33. And Now We’re At War
CHAPTER 33
And Now We’re At War
Hawke Stormblood
We burst through the shimmering portal, stumbling onto the cobblestones in front of the Camelot’s stables. I spin around, raising my hands toward the escape passage I cut from the tower all the way down to the stables. It pulses with ethereal light, casting eerie shadows in the pre-dawn gloom. Drawing more magic from my core, I seal it shut, cutting off any potential pursuit.
The rich scent of hay and horses fills my nostrils, anchoring me to our present predicament–getting Melinda to safety. Somewhere I can protect her from the prejudice and threats from the council.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine Melinda would be able to see the queen in the tower. Something no one should be able to do by themselves. The way the wall blazed to life. How the sword resonated with her touch... None of it had ever responded to any of us before.
Only Melinda. Only her magick.
The stable yard is eerily quiet, save for the occasional stamp of a hoof or rustle of straw. My eyes frantically scan the line of open-faced stalls, heart pounding. I spot a familiar black stallion I've ridden before. Perfect—he's powerful enough to carry both Melinda and myself to safety.
"You there!" I hiss at a bleary-eyed stable hand. "Grab reins. Now!" The teen startles, scrambling to obey.
Sweat beads on my brow. I throw a blanket over the stallion's back, fingers fumbling to check the placement. No time for mistakes. I hoist the saddle on top next.
The stable boy dashes back, reins in hand. He swiftly buckles them on, coaxing the stallion with an apple slice while I cinch the girth tight.
"Good work," I mutter, already reaching for Melinda. "Now clear out. We were never here."
Ares, Boaz, and Wraith are all getting the last bits on their mounts too, their movements swift and precise. Years of experience and rote memory at work. Ares tightens the girth on his chestnut mare, his strong hands making quick work of the buckles. The mare tosses her head, eager to be off, and Ares runs a soothing hand down her neck, murmuring words of encouragement.
Boaz jogs a dapple-gray gelding out of his stall. He checks the saddle one last time, ensuring that everything is secure and in place after the horse has relaxed and walked a few steps. His eyes meet mine and he gives a hard nod. He's ready to ride.
Wraith is already mounted on his dark brown stallion and waiting just outside the barn. The horse paws at the ground impatiently. Wraith's cloak billows behind him, a shadow against the darkening sky above the castle.
The sky shouldn’t still be that dark. I glance up to take a closer look. Dark clouds are coming out of the windows of the tower we left. Fuck.
Fen's wolf stands a few yards away with Melinda still crouched on his back. I lead the massive black stallion towards them and her eyes widen.
The stallion snorts at the sight of the giant predator, his ears flicking back momentarily. Despite this, he handles the presence of the enormous wolf with impressive calm. Melinda, however, looks far less certain.
"It's alright," I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady despite the urgency pulsing through me. "You’ll be safe, I promise."
I lift Melinda off Fen's back. She trembles in my arms, her gaze fixed on the horse. She inhales sharply and her body goes rigid. I transfer her gently to the stallion's back.
“You just rode on Fen with no saddle. The horse has one and is meant to be ridden, sweet girl.” I rub her leg until some of the tension in her body releases.
“Everything with Fen happened so fast I didn’t have time to be nervous.”
I reach through our bond to soothe her more. “Lean forward as much as you can so I can get up behind you.”
She moves and I swing myself up behind her.
The heat of her body against my chest ignites a fire within me. I pull her close, my arms encircling her waist and I take the reins. The way her body molds against me sends a thrill through my veins. This is where she belongs—with me. Never separate.
“I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
"You’re safe, sweet girl," I whisper in her ear, my lips brushing against her soft skin. She leans back into me, her trust and affection flowing through our bond, intertwining with my own desire to protect her at all costs.
I urge the stallion forward, and the rest of my brothers in arms fall into line behind me. Fen’s wolf takes the lead, his powerful strides setting a swift pace out through the castle gate.
The darkness blotting out the pre-dawn light. We need to hurry. Something is brewing and I don’t want to still be in Camelot when whatever kind of storm it is hits.
We thunder across the drawbridge, the hooves of our horses echoing off the stones. The wind whips through my hair, carrying with it the scent of the trees and the promise of sanctuary in the forest ahead and the protection of Vandimoor and the soldiers it holds. Soldiers that will fight to the death to protect the woman I’ve chosen to be their next queen.
I just have to get her there. My people won’t let me down.
As we gallop through the forest, the trees blur past us in a rush of muted green and brown. The shadows deepen, blotted out by the dark cloud that seems to be following us now.
My mind races with thoughts of my family back at the castle. Did my parents escape? A flicker of uncertainty gnaws at me–did I even see Destrien there? The chaos in the tower blurred faces together. Did I actually spot him, or has my memory played tricks on me?
I shake my head, forcing these thoughts away. No time for doubts now. I must focus on getting Melinda to safety. My father will protect mother, and Destrien... if he was there, his savvy nature will guide him out.
Yet, the nagging doubt persists. Did I overlook something crucial in those frantic moments? I tighten my grip on the reins and Melinda, taking comfort in the warmth of her soft body pressed against my chest. Our bond pulses between us, a new and now constant reminder of our connection and commitment. I draw strength from it, from her.
I urge my stallion forward, every muscle taut as we plunge deeper into the forest. My eyes dart between shadows, searching for threats. Melinda's warmth against my chest contrasts sharply with the chill air whipping past us. Fen lopes ahead, his massive paws devouring the ground. But a new tension ripples through his form, setting my nerves ablaze. His instincts scream danger.
Suddenly, the trees part. We burst into a clearing teeming with impossible alliances. Sirens stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Upir. Drakonii are grouped with bow-wielding Elves. Fae and Asgardians mingle, while Valkyries form a protective wall behind...
My breath catches. A monstrous chimera dominates the space. Wolf head larger than Fen's whole body. Lion's muscled frame. A tail that belongs on no earthly creature.
"Halt!" I yank the reins, our mount rearing slightly. The beast turns, padding towards us with an unnatural grace that makes my skin crawl.
Fen's growl vibrates through the air. He crouches, ready to defend. This must be Nimue's beast—the one Melinda seeks. But why?
In a heartbeat, the chimera vanishes. A young man stands in its place, wild curls framing a face alight with iridescent magick. Recognition slams into me.
"The puppeteer!" Melinda gasps, her fingers digging into my arm. "From the queen's story at the festival!"
I study the young man more carefully. She’s right. The pieces don't fit, but there's no time to puzzle it out. We're surrounded, outmatched. I tighten my grip on Melinda.
Tension fills the air, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. A roar rips through the clearing. I whirl the horse around, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The darkness that poured from the tower has followed us—a writhing mass of inky blackness barely visible in the still dark sky. But it’s there. And it’s angry. It descends upon the clearing and shadowy forms coalesce within its depths. Golems . Dozens of them, their eyes glowing the magick the council imbued into them.
The first wave of golems crashes against us with a vicious war cry. The impact reverberates through my body, a bone-jarring shock that leaves me momentarily breathless. The council means to kill us. All of us. The bastards. Rage and disbelief surge through me, hot and sharp. The darkness is so thick, I can't see anything past the stallion's head.
Melinda trembles in my arms. Her magick is flaring and my head hurts from it. “Melinda, please.”
“I–can’t. What is this? What’s happening?”
“Use Siva. Hold your magick back. I have to fight.” I tighten my grip on her, scanning for an escape route, but there’s only murky black fog.
“I’m trying!”
A massive golem made of the dark cloud, easily twice the size of the others, barrels towards us. I try to wheel our stallion away, but we're not fast enough. Its fist connects with our mount, knocking it sideways and us airborne.
The world spins. I curl my body around Melinda, desperate to shield her from the fall. We hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs. Pain explodes across my back, but there's no time to recover.
Fuck.
I stagger to my feet, hauling Melinda up with me. "Stay close." I unsheathe my sword and turn to face down the approaching golem. Using my weapon to focus my magick instead of my hands, I cleave the golem in half, but it does nothing. It's like fighting smoke – my attacks pass through with little effect.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I grab Melinda’s hand and pull her into a run. We have to use magick against magick. “Weapons don’t work!” I shout into the dark fog.
I grab Melinda's hand and pull her into a run. Her magick pulses against my skin, a constant, low-grade ache that I push to the back of my mind. We have to use magick against magick. "Weapons don't work!" I shout into the dark fog. I have to warn the others.
All around us, chaos reigns. Sirens scream. Drakonii roar. Elven arrows whistle through the darkness, but the arrows don’t catch. Nothing physical can touch them. Even though they can easily touch us.
I cover Melinda with my body and throw up a shield. The golem following us strikes again and hits the shield so hard the impact jars my entire body. My muscles and my mind scream in protest, holding the magick in place.
"Hawke!" She points to the left.
I look up. Another large golem has joined and is punching the shield from the other side.
We're being overwhelmed. Sweat stings my eyes as I pour everything I have into the shield. But I don’t have much left.
A familiar roar cuts through the din of battle. Fen, in his massive wolf form, leaps over us. He tackles a golem about to flank us, his jaws clamping down on its nebulous form. But even his enormous strength isn't enough to turn the tide. He snaps at air and the golems just keep going.
A bright iridescent white power flares through the fog, irradiating it with a blast of light that forces me to squeeze my eyes shut. The intense brightness penetrates even my closed eyelids, and a wave of warmth washes over my skin. The oppressive pressure of the dark fog lifts, replaced by a tingling sensation in the air.
Melinda gasps beside me, her hand tightening in mine.
I cautiously open my eyes, blinking against the lingering spots in my vision. The fog has dissipated, leaving the air clear and shimmering with residual magic.
The puppeteer is several lengths away. He raises his hands and his eyes blaze with an otherworldly light. The air itself seems to bend around him. Reality warps and shimmers, and the golems closest to him begin to... unravel. There's no other word for it. They dissolve into wisps of shadow that dissipate on the wind.
The golems attacking my shield turn and run toward the puppeteer. A flicker of relief washes over me, but it's quickly tempered by caution. Is this a temporary reprieve, or have we truly gained the upper hand?
I pull Melinda close, a surge of protectiveness mingling with a growing sense of dread. My magick falters, the shield flickering before it vanishes completely. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin.
I have nothing left.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. I won't be able to use magick again until I find a well and refill. Vulnerability, an alien sensation for a warrior like me, creeps through my veins.
The chimera-man moves with fluid grace, each gesture precise and purposeful. Where his magic touches, the golems simply cease to be.
As the immediate threat diminishes, I scan the battlefield, my heart racing. Where are my brothers-in-arms? Through the dissipating darkness, I catch glimpses of them: Ares, is sheathing his sword. Boaz helping an Elf to his feet. Wraith materializes from the shadows of some trees, his eyes alert. Fen walks behind him. Relief washes over me.
I turn back to the chimera-man—the puppeteer. After the last of the golems fall, the man turns his attention to the roiling cloud of darkness still left in the sky above. He speaks words in a language I don't understand, and his voice resonates with a magick I’ve never seen. The darkness in the sky recoils like it was physically struck, slowly leaving us in dawns dim light. Avalon’s manufactured sunrise is still a couple hours away.
A wave of profound gratitude washes over me. We made it. All of us. The unity of these diverse beings, standing together against a common enemy, stirs something deep within me. Pride, perhaps, or hope.
Yet, exhaustion is etched into every line of their bodies. Shoulders sag, hands tremble, and eyes blink slowly as the adrenaline begins to fade. I feel it too–a bone-deep weariness that makes even standing an effort.
I squeeze Melinda's hand, drawing strength from her presence, but I know in my gut that this is only the beginning of the fight.
“How did he do that? What is he?” Melinda whispers to me.
“He’s a chimera. Or that’s my best guess. I didn’t know they had magick, though. I didn’t realize they were shifters, or could be either.”
“He saved us all from those shadow things.”
“Yes, he did,” I answer, taking her hand and walking toward him. Ares and the others are headed the same direction. “How do we address you, sir?” I call forward to the chimera-man, the puppeteer.
"I am Atlas, Prince Stormblood. And I must apologize. I cannot keep this form right now. I need to go." Atlas' voice carries an undercurrent of urgency. Iridescent light pulses erratically in his eyes, like lightning in a storm. His gaze darts around, seeking an escape route.
Muscles twitch beneath his skin, reminding me of a caged animal. The air around him thickens. His form ripples. Something within him is fighting to break free—the chimera.
"That was a lot of magick to expel at once." Ares positions himself protectively on the other side of Melinda. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowed with distrust. "What are you, really?"
The accusation in Ares' tone is unmistakable. He shifts his weight, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. His gaze flicks between Atlas and me, silently questioning why I haven't taken a more defensive stance.
The interrogation is interrupted by a thunderous beating of wings that draws our eyes skyward. Kellan, in his full dragon form, descends from the sky. He lands at the edge of the clearing, scales glittering like polished obsidian. I've never seen such a massive Drakonii before. He's the size of one of the castle keeps.
Relief floods through me at the sight of my mate’s somatophylakes . A wry smile tugs at my lips. Of course Kellan would make a dramatic entrance.
Melinda tenses beside me. Awe and trepidation drift through our bond. I send back waves of reassurance, though my own heart races at the sight of the dragon. He is intimidating.
Kellan shifts back to his human form the moment his feet hit the ground. I turn to thank Atlas for his help. But where he stood moments ago, there is only empty space.
"He's back in the woods," Ares says, pointing to where Fen stands, still in wolf form watching the edge of the woods.
I follow Ares' gesture, frowning. Atlas' sudden disappearance unsettles me. Why flee after saving us all? The strategic part of my mind catalogs this as potentially suspicious behavior, while another part wonders if he simply really did need to shift forms for an unknown pressing reason.
Around us, the diverse group of allies reacts to Atlas' vanishing act. Whispers ripple through the crowd. I catch Melinda's eye, sensing her confusion and concern through our bond. Keeping my voice low, I murmur, "Stay close. We don't know what's going on yet." I turn back to Melinda’s Drakonii.
His dark eyes sweep over the assembled rebels, lingering on Melinda and me.
"Well," Kellan's deep voice carries easily across the clearing. "It seems I've missed the opening act. We should really get to Vandimoor before the next one strikes, don’t you think?”
I swallow the fear trying to climb up my throat. Of course they’re going to try again. Why would I have thought the council would give up after one tantrum?
“We are at war then?” I ask, meeting Kellan’s fiery gaze. He was in the tower longer. He knows more of how the council thinks.
“We are at war, princeling.”
Fucking hell.