Albion's Legacy (Sons Of Camelot Book 3)

by Sarah Luddington

  “Right,” I said, somewhat taken aback.

  “You don’t mind do you?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

  “No, of course not, I’m glad you are going to be a part of something larger.”

  “You mean I’ll have something after Galahad gets you killed?” Severus asked with a sharpness to his voice I didn’t often hear.

  I sighed, unable to give him any peace of mind.

  “Holt!” Galahad called from inside the wall. “Come on.”

  Rather than answer Severus’ words I turned and retreated into the wall’s entrance. Darkness engulfed me completely and I could feel my shoulders brushing the stone sides as I descended sharply. I had to bend almost double and considered crawling for the first twenty shuffling paces before the tunnel quickly opened out. I blinked in the torch light Quilliam and Galahad held. Severus joined me and was given another torch.

  I looked around in amazement. We were in a service tunnel but it was huge; three men tall, four wide, and through the centre ran water depositing The City’s waste somewhere mysterious. I had to confess I knew nothing about the internal workings of The City. I remembered my father having to deal with the sanitary effects of Camelot’s arrival in Albion but by the time it became my problem it was sorted out and others dealt with the effluent. The City wasn’t my problem and I made sure I was not the person anyone felt should deal with any potential problem of so many people and animals living in the confines of the urban heart of Albion.

  I continued to stare in amazement, there were large tunnels branching off from a central hub just a short distance from our entrance into the network. The torch light showed that the tunnels met and plunged downward, the rush of water audible but hardly visible. There was a smell of damp and a slight odour of waste but nothing unbearable. Large, wide, paved ledges ensured we could move easily without stepping in the waste.

  “This is astonishing,” I admitted. “Is this one of the ways Brownies move around The City?”

  Quilliam nodded. “We use these tunnels and in the process ensure everything is running smoothly. It is an efficient system.”

  “And Brownies are all about efficient,” Morgan murmured.

  “This way please and if you see more of our kind in the tunnels please do not interrupt their work. This is our place, not yours.” The firmness of his tone made certain I was disinclined to argue about his proprietary rights to the world under the huge city. Galahad also said nothing, agreeing that the King had no right to argue with the domain of the Brownies.

  We turned left and walked back on ourselves under the vast palace network. Within one hundred paces Quilliam turned left, then right, and on into the subterranean world, soon ensuring that even with a map I’d never find my way out. I didn’t sense a gradient to our walk, but I had a feeling we were going downward in a twisting way that didn’t seem to be entirely necessary. The walls of these tunnels were of rock, but I didn’t see any evidence of work, such as chisel marks in the smooth surfaces and they were dry.

  I remembered my father explaining to me about the mythical creation of The City, how it grew from the land itself, Albion and the fey king of the time drawing the hub of the vast capital from the heart of the world. The Brownies were given to The City at the same time, ensuring the correct running of the capital. I wondered how they were coping with the army on their doorstep making everything untidy.

  The entire network of tunnels had been created using fey magic and Albion’s power combined. I stared at Galahad’s back and wondered what he’d be capable of when the time came. Could he destroy in the same way his forebears created? And if he were truly powerful surely he wouldn’t allow himself to die if something happened to me. The bonding couldn’t make him that vulnerable, not now he was King.

  He turned as we walked and his dark eyes met mine. “What makes you think I’d want to live if something happened to you, Holt?” he asked.

  Morgana had done this to our fathers and to me when I was caught in a lie – pulling thoughts from my head without apparent effort. Galahad’s gifts were many.

  “You make sure you do,” I told him. “Albion and Camelot needs you and I’m quite sure Morgan doesn’t really want the job.”

  She harrumphed. “No, I bloody don’t want the job. I’m happy to play proxy but to be in charge? Not a chance.”

  “What will you do when all this is over?” I asked Morgan. I realised none of us had ever really spoken about our plans beyond securing Galahad’s life and throne – we’d had no future the moment our fathers had died. During all our long travels we’d never once considered making sensible plans. I’d never known about Morgan’s private estate for example. I knew I wanted to abdicate but beyond that I had no real idea, I’d certainly never spoken to Severus about our plans except in the vaguest terms.

  “I want to travel. I want to go and visit Uncle Tancred and stay with the shifters, learn from them and him. I want to go to the far reaches of Albion and become an ambassador for Galahad so we can share father’s thoughts on how a land should be run, not for the rich, not on the backs of slaves, but through co-operation and equality. I want to find a way to remove men like Aleah’s brother. I want to help those in cities like Larz. I don’t want to be still and I don’t want to stop exploring.” The passion in her words surprised me. Personally I wanted to remain still long enough to grow roots for a change.

  “That’s ambitious,” Severus said. “You might have to flatten Larz before you can help anyone.”

  “If that’s what it takes,” Morgan said. “We have been so privileged, I’ve learned exactly what that means over the last year, and so I need to change what I can while I can. I think it’s what I should do, providing you both live through this final battle.”

  “What about your sister?” Severus asked.

  “She and Lance will be happy and have countless children I should imagine. I don’t need to be a part of that.”

  “Isn’t it something you want?” Galahad asked his sister.

  “No. No it isn’t. I don’t want to be confined. I don’t want to be controlled and I most especially don’t want to be burdened by emotional complications which prevent me from the life I plan,” she said.

  “Love isn’t all bad,” I pointed out.

  “It is from where I am standing,” she said. “You’re a man, it’s different.”

  I’d have liked to argue with her but when I thought about how my parents were controlled by their roles, not just of King and Queen but also by their genders I had to agree – being a woman wasn’t anywhere near as liberating. Morgana, married to man who understood the total equality of women and relied on it, had a measure of freedom which was rare. Nimue had carved out her freedoms from what I’d been told, but most women in Albion were expected to fulfil roles given to them by their predecessors and social standing. Those things were not going to pin Morgan Avallach to a function dictated by a husband, father or society.

  “I’m not sure I can have you running around Albion at random but I am going to need people I can trust out there among the far reaches of the land. We can organise your freedom, Morgan. If it’s what you want and it’s within my grasp to give it, I’ll make sure it happens. I might have to conform but it doesn’t mean you do,” Galahad said.

  The word ‘conform’ worried me. Galahad’s idea of conforming was not always healthy but, equally, a year ago he’d never have allowed Morgan to leave the palace without a guard and he regularly ranted about his sister being married – he’d changed a great deal. I then realised Galahad could be talking about his sexual conformity and a moment of sadness flashed through my heart. He shouldn’t have to conform, especially when he had me to fulfil his dark heart’s desires.

  “Maybe I’ll join you, if you’d like some company,” Severus said clearly into the silence following Morgan’s declaration.

  I looked at him in astonishment. “I thought you’d be with me. I don’t want to travel all over Albion forever.”

  “There�
��s no guarantees we’ll be permitted to remain together, Holt. I think travelling with Morgan would be the best alternative I could hope for.”

  “You can’t be serious.” The shock of his words bored a hole into me. What had happened to him while I’d been with Galahad? It seemed he was determined to find a way to keep us separated.

  “I’m perfectly serious,” he said. “Camelot is your home and responsibility. You wear it like a coat, unwanted but yours and loved to a degree. I’m not convinced you’ll find releasing it possible and if it’s a choice between me and your birthright...”

  “Severus...” I was dismayed and hurt by his words.

  “There’s a great deal ahead of us if we win,” Galahad said. “I don’t think the two of you should be talking about this now. When we win, then we can decide who goes where and why.”

  “Personally I think it might be worth discussing,” I said directing my unhappiness and confusion at Severus. “Since when have you been thinking of deserting me?” I stopped walking, forcing the others to do the same.

  “Since returning to The City and meeting your sister in Camelot,” he said, separating Nim from Isabel. “I know you think you have freedom to choose, Holt, but you really don’t. I know you after all and I understand the sense of responsibility you hold to Galahad, never mind your own people. Camelot runs through your blood just as it did your father, I don’t think you can separate yourself from her.”

  “I’m not going to give you up,” I said with conviction.

  “Not willingly perhaps –”

  “There is no ‘perhaps’. It’s not happening. I’m not surrendering you and I’m not getting married to some poor woman just so I look... Normal,” I almost shouted at him.

  In a single day we’d returned to The City only to face an endless series of emotional challenges. I’d run out of patience with it all.

  “My Lords we don’t really have the luxury of time,” Quilliam pointed out.

  I wanted to glare at Quilliam for interrupting my increasing apprehension and ensuing anger.

  I ignored him instead. “What happened to forever?” I asked Severus.

  “It still stands if it’s relevant.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” I snapped.

  “I’m a survivor, Holt. If I become surplus to requirements I need a plan and Morgan’s sounds interesting. It’s nothing more than making sure I have a life beyond you if necessary.”

  I glanced at Galahad seeking help – or maybe solace.

  “Sorry, Holt, no point in asking me for help. I want you beside me.”

  “Great, well that’s just fucking perfect,” I said. Unable to remain still I walked past Quilliam and Galahad, anger making my head buzz and my hand tighten reflexively on my sword hilt.

  “My Lord Pendragon, we need to go left,” Quilliam said with complete sincerity and not a hint of reproach.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  We continued through the tunnels. I now walked beside Quilliam unable to remain with Severus. I had thought I’d cracked it, that I’d found my life mate. Perhaps not my soul mate, that would be Galahad whether he loved me or not, but I was happy with Severus – truly happy. I’d wanted to abdicate before meeting him and that conviction had only grown stronger the longer we were together and the more I thought about Camelot’s reaction to my lover. However, I couldn’t see inside someone else’s mind and he had clearly been harbouring doubts I knew nothing about until now. Which wasn’t fair.

  “He is scared,” Quilliam said suddenly and quietly. We’d been walking for about a league the way my legs felt and the network of tunnels were beginning to change.

  “He’s not the only one,” I said, ducking as we switched direction once more and I needed to avoid decapitation from a low archway.

  “Fear is perfectly normal in a relationship when great changes are on the horizon.” The Brownie looked up at me, his wrinkled face sombre but kind.

  “Have you been married?” I asked him. I’d never seen an obvious Mrs. Quilliam but like much of the Brownie society no one liked to ask. They were so private.

  “No, my duties to the royal household are too important. I have no wish to confuse the issue but I have been around complicated love stories for a long time. I’ve seen the effect they have on many different protagonists. I remember when Aeddan brought Nimue home from the deserts of the Salamander. His longtime lover, Sunita, committed suicide because of Aeddan’s cruelty. At least Severus is never going to be that weak or turned into a victim despite the difficult decisions you might be forced to make.”

  “Is that supposed to help?” I asked him.

  “Of course, that is my duty,” Quilliam said.

  “I think you had better stick to organising us and everyone else. I’m not sure stories to bring comfort are your forte.”

  He sighed. “No, I don’t suppose they are. I am only really able to give comfort by making certain your armour is polished and your boots are clean.” The sadness in his words surprised me.

  I looked down at him. “Quilliam, the duties you perform, the miracles your people work in The City and the other places you are found, are far more important than polishing armour. I just meant that stories about Aeddan are rarely, if ever, a wise idea. He’s hardly typical.”

  “He was. Your father and Lancelot changed all that. Perhaps a better analogy would be how difficult they both found their relationship with Lord Tancred. If they had left the Prince of the Wild Wood alone he would have found his peace much sooner.”

  “But surely he wouldn’t have become the prince without all the grief he and Lancelot endured.”

  “That’s what they liked to believe, but Tancred’s destiny was written long before he was born, his love for the Black Wolf almost destroyed him and with it Albion’s future,” Quilliam said. “Sometimes the hardest thing is making someone walk away.”

  “Are you saying I have to let Severus go whether he wants it to happen or not?” I asked.

  “I am not saying that, I am saying that we must all be prepared to allow our friends to have freedom if they ask for it, rather than finding ways to make them remain.”

  I fell silent, considering his words. It was not an easy thing to contemplate, but I did not want Severus to suffer as my Uncle Tancred had because of his love for Lancelot. My relationship with Galahad was hardly the same as our fathers had enjoyed, or endured, but my position in Camelot would control me in the way it had father, which drove Lancelot into Tancred’s arms. I did not want to hurt Severus and if I could protect him, even if it was from me, I would do just that.

  The tunnels were now just that, tunnels. We were no longer walking through the maze associated with the underground workings of The City; we were part of the Brownie network. The walls of these tunnels were smooth, bored from the world of Albion by magics too intense to consider. They were narrower, especially for a man wearing armour, and lower, Galahad and I often having to duck when moving from one tunnel to another through an arch. Beyond our small puddles of light from the torches, darkness held sway, the world dominated by ceaseless black.

  “I would expect your people to need light to move around down here,” I said.

  “We don’t use these tunnels any longer,” Quilliam said; his voice held a tight note we’d never heard before.

  “Why?” asked Galahad, who stood behind me.

  Quilliam’s expression was grave and he stared down into the darkness ahead of us with solemn eyes. “There are things in the heart of Albion which should not be permitted, but we all have things hidden in our hearts...” He began to walk away, descending into darkness.

  “Nicely obscure statement,” Morgan muttered.

  “Not sure I want to know to be honest,” Galahad said.

  “Oh, I don’t know, killing something foul would be just about perfect right now,” I said, walking after Quilliam.

  I heard Galahad speak quietly to Severus and I almost turned around to shout at them. I wanted to scream that I was justif
ied in my anger, that my lover was threatening to leave me, that life would contrive to keep me chained to Camelot’s throne whether I wanted it or not. I think it was fair to say I’d had enough of everything. I’d brought Galahad home and I’d hoped for a rest, I needed it. For the last year I’d endured too much, we all had, but I’d be trapped forever, my crown the noose and the throne my gallows. I could feel my chest tightening and the panic rising.

  “Oh, sweet Lady of Albion, no...” Quilliam said.

  My panic stopped rising and my eyes focused on the problem in front of us as I stared over Quilliam’s head. “What the hell is that?”

  “She’s released the monsters buried in the heart of Albion,” Quilliam whispered. The horror in his voice caused me to draw my sword and Galahad matched my movement slightly behind us.

  “What is it, Quilliam?” I asked, eyes focused on the beast and voice low.

  “It is called the Aillén, this is the last of them, he was buried in the heart of the world because no being, no monster should be utterly destroyed. Albion is weakening, The Lady is rising and with her so are the darkest parts of our past.”

  “What do you mean?” Galahad asked. The monster wasn’t moving toward us at the moment; it seemed to be sniffing the air.

  “This creature and those of its kind were under the control of a powerful Sidhe lord and would come to this valley every autumn as the nights and days became equal, and they would destroy everything. If it’s loose, with the army on the plains... I fear for The City, my Lord Pendragon.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Galahad said. “This is just another way of her testing our resolve, our courage, our endurance.” He shouldered his way past me.

  “It’s not doing anything right now, Galahad, we really should find out how to kill it...” I tried to stop him rushing headlong into the fight but to be honest I really needed to stop thinking and killing seemed like a fine alternative.

  The creature raised its head, sniffing the air and a low keening issued from a mouth with a range of teeth that would make Torvec’s dragon jealous. Its nostrils were large and a snake’s tongue lashed the air. Two pairs of eyes, high on its head were not focused on us, but the tongue clearly tasted our presence.