The Iron Locket (The Risen King) (2 page)

"Time to wake."

The sweet voice filtered through unaccustomed ears, piercing the oppressive silence. It echoed in his head, the soft tones vibrating like a church bell at midday. He focused on the words and knitted his brow as he struggled to understand them.

"Is there something wrong?"

A different voice this time, huskier, deeper, concerned. Behind it he could hear the happy twitter of birds in the spring. The long bout of noiselessness had heightened his hearing and he listened as they hopped from tree limb to tree limb, frolicking in the leaves. He could hear bigger movements aside from the birds, scratching noises and grunts that seemed both near and distant.

"I don't know. He should have awakened by now."

The beautiful lilting voice was back, tinged with worry. His heart yearned to sooth the fear and began beating furiously. He tried to open his eyes again, but they would not yield. His lungs contracted, forcing his tightly pressed lips apart, and he gasped for the sweet air that had been denied him for so long. His back arched as he took several deep breaths, driving the life force through his body. His hands went unbidden to the sides of his enclosure and pressed against the smooth surface. It felt cool to the touch and he shivered briefly as his fingers scratched frantically at the walls surrounding him. Finally they reached open space and he gripped the edge weakly.

"Ah, there we go."

He pulled, his muscles bulging, slowly, painfully raising himself to a seated position, and collapsed halfway over the wall. A light wind brushed over his bare shoulders, sending a prickling sensation down his spine. With much effort, he willed his eyes to open. A sea of green exploded into view, its bright color dampened by his blurry vision. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear away the fog that seemed to be embedded in his brain. He pressed his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, he could see more clearly. The green sea was really a field. He raised his gaze as far as he could without moving, as he had no strength to do so. The bright blue of the sky hurt his eyes and he lowered them quickly. Glancing to the sides, he saw two other men climbing from glass enclosures wearing nothing but a pair of cloth leggings and a matching shirt. They were familiar, though he could not place them immediately.

A rustling beside him caught his attention and his ears pricked toward the noise a mere fraction of a second before he felt a slight pressure on his shoulder. A woman knelt in front of him, her soft yellow dress draped in layers over her slim body. Her skin was kissed by the sun and smooth as silk. He followed the line of her shoulder to an exquisite, perfectly shaped bosom that peeked tantalizingly above the dress. His eyes continued upward, tracing her clavicle and the elegant curve of her neck. Her soft chin led to bright red lips. The smile there was warm and inviting, yet cruel and dangerous at the same time. A perfectly formed nose flared slightly as the smile grew in eyes that were bluer than the sky above her golden hair. A perfectly manicured nail reached out and stroked his cheek, leaving a trail of excitement dancing across his skin.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, my handsome king."

*~*~*

TWO

*~*~*

The beautiful woman in the yellow dress held out her hand to the king. "Hello, Arthur."

He stared at the elegant fingernails before taking it in his own. By comparison, his hands were large, indelicate, rough. A sudden thought occurred to him. Those hands should have been damaged and worn from years of fighting and the stress of ruling a fractured kingdom. He rose, the strength of the woman's grip surprising him as she pulled him to his feet. He stumbled a moment before gaining his footing.

He turned to get a better view of his surroundings as he dropped her hand. He stood at the top of a grassy hill on a little knoll of his own. Glancing down, he discovered that he had lain in a glass coffin on a pillow of satin finer than any he had ever seen. Trees dotted the landscape as other women milled around similar coffins. Men were rising from them, men he knew from a time before. He narrowed his eyes as his gaze settled on one of them. Dark hair, tanned skin, a traitor, a cheater. He reached for his sword only to discover it was not there.

A light pressure gripped his arm. "No, Arthur. Those old hurts are gone, dead and buried with your past life. It is time to move on. These are your twelve most loyal knights, those who will honor their promise to serve you in both life and death. They will fight with you and protect you in the coming days."

He examined the men. He did indeed know them, all of them. And yet, they were different. They were all young, in the prime of their lives. Impossible, he thought, shaking his head. Lancelot... just the thought of the man set his heart pounding, but he pushed it aside. Lancelot stood near his son, Galahad, yet both looked to be barely more than twenty. The same could be said for all the knights. An wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him and he reached out for support. The woman was there beside him, that dangerous smile on her face as she helped him from the coffin.

"Here, take a seat in the grass, my king." He did so willingly, leaning against the cool glass behind him. She knelt beside him, arranging her flowing dress around her before turning her attention back to him. "Your disorientation is understandable, of course. You have been locked in a state of non-existence for centuries, so there is an expected period of acclimation. There is much to tell you, but first, do you know who I am?"

She looked at him with expectation. He examined her closely, searching his addled brain for the answer. It took several moments, but he found her face, buried beneath decades of another life that seemed so meaningless now. A golden queen who came to him in his youth as a young king. A promise to protect and serve sometime in the future in exchange for a beautiful bride.

"Titania."

She beamed and the smile was genuine. "Very good. I knew you would remember."

"Guinevere..." Another blond swam before his eyes, both gorgeous and terrible, lover and wife, the one who destroyed the greatest friendship he had ever known.

"Ah, yes, well, we all make mistakes. I should not have granted that particular wish, but alas, we must move on. There is a chance to do it again, my young king. You have your most precious knight back. Together, you must work to accomplish the greatest task you have ever taken on. Greater than ruling Camelot, greater even than finding the Holy Grail. You must save Faery."

Arthur's eyes wandered to the others milling around the rising knights. Beautiful women, all of them, having a strange grace and power that belied their otherwise human features. "Is that where we are?"

She nodded once. "You are in a special place, protected by the Four Queens of Faery, the one spot where our domains all touch and become one." She held out her arms and spun in a little circle. "Within these trees, atop this hill, all is peaceful. Quarrels are put aside and sanctity is granted to those within. However, as you can see, the area is extremely small, and it can only be used for purposes that all four queens agree upon. Preserving your life and those of your knights was the last unanimous decision we could make, until now, when we raised you from the dead."

Arthur pressed his hands against the grass. It felt soft and cool in his fingers. "Why now?" He wrinkled his forehead. "And when is 'now'?"

Titania beamed. "Now is the year two thousand and twelve. Not quite two thousand years since your death." She pressed her hands and laughed, a deep-throated giggle that seemed odd coming from a woman such as Titania. "A lot has changed since your time, dear Arthur. You are going to be amazed, and likely disappointed in the turn this world has taken."

He raised an eyebrow at how pleased she seemed to be about that fact. "Why? Why bring us back?"

"Ah," she said, pointing a finger at him. "Let's wait on that a moment. We'll get you all caught up to speed at the same time."

Rising, the queen rose and clapped her hands twice. The sound echoed out across the clearing. Faeries who had been been tending to the other knights all turned their heads in her direction for the briefest of moments, then some started removing the glass coffins with impossible ease while others moved chairs pulled from only they knew where to array in a double semicircle on the hill where Arthur's coffin had been.

The other knights moved in the direction of their king, most of them with growing smiles on their faces while a particular dark-haired knight hung back, apprehension on his face. Arthur stared at him, emotions that had been suppressed for centuries rising once more to the surface. That man had been the reason for his downfall and the betrayal still cut deep. He frowned inwardly, keeping his face a mask. Would he be able to put aside the pain he felt? Would he be able to forget and forgive the hurt that overwhelmed him when he discovered his best friend and his wife had been having an affair behind his back?

His musings were interrupted when a young man with scraggly brown hair down to his chin reached him. The man wore an easy smile and carried a quiet confidence. Arthur grinned as he recognized him.

"Tristan," he said by way of greeting and held out his hand.

Tristan reached out and clasped the king's forearm with his own, the traditional handshake of their time. "Arthur." He nodded once, the smile never leaving his face. He released Arthur's arm and stepped to the side, taking up a position facing the other knights, behind the king and to his left. He lifted his chin and clasped his hands behind his back as his eyes took in every minute detail. Arthur's grin grew. Tristan was a man of few words, but his loyalty and abilities were beyond reproach. Give the knight a bow and a sword and few men could stand against him.

Next, he heartily embraced a stern knight with dark, curly hair, laughing out loud as he recalled a stunt the two of them had pulled in their youth. The knight in front of him cocked an eyebrow, his sculpted goatee twitching as he gave Arthur a small smirk.

"Lady Bronwyn," Kay asked as Arthur's laughter was mirrored in his eyes.

Arthur's grin grew. "Yes. I was just thinking of her face when she discovered we had stolen and eaten every Christmas pie."

Kay nodded, his smirk blooming into a full grin. "Those were good times, brother. May we have many more to come." He clasped Arthur in a brief hug, then released him and stepped back, mimicking Tristan's stance, but on the king's other shoulder.

The other knights approached and greeted their leader. Though many were from different generations, they were all young, healthy, and handsome, just as he remembered: the ever virtuous Bors who kept his hair and beard neatly trimmed, his hair just barely long to cover the signature scar that graced his forehead; Balan and Balin, foster brothers who could have been twins; the brothers Gareth and Gawain, two men about as different as they could be despite having the same mother; the astoundingly handsome Percival, a poor knight who was sweet as honey but terrified of women; Erec, loyal and faithful, above reproach in everything; and Yvain, lion-hearted and enthusiastic in his duties as a knight.

As the men greeted Arthur, they arrayed themselves in various positions behind him, leaving only two remaining on the knoll in front. One was the knight who had betrayed Arthur and had attempted to steal his queen. The other was the man's illegitimate son. He was like his father only in looks, Arthur reflected. The dark hair and naturally moody appearance was his only true inheritance from Lancelot. In reality, Galahad was possibly the greatest knight Arthur had ever known. His gallantry was unquestioned and he could be relied upon for any task required. Despite the seriousness with which he approached his duties, however, he was jovial and always had a kind word or crude joke ready when the moment called.

The young knight stepped forward, an easy grin stretching across his bearded face and a twinkle in his cinnamon eyes. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead and he brushed it away as he reached a hand out to the king. "It's good to see you again, Arthur."

"Galahad." Arthur felt a warmth creep into his voice as he said the knight's name and took his hand. After a brief moment, he pulled the young man into an embrace, hugging him close for several seconds, then he pushed him back to arms length, keeping his hands clasped tightly on Galahad's shoulders. "How are you, my boy?"

Galahad laughed. "Confused, as I believe every one of us is. I hope soon there will be some light shed on this strange and unexpected situation. The last thing I remember is seeing an angel of remarkable beauty standing before me, and now I'm here." He shrugged and his grin grew. "I guess we will soon find out." He clapped Arthur on the back once and went to stand beside Gawain.

That left Lancelot alone in front of Arthur. His hands were clenched at his sides, his head down. Arthur watched him a minute. Lancelot's jaw, highlighted with a thin line of hair, pulsed rhythmically as he clenched his teeth. His lips were pressed into a tight line and his nostrils were flared. Arthur could not tell if Lancelot's stature was combative or submissive.

Arthur closed his blue eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Then he opened them, raised his chin, and squared his shoulders. "Lancelot," he said, his voice coming out harsher and lower than he intended.

The man looked up, his dark brown eyes filled with worry, fear, and regret. "Arthur." His voice was soft and respectful. His eyes beseeched his king, begging for forgiveness even before he fell on his knees to the soft grass in front of the man. He grasped Arthur's hands and kissed them. "Forgive me, friend. Though centuries have passed, I am still as distraught at my unacceptable behavior as I was then. I cannot tell you how sorry I am to have betrayed you in such an unforgivable fashion. It was--"