Chapter 23

Galahad slowed to a stop in the shadow of the keep.

Behind him, just at the edge of the woods, was their elemental army. All but a few had answered the call to put a stop to Mordred—even if he was already dead, they needed to make sure of it. They had united behind Zoe, as the Gossamer Lady had predicted they would. Creatures and monstrosities of every shape and form. Fire, stone, tree, river, ice, lightning—all in service to the Gossamer Lady.

They itched for revenge. To see the keep sundered and destroyed, a surrogate for their rage against the fallen Prince in Iron.

It felt so strange, coming back to what had been his home, now as an enemy. Galahad had spent centuries in this place. He knew every nook and cranny, every door, every notch in the wooden beams. He knew the names of the servants who must now be nothing but rubble on the floors, fallen when their master Mordred died.

Now, he had come to kill a young woman who did not deserve it.

It felt wrong.

Endlessly wrong.

But what was he to do? He could not betray the woman he loved—the one he had sworn his soul, his heart, and his fealty to. And he could not say he disagreed with Zoe's logic either. Gwendolyn was nothing but unpredictable—would she seek to avenge Mordred's death? It would be what he would do in her situation.

It would be a quick and painless end to her suffering. It would be the kindest act he could give her. With her love dead, she must be agonized in his absence. Perhaps she would go willingly into the ever after to be with Mordred. Not that Galahad could say what happened to elementals—or witches—after death in Avalon.

There were figures on the wall, watching him. That was surprising. Even more so was how varied they were—men and women, creatures with horns, creatures without. They were mortals. Villagers.

"Who are they?" Percival asked from behind him.

Galahad did not turn his head when he responded. "Gwendolyn's army."

Percival snorted in laughter. "A collection of scrawny, feral cats would be more imposing."

The doors to the keep opened and a single figure walked out to greet him. A man with a rusted metal pumpkin for a head, carved with the crude visage of a face, like one of those made to entertain and ward away his people, the fae, during the autumn months. His body was haphazard. Straw was shoved into clothing to make up his limbs, and he had a broom handle for one leg beneath the knee. A sentient scarecrow. How odd.

Keeping his guard raised, Galahad rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword. Simply because the scarecrow did not seem to pose a threat to him, did not mean there was no danger in the situation. He did not dare glance over his shoulder at his Gossamer Lady and the collection of elementals who waited for her orders.

"I do not know you," he called to the scarecrow when he was within earshot.

"But I know who you are," the scarecrow replied as he walked closer, seemingly unconcerned by the force at the door. "I'm Bertin. Gwen's—" He broke off. "I knew Gwen."

Knew. Past tense. "I am here to demand the surrender of the lady of the keep. Her life is forfeit. If she surrenders, all of you will be spared."

The scarecrow's shoulders slumped. "I'm afraid you're too late for that."

Galahad pulled his helm from his head, wishing to study Bertin without the restriction of his visor. "I do not understand."

"She—" The scarecrow shook his head. "She jumped from the tower. Off the cliff. Killed herself. Because of what you and your lady did. Couldn't go on without the man she loved. This place is ours now. Our home. She left it to us. Go away. Now."

It did not sound like a threat. For what threat could a small pack of villagers pose to thirty-odd elementals? No, it was not a threat. It was…a warning. He furrowed his brow.

Zoe floated up beside him. "Her promises to you are null and void. This place is a travesty—a corruption upon this land. We plan to raze it to the ground. If you all value your lives, you should leave immediately."

"My love." Galahad turned on his horse to address her, all thoughts of the strange warning fleeing from his head. "Is that not rash? Allow them to have this place—it is a secure fortress. Given what Thorn did to so many of their homes, it seems only fair."

"I am not Thorn, and the violence afforded Mordred's people ends today. If what you say is true, scarecrow." Zoe lifted her head in defiance. "I wish to inspect the keep to ensure she is not hiding in some darkened corner. This could easily be a ploy."

Bertin sighed. "I—just—I think you should both go. Now. Take your army and leave. Galahad, you are a good man. A good man. Those don't come around often. You should all leave. Now."

There came the warning again. It unsettled him. What did the scarecrow know?

But his wife was the one in command. Zoe smiled gently at Bertin, clearly trying to soothe his worries. "You have every right to be frightened and concerned. We mean you and your friends no harm. Let us inspect the keep—simply the two of us. Then you will be allowed to leave with your people at your own pace."

"Right." Bertin paused to think. "Fine. But only you three. Your friends stay out here, where we can keep an eye on them. You'll forgive me if there's no love lost between my people and yours."

"Of course. I—" Zoe paused.

There was the sound of a flap of wings. Deep and resonant. Powerful enough that it made Galahad's ears pop with a pressure change.

That was a dragon.

But not just any dragon.

"I told you to leave." Bertin retreated into the safety of the walls of the keep. "I tried. I'm sorry."

Galahad looked up.

As an enormous iron dragon came down behind him. It was not targeting him—it was targeting the elementals. That was the only reason he was still alive and not flattened underneath its enormous claws. The sound of its screech made his ears ring. It sounded like sharpened nails on metal.

He turned his horse to see the familiar and terrifying creature tearing into those who had sworn fealty to the Gossamer Lady. Zoe screamed, her hands covering her mouth. But neither he nor his Gossamer Lady could spare any concern for the elementals now scrambling to defend themselves.

Explosions of fire and the crackle of lightning echoed through the field as the elementals warred against the great iron dragon. An enormous boulder hurtled through the air, sending the dragon staggering, but it did not even dent the panels that made up its body. Nearly every elemental on the island stood against that creature—and it would take them all to destroy it.

"Archers, at the ready!" Bertin shouted. "Soldiers! Be ready to defend our home!" The scarecrow shook his head and hollered at Galahad. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to have to do this."

Movement at the top of the walls caught Galahad's eye. He looked up to see the villagers pulling off their cloaks to reveal the iron armor they had been hiding beneath them. Soldiers put metal helms upon their heads—more iron.

Galahad wanted to laugh. Well done, Gwendolyn. Well done.

Regiments of iron soldiers were approaching from the left and the right, coming from around the sides of the keep, flanking them. The dragon was cutting Zoe, Percival, and Galahad off from the elementals. The iron soldiers were about to end them if they did not act quickly.

He grabbed Zoe by the upper arm, hating that he had to manhandle her in such a way, but there were no other options. He hefted her up onto the saddle in front of him, and kicking his golden steed as hard as he could, rode it in the only direction he could.

Into the keep. But the other option was worse—certain death under a hail of arrows.

Unfortunately—many of those archers were now pointed inward at them instead. But they seemed either under orders not to fire…as though…

This was a trap.

Galahad dismounted his horse, drawing his sword, and stood to face a far more present danger that was waiting for them at the top of the stairs into the building proper. He heard Percival follow suit.

The gate creaked and slammed shut as the villagers pushed it closed, muffling the sounds of the battle outside. What sounds of archery he could hear were pointed outward, protecting the keep from the fray.

Zoe stood beside him, wings unfurled, Caliburn floating in the air nearby, ready for battle.

The screams of battle had begun behind them and outside the walls—the clash of metal, the roar of fire, the heavy thud of the dragon's steps. It did not matter. None of it mattered.

The iron dragon. The soldiers. It was far too much for Gwendolyn to command. Soon, he had his answer—soon, the severity of the trap that had slammed shut around them became clear. Like a nightmare, like a demon from hell—against all odds.

He was alive.

Mordred.

Wearing his full armor, complete with the helm that resembled a dragon, its horns jagged and dangerous like the rest of him, Mordred watched them.

Gwendolyn was nowhere to be seen. Half the archers were aiming inward—at Galahad, Percival, and Zoe.

"Before we begin." Mordred began to walk down the stairs, slowly, taking his time. Savoring the moment. His cape whispered against the stones behind him, following him like a twisted shadow. "I would like to assure you that Gwendolyn is very much alive. She will not be waiting for you in whatever afterlife is bound to greet you when I remove your heads from your shoulders."

Galahad narrowed his eyes, placing his own helm back over his head. "Where is she?"

"Resting."

That was not likely. "What have you done to her?"

The Prince in Iron laughed, tinny and hollow from within his helm. "You came here to kill her! And now you wish me to believe you are concerned for her safety?"

Galahad had to admit it was a bit farcical.

Mordred shook his head. "Tell me, old friend, how many times have we sparred, you and I?"

Galahad gritted his teeth. "I have lost count. But I do know I am more often the victor."

"True, true." Mordred cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, readying for a fight. "And tell me, Gossamer Lady—are you willing to fight fair, this time?"

"I will not dignify that with a response." Zoe showed no fear in her voice or her demeanor, if she felt any at all.

"Suit yourself." Mordred shrugged idly. "Simply attempting to make conversation."

"Why?" Galahad could not help but wonder aloud.

"Hm. I suppose, in some small way, I am sorry to have to kill you. As for Zoe, I could not care any more or less about her. We could have been allies, perhaps even friends—but she saw the quick end to that. But you, Galahad." Mordred's voice grew sad. Almost regretful. "I am sorry to see your life end."

"It is not over."

"Yet." Mordred chuckled.

"You will die for your crimes, Mordred," Percival interjected.

"Oh. Hello, Percival. When did you arrive?" Mordred chuckled. "Forgive me for overlooking you. You never were of much consequence."

Percival growled and took a step forward. Galahad raised his hand to stop the Knight in Copper before he did anything foolish.

"You cannot stand alone against the three of us," Percival snapped.

"Three? Two and a quarter, at best," Mordred taunted the knight, waving his hand dismissively. "And I am being generous."

This was a breed of cruelty that Galahad had never before seen from Mordred. He had been a great many things, but never flippant. It made him deeply nervous. What had happened to the Prince in Iron in the Crystal? Who, and what, were they fighting against?

This would not go like their sparring matches, of this Galahad was certain.

Zoe took a step forward in defiance, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "There are three of us, and you have no other allies. You are alone. You will die here. Arthur would spit upon you if he could see you now. Who are you to stand against us?"

"Who am I?" Mordred began to laugh, a quiet, sinister sound that poured ice water into Galahad's veins. He held his arms out at his sides, palms up, as if to say behold. "I am the shadow of Avalon. I am the wrath that lurks in the darkness. I am finally that which I was meant to become so long ago. I refused to accept it, but now I can see the truth." He drew his sword.

The sound of the metal shrieking against the sheath set Galahad's teeth on end.

"Who am I? I am Mordred. I am the cruelty of Avalon. I am the King in Iron." Mordred aimed the tip of his blade directly at Galahad. "And I will be the ruin of you all."

Gwen was running for her ever-fucking life. In a dream. Being chased by Grinn. Who may or may not actually be real, or just her version of dreaming up the murderous, mouthy, bitter demon.

Who was trying to kill her. Slowly. Painfully. Torturously. And who was mocking her, every step of the way.

She was glad in a dream she didn't get out of breath. But unfortunately, the logic of her dream world wasn't helping her out at all. She was lost inside her high school. Well, a building that looked like her high school, if it had been designed by a total nutjob. Twisting and turning through the hallways, she kept skidding across the tile floor and crashing into the lockers.

It slowed her down just long enough for Grinn to catch up, his claws ripping through the flooring, the heat pouring off him causing the overhead lights to flicker and the ceiling tiles to char. The air around him was wavy. She'd never been afraid of him before—not really—because they were linked together, and he couldn't hurt her without hurting himself.

But now?

Now, it was a crapshoot and anybody's game. "Stop!"

"Why?" Grinn cackled. He balled up a fist and smashed it into a row of lockers, crumpling them in the middle until they looked like they had been hit by a truck on the highway. Papers, books, pencils, and the like spilled across the tile before blackening and charring with his presence as he approached. "I am having so much fun! I haven't been this entertained in years."

"Grinn, please—I—I thought—I thought we were friends!"

"Don't insult me." He grunted. "I'm going to eat your fingers one at a time because of that."

"You wouldn't. You wouldn't! I know you wouldn't. You're a?—"

"Don't you dare say anything about me being ‘good.' I am a demon, you incomprehensibly mountainous moron." The sparks that fell from Grinn's maw seared into the floor. "You shouldn't have stopped to chat. You're trapped."

"Wh—" She glanced behind her. She had been in the middle of the hallway leading to the cafeteria, there was, like, four hundred more feet of identical hallways and?—

No.

No hallway.

Just a brick wall. "Shit!" She ran at it, slapping her palms against the brick. She'd already tried changing the world around her a few times, and it hadn't worked. "Shit, shit, shit!" She pushed on the wall. It wasn't going to budge.

Grinn laughed.

Turning back around, she watched as he slowly prowled closer, lowering his head, shoulder blades protruding from his back as he moved like a lion readying for a kill.

The heat pouring from him melted the glass bulb in one of the overhead lamps, casting him in darkness. She could only see his silhouette and the glowing, terrifying, red eyes and the flicker of the fire inside of him.

This was it. He was going to rip her to pieces. Panic welled up within her. Grinn was really going to break her joints one by one and then cook her limbs and eat them. And only then would he kill her.

"Please—" She started to cry. She was shaking. She wanted to go home. She wanted to wake up. She wanted Mordred to save her from this nightmare.

All Grinn did was laugh.

Before he raised a claw and brought it down on top of her.

Gwen screamed.