The Hearth and the Light #3
Amphelise drew two knives as she came at him, unimpeded by the disgusting water raining down on them—but she was distracted from Dred, who was still lying on the floor nearby, far too still. "I'm going to gut you like the fish you are and fry you up in butter, Lancelot of the Sewer."
"I suppose that's an improvement on eating children," Lancelot replied, swearing when one of her knives caught his arm at the bicep, almost but not quite causing him to drop his sword.
He parried the next blow and withdrew several paces.
All the running, and now fighting, he was ready to throw up from the exertion.
He pushed on. Either one of them would make a mistake, or she'd abandon the fight to try again another day. Or help would arrive.
He just had to hope he wasn't the one who made a mistake, and that one of the other options soon came to pass.
She lunged, and he managed to just barely dodge her and kick out, sending her face first into a rack of kayaks.
Before he could move in for a killing blow, however, shadow magic burst out of her, forcing him back to avoid being hurt.
Properly wielded, shadow magic burned like ice, ripping away the skin it stuck to and then wreaking havoc on the revealed flesh.
She laughed as she turned, letting the blood pouring from her broken nose spill into her hand, which she then ran across her sword as she bent to pick it up. Damn it, that was a careless fucking mistake. He should have paid attention to where he'd kicked it.
The sword flared with purple-black light, strength growing and growing. Soon, there wouldn't be any way to dodge her magic or her blade. "Time's up, fish." She lunged with a scream, and Lancelot braced—
And the room filled with blinding, searing light, driving away all shadows, causing even Lancelot to cover his eyes.
Not the light of the sun or a burst of lightning, but the light of a thousand flames.
With a last shriek, Amphelise was gone. Lancelot didn't waste time on chitchat, just bolted for Mordred and scooped them up, slinging them over one shoulder as he had earlier with Guinevere.
Next to him, battered and bruised, a slight figure that was a near-perfect match for Guinevere offered him a crooked grin. "Let's go. This way."
Lancelot dutifully followed, grunting as Mordred's weight shifted slightly. "Your entire family owes me a fucking massage after this."
Gawain glanced back briefly with a snicker, but didn't slow his steps.
The back of Lance's neck itched, but like before, movement and distance were their best—only—advantage.
The more they moved, the harder they were to find, and the further away they got from trouble, the harder it would be for trouble to get them again.
Especially since Maleagant would have his hands full cleaning up the chaos of three different messes: Lancelot's tear through the city, the ruined shop, and the ruined community building.
Finally, just as he was about to collapse from overexertion, a car pulled up to the corner they were about to cross. Practically throwing Mordred inside, Lancelot followed as Gawain climbed in from the other side.
There'd been a time when people drove the cars, when they'd had an entire section for the driver.
He'd driven some of the old-fashioned cars in video games, and it seemed like it would be even more fun to do in real life—but also a thousand times more dangerous with none of the inherent protections of virtual reality.
These days, cars had more in common with carriages from all the way back in the early centuries in that the interior was just for passengers, but the car drove itself instead of human or horses.
He'd also driven carriages in video games, and always had to turn off sensory input or he got motion sickness.
He groaned as he let his head fall back against a plush headrest. "So that fucking sucked."
Gawain laughed from where he sat opposite—well, sprawled opposite, taking up the entire bench, clearly uncaring for all the blood and whatnot he was leaving all over the place. Not that Lancelot cared, because cars could be cleaned. "This could have gone better."
"You don't say," Lancelot drawled. "We're lucky to be alive." He sat up to check that Dred was alive, something he should have done already, instead of letting exhaustion consume him.
Thankfully, the stupid bastard had a pulse.
A little weak, but nothing too dangerous, and once they got Dred back to Merlin's house, they'd have all the help they could ever want.
He glanced at Gawain, bloody and filthy, but still beautiful.
His hair was short, the curls a wild tangle, the same remarkable hazel eyes as his sister.
They really could be twins. Maybe in this life they were.
None of them had thought to look for siblings, even though Merlin and Morgan were stepsiblings in this life.
"What woke you?"
Gawain's gaze dropped to Dred, slumped over in their seat, head against the side, face smeared with blood, hair matted and crusty with it.
They'd been torn to hell, clothes little more than shreds, one shoe gone.
"They screamed, pure pain and agony, but didn't go down, determined to protect me.
How could I not recognize my overprotective big brother? I have Caliburn, by the way."
"Glad you remembered," Lancelot said, angry with himself all over again. He was better than this. He was Arthur's right hand, damn it. His job was to think of all these details, all these moving parts, and he'd—
"Stop it," Gawain said. "Nobody is perfect, and you saved all of us. Who cares if you didn't check dumbass's pulse or remember his sword? That's why we work as a team, don't forget that part."
Lancelot sighed. "Haven't missed your mind reading, you creepy bastard." Gawain couldn't literally read minds, but he was smart and astute in a way most people weren't, and that was enough to figure out what people were thinking in an often unnerving way.
Gawain laughed.
Thankfully, they pulled up to Merlin's house then, the car pulling into a garage that closed behind them. Merlin was immediately there, hugging them both before helping to get Mordred inside.
"Upstairs," Merlin grunted. "Why are they so fucking heavy?"
"Stubbornness," Gawain said as he trailed behind them. "Sorry about all the blood on your floors."
"Least of our concerns."
Upstairs, Merlin guided them to the room next to Lance's, where Morgan and Guinevere were waiting for them. "Gawain!" Guinevere rushed across the room to hug him tightly. "You're all right, thank the spirits."
"Dred and Lancelot would never let anything happen to us," Gawain said with a laugh.
Lancelot rolled his eyes. "As though you ever needed anyone but yourself to protect you." Especially since Gawain and Guinevere both possessed the rare and highly prized skill of healing magic. Merlin could heal as well, but not at the level they could.
Pulling away, Guinevere hugged Lancelot. "I'm so sorry."
"I honestly thought you'd punch me first," Lancelot replied with a laugh. "Go take care of your brother, Your Majesty."
Scoffing at the title as she always had, taken up because it served the needs of the whole best and allowed her to be with Elaine, and Arthur with Morgan and Merlin, without issue.
She'd been a magnificent queen, but she also would have happily lived in a cottage in the woods.
The only thing she'd never wanted was the nunnery she'd been forced into for several years.
Well, and Maleagant. She'd definitely never wanted him, or to even be on the same continent as him.
Lancelot helped get Mordred on the bed, then left the healers to their business. He was of no use here, and he needed rest himself, because the only thing they could be certain of right now was that trouble was coming, and it would come with a vengeance.