Page 48 of Enchanted Warrior

Tamsin wheeled around, meeting the cold appraisal in the fae’s eyes. There was no point in lying. “I’m taking back what belongs to the witches.”

Nimueh’s eyes fell on the bag in Tamsin’s hands. With one swift grab, she wrenched them away and opened the drawstring. She cocked an eyebrow as she peered inside. “I know these works. Merlin’s immortal musings, blast him to the darkest abyss. I had no idea they were here.”

Tamsin’s fists clenched. “They belong to my people. Merlin was one of us, not a fae.”

Nimueh’s face went pale, a sign of emotion she wasn’t supposed to have. “He was the destroyer of my people. Think carefully about calling yourself his kin.”

They were interrupted by the scream of one of the fae as steel met flesh. Nimueh looked toward the sound. Tamsin snatched for the bag, but the fae held it tight.

“I swear I will try to find a cure for what he did to you,” Tamsin whispered.

The fae’s lips drew back in a sneer. “Do you think me naive, little witch? Why would you help us?”

Tamsin took a gamble. “What has Mordred done for you lately?”

“Nothing. What have you done?”

“We saved Angmar. He says he was your friend.”

Nimueh’s lips thinned. “Mordred destroyed his prisoners last night.”

“Because we took Angmar?”

“He conducted his final inquisition about Arthur’s tomb. But yes, you are correct. His cruelty bears witness to the fact that he does not share well.” She gave Tamsin a cool look. “Angmar was my friend, when I could still have such a thing.”

Tamsin caught her breath, wondering if she had scored a point or if it was too late to matter. The tide of battle was shifting against them. Gawain leaped to the top of the library table, slashing furiously. He was heavily outnumbered despite the fact two of the guards lay bleeding.

Mordred had yet to draw a weapon. Instead, he almost strolled toward Tamsin. She backed away, but Nimueh grabbed Tamsin’s arm with bone-crushing force. “Running only excites him,” the fae said in a dead voice.

Mordred’s ice-gray eyes were set in a face so pale it reminded her of his giant worm. Lank black hair straggled across his wide forehead. “You, Mistress Greene, have caused no end of trouble.”

Nimueh pushed Tamsin to the ground. “Kneel before my Lord Mordred.”

Tamsin thought she heard apprehension in the fae’s voice. It was no mystery why. As Mordred’s fingers brushed Tamsin’s face, she felt the malevolent power in his touch. It was as cold as his eyes. Still, Tamsin didn’t kneel for anyone and moved to stand. Nimueh jerked her back into place.

“Proud, aren’t you?” Mordred said, amused. He took her hand, drawing her to her feet with courtly grace. “No wonder my cousin wants you for his own. Oh yes, I can see it when he looks your way, like a hound after the last slice of bacon. I wonder how good you really taste.”

He made a gesture in front of her face. Pain such as Tamsin had never known wrenched through her. She gasped, rising to her toes in a vain attempt to escape the razor-sharp agony cutting her to ribbons.

“My lord,” Nimueh said. “There is no need for this.”

But Mordred only laughed, bending closer to inhale near Tamsin’s lips. The sickening wrench grew worse, as if he was drawing her insides through her teeth. Fingers of power wriggled deep inside her, gagging her, seeking out places no physical assault could find. They tore at the private sanctuaries within—the secrets she kept, the faith that burned away night terrors, the words of love she whispered in her dreams. In a horrible flash of understanding, she realized Mordred was taking her soul.

Tears leaked from Tamsin’s eyes as she shuddered, losing control of her limbs. Nimueh caught her from behind before she fell, but did nothing to stop Mordred’s assault. Perhaps the fae couldn’t. Fighting through her shock, Tamsin reached for her magic, but it was stunned and mute, unable to help. She started to scream.

Gawain’s bellow rattled the windows as he sprang from the table, knocking Mordred aside and delivering a vicious kick to his ribs. Mordred crashed into a shelf and collapsed under a rain of books. A guard lunged to protect his lord but fell with Gawain’s sword in his chest. Unarmed, Gawain snatched up a chair and cracked it against the floor, breaking off a leg.

Mordred scrambled to his feet, but he was too late. Gawain bludgeoned him with the chair leg once, twice, and a third time. Then he tossed the leg aside with a gesture of disgust, turning aside to yank his sword from the fallen guard. Of all the warriors, Gawain was the only one still standing, and he turned to finish Mordred with the blade.

“Stop!” cried Nimueh. “Stand aside, Gawain of Lothian! Queen LaFaye bound my oath with magic, and I am sworn to protect the Prince of Faery. No mortal knight is a match for my power, and I will not let you take his life.”

“How did you come to this, my lady?” Gawain asked, his eyes wild with the heat of the fight. “You were once the Lady of the Lake, as powerful a fae as ever walked the Forest Sauvage. You gave Excalibur to Arthur. You gave your name to Lancelot du Lac, the Champion of Camelot. How did you end up guardingthat?” Gawain gave his prone cousin a scornful look.

Nimueh shook her head, her long pale hair swinging with the motion. “Mine is a long tale, and there is no time. You always showed me courtesy when I came to Camelot. For that I will spare you if you leave before reinforcements arrive.”

Gawain’s knuckles grew white as he gripped his sword. “Perhaps I should slay you both.”

“You could try,” said Nimueh. “But a battle would serve neither of us. Leave through the portal with your woman and a hope of finding Arthur. You rescued Angmar. I will give you your woman’s life for his.”

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