25. La Mort de Roi

Arthur jerked as Llanfair touched his neck and the ball of crystal glass in his hands almost fell to the ground. "Ooohps. Careful, little dragon. The thing is valuable. Almost as valuable as you."

Most carefully the ghoul placed the fragile item on the table before he turned back to the Prince. "Have you made up your mind? About tonight?"

He toyed with a knife before Arthur's eyes and with a start the Prince recognized the blade that had once been at the beginning of his bondage, the knife that had brought him the Di'inshara. Reflexively his gaze followed the blade when Llanfair sheathed it at his belt. "The knife was in the lady's bag, safe and sound. We're ready when you are."

As Arthur still didn't answer, Llanfair sighed impatiently. "Come on little dragon, you know I'll keep my word. I promised to release these two fools Gaius and Marwon and so I did. The crystal showed it to you. You could go with them. You, your nice little wife, Cendred's harpy of a sister – you know what, I'll throw my dear son into the bargain."

Llanfair's hands – technically still Alined's hands – closed on Arthur's shoulders, the thumbs pressing uncomfortably on the collarbones. "It's not as if you had much of a choice, my boy."

With a violent push Arthur freed himself and rose to his feet. "I won't sacrifice my servant. That's final."

"Your Guinivere surely looks as if she's been through a lot lately. You better think twice before refusing me. The dungeons are not a suitable place for a lady of fragile health."

Frankly Arthur had no idea what to say or do, he knew he was losing this game as he had lost all the other games against Llanfair before, ever since he'd agreed to the Di'inshara ritual. Pleading wouldn't help, and giving in was out of the question. "You've got me, that can't be helped. But that's enough. I'll not deliver Merlin to you on a silver platter."

"Unlike your wife? It'll take some explaining from you, why you lured her into a trap. She'll hardly understand. And there's your father to consider. I've heard old Uther is in grave trouble? Tz-tz, what has the world come to in my absence." Llanfair frowned briefly "But I think I'll gonna miss you. Hold still!"

The last bit had been an order, as Arthur had shied away from the hand that approached his head. Once more he'd just forgotten that his body was no longer his. "You know" Llanfair muttered absent-mindedly as he caressed Arthur's cheek "its funny. With Alined's body, I mean. I was just about to say that I would prefer fondling your woman. But now I feel much less inclined to it. Naturally I could always hand her over to 'my' men. She'd like that, wouldn't she."

Suddenly tired of the play, Llanfair's hand fell back to his side and he shrugged. "Tonight, at sunset. Your sorcerer or your wife – shouldn't be such a hard choice to make." In the door he turned back to his prisoner once more. "And please, do not insult me by any escape attempts. You know how far you'd come and you know what it would cost the others. See you."

However, this time he'd underestimated the courage of utter despair. While he had his back on Arthur, the Prince leaped forward, had the knife from Llanfair's belt and brought it down with a vengeance.

Surprise quenched any pain as Anwar watched the blood – Alined's blood – gush from the big slash in his throat, staining the wall, the floor, his clothes as well as the young man behind him who hung on for dear life, using his hands, feet, even his teeth to hold his enemy down. More astonished than shocked his mind reached out to submit the other's body to his will but he found he couldn't. Arthur wouldn't let go, instead he pressed his hand on Anwar's mouth to silence him. "Die, you monster, damn you, peg out."

Only now Llanfair began to panic. The blood ran out of him like water from a hole and he couldn't breathe. Too far gone to achieve anything now. He screamed in his mind, shouted any abuse he could think of. This couldn't be, it wasn't possible.

If he was to give up this new life, there might be no return. The Book would finally claim him, claim him forever. The price. There was a price to pay for the Demons' power. But he'd been so very careful. Careful that there was always somebody else to pay the real price.

Cursed be the second he'd forgotten that he could control Arthur's body but no longer read his mind. By the eternal laws of the Rashnijaan the Di'inshara bondage was broken once the slave, despite all the invisible chains that bound his mind and body, could drain his master's heart-blood by using the same blade that had once enslaved him. The Prince couldn't possible know that, but now, driven over the edge by his foolishly negligent captor, he was about to find out.

But not all hope was lost yet for Anwar of Llanfair. A body. Another body in which he could recover. Regain his strength. Unsuspected, safe. For a very last time he mobilised all his powers and reached out to the man the Di'inshara had bound to him.

Inside Arthur's soul was another strong bond, a bond of blood and love. It went deeper than any other bond, deeper even than the bond that tied him to his friend or wife. Anwar reached out for that bond, for the shimmering path to safety it provided and he flew, flew, higher and higher upwards, to safety, to the light…. But it was so far, so very far away and he was so tired.

Tired.

Tired…..

Arthur held the struggling body down to the floor; the blood covered them both, saliva ran over his hands and still it wasn't over, the monster wouldn't die, it just wouldn't die. In Pendragon's mind the ungodly power dragged and pushed until he wanted to scream under the excruciating sensation. Despairingly he bit into his own arm to stifle the cry that would give him away to the guards outside.

The familiar numbness ran through his veins and muscles, trying to paralyze him, trying to get a hold over him, fighting him. His hands went limp for a moment and with a terrified yelp he pressed down harder, fearing any moment to lose this fight and with it, everything. "Your wife or your friend." An impossible choice was no choice at all and he wouldn't live to make it.

Slowly, too slowly, the movement beneath him ceased, the mental pressure on his body vanished, bit by bit. Arthur panted, his vision blurred and suddenly he heaved up, all over the still struggling body. Never see you again, never touch you again, never be touched by your hands again, never, no matter what the costs, never…

All at once Llanfair bolted upwards, his back arched in an impossible angle, his eyes widened and even though Arthur fought him with all his strength an agonized, gurgling scream wrested itself from the ghoul's distorted mouth.

In utter confusion and distraught Arthur grabbed the other's head and banged it to the stone floor. Again. And again. And again. Eventually the skull broke, grey matter came from it, but the desperate young man didn't notice.

Then the body lost its rigour and fell back to the ground.

Silent.

Unmoving.

It took a while before Arthur allowed himself to believe that his nemesis was dead.

Actually he didn't get up but knelt by the corpse's side until fast, heavy steps approached the door from the outside. The guards had finally gathered that something was amiss.

Without thinking Arthur unsheathed Alined's blade and took up the knife from the tiles with his other hand. Roaring and screaming he darted through the door, still unlocked to allow the captor an easy exit.

The first of the two soldiers outside never knew what hit him; he was dead before his body reached the ground. The second man backed off, terrified out of his wits by what he saw.

The Prince had no idea of how he looked in that instant. His clothes torn to pieces, his face a contorted mask of berserk rage, head and body covered in blood, vomit and brain matter, with a bloodied knife in one hand and the sword that had just cut off the soldier's head in the other he was a formidable sight, but an agonizing one.

While the head of his dead comrade was still rolling over the floor the other soldier lost his nerve. He'd seen too much dreadful magic in the manor's torture chamber already and this appearance, this spectre from hell, finished him off. Sobbing and squealing he ran and ran, even when Arthur had long since given up the chase. "The demons, the demons, oh Great Mother, have mercy on our souls…."

The effect of his constant whining was spectacular. None of Alined's men had been comfortable with recent events, especially not with Trickler's gruesome death and now the one, blithering idiot was their undoing.

While they ran, headless, mindless, for their swords, their horses and back again for something else, Arthur made his way to the dungeons unhindered and unmolested. Driven by some mysterious instincts he found his way around the cellars' rubbish and to the right door. Two wretched guards spotted him jumped out of the nearest window, broke their ankles and for the rest of their lives considered themselves most fortunate.

Guinivere screamed when the bloodied, tattered monster entered their cell and even Morgyan, as proud of her reckless bravery as any of her brother's brutish knights, pressed her back against the wall in horror. "Antek, stay back" she shouted, feeling faint at the sight of her beloved virtually jumping on the barbaric newcomer.

However, young Count Llanfair did no such thing. "Arthur" he screamed hilariously "by God, you've made my old man a head shorter!"

Pendragon had neither eyes nor ears for him. The weapons fell from his hands; he barely reacted to Guinivere's enthusiastic embrace, now that she'd finally recognised the man in the beast. "Where is he" Arthur whispered. "Where the hell is he?"

It was his last words before his body lost all strength and darkness claimed him.