The Darkest Knight (Guardians of Camelot #3) - Victoria Sue Page 0,84
Not one of them moved as the knight lifted his hands and removed his helmet. It wasn’t a shock. Not really, because as soon as Charles saw him, he knew he had seen that face so many times and not remembered it. The chilling blue eyes, not warm or vibrant like Tom’s or Mel’s, but ice-chip hard. The angular face with the sneering tilt to the thin lips and the slight unpleasant smell of rot despite every attempt to look intimidating, Charles knew he was looking at walking filth.
“But you used to love it so much as a boy. Mel.” Mordred said the name slowly, rolling the word around on his tongue. “We had some delicious dreams together. Shared experiences. I almost feel like we are friends. You used to visit me so often in here.” He shook his head and smiled. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m glad you decided to come back.”
“How frustrating for you,” Mel taunted, and Charles noticed a tic starting in Mordred’s jaw. He wasn’t sure why Mel was trying to rile him up, but it was working. “You must be so bored,” Mel continued, tutting sympathetically. “All these years here on your own with no one but some inanimate monsters to keep you company.” Except they didn’t think they were inanimate anymore. Charles knew Mel was goading him.
Mordred waggled his finger at Mel. “Now, now. Please. You know the Ursus are her greatest creation. Just because you will never have the power to recreate—”
“For what?” Mel interrupted derisively. “Why would I possibly want to surround myself with slaves?”
Charles shifted unobtrusively, hoping to get in a position to strike, but the movement caught Mordred’s eye. Mordred turned to him and sneered. “You’re surrounding yourselves with slaves now, except yours aren’t as talented.” Talented? So their theories about the Ursus might be true. Mordred stared at him. “Ah yes, the sacrifice. Perhaps you’ll actually be useful after all.” He waved an arm, and suddenly a sword appeared in Mordred’s hand.
“Is that supposed to impress us?” Mel asked. “You appearing as some sort of warrior instead of a trapped, useless puppet of a madwoman?”
Mordred beamed as if Mel had given him the highest compliment. “But he’s here to battle. I am simply giving him the opportunity.” Without giving any of them chance to react, Mordred moved with lightning fast reflexes, and Charles just had time to meet the downward slash. Steel hit steel with a series of forward and back strokes, sometimes a mild parry. Sometimes Charles needed all his weight behind each stroke because Mordred didn’t give up, and he was strong. Unnaturally so.
Mordred whirled just as Roxy took a step forward with hers as if to join the fight, and before Charles could shout out a warning, Mordred saw her and twisted his left wrist in her direction, and she stumbled immediately. The sword dropped from useless fingers as she was lifted in the air by unseen hands. She scrabbled at her throat, but Mordred took no notice. Mel brought his pendant out and started whispering something, but she was too high off the floor for them to reach her physically. Gawain roared and charged immediately, but with barely a glance, Gawain was lifted off his feet in the same manner. Mel pulled Tom to his side protectively.
“And now your party tricks are ineffectual, Merlin,” Mordred sneered and looked at Tom. “And by the time I’ve finished, there won’t be any body left for you to bring back.” He didn’t even grace Gawain with a look.
Roxy screamed as her arms were pulled apart, and Mel sent Charles a horrified glance. Mordred was right. Nothing Mel was doing was making any difference. Charles roared and tried to catch Mordred off guard, seeming to run at him but dancing away, slashing his sword down. Mordred grinned and met his stroke. Every single one.
Charles was tiring. Nothing they were doing was working. Mordred seemed perfectly capable of holding Roxy and Gawain, fighting Charles, and stopping Mel. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw Tom pick up the sword Roxy had dropped with his free hands. No. So far Mordred had left him alone. If he changed to an actual threat, he would kill him. Tom was no match for an expert swordsman—for any swordsman. Charles did his best to turn Mordred away. Sweat trickled down his face and his back.
Tom raised the sword, and Mel opened his eyes at the same time. There was a loud