Chapter 16 Too Close
Too Close
"Shut up, you spoiled asshole," Dred said cheerfully. "Fucking typical of our high and mighty king to show up after most of the work has been done, and as dramatically as possible."
Arthur all but threw himself at Dred to hug them tightly. "Stupid bastard."
"Get off me, oaf," Dred replied, hugging him back.
Pulling back with a grin, Arthur turned to Lancelot, face softening. "Lance, it's so good to see you."
"Oh, he gets treated nicely," Dred groused while smiling.
Lancelot hugged Arthur tightly, comforted by the warmth and strength of him. Arthur could be incredibly aggravating, but those same qualities could also make him a mountain in a hurricane and a warm fire after a hard day. "I'm glad you're back, Your Majesty."
"Enough of that," Arthur said, pulling back. "Where is everyone else?"
Lancelot quickly recounted all that had transpired. "I don't think he could have taken them with him into the real world, or at least not easily. He was working with a small amount of power, as most of it was being fed to Kinborough."
"Is that who I drove away? Hmm. Many-headed monster suits her better than human."
Dred snorted. "You're not wrong. I really hope on the rematch that I get to remove her head from her shoulders." They rolled their shoulders and neck. "I forgot how sore transforming leaves me."
"And tired," Lancelot said with a yawn.
"And hungry," Arthur added. "Let's find our friends, then it's hot baths, food, and sleep. Swords ready to draw, knights."
"Swords ready, Your Majesty," they said in unison.
The swords had no particular affinity when it came to magic, only raw power that shaped itself to the magic of its owner.
Water for Lancelot, Fire for Mordred, and Arthur was simply his determination to do what was right, even should the cost be his own life.
That was always the greatest difference between him and Maleagant, who was happy to sacrifice everyone else, willing or not, but never himself.
Arthur wielded earth magic, but Excalibur had always been shaped by the honor and integrity of his heart.
Morgan loved to say the three of them were loyalty, faith, and honor. Usually she was making fun of them for doing something stupid in the name of 'what was right,' but sometimes she was sincere. Like, once a year, maybe.
Arthur lifted his sword in front of him and closed his eyes. The same golden light from before spilled out, spreading across the battlefield, causing remnants of shadow magic to hiss like cold water meeting hot rock.
Mordred and Lancelot took it in turns to explore each and every spot that hissed, but most were too small, and those that were large enough for a person proved to be shallow holes that went nowhere.
Eventually, the spreading light reached a massive hole partially hidden by fallen bodies that hadn't despawned yet. Lancelot approached it, kicking and throwing the basically hollow shells aside and stood at the rim of the hole. "This is it."
The light faded and Arthur joined them, sheathing Excalibur. "Dred?"
Calling up a flickering flame, Dred cast it down into the dark, revealing a short drop and a winding staircase. "Oh, good, I love death traps."
"You first, oh flickering one," Arthur said. "Then me, and Lancelot takes the rear. If all else fails, he can turn the whole mess into a waterfall or something."
"Just remember most of us can't breathe under water, fish boy."
"Skill issue," Lancelot retorted.
Dred grinned, then dropped down and descended the stairs. Arthur followed, and Lancelot covered the rear. None of them drew their swords, as in such close quarters it would get them exactly nowhere.
As they went, Lancelot drew water down from the field above, leaving it to pool on every other step so that he would hear and feel the disturbance of the water.
Thankfully, nothing came from behind them as they continued their journey down, down, down.
Not yet, anyway.
At the bottom, there was more water, enough of it to reach their ankles. Strange, that. Maleagant and his cronies were normally smart enough not to fight in locations that included fire or water.
Dred sent out several more flickering flames, which revealed unlit sconces running the length of a wide, enormous hall, like something out of a great castle.
"Don't like this," Arthur muttered.
"If we liked it, we wouldn't be Maleagant's enemies," Dred said, throwing out their hands, sending the flames to light all the sconces.
Light flooded the space, reflecting off gilded paneling in the walls and ceiling, further brightening everything.
It was indeed a Great Hall, or the ruins of one, reminding Lancelot again of a place that reckless, arrogant dwarves had invited destruction into.
He didn't know what kind of monster Maleagant had come up with this time, or why the stupid bastard just wouldn't face them himself.
Well, no, that wasn't really a surprise.
Maleagant had a strong policy of putting everyone but himself in immediate danger.
Ultimately, they would have to go to him, but that was a problem for later.
The general theme of the hall seemed to be spooky.
Ominous gargoyles, veiled women, other hallmarks of Halloween, a holiday that hadn't been celebrated offline for decades.
Except here everything was actually creepy.
The water continued to pool around their ankles, and the faint mist hanging around the edges steadily grew in quantity and obfuscation, until they once again could see nothing, forced to push on down the never-ending hall—
Until abruptly they passed through, and the mist was gone, and they stood in a throne room lit by eerie blue light.
Coffins lined the space immediately in front of the dais, one for each of their missing friends, and all enfolded with the same eerie blue light that filled the sconces.
Infinitely worse was the figure on the throne, in the same ponderous, gleaming armor he'd worn before, his sword resting idly across his lap. "Please, no…" Lancelot whispered.
"What am I missing?" Arthur asked sharply, drawing his sword as the knight rose.
Dark gold armor with a green and gold surcoat, chest bearing the crest of a green lion against a white backdrop strewn with gold stars.
"It's Galehaut," Lancelot said, voice raw with anguish. "Maleagant got to him long before I woke up, and I don't know how to get him back."
"Well. Fuck." Arthur stepped back, lowering his sword. "Can you keep him occupied while we free the others? Unless you want me to fight him while you work with Dred."
"I think I'm offended nobody is letting me fight him," Dred said with forced amusement.
Lancelot drew his sword and called out to the water all around them. "I'll handle it."
"Godspeed," Arthur said.
"Come at me!" Lancelot bellowed, the water rushing in and then out, slamming against the walls, briefly baring the floor. Galehaut hefted his sword and charged.
Lancelot dodged the first blow, throwing up water to disorient, darting in to slice at the back of Galehaut's knees, where the armor was weakest, strength sacrificed for mobility. Galehaut spun and backhanded him, sending him slamming into the wall.
The whole right side of his face throbbed and ached.
He was pretty certain, from the feel of it, that his face was literally broken.
He fought back the urge to throw up and used his sword to climb to his feet again, ignoring the blood he could feel dripping from a headwound, the way it pooled in his mouth, spitting it out before sending more cascades of water at Galehaut and dodging out of the way.
Dizziness washed over him, disproportionate to the pain, as though something more was wrong. What, though?
Lancelot ignored it, continuing his brutal fight, dodging and weaving, going for quick, small cuts where he was able.
Powerful though he was magically, physically he had always been more about speed and agility, rather than the sheer brute strength of many of his fellow knights.
Even the ones as big and tough as Bertilak stood no chance against a literal half-giant, so Lancelot really stood no chance.
Even in their first fight, back in the lake, Lancelot had barely survived. Hadn't, actually, save that Merlin had woken in time to save him. Now? His only chance of winning this fight would be to transform, but he'd already done that once and was too depleted to do it a second time.
Thankfully, he didn't need to win, just stall—but even that was easier said than done.
Especially as he seemed to be getting weaker by the second, like something was draining…
"The water!" he screamed. "The water is poiso—" His words turned into a scream as Galehaut slammed into him again, this time holding fast and pinning Lancelot to the wall.
A bellow of rage filled the room, followed by golden light, and something struck Galehaut from behind, slamming into his helmet and cracking it in two right down the center.
Time seemed to freeze as the helmet fell away, baring that beautiful face to him, marred only by the blood streaming down the center of his forehead before splitting into two streams at his nose.
"Gale—" Lancelot wheezed out, despairing at the black pools of his eyes where soft, silvery gray should be. "Galehaut, please."
Black flickered in and out, hints of gray flashing so quickly they were little better than wishful thinking Then Galehaut let him go, clutching at his head as he screamed and writhed and wailed—
And then he was gone.
Lancelot dropped to his knees, one arm holding his bruised and battered middle, the other keeping him upright as he vomited blood and whatever was left of his last meal. "I don't feel well."