Elyan paced Camelot streets, death grip on the handle of a lantern and pulse pounding as the last rays of sunlight spilled over the capital. A figure materialized at the end of the lane and his heart crawled into his throat until he recognized Sir Lucan.

"All settled in," the knight reported. "They won't venture out. They're terrified."

"Aren't we all," Elyan muttered, then glared at the citadel in the distance.

"Cenred's a coward," Lucan said. "Attacks without warning. Won't face our king man to man. Hides in his castle while we die."

"If we make it through this, there'll be rebellion."

Sir Lucan grunted. "It might come sooner than you think."

"What have you heard?"

"Huelin's making the rounds, speaking to those most inclined to fight."

"He'll just get more slaughtered!"

"Our current king," Lucan spat on the ground, "is doing a rather good job slaughtering us on his own. We cannot wait forever for King Arthur. Our only option may be to take his kingdom back for him."

"You're on Huelin's side," Elyan realized.

"I've been a knight all my life dedicated to protecting this capital. I cannot say it doesn't chafe to see it degraded."

Elyan placed a comforting hand on Sir Lucan's shoulder. "Let's get through tonight. I told Huelin we'd talk after. If it comes to fighting Cenred, we'll need a solid plan."

Sir Lucan fell into step next to Elyan. They peered up and down every street they passed. No evil wails yet. No gliding, hellish souls.

Elyan practically jumped when someone turned a corner and came flying towards them.

"Sir Elyan! Sir Elyan!"

Elyan wrestled with his galloping heart, dragging in a couple deep breaths as he surveyed the boy running up to him. "Daegal! Where's your lantern?"

"Don't have one," the boy said, bending over to perch his hands on his knees and suck in air. "Gave it away."

"You were told not to go anywhere without light!"

"Yes, sir. Had to, sir."

"Why?"

Daegal looked up. "Will left."

"What?"

"He went with them. To the citadel."

"With who?"

"Huelin and the others. Said they wouldn't wait any more. Said they were taking back the city."

A flurry of cursing flashed through Elyan's brain as he pulled Daegal to a stand and shoved his lantern into the lad's hand. "Get back to where you were assigned. Do you understand? Obey or I'll have you strung up by your ears."

"Yes, sir."

"Sir Lucan?"

The knight's hand went to his sword hilt. "I'm with you."

Elyan turned, dashing down streets leading to the citadel. He chanced a glance at Sir Lucan who was...grinning? "You're happy about this!"

"I did say sooner was better."

"This is madness! We're about to be attacked by spirits from hell and all you can think about is taking the citadel back?"

"When the end of the world comes, you do what you must."

When they reached the citadel, about three dozen men stood before it, some of them hefting a makeshift battering ram and smashing it into the front gates. Huelin stood apart from them, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Open the gates! Come out and fight!"

"You came!" Will met Elyan, beaming, sword already drawn. Elyan snatched his arm. "Ow."

"Get back to your assignment," Elyan bellowed in the youth's face.

"I'm old enough to be here!"

Will stared wide-eyed when Elyan ripped the sword out of his hand. "I promised Lancelot we'd watch over you. You're going to get yourself killed."

"I'm not afraid!" Will struggled against his grip.

"Dammit, Will, get back with Daegal. Now."

"No."

Elyan growled, but released the lad and before he could think on it, smacked the lad across the trousers with the flat of his sword. Will yelped and scowled at him. Elyan shoved the sword back into his hand. "Stay close to me. Got it? You get more than five feet from me and when this is over, I'll thrash the skin right off you."

"Yes, sir." The boy wasn't grinning anymore, but his eyes still flashed fire.

Elyan moved towards the gates, Will hugging his side. He marched up to Huelin, still shouting and cursing. He raised his voice over Huelin's. "You're going to get them all killed!"

"We aren't gonna wait anymore," Huelin said. "Join us or stay out of the way."

"Think," Elyan pleaded. "The sun's almost gone. You can't take on Cenred and a bunch of ghosts."

"We have torches."

"And when those go out?"

"We'll be in the castle by then."

"And how long do you think it's going to take to smash the gates open? You won't make it in time."

Huelin looked over Elyan's shoulder and grinned. "Don't need to wait."

Elyan turned to find Siobahn, Iseldir's wife, along with several other cloaked Druids. "I told you to wait for us," Siobahn chastised in her deep, stately timbre.

"You're late," Huelin replied.

Elyan gaped. "You're in on this, too?"

"We Druids hid from Uther for years and he almost killed us all," Siobahn spoke matter-of-factually. "King Cenred must be brought to his knees before anyone else suffers." She called out in Druid language and raised her hands. Those with her followed suit.

"Step back!" Huelin cried out. His men backtracked, toting away the battering ram and dropping it to the ground. Siobahn and the Druids began to chant and the gate to glow blue.

"Yes!" Will crowed.

Elyan withdrew his sword, scanning the others arming themselves as well with every kind of weapon they'd been able to dig up. He should have known they wouldn't obey him. Geoffrey claimed him a good leader, but he'd forgotten they weren't knights. Following commands hadn't been pummeled into them.

Elyan stepped up next to Huelin. The man nodded at him. Elyan nodded back. He was too late to call them off. All he could do now was protect them as best he could.

The gates buckled and cracked, splintering into chunks. They ran through the remains into the courtyard. It was empty and still.

"Inside!" Huelin cried.

They took to the steps and passed into citadel halls. Will kept beside Elyan, just as he'd been instructed. The citadel was empty as well and silent as the grave.

"Where are they?" one of Huelin's men asked.

"The rat's cowering somewhere hiding," Huelin snarled. They drew closer to the grand hall and finally caught a murmur of voices. Huelin shouted and careened into the doors, slamming them open. He took up a war cry as he tumbled into the room, then drew up short.

Elyan halted next to him. Shrouded corpses covered the floor, and at the back, on the dais, a group of twenty or so servants huddled around the throne, staring wide-eyed in fear at the emerging rebels. Elyan stepped his way towards them, weaving through the dead. One of the maids rose to her feet.

"Sir Elyan!" The maid met him at the base of the dais, tumbling into his arms, sobbing. "We thought the ghosts had come for us!"

Elyan embraced the trembling girl. All the noise they'd made at the gates and then the clattering across the courtyard and through the halls, these people must have presumed their lives were over.

"It's all right," Elyan assured. "You're all right. There's enough light here, I think." The hall wasn't brightly lit, but perhaps enough to stave off the ghosts.

"Where's Cenred?" Huelin demanded, marching up to the dais.

A old, wizened servant replied. "H-he told us not to tell... If we did...he'd kill our families."

"Not to tell what? Where is he?"

"We're here and you're safe," Elyan addressed the old man. "No one's going to touch your families."

"He left yesterday," the man said quietly. "Told us to lock the gates. He...he took sorcerers with him... A man... a girl..."

A droning wail interrupted the servant, like that of a wounded dog moaning in the wind. Everyone went silent, except for the maid still crying into Elyan's chest. Elyan lifted her chin. "Is everyone in the castle here?"

The girl shook her head. "They were afraid. They wouldn't leave their rooms."

Elyan cursed and wheeled round. "Sir Lucan! Huelin! Search the castle. Bring anyone you find here! Siobahn, send Druids with them."

Before the rebels scattered, Elyan grabbed Will and two others, assigning them torches and commanding them to remain and guard the servants. Then he made his own way back into the castle halls and hurried along, trying to ignore the drawn out howls rattling just outside the citadel windows.


Gwaine scrambled around another corner then cried aloud in frustration. When Morgana and the rest followed after, they beheld the knight slamming a hand into the stone. "Another dead end!" He pointed accusingly at Nimueh. "I thought you lived here once."

Nimueh glared at him. "Morgause has tampered with the maze."

"Arthur's dying, you know? She's probably killed him already!"

"Gwaine," Percival spoke sternly. The roguish knight threw up his hands and turned his back on them.

"What is Morgause doing?" Morgana asked. Lancelot's arm wrapped around hers. She was so grateful for his strength.

"I pray nothing," Nimueh replied, but her expression portrayed panic and worry.

"Why did we come here? You haven't even told us how you plan to deal with Morgause."

"High priestess secrets," Aglain scoffed. "Whatever is happening, they did it before. She knows about it. And it is wrong."

"Explain all of this," Morgana demanded.

Nimueh sighed loudly. "Before the destruction of our Isle, we had undertaken certain...rituals."

"Forbidden magic," Aglain corrected.

"Not forbidden! But not wise."

"What did the priestesses do?" Lancelot asked.

"We used ancient rites to awaken the dead."

"Necromancy," Aglain spit out in disgust.

Morgana swallowed. "Like my father."

Nimueh shook her head. "No. Morgause brought back your father and his mind, though she directed it. Your father was a shade. These...they are twisted by death, angry, thirsty, hungry to devour the life denied them."

"They were your assassins," Aglain accused.

"In essence, yes."

"So Morgause has done the same thing," Lancelot said.

"On a greater scale than has ever been seen," Nimueh said. "The high priestesses could only call one spirit up at a time with our combined power. I believe the day they were murdered, they were undertaking this very ritual."

"The Blessed Massacre," Morgana whispered.

"Yes. I was not there, but I was aware they intended to raise a spirit once more."

"And kill Uther," Lancelot concluded.

Nimueh ground her jaw. "His whole household. I do not know how Uther discovered the plan. Perhaps from the very servant who betrayed us for coin."

Aglain shook his head. "See what your ways wrought?"

"There is blame enough to go around," Nimueh grumbled.

"So how are you going to get rid of these ghosts?" Gwaine demanded.

"There is only one way to defeat the spirits and this way is why we rarely ever called them in the first place. It is difficult to find someone willing to give up his own life to stop them."

"To stop..." Morgana's words choked in her throat as she remembered Arthur in the cave with Merlin, telling her this might be his end and if it was, it might be for the best anyway. His death would free Merlin and make way for a new king. "We have to get to him! He'll sacrifice himself if Morgause explains this to him!"

"I know this. This is why we must get to him before he dares it. We waste time!" Nimueh made to push around the rest of them, but Percival grabbed her arm.

"Listen!" the knight whispered.

They went silent. Footfalls sounded down the hall. A herd of them moving their way.

"Spirits," Gwaine hissed, brandishing his torch.

"Spirits do not wear boots," Nimueh scoffed.

Lancelot pulled Morgana back behind him at the same time he drew his sword. She unsheathed her own as well before figures came into view clothed in colors of gray and white with a serpent crest emblazoned on their breastplates. Soldiers. Knights.

"Well, well, well." The soldiers halted and divided, making way for a bearded man with long dark hair. He dragged a girl along with him who seemed barely alive. Another stood at his side, a man in a black hooded cloak.

"Cenred," Gwaine growled.

"Fancy meeting you here. Princess Morgana, isn't it? Uther's bastard child? And Sir Lancelot. I don't know the rest of you, but it hardly matters. I should have known Morgause would lure Arthur as well. Where is he?"

Fire shot at Cenred, but the man in the cloak held up a staff of some kind that absorbed the blast. Aglain lowered his hand and exclaimed, "Witchfinder!"

"You don't think I'd come here unprotected, do you?"

"Why are you here?" Lancelot asked.

"Probably the same reason you are. To stop Morgause."

Nimueh snorted in derision. "Fool."

"Oh I don't know. I think I have a pretty good chance." Cenred clapped the witchfinder on the back. "But I didn't expect another opportunity to present itself." He backtracked, the soldiers letting him pass back down the hall as he casually ordered, "Kill them."

Lancelot lashed out with his sword at the same time the witchfinder raised his staff. Lancelot's sword was ripped from his grasp as a shockwave sent them tumbling. A second blast from the staff and the ceiling above them came crashing down.


Arthur stepped through the hole in the wall of the stone room into an arched courtyard eerily lit with glowing globes floating in midair. Morgause stood across from him, next to an altar containing a body. Blood had pooled under the corpse's neck and streaked down the side of the altar. The Druid boy Mordred wasn't far away, crouched next to a column, a knife clasped in both hands as if he prayed.

"Welcome," Morgause greeted.

"Where are the others?" Arthur demanded.

"They would attempt to intervene. We needed some time to ourselves."

"You're responsible for these ghosts attacking my people."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Morgause tilted her head. "I thought by now you'd understand."

"You hated my father. He did horrible things to you and your mother. And for that, you want me to die as well. But my people are innocent."

"You don't truly understand."

"Is this about magic then? Because I've freed it."

"Ah, yes. Your reversal of the ban. I suppose you might have convinced yourself you enacted it for a good purpose, but those without magic have betrayed us time and again. Even Uther allowed magic at the beginning of his rule when he felt it advantageous for his power. Then he turned on it. You will, too. All of you do in the end. The only way for magic to be truly protected is for us to be the ones in control."

"So you want my throne."

"Yes."

"Well I don't have one anymore."

"You will if you wait long enough. Cenred can't rule over Camelot if everyone dies. I suppose you could wait until he capitulates to me."

Rage smoldered in Arthur's chest. "And how many die in the meantime?"

Morgause shrugged. "I suppose hundreds more."

Arthur's sword in his left hand shook in anger. "How could you become so evil?"

"I'm not evil. You are. You and all who use us for your own gain. Even your Emrys is just a tool to maintain your rule."

"Merlin has always been free to do whatever he wants. He chooses to stay with me."

"Are you certain? What has following you gotten him? He's a dog chained to his master, blindly obeying his will."

Arthur swiped his sword through the air. "Just tell me what you want of me! If you wanted me to die you'd have killed me already."

"Oh I do want you dead, Arthur Pendragon. But you must want to die." She held out her hand over the gruesome altar. "I'll make a binding agreement with you. I'll tell you how to save your people. In return, you'll give me your throne."

"You think I'd just hand over my people to you?"

"What other choice do you have? In a week, your people will no longer exist. They'll be eaten alive by spirits you can't even fight. So it's your choice. Their lives or yours." Morgause reached into a pouch at her side. She withdrew a folded parchment and a golden seal—his seal. "I pocketed this before Cenred had a chance to discover it." She unfolded the parchment and held it over the altar. "I will not destroy your people. I swear it."

Arthur paced up to the altar, trying to ignore the wretched corpse, and reached out to accept the parchment with his weak right hand. His blood raced as he read the contents, an abdication order according to Camelot law making certain promises.

"You could burn this," he muttered. "After I sign it."

"Then why offer it to you? I could have Mordred kill you now. I could immobilize you and let him lay the knife to your neck."

"This is a trick."

Morgause sighed in exasperation. "You think I wanted to kill your people? This wasn't how I planned to protect my own. You and your father were supposed to die months ago in the citadel courtyard. My sister was to take the throne. I would have left rule in her hands and made this isle glorious once more. But your Emrys interfered, and you held too much sway over my sister. It is you who has caused me to take this action. You engender an ignorant loyalty in so many."

He did, didn't he? Even he couldn't understand why. He wasn't a particularly unique man and he'd failed so much in his life. Maybe the loyalty of those around him was a sad commentary on how awful his father had been. Maybe they were all too willing to trust anyone who tried to be better. And maybe that was why Merlin meant so much to him. Merlin had believed the Dragon Man was worth something even before they'd met and he'd never given up on him. And, indeed, what had such remarkable loyalty gotten his loyal ward? Living death.

Arthur's gaze unwillingly fell to the body on the altar. Another of his subjects sacrificed for the fight against the Pendragons? "Who was he?"

"You needn't feel for him. He was a criminal. He took the virtue of a woman."

Arthur looked up at her, astonished. "You picked a man deserving of punishment."

"Are you so surprised?"

"I thought anyone would do."

"Then you still don't understand me. I don't desire to hurt innocents."

"Then why do this!" Arthur shouted. "You're killing innocents with these infernal spirits!"

"Because I needed you to feel the pressure. I needed you to feel the incentive to sign this." Morgause jabbed a finger at the parchment. "And I needed Cenred to understand who really controls his world."

"Those with me, you'll not hurt them?"

"I'll let them go."

"Even your sister?"

Morgause lifted her chin. "You truly do not understand if you do not perceive my love for her. I will speak to her, but I will not force her to my side."

"My people will fight against you even if you present this document."

Morgause smiled. "I have ways to assure submission."

"The Dochraid."

Morgause's smile faltered. "You...have heard of her."

"Aglain says she bears the power of hell."

Morgause chuckled. "Superstition. The high priestesses related such child tales as well. The Dochraid is a terrified creature living under the ground too afraid to pop her head up into the world. She has knowledge, though. She has taught me much. But hell?" Morgause laughed. "No. She's a withered old woman. Look here." Morgause pointed at the dead man on the altar. "Who called forth these spirits? The Dochraid? I am the one you must contend with, not her. And contend quickly. Your people are dying."

Arthur glanced at the horizon, barely a smidgen of light left visible. He reread the parchment. "Why not forge my signature?"

"This must be done right."

Realization dawned on Arthur. "You need something from me. It's not just this."

Morgause knotted her lips, then slowly smiled once more. "I do need you."

"The spirits," Arthur intuited, looking down at the altar. "You don't want them loose forever, but you can't get rid of them yourself, can you?" Arthur's pulse quickened. "What does it take to stop them?"

"Nimueh didn't tell you."

Arthur shook his head.

"She knew what you would do if she did."

Arthur peered down at the altar. He had an idea what it would take, but Morgause wasn't going to tell him the entirety of it, not until he signed the parchment. He drew in a long breath and deliberately sheathed his sword, then handed the parchment back across the altar. "Make Morgana queen and I'll sign it."

Morgause grinned. She raised a hand and Arthur watched as a paragraph added to the document. "Done." She handed the document back to him and whipped an inkwell and pen out of her pouch, passing them across.

Arthur's fingers trembled as he accepted the items. He knelt to one knee, setting the parchment on a tilted tile and the inkwell into cracked earth. He dipped the pen and read the document once more. How could he just sign his people over like this? To Morgana, yes, but he didn't trust Morgause wouldn't find some way to invalidate these words. But what other choice did he have? He'd beheld an entire village laid waste by the spirits. Tonight, more would die, and if he did not act when he could, he would be responsible in part.

"What about Cenred?" Arthur asked. "I don't really sit on the throne."

"You needn't worry about him. The throne is yours to give away."

"What did you do to him?"

"Sign and I might tell you."

Arthur swallowed hard, moved the trembling quill to the bottom of the parchment, and swiftly scratched his name before he could change his mind. He stood and passed the document and items back to Morgause, not looking her in the eye as he did so.


Light flickered against the walls of the dead end from the three torches knocked out of Gwaine's, Percival's, and Lancelot's hands by the witchfinder's blast. Lancelot stared in awe at Aglain on his knees, hands raised over his head, grunting with effort. Morgana groaned next to him.

"You're hurt?" Lancelot asked her.

"Just my ankle."

Some of the broken ceiling had crashed upon them, but they were mostly intact thanks to the Druid holding up the crumbling stone with magic. He was straining, though, sweat trickling down his forehead. Lancelot glanced at their only out, the hallway that had been to their left and was now filled top to bottom with broken stone. They were trapped.

Nimueh pulled herself up and gasped. Blood dribbled down from a cut on her forehead.

"Can't..." Aglain strained out. "Can't...hold..."

Nimueh grasped at Morgana. "Get us down there!" She pointed to the floor.

"Where?"

"The room below. Now!"

The broken stones above Aglain shifted and he hunched down towards his knees. Everyone ducked down, balling themselves up in the tiny space.

"Hurry!" Nimueh insisted.

Morgana looked at Lancelot. He nodded to her. "You can do it." He put a supporting hand on her back as she grit her teeth and pressed her palms into the floor. Morgana shook, grunted, closed her eyes. Truth was, most magic was difficult for her. She was a seer, bearer of a special brand of magic, and although she could manage some spells, they usually took more out of her than other sorcerers. Still, the tiles in the floor began to glow and crack.

Lancelot covered his head just as the floor gave way. In seconds, he landed with a mighty thump, the air knocked out of his lungs. Aglain had fallen next to him, and after flinging away the stone raining down on them, collapsed unconscious into the rubble. Pings of leftover stone from above pelted Lancelot, then finally, all was quiet.

Lancelot bit his lip and slowly pushed himself upright, cringing at an ache in his side. He felt like several hard punches had bashed into his ribs. He spotted Morgana lying on her side, eyes closed, and crawled the few feet over to her. His heart crammed into his throat as he placed his fingers to her neck. Her pulse was strong. He released a pent up breath.

Rubble shifted behind him. He turned but couldn't make out much. He picked up a torch that had fallen, the only one still alight after the crash, then struggled to his feet, moving towards the noise. He passed Gwaine and then Percival, checking each of them as he came upon them.

Stone crunched ahead. He lifted the torch. "Nimueh?"

The former sorceress was tearing at her gown. She hiked up her skirt to reveal blood streaking her lower right calf. She wrapped a cloth strip around the wound and pushed herself to her feet.

"The others?" she asked.

"Alive," he reported, "but unconscious."

She harrumphed and began to stagger towards a door. "Probably for the best."

"Where are you going?"

"No time to waste."

"But, what about..."

"Leave them!" Nimueh said, grasping his arm. "Help me! And pray we're not too late to save your king!"


"I've signed my abdication," Arthur said. "Now tell me how to stop these spirits!"

Morgause gestured to Mordred who was strangely pale and sweaty as if he were as scared as Arthur. "Show him." Mordred uncupped his hand and held up a circular disk drenched in red. "It brings back the dead, but requires blood. Blood unwillingly taken." She pointed at the corpse on the altar.

"And what do I have to do?"

"Mordred."

The Druid advanced towards the altar, knife cradled into his breast with both hands.

"There is only one way to close the veil on the spirits. Blood willingly given. They cannot fight a selfless sacrifice. If you lay down on this altar and willingly take the corpse's place, they will return from whence they came forever."

Arthur ran an eye over the body on the altar. He'd assumed something of this sort. A sacrifice. His. To save his people. His very last act in life.

"How did you kill Cenred?"

"I didn't."

Arthur's head snapped up. "Cenred," said Morgause, depositing the inkwell and quill into her pouch and withdrawing a stick of red wax, "is an idiot. If he would have kept his place"—flame kindled in her hand, melting the wax so droplets hit the folded parchment—"he would have been prosperous. But he always intended to turn against me. He thought I couldn't see"—she pressed the seal into the wax—"but I have always seen." She blew on the parchment and set it in her pouch. "Correct, Cenred?"

Arthur whirled when booted steps sounded from a courtyard arch. A man appeared, dark haired, chest puffed out, smirking, with a host of soldiers behind him.

"So you knew all along," the king spat. Arthur withdrew his sword again, but Cenred didn't move any closer.

Morgause eyed him. "How did you come to this place?"

Cenred laughed. "I thought you knew all." He stepped back, reaching among the soldiers to haul a young, seizing woman forward. "She brought us."

"Kara!" Mordred cried. Cenred threw the girl into the courtyard. She rolled and skidded along the broken tile. Mordred ran to her, going to his knees and embracing her.

"I must say, your whirlwind spell is quite the achievement. She said she hadn't done it much, but I am impressed how long she lasted. Take a look!" He pointed over the crumbling battlement.

Morgause didn't budge, but Arthur stepped up to the wall, peering over. Several torches below indicated a bevy of men surrounding the castle.

"He brought his soldiers?" Morgause asked.

Arthur nodded.

She glanced at Mordred holding the shivering girl. "It's suicide for a sorcerer to transport so many."

"Oh is it?" Cenred asked with a smirk.

Morgause scowled at the king, but then raised her chin. "You see, Arthur Pendragon, I knew you loved your people and would do anything for them, but Cenred? He only cares about power and a king without subjects to laud over isn't a king at all. I wasn't sure he would come to me as you did, but I supposed he might. His arrogance couldn't keep him away. Right again, Cenred? And who did you bring to defeat me?"

Cenred waved behind him. A cloaked man stepped up next to him and lowered his hood. His brilliant green eyes were unmistakable.

"A witchfinder," Morgause stated.

"Carac has been in my employ for years, helping me control the magic within my borders. You can't defeat him." Cenred stepped farther into the courtyard. "I never trusted you, Morgause, the hunger in your eyes. You wanted more than revenge, more than your precious isle. I prepared for the day you'd turn on me, I just didn't think you'd turn so soon. These ghosts are your doing."

"You can't stop them," Morgause said. "They'll destroy everyone and leave you with no one to rule."

"I'm guessing if you die, all this goes away."

"That isn't how this works."

"We'll see." Cenred looked to the witchfinder and pointed at her. "Kill her."

Morgause didn't retreat. "Mordred. It's time."

Mordred's head snapped up with a fierce glare, a fiery anger hardly under control. Mordred clenched his hand around the cursed coin, and his eyes began to burn. He opened his mouth and screamed.

The courtyard came alive with writhing mist at the same time it began to shatter. Arthur pressed himself against a column, eyes wide as dozens of undulating ghosts took shape, ethereal faces of women and some men with blank eyes and bodies composed of twitching white tendrils. The column Arthur leaned into splintered. He pitched forward, catching himself with his palms, skimming them against broken tile.

"Kill the soldiers and the witchfinder! Leave him alive!" Morgause shouted, pointing at Arthur.

The spirits streamed towards Cenred and the witchfinder standing before him.

"Men!" Cenred cried. Soldiers poured into the courtyard bearing dozens of torches among them. "You don't think I know how to keep them at bay?"

"Oh, dear Cenred. They fear light the farther they roam from the blood that sustains them." She ran her fingers in the sticky, flaking red of the altar and held them up for all to see. "But here, where the blood is thick and potent, they fear nothing."

Morgause cackled when Cenred paled. Arthur huddled next to the jagged broken column when the ghosts opened their hideously wide mouths and charged. The witchfinder leaped in front of Cenred, pointing a staff with a gem anchored into its end towards the spirits. Lightning chained outwards, punching through the spirits and slamming into an arch on the other side of the courtyard, shattering it to oblivion. The spirits kept coming. Fire erupted from the witchfinder's staff, but puffed out of existence the moment it collided with the spirits.

"You said you could protect me!" Cenred shrieked.

The witchfinder shouted a war cry and waved the staff in intricate lines, creating a star-shaped pattern in the air. The spirits passed through the rune and swarmed the man. The witchfinder squealed like a pig at slaughter as several spirits grabbed him at once and drew him towards their wide open mouths. Arthur closed his eyes rather than watch the man be torn limb from limb. The man's screams ceased, but others took its place, voices of soldiers all around the courtyard being devoured alive.

Arthur shook uncontrollably. It was real. All of it. The horrors he'd been told existed. They were truly the denizens of hell.


Morgana awoke in a dark room. She groaned, slowly sat up, and felt at her ankle, then the back of her head. She gasped as her fingers found a tender, protruding knot, and grit her teeth against a roaring headache. She fought to remember the floor giving way, falling… "Lancelot?"

"My...lady?"

"Gwaine."

Stone crunched and a hand rested against her thigh. She grasped it and the owner pulled at her arm as she helped him sit up. "Where's Lancelot?"

"Hang on," Gwaine mumbled. Flame flashed at the click of steel against flint, then light filled the room from a relit torch. Gwaine held the torch up high and clutched his other hand to his chest. "Not here," he reported.

Morgana struggled to her feet, aided by Gwaine. He held her arm as she limped over to Aglain, then Percival. Both of them breathed deeply.

"Where is he?" Morgana asked. "And Nimueh." She looked up at the dark hole in the ceiling. Maybe they were still stuck up there?

"I think they left." Gwaine pointed at the floor and Morgana's heart double thumped in quick succession. Drops of dark blood trailed towards the room's door.


Arthur felt a nudge in his side.

"You can arise now."

He cracked his lids. Morgause stood above him, backed by dozens of ghostly, leering figures. Arthur pushed himself to his knees, leaning against the broken column, sucking in shallow, panting breaths.

"You want your throne back?" Morgause asked. She tossed a form at his feet. Cenred stared blankly up at the sky, tremors shuddering through him. "Take it back now."

Arthur stared down at the man as terrified as he, perhaps even more.

"Get on with it."

Arthur's fingers brushed over his sword hilt. "You'll take my throne anyway."

Morgause huffed and moved back to the altar. The spirits swayed in a circle around her. Arthur could see right through them.

"I command the dead, and only you can stop them." Morgause paced over to Mordred, still cradling the girl Cenred had tossed into the courtyard, and crouched down to speak softly to him. "Do you understand now? They take and kill and destroy us. Use us for their own gain and power. He'll do the same."

Mordred lifted his gaze to Arthur. If looks could kill, Arthur would have pitched over lifeless. Mordred gently released the girl to the floor and stood. He stalked towards the altar. Arthur almost laughed at the bitter irony. He'd fought against this boy's desire to murder him for so long and now he was going to lay down and willingly fulfill Mordred's dearest wish.

Arthur forced himself to a stand and staggered through the ghosts. They parted for him, eerily silent as he approached the altar. He looked down at Mordred when he reached it. "You get what you wanted after all. How's it feel?" Mordred didn't respond. Instead, his eyes glowed and the criminal's corpse shifted and rolled off the altar, thumping to the tile.

Arthur's breath stuck in his windpipe. He scanned the ghosts again. He had no other choice. He braced his hands against the flat surface of the altar and hefted himself up top, then he lay down. Mordred lifted the knife. Arthur felt tears escape the corners of his eyes. Curse his weakness! But he couldn't help regretting how much he was about to lose, and Merlin, too. He'd die, the bond would break, and Merlin would follow him into death. His tears doubled.

A blurry knife hovered just above Arthur's neck. He held his breath.

"She's there," Mordred whispered. Arthur blinked to clear his sight. The boy was staring into the ghosts. "I have to… Mother… please understand."

"Stop hesitating!" Morgause shouted. "Kill him!"

"Morgause!"

Mordred gasped. Arthur turned his head as much as he dared. Nimueh stood in an arch, dusted with grey powder, her forehead streaked with blood.

"Step away from the king!"

"Nimueh," Morgause drawled. "You made it in time."

"Arthur, don't!" Lancelot was there, too, likewise doused in powdery dust. "I'll give my life!" The knight would have advanced to the altar, but the ghosts glided in front of him, forming a threatening barrier.

"You told him how to stop them?" Nimueh asked from next to Lancelot.

"Yes," Morgause confirmed. "And he's made his choice."

"So she hasn't lied to me," Arthur said from the altar, rolling his head back to stare into a sky dancing with twinkling stars peeking out from parting clouds. "A willing sacrifice stops them."

"Take me," Lancelot reasserted.

"She doesn't want you, Lancelot," Arthur spoke quietly. "It has to be me."

"Silly old woman." Morgause laughed. "You dare raise your hand to me? Your connection to magic is broken, and I am the cause."

"The lamia was yours," Nimueh hissed.

"Cenred thought she obeyed him. See what has come of his assumptions?"

Arthur rolled his eyes to the side to catch a glimpse of Cenred still trembling incoherently in the rubble.

"You know, I feared you once. I feared all the high priestesses. But I am stronger than you now. Than all of you. I am the one who commands their very souls!"

"More the fool," Nimueh spat.

"You're the fool. Destiny can be fulfilled in more ways than one. Arthur Pendragon dies here and Camelot transfers to me. I will bring peace in Albion. Peace for all like us and enforced by us."

"Then you follow the way of Uther Pendragon."

"I'm nothing like that bastard!"

"You are the same! The one who isn't you've forced onto the altar."

"Spirits," Morgause cried out. "Devour the sorceress and knight!"

"No!" Arthur shouted, sitting up. Mordred jerked the knife back in surprise.

Morgause whirled around, meeting Arthur's eyes. "You can save them!"

The spirits advanced on Lancelot and Nimueh. Arthur grasped Mordred's wrist holding the knife. "Do it!" He lay back on the altar and closed his eyes. When nothing happened, he looked up to see Mordred stalling, the knife shaking.

"She's still there," he said. "Looking at me. I...don't know what to do anymore!"

Arthur growled in frustration, snatched the boy's hand wrapped around the knife's handle, and plunged the cold steel through his throat.