TheKingsLady (17 page)

“Just about an hour,” Rhea supplied.

Simon eased off him with a deep shuddering breath and lay on his back beside him. “By the nine hells, you scared us. You never before suffered two visions in one day. If Rhea hadn’t been here I don’t think we could have pulled you back.”

“He would have still come out of it. I just nudged it along,” Rhea cut in sitting cross-legged on bed on the other side of Darius. “You really need to stop fighting these visions, the more you fight it the more dangerous they become to you.”

Darius snorted, his tone dry as dust. “Yeah, right like they are so much fun to begin with, I just love seeing all the death and destruction.”

“Either way, Rhea has a point.”

Darius shot him a look of surprise. “How can you say that? You hate them as much as I do.”

Pushing up to his elbows, Simon pinned him with an unblinking stare. “I was wrong. They are a part of you, and you need to come to grips with this or it
will
kill you.”

Rhea placed her hand on Darius’s chest in a soothing gesture. “Just think of it as an early warning system, it’s not happened. Time is mutable and can be prevented. And speaking of which, what did you see?”

“Arthur and Gwen are very much in danger, and I have no way of knowing how soon it will happen, but if we don’t find them right now, they both will be dead. And Morgan le Fey will be reborn from their deaths.”

Simon moved to his feet with a predatory grace. From the look in Rhea’s eyes, he knew he wasn’t the only one to appreciate the beauty of the man. “I’ll get the others.”

“Good, I don’t think we have much time,” Darius warned.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, so we are once again up against the clock and have no clue where we need to be,” Simon growled.

Darius gave him a slow smile, remembering the surrounding in his dream. “I know exactly where we need to be.”

Chapter Fourteen

Pain. A stabbing fiery pain unlike anything Arthur felt before radiated throughout his body, keeping time with his sluggish pulse. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw…dirt. Gritting his teeth, he tensed to move his protesting muscles and found he couldn’t. Realization hit a harsh note when he discovered his hands were tightly behind his back, his ankles fared no better.

Not the best predicament he ever found himself in.

Lifting his head, his vision wavered as his temples pounded a fast tempo echoing through his head. Nausea threatened as his stomach clenched up tight. Breathing slowly, he fought it off and squinted up at his surroundings.

As Darius predicted, he found he was indeed in some kind of arena. A massive sign above an arched wooden doorway proclaimed
The Kings Tourney
. The irony was not lost on him. The sound of a soft rustling came to him and he tilted his head to see Gwen.

Panic nearly overwhelmed him as he took in the sight of her bound in chains to a thick post. A purple bruise marred one cheek. A killing rage engulfed him. He would take Vance apart slowly and painfully for touching his woman.

Her wide eyes were filled with terror. Her voice wavered with emotion. “Oh, dear
Hecate, I thought you were dead.”

“I’m afraid Vance may have much worse plans for me than a quick death, love.” He grimaced as a fresh wave of pain swept over him, dimming his vision. His skin turned clammy, and his stomach lurched again. Closing his eyes, he waited for the world to right itself before he opened them to see the worry etched lines on her ashen face.

“You need a doctor now. I can manage to loosen your ropes, but that is all I can do. I think these chains are spelled.”

“Do it,” he ground out, letting his head fall back to the dirt floor. His labored breathing and Gwen’s low melodic voice filled the air, giving an eerie echo as the sound circled around them. He felt a slight pressure, a brush of cool air on his hands and the rope loosened. He moved his feet and found them loose as well.

Hell yeah, now he had something to work with and got busy freeing the bonds holding him.

The sound of a door opening and the muffled tread of several footsteps warned him of Vance’s arrival. He stilled and closed his eyes, pretending to be still out, hoping to buy a bit more time as his fingers slowly worked at the ties binding his hands.

“So good of you to come celebrate Morgan le Fey’s re-birth.”

The maniacal laughter held the edge of madness and the urge to spring to his feet and end Vance right then became close to impossible to resist. Arthur gritted his teeth against it, needing to find the perfect opportunity to strike. He heard Vance snarl very close by and tensed. The air left Arthur’s lungs as Vance gave a vicious kick to his gut. He heard Gwen’s gasp of horror, then his world narrowed to only the pain spreading through his body as the blows rained down on him. Dimly, he heard Gwen’s screams—or so he thought—hard to tell from the many blows he took to his head to be certain. As quickly as the attack came on it stopped, leaving him gasping for breath, wondering if one or two of his ribs were broken. Blood dripped in his eyes and down his face. One eye wouldn’t focus, and he knew soon it would be swelled shut.

“Someone gag the bitch! Those were the last words you will ever utter.” Vance’s dark threat cut through the pain-induced fog, and fury rolled through him.

He fed it, pushing the pain back and clearing his mind of all but one thought, to kill Vance.

As if summoned, he felt Vance’s fingers clamp down hard on his hands and yanked him to his feet. The room spun, and he shut his eyes against the weakness in his legs. With a shallow breath, he locked his knees in place and opened his eyes to glare at Vance.

“It’s now time for you to watch your whore die.”

“You touch her and you die,” Arthur made the words a vow.

“Oh, really? And how are you to accomplish that feat while trussed up like a hog on a spit?” Vance scoffed, turning his back on him.

A mistake he wouldn’t live to regret Arthur promised as he set to work on freeing his hands. A quick scan of his surrounding showed him three bodyguards all watching Vance intently as he threatened Gwen with a long blade he materialized in his hand.

Almost there…he acted as if he were about to stumble as the ropes fell away from his hands. Only one guard gave him a cursory glance before returning his attention back to Vance.

Arthur locked onto Gwen’s terrified gaze, a filthy rag tied tightly over her mouth.
It’s alright, love. I’ll get you safely away.
He
thought it with every fiber of his being, praying she would see the promise in his eyes.

“It would take such a small amount of pressure, and your life is done. Ended by my hand and another far greater life will begin,” Vance crooned in Gwen’s ear like a demented lover, his hand holding the blade at her throat.

Arthur pulled his foot free of the rope as all hell broke loose around him. He heard the pounding of feet, a shout followed by the familiar prickling of magic as it filled the air around him.

Relief almost weakened him to see his men and women come into view in the peripheral of his good eye.

Vance spun away from Gwen, rage twisting his face into a mask of pure evil. Arthur lunged, grappling for the knife. Bending Vance’s wrist back, he smiled grimly at Vance’s howl of pain as the weapon fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“You will pay for that,” Vance snarled, holding his bruised wrist close to his chest.

“No, Vance, this time it is
you
who will pay.”

Viviane’s voice came close at Arthur’s back. He felt a thrum of energy and something cold fitted into his hand.

“A few alterations have been made to Excalibur, but you will find she still responds to whatever you will require.”

Exhilaration rushed through him as he raised Excalibur high in the air. The handle made of onyx with matching guard wrapped around his hand, molding to it as he watched. The tine stretched out, hugging a wickedly sharp blade that glowed with a blue-white power. Here was the magic Arthur lacked. With this, he could finally fight Vance on an even footing. Satisfaction and expectation surged through him. With Excalibur, he could keep Gwen safe.

With Excalibur, the once and future King would become the man those words foretold.

Vance didn’t give him much time to enjoy the reunion as a ball of red energy headed for him with deadly accuracy.

Arthur narrowly dodged the fireball as it streaked past his shoulder. The heat of its passing nearly blistered his skin as his nostrils filled with the odor of ozone. He heard the hiss of impact, and he risked a quick glance over his shoulder to see it dissipate harmlessly against the dirt floor.

“I see you still have quick reactions. No matter, you can’t protect everyone, now can you?” Vance practically purred as he threw his magic at Gwen, still bound, gagged and helpless to protect herself.

“
No!”
Arthur shouted, hurtling himself in front of Gwen, lifting Excalibur up, barely in time to block the lethal spell. He heard the crackle of energy and the jarring pressure of the deadly magic as it contacted with the sword in a fiery burst of sparks. Thanking the gods he got to her in time, he knew he needed help to keep Gwen safe while he engaged the monster before him.

Vance’s face twisted with rage, his face turning ruddy in his fury. “Your warriors will not be able to help you this time,” he rasped out in a voice barely human. He spoke low, in a guttural language never before heard and power surged through him.

“Oh, shit this won’t be good,” Merci spoke for everyone as they watched the room twist and buck around them.

The air screamed around them like a banshee thwarted of her victim. A nauseating odor of decay and mold clogged Arthur’s lungs as the arena vanished in a thick green-grey mist that clung to his skin. Huge humanoid shaped forms separated from the barren landscape of swirling fog.

“Where in the nine hells are we and what are they?” Arthur demanded.

“This is one of the hells you speak so eloquently about. The third to be precise and these delightful creatures are called soul eaters,” Vance crooned with delight. “Merci and Drake you remember these charming creatures, don’t you? Only now they serve
me
. Doomed warriors who will help me rule the world with Morgan le Fey, at my side.”

“Now that’s wrong on so many levels I don’t know where to begin,” Rhea wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Ah, I know you.” Vance pointed a finger in her direction and laughed, a glint of madness burning in his dark eyes. “You are Morgause, sister to Morgan. She will be disappointed to see you changed your allegiance.”

“I changed nothing. I always opposed you and my sister,” she spat out, fury sparking in her eyes.

“Then you will die with the others, a traitor to your own flesh and blood.”

“Oh please, cut the dramatics already,” Merci interrupted.

Drake chuckled. “You really need to learn patience, my blood-thirsty wife. A word of caution everyone. These soul eaters exhale a sand like substance, which will temporarily blind you. That’s when they strike.”

Vance’s voice came to them out of the mist, “I have…modified them since you last fought them, Drake. You will find they have a few more surprises.”

“Oh goodie, just what we need since the last we were up against them it was so easy,” Merci retorted dryly.

“Well, we haven’t,” the rest spoke in unison, eying the shadowy forms warily.

“Viviane, free Gwen and don’t let anything happen to her,” Arthur ordered.

He could hear the rattle of the chains holding Gwen and soon her sweet voice filled his senses.

“I will not hide behind Viviane like a helpless twit! I’ve been chained, had a knife held to my throat, but gagged? Really?”

Rhea laughed, shaking her head with disbelief. “You’re more upset about being gagged than nearly losing your life?”

“If it weren’t for that damnable gag my life wouldn’t have been in danger,” Gwen huffed as she stood by Arthur, pulling a small crystal from the back pocket of her jeans and called up her magic.

A brilliant light infused the tiny crystal, piercing the fog and illumining the hulking horrors shuffling towards them. Glowing pinpoints of fire filled their eye sockets, casting them in a crimson glimmer. Flesh hung in loose strips over parched bone. Their teeth were exposed in macabre grins promising a painful death. Some wore rusted armor, which filled the air with the sound of metal scraping on metal. Others were in tattered tunics and breeches.

All held weapons.

Arthur’s hand tightened on Excalibur as the odor of death and decay thickened in the air. Narrowing his eyes, he searched for Vance, finding him behind one mammoth-sized creature. Nearly nine feet in height a threadbare tabard stretched across wide shoulders, his head covered in a helmet of beaten bronze, he carried a mace in one massive hand. The skeletal head turned his way, its teeth clacking together in a nightmarish parody of a laugh.

It lumbered toward him, nearly running over its brethren in a single-minded determination to reach him.

“Incoming!” Merci shouted as fireballs lit up the landscape of green–grey mist, transforming the world to sparkling silver.