JamieHawke
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His Dark Knights - Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2020-07-17 16:13:41 +0000 UTC
Arthur stood assessing Lancelot, as the other watched the stable boy prepare his horse.
“We had him,” Lancelot said. “You gave up the lives of all of us, for an infatuation with a human.”
“She’s what matters in this life,” Arthur said. “Nothing more.”
Lancelot stared at him and for a moment Arthur wondered if his old friend would strike—his anger could pass through the air like waves of intense heat. Arthur turned from the horses, holding the vampire’s gaze. He would not back down. The choice had been his, as king, and he wouldn’t pull away from it. Yes, his decision had meant the lives of many vampires had been forfeit, and that fact would forever eat at him. But if anything should ever happen to Guinevere, this world would be as good as over, as far as he was concerned.
With a grunt of disgust, Lancelot spun on his heels and stormed out of the stables.
“Check on the knights, ensure they’re ready for the siege on Morgana,” Arthur commanded.
“I ‘live’ to serve,” Lancelot said without looking back.
Arthur sighed and glanced at the stable boy, an instinct pulling at his desire to taste the young blood flowing through the boy’s veins. But no, he could resist… for now.
“Anything else, sire?” the stable boy asked. He’d finished saddling both horses, Lancelot’s and King Arthur’s, and they looked magnificent.
“That’ll be all,” Arthur said. When the boy had left, Arthur approached his mare and ran his hand along her neck, staring into those wide eyes where once he’d seen his reflection, back before his transformation. He had snippets of memories, little things like being able to see a reflection, or the laugh of a woman that he supposed to be his mother, but that was the extent of it.
“One day, I’ll ride you out of here and we’ll find out who I was,” he said to the horse, and she whinnied in response.
He looked outside to see the sun at its peak. Vampires normally burst into flame at times like that, if the sunlight touched them, but not while they were under Merlin’s spell. That was why it was the perfect time to attack Morgana—her vampires would all be asleep or hiding in the shadows, her shifters, no match for Arthur.
This was a recruiting mission, now that their numbers had been depleted. They’d take soldiers and transform them, and the vampires that dreamed of walking in daylight would join their ranks with the mere forfeiture of freedom. Some thought it was a price worth paying, as Rodain and her elite knights had proven.
Now Arthur was surrounded by these traitors, his knights of the roundtable, with Lancelot being the only one he could trust. Percival and the others had fallen in the battle, and though he was sure Merlin had the power to revive them, the old man chose the knights of the roundtable to best fit his needs.
Arthur was about to mount his horse and check on his knights when a hand brushed against his. He leaped back, startling the horse, and hissed.
But it was her—Guinevere.
“I’m sorry,” she said, blushing and trying to hide her fright. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but meant she shouldn’t be here with him. The longing for her was too great—he wasn’t sure he could fight it.
“It’s all because of me,” she said. “That’s what I hear, anyway. Your defeat….”
“Don’t listen to rumors.”
“Rumors or not,” she stepped forward again and took his hand in both of hers, “we both know there’s a way where my life wouldn’t ever be at risk again. Not truly.”
He bit his lip, feeling the pulse of her blood as it coursed through her. They’d never touched before, and her warmth covered him like a warm bath.
“You don’t know what you ask of me,” he said. “Your life would be over the moment I granted your request.”
“So I could live among you. As one of you… at your side. I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”
“I cannot!” he said, dropping her hand and mounting his horse.
“Give me the gift!” she shouted, anger flashing in her eyes. “You have no right to go on like this! I am your queen and demand you give it to me!”
“We both know this is just a show,” Arthur said as he rode past, unable to look at her. “And we are merely his puppets.”
The ride back to the room of the roundtable was a long one, filled with self-hatred and doubt. He wanted more than anything to feel the warmth of her touch again, to leave all of this behind and simply be what legends among the simple folk proclaimed them to be—the valiant King Arthur and his Guinevere. But no, he knew that could never truly be the case.
At the end of the day, they’d simply be two cursed souls, destined to carry out the whims of a paladin turned sorcerer. Merlin and his corrupt heart would see to it that Arthur never truly saw happiness, not until the lands as far as the farthest seas were part of their empire.
Overhead, birds chirped and the clouds parted to let down scattered rays of sunlight. This sight, this calming sensation, would be what he would have given up had he defeated Merlin. Maybe…. He believed they’d find a way to either cast off the curse that had made them vampires in the first place, or convince a noble paladin to protect them under his spell—one without the hidden darkness of Merlin.
Arched marble rose at the entrance to the great hall and its roundtable. Here Arthur tied up his horse with a glance back toward the stables and then to the endless rolling hills and trees. Dark clouds were beginning to roll over the hills, streaking the far-off sky in gray.
The raid would be a wet one.
Each footstep echoed off the stone walls that led to the great hall. This would be the first time that he’d address his newly appointed knights of the roundtable, the first time that he’d see if those left alive by Merlin would serve him or stab him in the chest with a stake the first chance they got.
As of now, he didn’t trust a one of them aside from Lancelot.
Rodain had the seat beside Arthur’s grand chair, and the rest of the knights were seated, waiting in silence. All but one seat—the one to the right of Arthur’s.
“Why isn’t Lancelot here?” Arthur asked, glancing around the great hall as if expecting to find his old friend lurking in the shadows.
Rodain sneered, but said, “He went looking for you, he said. Something about the grove.”
“He knew I wasn’t training,” Arthur said. “This is no time for—” A sudden realization hit home, and he darted back down the stone hall, untied his horse, and then rode as fast as he could. He had to reach the grove as quickly as possible, to stop Lancelot.
But when he got there, it was too late.
Guinevere was in Lancelot’s arms, his face pressed tightly to her neck.
Her eyes lit up when she saw Arthur, then closed as she moaned with a mixture of pain and delight.
“Not her!” Arthur said, flinging himself from the horse and charging at Lancelot. In his rage he flung the knight like a kitten. Lancelot hit a tree and fell to the ground, where he pushed himself up with a groan, and then started laughing.
“You’re too late, sire,” Lancelot said, and his laughter was replaced by a wicked smile, blood trickling down his chin.
“No….” Arthur fell to his knees beside Guinevere, his worst suspicions confirmed. Two red marks marred the perfection of her neck, that rosy flesh that had once pulled at his cravings was now destroyed. Done so by his best friend, his trusted knight.
He picked her up and she looked at him with longing of what might have been. Slowly, the look faded into a dead stare of nothingness.
“What have you done?” Arthur said, closing his eyes.
“Only what you were too weak to do yourself,” Lancelot said, and Arthur opened his eyes to see the knight flash over, not two feet away now and with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You had no right.”
“And yet, I had no other options.” Lancelot turned toward the castle and started walking. Over his shoulder he said, “Perhaps now you’ll be able to focus your attention on being our king.”
It was all Arthur could do not to cast her aside and tear his old friend limb from limb, but Guinevere deserved better than that.
So instead he found a tree on the outskirts of the grove, and began to dig. His arms moved fast, his vampire strength giving him what he needed to push through in spite of his grief.
When he had a hole large and deep enough, he carried Guinevere’s body and lowered her into the hole.
He set her down, gently, and then turned to leave.
A sound caused him to pause. The sound of a gasp of breath. His head swiveled back. Her eyes were open and staring at him with a redness unnatural to any living eyes. He hadn’t noticed the smudge of blood beside her mouth until now—she’d drunk of Lancelot. The red slowly faded, and she smiled to reveal sharp fangs.
“Now we can truly be together, my love,” she said.
The meaning of her words hit him hard. “You… you did this.”
“Yes, Lancelot took some convincing. But I made him, for us.”
She reached for him, but he pulled away from her touch. He was disgusted with this monster that had once been Guinevere.
“My love,” she said, hand out, eyes begging. “Come, we have an empire to conquer. King Arthur, his Guinevere… and our dark knights.”
It was the final straw.
Everything inside of him wanted to explode. He wanted to shout out, both destroy her and take her in his arms at the same time—so instead, he ran. Not like this, he told himself. When she’d been pure, alive, he could fight knowing there was a reason to all this madness. But not anymore.
His legs kept on moving, even when he felt the anger and madness clouding his mind until he couldn’t think anymore. It wasn’t toward Lancelot for revenge that he ran, but to simply escape it all. To leave this life behind, in any way possible.
So he ran for the barrier—where he’d seen other vampires before him burst into flames as they tried to escape. Merlin’s spells made sure you either fought for him, or were destroyed. It was this very destruction Arthur sought now.
When the first wave of pain hit him, he collapsed. His eyes bulged with the pressure and he thought they’d burst forth from his head. A pressure like a dozen horses stampeding on his chest. His skin burned as if it was being peeled off one layer at a time.
But he pressed on, crawling now, for the pressure was too great.
Then the flames came, bubbling up from under his skin, consuming him. But he pushed on. It was unending, this suffering… and glorious. He pushed farther, craving it, loving the torture and the meaning behind it—that he would soon be gone from this horrible world. A world where Guinevere served the night.
Rage churned inside him and drove him onward.
A final scream and explosion of pain sent him lurching forward, and then he was rolling down a grassy hill. And it was over.
Only… he wasn’t dead.
The sunlight was burning his skin, smoke rising and pain shooting through his body. But it wasn’t from the spell that had kept him under Merlin’s watch—it was the sun! That could only mean that he was free. He’d done it, he had broken free from that paladin with the evil heart, and now… now… Now he was burning and had to get to the shadows!
He flung himself over, eyes searching, and saw a small village nearby. Already drained of energy, he stumbled forward, almost there… and then he collapsed. He hadn’t made it. All of that effort, wasted.
Each breath came harder than the last, the fire eating at him.
The world was moving beneath him—wait, no, people were dragging him! The fire was gone and he was in the shade, and then a house. Everything was hazy, like a far-off vision barely visible through a thick fog.
And then he felt it, the pulsing of blood, and before he knew it, he tasted the warm liquid. Not only tasting, but consuming it with vigor.
Energy surged through him, his senses sharpening. He closed his eyes, enjoying the tingling of life as it filled him with purpose.
“Enough!” His eyes burst open and he shoved the man away, the man he’d been feeding on. “I—I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be.” The man was weak, but the look in his eyes conveyed strength. Several men and women stood around him, two helping him to stand. “I offered myself freely, so that you could walk among us once again.”
Arthur stood tall, back to his old self. But something the man had just said brought the fog of confusion.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Arthur said. “It sounded like you just said, ‘again.’”
“You see, he doesn’t remember,” a woman at the man’s side said to him, then turned to Arthur. “We’ve waited long for you to return to us, brother.”
“And now,” the weakened man said with an excited grin, “you can remember who you are. Fight with us, so that Merlin will set our people free.”
Arthur couldn’t believe it at first. But as he took a step closer and assessed these men and women, he realized they seemed familiar. Yes, the woman had a strong look to her, those fierce eyes were familiar from a time when he’d worked a field alongside her. The man too, something about him… Playing together as boys beside a stream, before his life had been taken in exchange for this curse of the night. These people had been his family.
“So, brother,” the man said, “are you with us?”
Arthur wanted to run, to take the easy way out. Instead, he held out his hand and clasped forearms with his former brother and said, “If it means taking down Merlin, then I’m your man.”
“Not our man,” his brother said. “Our king.”
