Chapter 11
Deep in the heart of the lifeless forest, Morgaine seethed. She had finally found the heir—the one who had prevented her ascent to the throne of Camelot for so many years—only to have lost him to Myrddin, and had that other man not intervened, Myrddin would have been too late.
Myrddin. The mere thought of him only enraged her further. Morgaine blamed him for everything. All those years ago, he had lifted her hopes high and then turned his back on her. He had convinced her she was ready to take the trials. To become a guardian. But she’d failed. Because of him. Then, he’d helped her brother Arthur to become king, leaving her with nothing.
Her brother had abandoned her. Myrddin had abandoned her. The guardians had abandoned her. She’d waited years. Now the time had finally come to exact her revenge on all of them. She would make sure that Myrddin suffered the most. All she had to do was destroy everything he cared for—Camelot… the guardians… and the heir.
She knew Myrddin would stop at nothing to ensure Arthur’s son was crowned King of Camelot. Morgaine knew the young man—Trystan, as he was known—was half-guardian. She’d sensed it at the lake. What she was unsure of was whether he had any special powers. More than likely, he didn’t, since powers were rare among guardians.
Morgaine knew better than to underestimate Myrddin though. She needed an army. She needed the curse.
“We will soon be at war, Grønn,” Morgaine snarled. “I have another task for you while I work to build my army.”
“Of course, Mistress,” he replied, his raspy voice grating.
She held out her hand and a red fireball appeared, hovering above her palm. With a twist of her fingers, the fireball darted into the open space in front of them and exploded. In its place, a vertical, swirling red cloud formed, creating a portal just large enough for single person through which she could see a view of the lake.
“Start at the lake where we last saw them. Find the heir and bring me Excalibur,” she growled. “Myrddin believes he banished me. I cannot wait to see the look on his face when he discovers his spell missed.”
Grønn Riddari stepped through the cloud of dust. The portal closed behind him.
Now for the curse.
Within a rocky outcropping, just steps away, lay one of several entrances to the underground caves. Morgaine had teleported to this location for one purpose. She needed to obtain the curse and only the woodland elves could provide it. Created with dark magic thousands of years ago, the elves had always guarded it closely. They likely still did.
Morgaine stepped into the caves and followed the winding narrow steps into the darkness of theTroelli Caverns. The elves kept to themselves and disliked intruders—specifically humans—after having been exiled to the deepest, darkest depths of these caves many years ago… when their forest had turned to stone.
In her hand, Morgaine formed a fireball to light her way. At the bottom of the steps, she found several tunnels. Each one led into the darkness. The caverns were known as an endless and intricate labyrinth. One could easily lose their way if they did not know where they were going. She knew the elves marked their path with runes that would glow in the presence of an elf. All she had to do was light it with her magic.
Morgaine blew on the red ball of fire in her hand. It dissected into hundreds of tiny red flames that darted down the darkened tunnels. Markings carved into the wall of one of the tunnels glowed with the red light of her magic. She followed the runes to their underground city.
Two guards stood at the city’s entrance as she approached. Both wore matching brown leather armor, each armed with dual swords sheathed at their hips. Unlike humans, adult elves all grew to the exact same height, about a little taller than the average man did. All looked nearly identical in appearance, with black hair, gray skin, and gold eyes. Their pointed ears varied in size based on their age—the older they were, the longer their ears. A unique marking like a tattoo, similar to the runes in the tunnels, graced the broad forehead of each elf, and in the dim light of the caves, the luminescent ink glowed a pale blue.
As she approached the guards, they stopped her.
“What is your business here?” one of the guards asked.
“I am Morgaine of Camelot and I seek an audience with your queen.”
“Wait just inside. Councilmember Lôrît will take you to her.”
The guard motioned across the gaping chamber to another elf as Morgaine stepped through the arched, stone doorway.
The underground city of Oes’hira lay before her.
The enormous, rounded chamber that housed the city dwarfed the elves that lived within it. Following the curve, smaller chambers perforated the main wall in an elegant spiral. White, glowing balls of light floated in the air, illuminating the cave like hundreds of lanterns.
The city center was built into, on, and around a massive tree rooted in the middle. The tree resembled the petrified trees in the forest above, but this one still lived and was significantly larger. Its cylindrical trunk tapered gradually as it rose toward the rock-and-mud ceiling. Roots from the trees in the forest above perforated the ceiling, dangling like large, bloated tubers. Multiple rooms had been carved into the thick trunk all the way to the top, with each room accessible by the elegant, wooden staircase that twisted upwards. Inside the main trunk, near the base, a hollowed chamber served as the throne room.
Lôrît escorted Morgaine to the throne room where the Queen currently sat on a massive wooden chair adorned with intricate carvings of plants and animals, some native and some from far off places and even other worlds. The carved image of an Artiryn dragon mocked her, and she imagined using her magic to transform the dreadful reminder into one more pleasing, such as a plague dragon.
The Queen looked much the same as Morgaine remembered from the last time she’d seen her. Tied over one shoulder, her nearly sheer, deep blue gown flowed over the length of her tall, slender body. On her upper arm, she wore a silver band with the intricate detail of a dragon emblazoned with sapphire eyes. The dragon was the emblem of royalty among the woodland elves. The eyes of the dragon represented rank. In this case, the sapphires indicated she was the queen.
Her pure black hair fell smoothly over her shoulders. Her regal, golden eyes brightened her face, but her skin was different. It no longer held a golden shimmer. It had darkened and turned gray, like ash.
“Mistress Morgaine,” the Queen said.
“Your Grace,” Morgaine replied, bowing before her. “I have come seeking your assistance.”
