Horsemen's War (The Rebellion Chronicles #3) - Steve McHugh Page 0,74

had everything well under control. It had left Mordred with very little to do, but he had the feeling that he should be doing something.

It took him a while to retrace his steps out of the dungeon, which was a twisty maze of a place. Twice he found himself down a corridor with cells on either side. He looked through the slats in the metal door on the first cell and saw the blood inside, lit by a light-blue crystal in the ceiling. A lot of people have been killed here.

He eventually found himself in the throne room. The room was gigantic, with high ceilings and beautiful artwork depicting knights in shining armor, the paladins in their golden armor, and Arthur slaying all before him. In one particularly ostentatious piece, Arthur had slain a dragon and had one foot on the creature’s neck, while a woman who at best was barely clothed was draped around his legs like a limpet. Mordred laughed the first time he saw it, as well as the second, and then it stopped being funny. He used his light magic to burn it to ashes and felt better for it.

At one point there had been a large circular table inside the throne room. Unlike in the stories, there were, in fact, three round tables. Merlin had had one placed in the throne room to remind visitors that Camelot’s law was always there. Mordred remembered the time he’d returned to Camelot after his mind had been shattered, and he’d buried an ax in one of the tables, although he couldn’t remember which one. They all looked the same to him.

The table itself was far too small to fit every single knight, but that wasn’t really the point. Despite how the round table was meant to make everyone seated there equal, there was a large black metal chair that was very clearly the head of the table. Arthur still wanting to let everyone know he was in charge at every opportunity.

Mordred sat in the chair and sighed. All this would have to go. All the memories of Arthur, of those who followed him, of those who had murdered and pillaged in his name. Mordred wondered if they could just burn the entire palace down and start again. Maybe this time with something that wasn’t so obviously screaming I’m better than you to anyone nearby. He felt the same way about the palace in Shadow Falls, but at least that one was home to vast numbers of people who lived in the realm. The palace in Camelot was just a shell of power. An illusion to keep people in check. Even when Elaine had ruled over Avalon, it was never really her palace, as Merlin had liked to point out whenever possible.

Mordred closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He missed his aunt. She had been a constant level of calm in the rough seas that were Mordred’s life. Even when he was trying to kill everyone, even in his darkest, most evil times, she’d been willing to help. She’d tried for centuries to find a cure. “If you could see me now,” he said to himself.

“Everyone is looking for you,” Hel told him from the doorway.

Mordred nodded. “I went to see Jinayca. We’re stuck here for the moment.”

“I know,” Hel said.

“I am anxious,” Mordred said, opening his eyes. “I do not like being anxious. It makes me want to find a dark room to hide in until everything is done. It’s not very king-like to hide while everyone else is busy.”

“So be busy.”

“No one is letting me,” Mordred said with a protracted sigh. “Everyone keeps calling me Your Majesty and telling me that there are people to do that job. I am getting fed up with being told there are people to do things that I want to do.”

“That kind of goes with the territory, I’m afraid,” Hel said, taking a seat next to Mordred.

“I came here expecting a fight,” Mordred said. “I expected a prelude to the battle in Atlantis. What I got was a lot of dead bad guys, a lot more wanting to surrender, and the rest running away. None of that feels particularly satisfying. We have taken Avalon with a whimper.”

“You wanted bloodshed?” Hel asked, fully aware of Mordred’s answer.

“No, of course not,” Mordred said. “I wanted closure. I wanted to see this fucking table burned to dust. I wanted to see that fucking throne rammed so far up Arthur’s arse that