Chapter 20

Emory stood in a circle of brilliant golden light, focused on keeping Mordrant too busy fighting his magical attacks to plot anything physically dangerous. Bolts of purple and black lightening lanced back and forth between the two, and anyone unlucky enough to be in the crossfire, perished in agonizing balls of flame.

“All right, you little shit! Enough is enough!” Emory sent a massive salvo of swirling sparks at Mordrant and then shifted closer to the dais. Richard quickly picked up the carpet bag and shifted with him.

“Hold still ... I’ve had about enough of this! Aha!” Emory surged forward at the run, catching Richard totally unprepared. Richard made to shift and tripped over the bag, sprawling to the ground in a heap.

Seeing Emory all alone in the raging battle, Roland quickly parried a blow aimed at his head, back thrust his opponent through the chest, and wrenched his sword clear before the man he had just killed even knew he was dead. Fighting across the room in apparent reckless disregard, he soon took up station at Emory’s back.

Richard, having extracted himself from the bag, charged up next to him in a breathless rush. For all the rapid movement Roland had made to cover Emory’s back, he was barely breaking a sweat.

“Easy, lad”, said Roland as Richard thrust out at a shadow on his left. “Pick a clear target and then make sure you kill it the first time.” And as if to demonstrate his point, he cut down two dark fairies with a single slashing blow. His sword almost singing as it came clear of the second body. The first body fell like a sack of grain, the second twisted almost in half before becoming another lifeless tatter on the floor.

With a wink and a nod toward Emory, Roland once again danced off into the thick of the action, his sword a singing blur of silver, this time toward Erin and her besieged bodyguard.

“My Lady”, said Roland as he sketched the slightest of bows while engaging two dark fairies at once. “It would seem that the tide is finally turning on this battle.”

As far as Erin could tell, things were getting worse, but she really didn’t have a clear picture of what was actually happening, nor any experience like this to compare it against. Nodding, she said, “If you say so. It’s too horrible for me to watch and apart from Arthur and Emory; I can’t tell who is who anyway. It’s like watching some bizarre sport that I don’t know the rules of.”

“My Lady, ‘tis a simple thing really, you kill everyone who is trying to kill you, and let the gods sort it out in the end!” He smiled a beatific smile and added, “Please, I have been totally without manners. I am Roland, and I am Lancelot’s second in command of the King’s Guard. I am pleased to finally meet you and honored to offer my life in your defense!” While still exchanging blows with two opponents, he gave her another sketchy bow and then returned his attention to the task at hand.

Erin felt the briefest of flutters in the pit of her stomach when he smiled at her.

Now that Roland had pointed it out, it did appear that the tide of battle was turning in their favor. Slowly the two battle forces under Arthur’s command linked up and the circle of dark defenders shrank onto itself. Soon only a small ring of wounded defenders surrounded the dais that had been Mordrant’s throne.

With another crash of thunder, Emory shouted “Enough!” and an eerie silence descended as combatants slowly lowered their weapons and, other than ragged breathing and the moans of the wounded, an almost peaceful calm came over the scene of battle.

Mordrant stood at the eye of the storm, shrouded in a dark sphere of power, over which dark flashes of lightening crackled.

“Enough...” repeated Emory in a clam voice, and his ward of golden light dimmed and then winked out.

Arthur, Lancelot, and Roland stepped forward next to Emory and stood watching Mordrant fume impotently in fury. Like watching a small boy caught playing with matches, the King simply tilted his head a bit and watched with a sad frown on his face.

Mordrant stomped and raged around the inside of his smoke dark ward. It was as if he were slowly going mad. None of what he said made any sense to anyone watching him as he raged on. Only Emory kept a wary guard up, and a ball of purple flame still burned at his fingertips.