Clary heard Arthur’s words and the finality in his voice. It was rare that she, who had grown up without kings, truly understood what his crown meant, but she did then. She felt the burden of it in her gut. His order would cost lives, but not giving it would cost more.
With only a slight hesitation, as if he was thinking the exact same thing, Merlin raised his hand and a bolt of bright green light exploded into the air. The signal. There was an instant of quiet, like an indrawn breath. Her insides went tight, holding a gibbering panic at bay. It felt as if every fae head had just turned their way. They’d passed some point of no return.
Then a storm of goblin arrows flew in perfect unison, buzzing as the fletching caught the air. The first volley had barely risen when a second came from the south, showing the fae were trapped in the bowl of the valley. Fae shields flew up, deflecting many of the arrows, but a respectable number found their mark.
“Loose!” The goblin king’s voice echoed off the valley walls, and another flurry of arrows sailed from the goblins’ recurved bows. Zorath had shed his regalia in favor of a studded leather cap that had seen much use. This wasn’t his first battle.
Gawain, Owen and Perceval gathered protectively around their king, and it struck Clary how few knights there were. She’d heard the original Round Table had numbered one hundred and fifty, but only a fraction had been found and awakened in the modern age. Two were injured, thanks to Vivian’s stunt at Medievaland, old Sir Hector had retired from the battlefield and Lancelot was off guarding the white tower with the Lady of the Lake.
And yet, when the goblins finally charged, so did they. It happened suddenly, with a cry and a churn of hooves and a horrible drop in Clary’s heart.
“No, wait!” she cried, half rising from her saddle until Merlin caught her arm.
“Be still,” he said, squeezing hard until she met his eyes. “The fae aren’t going to leave just because we ask nicely.”
“But there is only a handful—”
“We cannot ask allies to fight unless we draw our own swords.”
But all she could think about was that Arthur was Gwen’s husband and Gawain was her sister’s husband-to-be. She didn’t want to live in a world without Perceval’s impudent laughter or knowing that there was no Owen to nurse stray animals back to health. These weren’t the shining knights from the movies—these were people she loved. But then, couldn’t that be said of all soldiers?
She sank back to her saddle, trembling with fright and anger. None of this should be happening. The urge to smack LaFaye’s perfect face rose like a silent scream. “What do we do?” They were the only ones left behind.
Merlin’s expression spoke of banked fury. “What we always do, stand on the balcony while the knights battle below. Except this time our magic is aimed at the enemy.”
So the shows at Medievaland had been rehearsals. That gave her a point of reference, at least. “How do we destroy their army without hurting our own?”
Merlin dismounted and then helped Clary down before securing the horses. “First, we take care of the trebuchet. The assault on the tower weakens the spell that keeps Morgan imprisoned.”
She looked down the valley at the machine, careful not to let her eyes rest on the chaos of men and weapons. If she saw a friend in trouble, she’d lose her focus. As she watched, the fae released the next shot, and the huge beam swung the catapult. A boulder flew into the air, and this time she could see the corona of dark magic sizzling around it. It crashed into the top of the tower, knocking a layer of stone away. The top of the tower crumbled, leaving only a shard like a broken tooth. Clary’s chest hurt at the sight, but her curiosity was stirred. “How come the Faery Queen won’t be killed when the tower comes down?”
“The spell that jails her will break before the tower falls altogether. I do not doubt that LaFaye already has an escape plan in place.”
The knot of tension in Clary’s chest made another twist. “Let’s make sure those plans don’t do her any good.”
Unexpectedly, he kissed her, his mouth hot and urgent. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut. “Thank you for being here.”
Where else could she be, when everyone she cared about was in peril? “I’d say no problem, but it probably will be.”
He huffed, a kind of half laugh, and turned to the scene below. Clary stood at his shoulder, folding her arms and frowning down at the blasted machine. Then she pointed. “What’s going on there, by the wheels?”
Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Dryads.”
They seemed to erupt from nowhere, sinking their long fingers into the wood and tearing it to shreds. As they watched, the fae turned as one toward them, dealing swift death to one of the graceful creatures as the others slipped away, only to reappear and attack a different corner of the machine. Their courage shook Clary to the core.
And yet the trebuchet swung again, sending another missile toward the tower. With a jab of his fingers, Merlin shattered the rock to powder. A roar went up from the battlefield, some voices defiant, others enraged. The strike left him panting.
“Don’t stand in the open,” he said, pulling her behind a screen of trees. “They know we’re here now. And watch for anyone attempting to reach us.”
Clary nodded. It was her turn next, and she already had a plan. She could feel Vivian stirring, but the demoness remained inconspicuous, merely nudging Clary’s spell where it lacked finesse. With her help, Clary launched a very realistic swarm of hornets upon the fae working the trebuchet. All productivity stopped as the otherwise perfect fae launched into a manic dance of slapping and shaking their cloaks and hair. Meanwhile, the dryads finished their destructive work.
“Good one,” Merlin shouted, and launched a fireball at a mounted fae general. It struck him squarely on the breastplate and sent him toppling backward from his horse.
Their run of luck didn’t last. The next moment fae rained from the trees, trapping Merlin and Clary in a circle. She recalled Merlin’s warning that they’d exposed themselves, but she hadn’t heard anyone approach. But then again, all fae moved like shadows.
Merlin’s sword left its sheath with a hiss, the motion continuing in a downward slash that killed one attacker before the leaping fae touched the ground. Clary shrieked in pure surprise, but had the wits to draw her knife and fall into a crouch. By then, Merlin had run the second fae through, freeing his sword again by kicking the carcass to the ground. Like all the most experienced knights, his sword work was more efficient than pretty.
Clary counted three fae left. One made a grab for her, but she dodged, sensing Vivian’s subtle assistance as she weaved and slid a spell onto the blade. When she slashed, it hit its mark, leaving a red stripe down his arm.
“Go away,” she snapped, furious that she’d been forced to cut him. He didn’t seem to care, because he lunged with his own blade. She twisted away, slamming her heel into the side of his leg. She heard a horrible, wet crack as he slid off the lip of the valley and went tumbling down the path where Arthur had ridden into the fray. She’d probably dislocated his knee.
When she turned back, the other two fae were dead. Merlin leaned on the point of his sword, sucking in deep breaths. His face and arms shone with sweat, and she could see fresh gashes on his armor. The sword ran with blood, but none of it seemed to be his.
“I’ve never seen you fight,” she said, her voice colorless with the shock of what had just happened. “I thought you just trained for the exercise.”
His mouth twisted. “I wish.”
Clary’s chest squeezed at his tone. Knowing there was nothing useful to say, she watched as he wiped down his sword on a rag torn from the tunic of a dead fae. Unwilling to touch the dead, Clary wiped her knife on the grass and put it away. Her hands began to shake as adrenaline left her system. Now that the crisis was over, her mood was sinking fast.
Merlin spun toward the trees, sword raised. Clary jumped in fright, but this time she could hear someone approaching—not fae, then. As the bushes parted, a tall man came into sight, carrying an unconscious female form. Though she’d met them only once, Clary knew they were Sir Lancelot du Lac and Nimueh, the Lady of the Lake. The powerful enchantress was one of the fae who still had a soul, and one moment in her luminous presence had told Clary everything about what the fae people had lost.
The woman was dressed all in white, but the gown was tattered and muddy, her feet bare and covered in cuts. Her tangled hair was unbound, its silvery length almost reaching the ground. Dulac, as he was known among the knights, was in battered armor, and it was plain that he’d been fighting. Clary nearly dropped to her knees. If Dulac and Nimueh were here now, like this, everything had gone pear-shaped.
Merlin sheathed his sword and sprang forward to help the knight lay his burden on the grass. “Nimueh!” he said, urging the woman to wake. When she didn’t respond, he looked up at the knight. “How long has she been like this?”
“Not long, but she’s exhausted.” The knight’s face was pale as he knelt beside his lady. “She fought hard as any warrior, but she cannot hold out any longer.”
Clary stepped forward. It was on the tip of her tongue to argue that they simply had to keep fighting, but she strangled her fear. It was plain the two had done all they could. “Get your lady to Tamsin. Take my horse. There’s a hospital set up at the fairgrounds.”
Dulac’s steady brown gaze met hers. “Thank you.”
Merlin nodded. “Let Nim rest now. We’ll need her fireworks later.”
As Dulac gathered the unconscious woman in his arms again, an enormous crack resounded over the valley. Clary spun to see a diagonal split crawl across the white stone of the tower. The top half slid off, crashing to the earth in a cloud of dust. The lower portion exploded, fountaining rock into the sky. Flames followed in a rush that reached almost as high as the original spire. They died almost at once, but the point was made. The enchantments that guarded the prison were gone and Morgan LaFaye had escaped. Although she was safely on the other side of the valley, Clary began to tremble.
Dulac galloped away with his lady, barely sparing another word. The Queen of Faery would take revenge on her jailers if they were caught. Clary watched them go, so brave and so weary, and wondered if everything was lost. Merlin touched Clary’s shoulder, making her jump and then sag against him. Her throat ached with unshed tears.
A long, piercing note rang over the valley. “That’s Gawain’s horn,” said Merlin. “Arthur has sounded a retreat.”
And then he threw a spell into the seething mass of warriors. Like a long bullwhip, it seemed to crack and then ripple outward in a blur of violet light. A demon spell, Clary realized as Vivian fed her the knowledge. One that Merlin had learned from her. It seemed to only touch the fae, and not for long, for as they fell to their knees as if struck, they picked themselves up again almost at once, angrier than ever.
That spell takes a great deal of strength, Vivian explained, and mastery to ensure it does not hurt your friends. No one could perform it twice in one battle.
But it gave the retreating army a moment, and that was what they needed. Swords swung and spears stabbed, and Clary could see clearly now how badly outnumbered Camelot’s allies were. The goblins had borne the brunt of the fight, and far too many lay dead on the valley floor. The remainder took the opportunity to escape.
Arthur and his men reached Clary and Merlin just minutes later, along with the goblin king. A sob of relief escaped Clary. Perceval had an impressive gash over his eye, but they were all alive. The two kings listened grimly as Merlin, leaning with exhaustion against a tree, told them about the Lady of the Lake’s flight.
“We must regroup,” said Arthur.
“And do what?” Zorath demanded, his voice rough with grief.
Arthur said nothing, his face like stone. Clary bit her tongue, wanting to butt in, but she had nothing useful to say. They couldn’t give up, and everybody knew it, but what hope did they have to win?
Merlin broke into the uncomfortable silence. “We have to move before the fae pursue us. There is nothing to be gained if our retreat becomes a rout.”
Clary was about to point out that she’d given her horse away when she saw something in the sky. “Look!”
Everyone turned to see the eagles soaring into the late-afternoon sky. She saw a pair, and then two more, and then there seemed to be dozens splitting off in a dozen directions. “Master Senec has delivered my message,” said Arthur. “The eagles of the Charmed Beasts are summoning our distant allies.”
But seconds later something else was in the air. Scraps of black floated upward from the treeline, seeming to tumble and waver more than fly. They were fast, though, matching the eagles for speed. When a handful caught up to one of the majestic birds, they swarmed it, and moments later the eagle plummeted to earth.
“No!” Clary exclaimed under her breath, not just for the eagle but for the hope it had represented.
“Hellspawn,” Gawain snarled. “That is the work of the demon Tenebrius.”
Arthur shifted in his saddle, seeming to come to a decision. He turned away from the sky and looked them each in the eyes before turning to his enchanter. “You asked me what I need you to do,” he said to Merlin. “I need you to cure the fae, however impossible that may seem. The only way to win this war is to turn them against their own queen.”