaging their limbs as though that would stave off rigor mortis.
Gwin wanted to reach out to them. Instead, she did as she was told and stayed inside Lance’s embrace.
“There was so much corruption within the Order in its final days,” Rex said after he’d quenched his thirst. “We managed to evade King Phillip and Pope Clement’s massacre only because we were in the East at the time on a mission. We went about finding the true believers for two years. It was hard to know who to trust when we returned. We attempted to rescue the Grand Master, but we failed. De Molay got word to us. He told us he had a way out and for us to head to Camelot to seek refuge. He pressed that we were to never let down our weapons. We were at Carnac waiting to cross when it happened.”
“The curse?” said Arthur.
"One moment we were marching toward the waters, and the next …" Sir Rex rubbed his arm. "Everything just stopped. I couldn't move. I could hear and see everything around me. After a while, the fight went out of me, and I just stood still. I didn't know such dark magic existed."
“He was trying to save you,” said Gwin. “He was trying to keep you hidden. Something must have gone wrong.”
“Yeah,” said Arthur. “His execution.”
“I still don’t know how the Grand Master was able to curse us,” said Sir Rex.
Gwin nearly said that de Molay had saved them, but she bit her tongue before the words could escape. As she did, she tasted blood and dust on her tongue. The blood was her own. The dust was that of the decrepit bodies of the fallen.
