by Candace Sams
Morgan’s eyes had turned yellow now. Her smoky figure wasn’t as compact as before.
Mac sensed her fear. She’d apparently summoned her remaining rogues back to protect her, using some magical cue that the allies had neither heard or sensed.
Garrett Bloodnight faced them all. He brandished his sword with all the magnificence that any knight could have employed.
“You’re done here,” Garrett called out. “Most of your people are dead. Give up, Morgan.”
“I will have the blood of my son’s killer!” she responded as her voice magically echoed into the fog.
“The man who killed your sin is dead and has been for centuries. You cannot have England. You cannot have any of the knights on this field. The magic you’ve used and abused over the centuries is having its way with you, even as I speak. Your powers are drawing down. Give up!” Garrett commanded.
Morgan shrieked in anger and a bolt of pure green energy shot from her form, straight toward Garrett. Garrett simply raised his sword like an Olympian, and banked the green lightning bolt off the side of his weapon. This happened several more times before Morgan stopped her useless assault. Her eyes now were a softer shade of yellow. Her weakening state was impossible to miss.
Mac assumed she’d kept enough of her minions around her during the fight, so that Garrett couldn’t get to her until now. The rogues around her glanced at each other, even as they held their swords pointed toward their foes.
The allies were stronger. The rogues knew it. They seemed afraid to leave Morgan’s proximity, or they couldn’t for whatever reason. Mac sensed their fear, but they stayed where they were. He did a quick head count and found everyone present on the allied side. Even Jean Long was in the group standing near him. Her face was a mask of fear. The girl didn’t want Garrett to face off Morgan by himself, but seemed to understand that this was Garrett Bloodnight’s destiny. Everyone stood right where they were: the allies, the rogues, and Morgan.
“I don’t see my sister,” Trey whispered. “Where is Sarah?”
Coldness he hadn’t ever expected to feel, even in the face of possible loss, now filtered into Mac’s heart. He quickly glanced at the heads around him again.
He’d miscounted.
The only person who wasn’t in the group, was Frankie. He swallowed hard.
“She’ll be along, Trey.”
“What the hell is happening here?” Trey shot back.
“Garrett is about to end this. We have to stay and stand with him.”
Trey let out a frustrated and agonized snort, but stayed put.
The fear Mac felt for Frankie’s safety quickly ebbed. Of all those present in the allied ranks, she was quite able to defend herself. It was inconceivable that she might be the only casualty this night. He refused to believe it.
Still gripping his sword, he watched the scene before him, like everyone else.
This was the final confrontation. He didn’t know what might happen. If Garrett fell, he was the one who must take Morgan out. Those were his orders.
“I will not yield,” Morgan shouted. “I am rightful ruler of Britain. Your putrid ancestor killed my son. You will die.”
Garrett slowly shook his head. “No. I will not die. These rogues sense that your powers are diminishing. You’ve somehow used your magic to bind them to your will.” He gazed at the rogues still protecting Morgan, but with much less ferocity now. They were beginning to move back, ever so slightly.
Mac and his group moved forward, slowly matching the retreat the rogues made.
“Morgan will get you all killed,” Garrett said to those under her command. “You can surrender and be taken into custody, or die here and now. She couldn’t give a damn if your heads roll. All she cares about is herself! She hasn’t the power to protect you any longer,” he said as he tried to convince the rogues of their folly. “Something or someone has stolen it from her!”
Morgan’s eyes suddenly flared bright red again.
“Kill Bloodnight and all those with him!” Morgan ordered.
The rogues surged forward, as if compelled against their will. Mac was among the group that got to them first. He took the head of one even as Trey killed another of the foes.
From the corner of his eye, as he fended off another attack, Mac saw Garrett head straight for Morgan. He saw more green bolts of energy flying, but didn’t know the outcome of that attack since he was busy with his own defense.
When it seemed as if he might be surrounded, Mac took up a stance on a high rock and fought as he never had. All round him, the battle was on in full force again, and with much more gory finality.
Rogues fell to the left and right. He sensed them die as he fought off, and took the lives of their comrades.
Suddenly, a woman screamed so loud and long that everyone on the entire field stopped and turned.
Garrett Bloodnight stood over the morphing body of the woman who, for centuries, had inflicted mankind with her hatred. The smoky-looking cloud around her began to diminish as did the fog on the ground. The fog began to creep back, into the woods and away from the battlefield. It was as if the power used to summon evil was dwindling fast.
From the rock where he stood, Mac had a better view of what happened than some of the other allies. Though he hadn’t seen every move Garrett made, he was pretty sure about what had happened.
Garrett had been able to counter the green energy thrown at him. When he’d got close enough to his enemy, he’d plunged his massive sword straight into the heart of the foul image now writhing on the ground. That sword was still there.
Morgan still shrieked in pain and fury. As the fog around her drifted away, nothing was left but a very old and withered body of a woman, lying on the ground. She was dressed in a long green gown. Her dark hair quickly turned to gray. Her face and her hands were the only skin visible. These began to crack and open as though aging rapidly.
Garrett pulled his sword free from Morgan’s emaciated body, and backed away. Jean Long ran to his side and put her arm around his waist.
“My s-son…should have r-ruled,” Morgan whimpered.
Though the sound was raspy, everyone heard it. Total silence ensued until, as one, the rogues threw down their swords and knelt in surrender. A few of them began to rip off something tied around their necks.
Mac recognized the cast-off items as stones; the same kind as the one in his pocket. For some strange reason, the rogues didn’t want them on any longer. He began to understand why though he didn’t dare take his eyes off the surrendering combatants for an instant.
Ethereals in his group began to pick up and carry off swords, even as they commanded rogues to group together.
Faced with the possibility of facing down Ethereals and their magic, none of the rogues made any move toward either running or fighting. Though the Ethereals had fought alongside immortals, with swords brandished, Mac hadn’t seen any use magic or the necessity of it.
Mac looked at Morgan again. He saw a very ancient woman squirming on the ground, speaking in Gaelic as if trying to summon some spell, or conjure some last bit of power from the earth on which she had fallen. He saw her chest rise three times, then the cold wind began to blow.
Everyone fell silent. The breeze picked up and Morgan’s body turned to ash. Her remains began to scatter across the landscape like leaves in the autumn wind.
One of the last two denizens of Camelot had passed on. The other resident of that domain was Merlin. And he’d never made an appearance.
There were no cheers or happy congratulations. For a long time, everyone simply remained where they were.
With no warning at all, the spectral voices heard before and during the battle began again. From the farthest end of the small valley, ghostly horses and riders approached.
Mac quickly jumped to the ground, just as the spirit riders rode their bony horses over and through the last of Morgan LeFey’s ashes.
The ghost-knights rode on, except for one. That one specter turne
d back and rode toward Garrett Bloodnight. The entity stopped its horse but a few feet from Garrett.
Mac lifted his sword in defense of his friend, but the skeletal face of the knight turned toward him and slowly shook its head. Then, the entity turned to Garrett again.
Garrett walked toward the spirit and lifted his sword in salute.
The ghost-knight nodded in return, then vanished as if he’d never been there at all.
Mac didn’t know when he breathed next. Garrett looked at him, they waved swords simultaneously, in a mutual salute.
It was over. It shouldn’t have been that easy. No one had expected it to be.
No one had counted on Morgan’s loss of energy. As Garrett claimed, it had been syphoned from her, by some unknown force. Having no spells left — having caused war after war and manipulated heads of state and armies — the sorceress didn’t even have enough power left to assume a normal form.
Morgan hadn’t had enough magic to take out Garrett Bloodnight, The Last Knight — the last defender of Camelot and the descendant of Sir Galahad.
This had been Garrett’s destiny. Merlin had said so. In this case, the old wizard had predicted precisely.
Mac sensed a powerful presence to his rear. He turned and saw Merlin and his sister, Anna Gast, on a hill to the south. Both were wearing Druid robes of white. Both nodded slowly in Garrett’s direction. Both turned and left without saying a word. There had been no smiles on their faces. There was still no sense of jubilation. Killing, when one didn’t want to, never came easy. At least a few rogues had surrendered and would be off the world map. But allowed to live.
He slowly moved forward, and scanned the faces of those around him. There was still no sign of Frankie.
Trey approached him wearing the intensely worried expression of a brother.
“If Father was here, I didn’t see him. I can’t find Sarah.”
Still stunned, the brother had regained at least enough control to feel fear for his sibling. Mac sensed that very real dread, and immediately tried to quell it. He clapped Trey on the shoulder while trying to shake off an almost overpowering sense of wonder, astonishment and awe. The night had been filled with death, battle, ghosts and victory. Somewhere, Frankie had found her own end to battle.
“She’s fine, Trey. I can feel her near.”
“We’ll talk about what you feel for my sister, later. Right now, let’s find her. I want this night over!”
Mac nodded. He kept a tight grip on his sword, as they moved into the hills together.
Even as they walked away, Ethereals used their energy to destroy the remains of the deceased. No one roaming these hills would ever know a single blade of grass was disturbed.
As for him, he’d never forget one second of what had happened. Not if he lived to be as old as Merlin.
Chapter 14
Frankie sat on the large bolder and stared at the lake. The gleam from the massively sized moon reflected off the water, like chandelier light reflected off highly polished silver or fine Irish crystal.
“Why did he have to fucking go in there,” she whispered.
Immortals approached. They were familiar; no need to get up and swing her sword. Still, she didn’t turn her head. Soaking wet, with all kinds of twigs and lake flora clinging to her body and hair, anger made her silent and still. The water had been unholy cold. Her tall black boots were still oozing water from the seams.
The man on the ground, at the side of her rock perch, stirred. When he did, she repeated the actions of the last ten minutes, and plunged the pommel of her sword in his face — to render him unconscious.
“Frankie, where have you been?” a bold, baritone-level voice asked.
She only turned her head slightly, in recognition of Mac’s presence. When he knelt in front of her, and she saw her brother out of the corner of her eye, she remained silent.
Both men waited for a response. She sensed Trey’s anger on seeing Father again. She even sensed her brother’s ice-cold stare as he gazed down on the unconscious form of their kin. She knew all this without a glance. She knew it because she and Scott were now connected in ways no one would ever understand. Still, she remained silent.
She wasn’t in a mood to answer any damned questions. The fight had to be over. She assumed the allies won the battle, or the pair of them wouldn’t be out looking for her now.
Mac looked her over. “Frankie…why are you all wet?”
She simply nodded toward the lake in front of her.
“Why did you go in the lake?” Mac asked.
For the first time since she’d known the man, she began to question Mac’s intelligence. But then again, she was furious. Better not to say anything at all given her current, poor disposition.
“Sarah,” Trey chimed in, “did you have to go in after Father?”
She nodded.
Trey moved closer to the unconscious man on her left. When the prone figure moaned again, and showed signs of coming back to reality, she hit him again with the pommel of her sword, and without even looking to see what she struck. All she had to do was keep him quiet and unconscious. She didn’t want to hear another word the bastard had to say. Not ever. Unlike her, he wouldn’t even have a headache from the thumping bestowed. He’d wake up fine and fit. Ready to kill somebody. Like a daughter.
“Um…Sis, how many time have you hit ‘im?
While still looking straight ahead, she shrugged.
“You want me to take his head for you?” Trey asked “Because…I will if you want me to.”
When Effrin Pratt showed signs of consciousness yet again, she stood quickly and hit him harder than she had on all previous attempts to knock him out. As an immortal, his head was as hard as hers. She was just so much more intent on squashing his.
“Frankie…why don’t Trey and I take charge of your prisoner. We can walk him back to the castle. You can go with us, and get out of that wet gear. Okay?” Mac softly asked.
She finally nodded, then stood. “All right. But don’t kill him. I’ve decided that, that would be too easy. He needs to spend the rest of eternity in a dark British cell, with thick bars between him and humanity! He needs to eat bread and water for the rest of his life, and spend his existence talking to little bugs crawling on the floor. Like ticks and lice!”
The men glanced at each other.
“Uh…Frankie…why didn’t you just bring him back to the castle?” Mac questioned. “You must know by now that the battle is over.”
Effrin moaned, Frankie hit him again. Then she angrily turned toward her brother and Mac. “Because! The bastard kept running. He jumped into the fucking lake, and was trying to swim to freedom…on the other side. I had to go in that nasty…filthy…water. It was like Galveston all over again. I had to pull his rangy…daughter-beating carcass…out of that water. And then I had to hit him until he couldn’t move. All so he wouldn’t run…again!” She finished that sentence with a swift kick to her old man’s ribcage.
Both men backed up.
Trey spoke first. When he did, he had a quiet, respectful tone to his voice. “And, you didn’t want to just take his head, Sweetie —”
“I told you!” she yelled. “That would be too quick. That’s what the son-of-a-bitch wants! He’s going to rot forever thinking about what he did to his family. Forever! He ran and left his own flesh and blood to die. Never mind all his neighbors, friends, and about ninety orphans on the beach! All he thought about was himself. Now, he can do that for eternity. Alone.”
Mac shook his head. “Wow…um…okay. Just let us take over. All right, Frankie? Don’t hit him again. When he comes around, we’ll walk him back. He won’t run, I promise.”
“He’d better not. I’ve got a good mind to cut his balls off and hang ‘em on my rearview mirror! Let’s see if he grows a new pair. Not that he ever really had any to begin with.”
Both men’s knees closed simultaneously.
“Okay, thanks for painting that picture,” Trey advised. “I�
��ll hang onto him, the whole way back.”
Frankie sighed heavily, then turned to Mac. “What happened after I ran after this cowardly asshole!”
“Well…we won,” he reminded her. “It’s a bit of a mystery how, but I think Merlin or Anna might have an answer to that. I can fill you in on the way back.”
Effrin moaned again, then slowly sat up. When he saw his daughter glaring at him, he put up his hands and scooted away from her, as fast as he could.
Trey grabbed up Effrin, and shoved him into a nearby boulder.
“Don’t let her hit me again,” Effrin begged, “she’s crazy!”
Trey shook his father hard before responding. “She’s crazy? Don’t say one more word, or I’ll start peeling your skin with my bare hands. By the way…hello, Pop!” He grabbed his father’s arm and pushed the older man forward.
Mac took off his leather duster and put it around Frankie’s wet shoulders. “Are you okay? Really?”
“I didn’t want to go into that lake,” she angrily replied.
“I know. And I know why.”
She simply nodded.
“Let’s get you back. You can take a hot shower, and change clothes. There’s a lot we need to talk about. Nothing in the battle went as normal, and I don’t know why. It wasn’t like everyone has always said it would be. It wasn’t the battle of the century.”
“How many did we lose, Mac?” she finally asked, in a normal tone of voice.
“I don’t think we lost any. Except you. You disappeared.” He put one index finger under her nose. “Don’t you ever leave your assigned post again. You could have run right into an ambush. You oversaw the entire American faction. What’s wrong with you?”
“I couldn’t let my father get away.”
“I understand that. But you should have been with your people.”
She nodded. “You’re right, Mac. I know you’re right. You’re not saying anything to me that I wouldn’t say to someone else, if they’d done the same thing. I let my personal feelings get in the way. But…I’ll admit that I’d do it again. That’s God’s truth.”
