Rise of the Fey (47 page)

My bare feet pound the frozen ground as fast as they can carry me, around the main building and away from the battle.

Before I have time to think about where to go, the prison block’s grim walls rise ahead of me, another squad of knights guarding it, weapons drawn.

I skid to a stop, my eyes darting around for an escape route, but everywhere I look there are knights blocking me. I stomp my foot on the ground and feel myself lift off. But I’m barely three feet into the air when something strikes me in the back and I find myself careening off course. I hit the prison wall with a dull
thud
, bouncing off it before landing face first into a pile of snow.

A groan escapes my lips as I try to get back on my feet, only to slip down again, spots dancing in my vision.

Someone shouts overhead and, blinking, I look up to see two figures flying towards me, surrounded by an iridescent green glow. One of them swings his arm and a large flame arcs through the air, shooting towards me like a comet. I stare at the flaming projectile as it draws closer, crackling sharply as it burns its way through the falling snow. I need to move. Now.

But my body won’t respond, as if it’s turned into a block of ice.

There’s a snarl of fury and someone lands in front of me, throwing up a sylph shield in time for the ball of fire to burst against it in a shower of yellow and green sparks.

“Percy?” I ask, my throat constricting at the sight of the knight.

But Percy doesn’t seem to hear me and hurls himself into the air towards my attackers. At his sight, the two knights hesitate for a second—a second too long. Percy’s sword flashes between them, its movements blurrily quick. The two men try to retreat, using their elementals as cover, but Percy follows them mercilessly across the sky.

I peer through the hurtling snow, trying to detect what’s happening, when a sharp cry reaches my ears and I see one of
the men plummet to the ground, snow exploding outward from the impact.

“Get up!” Blanchefleur says roughly, landing next to me. “We need to get you out of here.”

I lurch towards her, my vision doubling as a splitting headache threatens to make me go blind. I feel myself vacillate on the uneven ground, but strong arms suddenly catch me.

“Your boy has gone berserk,” Lugh says, his deep, soothing voice rumbling through his thin clothes against my cheek. “Unfortunately, though I am enjoying the sight, it might prove contrary to our plans now that we have decided to join the Gibborim.”

“Right on it,” Blanchefleur says crisply.

She bolts straight up into the sky, her crystal sword held before her like a beam of light.

Squinting against my migraine, I see Percy blast his opponent with a gust of wind, and the other knight cartwheels through the clouds before righting himself again. But Percy doesn’t give him an inch to recover and, sword already swinging down, speeds towards him.

But before he can fell the other knight in two, Blanchefleur’s blade darts in and the two weapons meet in a flash of blinding light. Transferring his rage onto the Fey warrior, Percy attacks Blanchefleur as if she were the devil himself, turning into a maelstrom of cuts and blows that she is finding more and more difficult to parry. I watch, petrified, as Blanchefleur is forced to fall back. Then, even as Percy prepares to cut her open, Blanchefleur thrusts forward and jerks her sword sideways, disarming him. Before he can retaliate, however, the Fey grabs him by the neck, draws him against her, and kisses him.

Percy’s body goes rigid with shock, then his arms encircle Blanchefleur in a crushing hold, keeping her anchored to him.

“That will do,” Lugh says against my cheek.

He strides away from the prison, holding me close to him, then says loudly, “Pigfain! Pigfain! Pigfain!”

A single, thick beam of silvery light shoots up from the ground at our feet, melting the snow and dispersing the billowing clouds overhead. The ray then splits into three shafts of light, leaving a blazing trefoil knot
⁴¹
seared within a glowing circle in the muddy ground.

The form of a small child materializes inside the light before it dissipates, revealing the small Fey.

“Greetings, my Lord,” Pigfain says with a pointy-toothed smile.

“Take her back,” Lugh says, dumping me inside the circle.

“But I need to—” I start, willing myself to stand back up.

“Quick,” Lugh says.

Pigfain grabs my hand and the circle starts glowing again. My head snaps back, a sudden pressure bearing down on me, then the ground vanishes from underneath my feet.

“Hold on tight,” Pigfain’s tinny voice squeaks, his small fingers clenched around mine. “This is turning out to be a bumpy ride!”

A gust of warm wind swoops us up and about until I’m not sure which way I’m facing anymore, and my stomach heaves with motion-sickness.

“Hold on,” I hear Pigfain repeat, tension oozing from his voice.

But another warm blast enfolds me and rips the Fey’s hand out of mine.

“Pigfain!” I yell.

I try to look around, but only find myself surrounded in darkness.

“Pigfain!” I yell louder.

Then his hand finds me again and yanks me back into a stronger current that brings us tumbling down onto solid ground. I drop to my knees in relief, breathing deeply to get rid of my wooziness while my inner ear readjusts.

“Thank the Heavens we’ve made it safe,” I say.

A low laugh greets my words, then a derisive voice says, “I don’t think you should thank the Heavens for this.”

I snap my eyes open at the familiar voice and find myself staring straight into a pair of golden eyes. With mounting dread, I take in the long, black hair pulled into a low pony tail, giving ample display to the myriad of blue whorls tattooed into his flesh.

“You!” I breathe.

“I told you I’d come for you soon,” Mordred says.

“Where’s Pigfain?”

“What pig?” Mordred asks. His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Oh, you mean the little rat? Probably back home, crying to daddy. Though it’s hard to tell how these gates work when you mess around with them.”

I funnel my anger outward and my fists crackle with energy. Mordred moves back a few paces. This time, his look of surprise isn’t feigned, but he smiles nonetheless.

“I see you’ve started to get a hang of what it means to be Fey,” he says. “But I’ve got years of practice ahead of you, Morgan. So whatever you do is useless. You’re in my territory now. That means you obey
my
rules.”

I jump onto my feet, ready to bolt. “What did you do?” I ask.

“I subverted the portal,” Mordred says, annoyed at having to explain himself further.

“How is that even possible?” I ask, looking at the ground where an encircled trefoil is seared. Only this time, pairs of double lines are cutting through the circle in between each of the three leaves.

“Only a higher order Fey is capable of such an easy task, if I may say so myself,” Mordred says in a self-satisfied tone.

My eyes narrow. “You attacked Camaaloth?” I say, more a statement than a question. I cast my mind back to all those
knights slaughtered during the party, none of them prepared for battle. “You monster,” I say, hugging myself tight.

Mordred’s mirth dissolves, replaced by a disdainful mask. “Depends on where you stand,” he says at last. “In our eyes, I was on a holy mission, to deliver our kind from evil. In fact, you should be thanking me as well.”

I open my mouth to say a few choice words, but snap it shut again—Mordred is right, things weren’t too peachy for me over in Camaaloth either. But that doesn’t excuse his actions.

“So where are we now?” I ask, looking around the dark plain, stunted trees and spindly bushes growing about in sickly clumps, extending pleading fingers towards a dark, moonless sky.

A hyena-like laugh echoes around us, raising every hair on my body. My eyes dart about, in search of its source. Then I notice some of the shadows have pooled together on the ground and are rising from the soil to coalesce into five large, spiky carapaces from which dart out wide, scaly heads at the end of long necks.

One of the figures is taken with seizures before another loud, screeching cackle erupts, making my skin want to crawl off my back.

“Our escort’s arrived,” Mordred says.

One of the large Fey throws itself forward then runs on all fours towards me in an uneven gait. At a sign from Mordred, however, it lumbers to a stop a foot away and starts sniffing the air.

“Smells…familiar…,” it grunts. “Tasted…blood?”

I push the cold snout away from my legs and regret it immediately as my hand comes away caked in slime.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” I say, wiping my hand on my tattered dress to hide its shaking. “Mordred, can you call your dog back?”

The creature snaps its jaws at me with a loud
clack
and I jerk backwards. “No…dog!” it growls.

Keeping it well in sight, I inch around the creature towards Mordred. “Nice puppy…” I say in a conciliatory tone.

“No…PUPPY!” the large Fey barks, lunging at me.

I drop all pretense of bravery and duck behind Mordred who snickers before finally motioning for the monster to stay at bay.

“What do you want with me?” I ask when the slobbering beasts are a safe distance away, trying to regain my composure.

“I just wanted to show you a little more of Avalon,” Mordred says, “give you a taste of what you were made for. You see, you and I are not so different from each other.”

I snort. “You and I are
nothing
alike,” I say. “I don’t go around killing people for the heck of it, while you…you’re just some crazy sociopath with superpowers.”

Mordred’s face grows somber and for a second I fear he’s going to strike me. But he just herds me forward. “Let’s get going, we’ve got a schedule to keep,” he says, his voice brooking no argument.

We march over wide, empty hills, the brittle grass cutting the soles of my feet, and though I know I can heal quickly it doesn’t make the pain any less sharp. Finally, the endless plain of rolling hills comes to an end at the edge of a wide forest of burned trees.

“This isn’t Avalon,” I say through my constricted throat. “You’re taking me to hell, aren’t you?”

Mordred’s smile is sharp, as if carved with a knife. “Trust me,” he says, “you’ll soon know the difference.”

He pushes me forward, into the forest’s charred remains, raising little clouds of ashes with every step. A soft nicker greets us further down and we stop before a tall, dark horse,
the creature’s eyes burning scarlet in the obscurity. It shakes its mane, spraying me with salty sweat.

“Are Dark Sidhe all as disgusting as your dogs and this horse?” I ask.

“Nessie’s a kelpie,” Mordred says matter-of-factly, drawing close to the demon horse.

“It looks the same to me,” I retort.

“But horses don’t eat people for breakfast,” Mordred says. “Now hop on.”

Reluctantly, I draw closer to the creature, grabbing a fistful of its moss-like mane that reminds me of my early mornings spent sifting through Lake Geneva’s waters. But as I make to pull myself up, Nessie blows loudly and tries to bite me.

“I don’t think your horse likes me,” I say, skittering away immediately.

“Kelpie,” Mordred says, annoyance peeking through his mask of command. “And if you keep pissing her off, she’ll find the first opportunity to drown you.”

Mordred’s hands come around my waist and he hoists me up. I hear the heart-wrenching rend of my dress tearing further as I swing my leg over the beast’s wide back. Then, with one practiced move, Mordred hops on behind me and we set off at a trot, the other Fey creatures easily keeping pace with us.

We wind our way in and out of the trees, the acrid smell of long-gone fires growing thicker in the air. Occasionally, one of the beasts strays off to the side to snap a burned tree trunk into splintered halves.

“There’s no need to bring the whole forest down, boys,” Mordred says to the monsters after a while. “I said we should make the way obvious, but they’ll definitely smell a trap if we make it that conspicuous.”

The hyena laugh erupts once again and I wince. Then, out of the corner of my eyes, I see the creatures dissolve into our surroundings, only the shifting shadows betraying their presence.