Page 92 of The Sword & the Stone

"No," she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper. "It can't end like this. I was meant to rule?—"

My knights were released from the writhing tree branches, dropping safely to the ground. They rushed towards me, their own magic flaring to life. They were shouting and scrambling, but I could barely hear them. All I could do was stare down at my sister.

Then the ground beneath us began to shake violently. Deep, resonant rumbles echoed through the twisted forest as fissures opened in the earth. The unnatural moon overhead seemed to pulse in time with the tremors.

"Arthur, we need to get inside the temple!" Merlin shouted over the din.

I nodded, turning back towards the glowing doorway. But before I could take a step, an agonized scream pierced the air. We all whirled to see Mordred's body contorting unnaturally. Dark tendrils of magic erupted from the wound in her chest.

We rushed into the temple, the ground still shaking beneath our feet. The doors swung shut behind us, cutting off Mordred's agonized screams. Golden light pulsed from intricate runes carved into the walls, illuminating a vast circular chamber.

At the center stood a stone altar, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to shift and change as I looked at them. And there, nestled in a depression at the altar's heart, was the Holy Grail.

It was both more and less than I imagined. A simple golden cup, unadorned save for a band of swirling patterns around its rim. Yet it radiated power.

I trembled as I took a step towards it. This was it. The end of our quest, the key to saving Camelot. My fingers tingled with anticipation as I reached out.

A deafening crack split the air. The stone floor shuddered and split, fissures racing across its surface like lightning. I stumbled back, wings flaring for balance, as skeletal hands burst through the cracks.

“Holy gods!” Gawain shouted, cursing as he kicked away a hand that tried to grab his ankle.

They clawed their way up, bony fingers scrabbling against stone. The skeletons that emerged were unlike anything I'd ever seen. Their bones were stained with age, yet draped in rotting finery. Tattered silks clung to ribcages, while tarnished crowns sat askew on their heads.

“There lies the chalice, pure and bright, guarded by kings who fell to night,”Merlin whispered, recounting that final riddle. His eyes met mine in horror. “The bones of the kings who made it this far and failed.”

My knights sprang into action, their own magic flaring to life. Gawain's frost coated the floor, causing several skeletons to slip and shatter. But like those hit by Merlin's magic, they simply pulled themselves back together.

Lancelot's flames engulfed a group of the undead kings, reducing them to ash. For a moment, I thought we'd found a way to stop them. Until the ash swirled and coalesced, reforming into their skeletal shapes.

"Fuck," Galahad cursed, his earthen magic entangling several of the creatures with the vines that jutted from the walls. "How do we stop something that's already dead?"

I gritted my teeth, my mind racing. The riddle echoed in my head.To claim the Grail, your courage must swell, face the restless dead, break their spell…

My grip tightened on Excalibur as I racked my brain. How could I break a spell cast by the gods themselves? A spell that managed to ensnare ancient, long-dead kings? What power did I have that they didn't?

As if in answer, the circlet on my brow flared hot against my skin. My entire body began to glow as I looked down at my arms. Twisting light swirled under my skin like climbing vines. Mywings beat rapidly, scattering motes of light that danced in the air like fireflies.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted.

I felt my feet leave the ground as the power lifted me, suspending me in midair. The glow emanating from my skin intensified until I was a miniature sun. My knights stumbled back, shielding their eyes from the radiance. I could see the awe and terror on their faces, mouths agape.

“Arthur!” someone shouted again. Maybe multiple someones, I couldn’t tell. There was a ringing in my head that drowned out everything else.

Then, in an instant, everything changed. It was as if the floodgates of the universe had opened, pouring ancient, primal magic into my very being. I was no longer just Arthur Pendragon.

I was a vessel.

Chapter Thirty-Four

ARTHUR

My body arched,and when my mouth opened, the voice that emerged was not my own. It was a chorus of voices, layered and resonant, speaking with the weight of eons. The words reverberated through the chamber, each syllable crackling with raw power. The language of the Old Religion flowed from my lips.

As suddenly as it began, the surge of power receded. I dropped to the ground, my legs buckling beneath me. The stone floor was cool against my palms as I struggled to catch my breath, my entire body trembling.

But there was no time to recover. The skeletal kings advanced, their bony fingers reaching for me. My knights fought valiantly, but their magic seemed to have little lasting effect on these ancient, cursed beings.

I pushed myself to my feet, swaying slightly as I raised Excalibur. The sword hummed in my grip. I felt the remnants of that otherworldly power still coursing through my veins,mingling with my own magic and the ancient strength of the blade.

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