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He found himself smiling, despite his dark thoughts, as he rode through the woods. He remembered riding through this very glade with Gwendolyn. In another life, perhaps, he could have wooed the girl to his side and spent eternity with the fire-haired young woman. But his duty was to the isle, above all.
Moreover, his duty was to see Mordred removed of his head.
As he approached the cave, he was glad to see that his suspicions had been right. Two horses were grazing off to the side. A wooden cart was resting on its yoke. Lancelot could smell cooking food. A fire was crackling out in front of the entrance to the cave.
“Hail,” he called to whomever was inside.
“Took you long enough.” The mage emerged from the entrance, brushing his hands off. “Ihatecamping. Hello, knight.”
Lancelot frowned. “Are you here alone?”
“I wish.” The mage jerked a thumb behind him into the cave. “Grinn is still recovering. You think he’s cranky normally? Try putting up with him when he’s been riddled with musket balls.”
Lancelot’s concern deepened. “I heard the chaos erupt in the town, but we were too separated to reach you in time. What of Gwendolyn?”
“Taken by the prince.” The sorcerer shrugged. “She’s fine.”
Lancelot did not bother to ask how he knew. He had spent enough time in the company of Merlin to understand that it was futile to question what sorcerers did and did not know. It was a waste of time. He had been smacked with the old man’s walking stick more than once for asking “stupid questions.”
Dismounting his steed, he approached the other man with a heavy sigh. “I am glad to hear that she is unharmed. I am…honestly surprised.”
“Mordred doesn’t know the details between her and Grinn. I suspect that’s the only reason she’s still attached to her limbs. And I suspect she knows that.” He smiled sarcastically. “Or maybe, we’re all reading the prince wrong. Who knows. I made chicken soup, want some?”
Lancelot blinked at the sudden change of topics. “Yes, thank you.”
“Finally, somebody with manners,” the mage grumbled, as he walked back into the cave. “Wake up,your highness, we have a guest.”
The baritone grumble from within the cave told Lancelot that the demon was awake and in his usual mood. He could not help but place his hand on his sword as the monstrous creature lumbered out from the cave, still limping. There were bandages wrapped around his midsection, stained a dark black from the creature’s inhuman blood.
The demon sneered at him. “What took you so long?”
Lancelot rolled his eyes and ignored the goading. “We have two more days until we will be joined by whatever army we have managed to muster. Will you be whole by then?”
“I will be whole enough.” Grinn lay down by the fire. “If you do not plan on stabbing me, that is.”
“I am rather tempted.” Lancelot let go of his sword. “But no. There is no honor in fighting a wounded opponent. And you and I, for the time, have a common enemy.”
Grinn let out a quiet grunt but said nothing. The wizard went about spooning soup into two mugs and one wooden bowl for the demon. The odd, eccentric mage seemed content to just ignore the conversation entirely.
“And when Mordred falls?” Lancelot arched an eyebrow. “What will your path be then? To scorch the ground and render this place a wasteland?”
“What does it matter?” Grinn sniffed dismissively. “If I were to tell you my plan was to retreat to a remote corner of the isle and finally be left alone, you would not believe me. What is the use in asking me in the first place?”
He had a valid point. Lancelot shook his head. “You have lost the right to be cynical toward the opinion others have of you. There is too much blood on your hands.”
“You mistake me for someone who cares, knight.” Grinn shut his eyes, seemingly unimpressed with whatever threat Lancelot might pose to him.
By the savior, hehatedthe demon. “I will stand beside you in this war for the greater good, Ash King.” He put a heavy emphasis of sarcasm on the final word. There was only one King of Avalon, and he was long dead and dust. “But once Mordred has fallen, you and I will have matters to settle of our own.”
“I will eagerly look forward to squaring our mutual distaste for each other on the battlefield, once I have my power back and Mordred is dead.” Grinn’s one good eye opened to fix a glowing red stare on him. “I will enjoy making a rug from your skinned flesh.”
It was Lancelot’s turn to sneer. “I look forward to watching you try.”
The wizard interjected cheerfully, as if he hadn’t heard a single word of the conversation. “Soup’s up!”
TWENTY-TWO
Mordred could not help but find himself somewhat enraptured by the young woman who sat beside him. He watched as she valiantly tried to rally her mood again and again, only to have it dulled by the foreboding cloud ofwhat will bethat they had found themselves in.
