Rise of the Fey (27 page)

“I’ve seen that thing,” Gareth says ominously. “Looks viscous.”

“It’s ‘vicious,’ chickenhead,” Gauvain says.

“And the thing’s sharp as a battleax,” Gareth continues as if he hasn’t heard his cousin’s insult.

“A weapon’s only as good as its wielder,” Gauvain says.

“I wish I had a battleax,” Gareth says wistfully.

“You
have
a battleax,” Gauvain retorts, as I carefully extricate myself from between them.

“But to be one with your weapon,” Gareth retorts, moving into the space I’ve vacated without noticing my absence, “and in hiding like that…. I wish I had one in me too.”

“Where the hell would you hide it?” Gauvain asks sarcastically. “Your empty head?”

Gareth squares his shoulders menacingly, his shaved head gleaming in the waning light of day. “Are you calling me stupid?”

Fists on hips, Gauvain leans into his taller cousin. “Guess you’re a little brighter than I thought if you figured that one out on your own.”

As the two continue their bickering, I tiptoe away, sticking to the arena wall so as not to be noticed. I’m barely halfway back to the exit, however, when an arm shoots out to bar my passage.

“Thinking of going somewhere?” Arthur growls.

“Nooo,” I say with a sheepish smile, wincing as the small lie makes my insides squirm like they’ve been caught in a vicelike grip. “Just a, uh, restroom break.”

Arthur’s frown deepens into an angry scowl. “On the field. Now.”

I plant my feet firmly on the ground. “I don’t need any practice,” I say. “I’ve got powers now, so I can take care of myself.” Too well, actually.

“Oh, really?”

Arthur unsheathes his sword, leveling it at me. The sharp edge of the blade gleams in the torches’ flickering light and I swallow with difficulty.

“Yes, really,” I sputter.

“Then prove it,” Arthur says. “If you can beat me, I’ll stop badgering you.”

Sweat drips down my face as I realize he really means to attack me.

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” I say.

The words have barely left my lips when Arthur lunges forward, the point of his sword aimed straight at my chest. I let out a squeal and drop to the ground, my arms instinctively going up before me. I feel a sharp, burning pain as the blade nicks my hand before deviating up.

Without a pause, Arthur brings his weapon down toward me, and I find myself scurrying backward to avoid getting felled in two.

A look of disgust crosses Arthur’s face and a second later the tip of his sword is resting against my throat. I gulp, pinned to the arena’s wall, my heart beating loudly in my ears.

“Get to practice,” Arthur says, sheathing his sword back.

I slide down to the ground, hand at my throat, swallowing convulsively. “You could have killed me!” I exclaim.

Arthur looks at me scornfully. “I hope you see now that being a knight isn’t all about EM,” he says, “which is another thing you’re obviously lacking in. You’re about as competent as a dodo bird facing a tiger.”

“Dodos are extinct,” I mutter.

“My point exactly,” Arthur retorts.

As if she’s been lying in wait for this exact moment to exacerbate my humiliation, Jennifer appears at Arthur’s side. “I don’t see why you’re so determined to try to help her,” she says. She shakes her pretty head and smiles at him. “You always were too kind.”

“What do you want?” Arthur asks curtly.

Jennifer’s smile wavers for a second then she grabs Arthur’s arm. “Father’s online,” she says. “He wants to speak with you.”

A resigned expression settles on Arthur’s face. “What does he want now?” he asks as he follows Jennifer docilely back to the school, leaving me square in the middle of a malevolent crowd of onlookers.

“Does that mean she’s no longer his squire?” I hear someone ask.

“He’s just finally showing her who’s boss,” a knight retorts.

I cringe at the snide remarks, wishing I could disappear fifty feet below ground.

“Everyone clear out!” a booming voice says.

The crowd opens up to let Sir Ywain and Lady Ysolt through, then closes behind them again to watch the show, avid for more drama.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” says Lady Ysolt’s stern voice. “If I catch anyone ogling in this direction, I’ll personally make it a point to have you running an extra thirty laps at the end of practice!”

Begrudgingly, the crowd finally disperses, though a few of them make sure to resume their half-hearted practice within hearing range.

“What are you still doing on the ground?” Sir Ywain asks me. “A warrior should know never to let his guard down.”

I slowly get back to my feet and dust myself off without meeting either of the teachers’ eyes.

“I don’t know what Arthur hopes to achieve by dropping you off here without supervising you,” Sir Ywain mutters. “Squire practice is quite more complex than that of a page, and you weren’t any good at the latter. One can’t be expected to handle a sword properly without knowing the basics first.”

“Sword practice?” I ask, startled. “What’s the point in that? I could just do EM with the others.”

“That’s quite out of the question,” Lady Ysolt says. “You can barely control yourself in normal times. I won’t have you about like a loose cannon in my class.”

I feel the blood drain from my face at the rejection, then chide myself, knowing that she is right. With a wave towards Sir Ywain, Lady Ysolt marches back to her class, yelling at her students to resume practice.

I watch Sir Ywain wearily as he crosses his arms over his prominent pectorals.

“A proper squire needs to know how to handle basic weapons,” he says tartly.

“But I don’t need to use them, I’ve got—”

“And what if your powers stop working, hmm?” Sir Ywain cuts me off. “You evidently couldn’t call them to your aid when you and Arthur pulled that little circus number a few minutes ago. What if, by some mishap, you’re no longer in possession of your ogham?”

“That would be a good thing, actually,” I hear someone snigger in the background.

“Then what?” Sir Ywain insists. “You’ll just surrender?”

“I….” My voice falters, and I bite on my lip—that’s actually a very good question. But isn’t figuring out how to handle my powers the more pressing question of the two?

“Now that’s settled,” Sir Ywain continues, scanning the groups of squires and knights scattered about the arena, “I need to figure out where to place you. Ysolt’s right, you can’t practice with the young ‘uns…too inexperienced…. Perhaps Gauvain or even Gareth would handle your practice session, they owe me for getting them out of trouble with their mothers.”

“I will supervise Squire Morgan’s training,” an unctuous voice says.

I watch with apprehension as Agravain steps up to me with the same intense look he gave Puck earlier. “If it pleases you, Sir Ywain,” he adds, with a knowing smile in my direction.

As the Master at Arms hesitates, Agravain adds, “I will have Sir Daniel help as well. The two should be better matched.”

I glance around and find Daniel standing off to the side, his wide eyes a clear indication he’s as surprised about this turn of events as I am. But that doesn’t make me any less nervous. I look back at Sir Ywain pleadingly, wishing he’d dismiss the knight outright for his ridiculous suggestion.

“Very well,” Sir Ywain says at last. “But have her stick to the basics at first. She’s hopeless with any sharp object.”

My stomach sinks as Sir Ywain leaves me to face two knights who absolutely abhor me and wish for nothing better than to see me dead.

“Come on, slowpoke,” Daniel says grouchily. “Grab one of those.”

He points at a long weapons rack pushed up against the stadium’s inner wall and upon which are suspended a number of wooden practice swords. With a long, deep-felt sigh, I grab one of the weapons then turn to face Daniel.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks, with a hint of uncertainty.

“The way you would face any enemy,” says Agravain, his sharp blue eyes never leaving me as he prowls around us.

“W-What do you mean?” Daniel asks.

“What do we do to the Fey?” Agravain replies with an ounce of impatience.

“W-we capture them?” Daniel says with growing unease.

“And when we can’t, we destroy them,” Agravain adds. I take an involuntary step back as the older knight points straight at me. “She’s Fey, you know the drill.”

Daniel gulps visibly. “But she’s a squire at our school,” he says.

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Agravain quips. “Tell me, Daniel: If Lucifer himself were posing as a student right here in our midst, would that stop you from trying to destroy him?”

Daniel shakes his head vehemently. He licks his lips, grabbing his own practice sword more firmly. Then, with a sharp battle cry, he propels himself straight at me.

I raise my own sword to parry, and the two weighted pieces of wood come crashing together, jarring my teeth.

Daniel quickly pulls back then lunges, catching me in my midriff and I bend over double, air whooshing out of my lungs as he spins and brings his sword across my shoulders.

I lurch to the side, then turn around to face him again, sword shaking in my hands.

“Daniel,” I huff, “what are you doing? This is practice!”

“And what better practice can there be than to face a true Fey in mortal combat?” Agravain asks with a predatory smile.

Thankfully, I’ve had to train against Daniel before, and I remember some of his moves. So when I see him take a half-step back, getting ready to strike again, I step sideways.

As predicted, Daniel swings his arm over, overreaching, and I whip my practice sword around towards his opening. But before my sword can connect with him, a real blade meets mine, its metal cutting neatly through the wood of mine.

I look in surprise at Agravain as he flicks his hand at me. Sparks fly in my direction, catching me in the chest, and I feel my feet leave the ground as I’m propelled through the air. My body
rises over the arena’s wall before it succumbs to gravity again, and I land hard into the benches.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hear someone cry out through the ringing in my ears.

“Training, what else do you expect?” Agravain’s silky voice responds.

I shake my head to clear it, then stagger back to my feet. My eyes sweep over the grounds below, searching for Agravain. To my surprise, he waves affably at me from the middle of a jubilant crowd, as if he’s just scored a goal and I happened to be the ball.

Fury wells up inside me as I reach for my broken sword. “It’s certainly easy to fight me like that, huh?” I shout at Daniel, vaulting over the arena wall and landing onto the dirt floor. “Calling for help whenever you’re about to lose,” I say with a sneer as I straighten up. “I don’t think that’s gonna help people forget you’ve never passed your knighthood test when they always see you cowering in front of a Fey.”

“Don’t listen to that harpy, Dan,” someone hollers.

“Yeah, just shut her up already!” a girl shouts over the rising jeers and shrieks of laughter.

With a yell of anger, Daniel rushes at me. I wait for him to come within range then throw myself straight at him. I see shock register on his face as his sword hits me on the shoulder, whipping my other arm around towards him. I tap Daniel on his chest with the flat of my hand and a large vibration answers.

Daniel bounces back, as if he’s run straight into a wall, then collapses onto the ground, unmoving. The laughter in the audience snuffs out, along with my rage. What have I done?

I drop down beside the boy, feeling for a pulse, then let my breath out in relief as his chest rises and falls, his heart beating slow and steady.

“Finally showing your true colors,” Agravain says, giving his sword an idle turn. “Allow me.”

He gives me a mock bow. I see his lips move and the ground beneath me suddenly vanishes. With a shriek, I drop into the wide, gaping hole, Daniel plunging down with me, and come to a bone-crushing stop onto a layer of hard rock, twisting my ankle beneath me with a sickening
crunch
. I bite back a scream.

“I wanted to send you back to hell,” Agravain’s voice floats back down to me, “but I guess this grave will have to do.”

I crane my neck up to find Agravain staring at me from twenty feet up.

“Are you insane?” I shout up at him.

“I think I’m the only sane one around, actually,” Agravain says.

“You could’ve killed us!” I roar, furious.

Us. Daniel! What if he’s broken his neck in the fall? Dread washes through me as I look for the boy. My fingers encounter a large, limp form, and I drag myself to his side.

“Daniel, are you alright?” I ask with mounting panic as I tap him on the cheek.

Light suddenly blazes overhead, as if someone’s shining a searchlight down the hole. I look over my shoulder, wondering if one of the teachers has come to help us out, and let out a cry of fear when I realize the light’s coming from a gigantic sphere of fire hurtling down the heavens towards us.

I throw myself over Daniel, heat scorching my back, and I know it’s too late.

I feel an intense pressure bear down on me, the smell of burned hair and earth acrid in my nostrils. I screw my eyes shut tighter. I’m not ready to die yet! I’ve still got to figure out what happened to my parents and avenge my father’s death.

My breath comes in short gasps…stars burst behind my eyelids…my head feels like it’s going to explode…Dad…Mom….

Suddenly, a strange coolness envelops me, taking all the pain and stress away. My body feels weightless, as if I’m floating in space wrapped in a fuzzy blanket.

“Morgan!” someone screams somewhere far away.

A hand shakes me by the shoulder.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter, curling up around Daniel as the balmy cocoon around me shatters.

“She’s alive!”

My eyes crack open. “I’m alive?” I cough.

I roll over and find Arthur standing over me.

“Did you stop him?” I ask, blinking dizzily. “What happened to the fire?”

“The fire evaporated,” Arthur says, his hand not leaving my shoulder as if wanting to make sure I haven’t turned into a ghost.

“More like it was zapped out of existence,” Lance says, hopping down into the hole next to us. “Need some help?”