New Camelot's Fafnir

Tales of New Camelot

NEW CAMELOT’S FAFNIR

By

Brenda Gable

Book Twelve

Smashwords Edition

Copywrite 2014

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

New Camelot Books in Publication

Rogue Prince

Crystal Sorceress

New Camelot’s Thief

Black Sorcerer

Fire Sorceress

Bernard the Bard

High Sheriff of New Camelot

New Camelot’s Lion

New Camelot’s Brewster

Rogue Dragon

New Camelot's Sally the Whore

New Camelot's Fafnir

New Camelot's Bronson

New Camelot's Tarnished Knight

New Camelot’s Dragon’s Breath

New Camelot’s Baker

New Camelot’s Merchant Prince

Lord of the Isles

New Camelot’s Silkie

Return of the Duke

Kingston Books in Publication

Vindication

Redemption

Retribution

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my very own sea serpent whose appetites are unbound.

Chapter 1

Richard Knight jerked out of his stupor at the sudden yank of Margot’s fingers pulling the remote from his slack hand. He craned his neck and looked at her standing behind the couch, her classic face a portrait of disgust. He spoke slowly, enunciating words lubricated with copious amounts of beer. Why’d you do that for? I was watching it.

Her lips pursed, his current girlfriend gave a sad shake of her head. You were torturing yourself. If you’ve seen the takedown once, you’ve seen it a thousand times.

Her long tanning-bed legs took her around the custom made leather sofa and positioned her between him and his oversized HD television. He’d always enjoyed looking at Margot’s toned legs. Today, her rear was barely covered by a leather jungle print mini-skirt he’d bought her the day before his last winning game against Miami. Testament to his brilliance in the art of football was framed over the wet bar. The headline read, Knight Slays Sea Serpents.

She waved the remote like an extension of her finger. You’ve been sulking around here for the last three months. You’ve not returned your friends’ calls. Charlie has deleted you from his contacts because you won’t call back. Will you please think of your future? You have to get in touch with your agent and salvage what you can of your career. You don’t have to be at one-hundred percent to smile and sell cereal.

He opened his mouth to rebut her claim. He wasn’t the one not returning phone calls. She interrupted him before he could collect the words to defend himself.

Don’t bother to answer. I can see that you’d rather sit here and drown yourself in beer and self-pity.

Placing her hands upon slender hips, she leaned forward, giving him an excellent, if somewhat out of focus, view of the breasts he’d bought for her. The D cups in the French lace bra were framed by thick blond hair professionally tinted and extended by one of Los Angeles’s best salons.

You’ve got to pull yourself together, Ricki. She waved the remote like a magic wand over his right leg, propped up on the granite coffee table to ease the residual swelling. It’s not the end of the world.

It being the ruination of his career when two defensive linemen struck him simultaneously from different directions, practically severing his right leg at the knee. Underneath his tailored jeans was a surgeon’s spider web of cross-hatched scars where a team of specialists put him back together. Unfortunately, like Humpty Dumpty, they couldn’t put him back into the shape required for the continuation of his promising career.

He looked up into eyes too heavily shadowed, lips too pouty, cheeks too pink. He’d always thought she was beautiful. Right now in his inebriated state, she looked like a story book princess colored in by a three-year-old—out of the lines and garish. When he glanced away, he saw the suitcases stacked by the doorway. They were the designer bags he’d bought for her when they went to Jamaica on vacation. Come to think of it, he’d bought the clothes in those bags too. And the diamond necklace around her neck. And the tennis bracelet sending off sparks before his eyes. Thank God, he didn’t get her a ring or make any promises.

He lifted his bushy eyebrows. Leaving? He should do something to stop her. At least show his displeasure at being abandoned at the first bump in the road, but he couldn’t roust up enough energy for the task. Instead he made a half-hearted grab for the remote.

She lifted it out of his recumbent reach and let out a dramatic sob. I’ve tried, Ricki. Really, I have. But your despondency, your depression, your alienation of affection, it’s dragging me down. I can’t cope anymore. My therapist says if I stay, you’ll pull me down with you.

Therapist? When did she get a therapist? He footed all the bills. What kind of stress was she under? It wasn’t like she didn’t know how she was going to make the payments on this warehouse he called a home. Or on the sports car in his garage. Or all the other big ticket items he’d purchased when he thought he was invincible. His boat! How was he going to pay for his boat?

A steady drone interrupted his impending bankruptcy thoughts. He focused once again on Margot. He saw her lips moving, but couldn’t make out the words. He dropped an arm off the edge of the sofa, felt around in the floating ice in the cooler, and pulled up another cold brew by its slender neck. Wrenching off the cap, he took a long sustaining gulp. And then another. And another until he could see the bottom of the amber colored bottle.

Her shrill voice intruded upon his enjoyment of a good imported beer. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Have you?

Guilty as charged. He scratched the days-old growth on his chin. Ah. No.

Evidently, that was the wrong answer. She threw the remote at him. The bottle went flying as he protected his head. When the door slammed, he didn’t bother to get up and see who her escort was. Instead, he reached for another beer and fumbled around until he located the remote.

* * * * *

The oldest of three sisters and temporary mistress of the keep, Cassandra shoved her blond plait behind her and stirred the simmering black brazier. Her kirtle and tunic protected by the blacksmith’s leather apron from splashes, she leaned over the table and read the ancient runes out of the old book she and her sisters had found while searching the underground caverns for more suitable storage locations to store wool. The thick grey smoke from their spell wafted overhead and sought escape through the roof’s rushes. Finding few gaps in the tightly bound reeds, the cloud was slowly descending upon the young siblings.

Cough! Cough! Buttercup wiped the smoke from her eyes with her fingertips. The diminutive fairy lowered her elevation and perched upon Cassandra’s shoulder, grabbing a stray wheat-colored tendril for balance. Although we’re not allowed to interfere in human affairs, Cassandra, I must in good conscious advise you not to proceed further.

Cassandra waved a dismissive hand. I’ve read and re-read the runes. I have the proper ingredients. What could possibly go wrong?

Clover, a member of Buttercup’s troupe, flitted about the youngest child’s head. Lots. You’re dealing in Druid runes. They weren’t meant for a witch to use.

I’m a very good witch. If a Druid can cast this incantation, then so can I.

Clover placed her hands on her hips. You don’t have a staff to summon the magic.

Pooh! Live flowers mixed with the runes will be more potent than deadwood ever could be.

Buttercup’s amber eyes flashed silver. Aoife is going to be very displeased by your actions.

I’m not worried about Aoife, so neither should you. She isn’t due back for two more days. If this works, Fafnir will be gone and Aoife none the wiser.

Clover also showed her irritation by turning her eyes to silver. You’re playing with the laws of magic. It’s not Aoife you should be worried about.

Her concentration focused on the fingers tracing the runes one more time, she asked, Oh? What?

The fey women shouted in unison, Danu! before vanishing in a burst of pollen. The yellow dust from their sudden departure slowly sifted to the pavers on the floor.

Cassandra felt a frission of angst trip down her back at the fairies’ warning. She lifted her chin and shouted to the rafters. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The fey had returned to New Camelot with the arrival of the Crystal Sorceress from the Old World. Magic had exploded when Bethany Regina’s miraculous healing stimulated the dormant currents of New Camelot. Now, every sorceress had one or more fairies residing in gardens, ponds, ocean firths and anywhere else they took a notion to establish roots. Because of Aoife’s presence, Tragumna Keep had Clover and Buttercup.

At Cassandra’s nod, Bride, second in the litter and just coming into womanhood, scattered the dried petals of a lion’s tail flower from her fingertips into the mini-cauldron. Felicity, the baby, her blue eyes opened so far that the whites showed, stretched on her tip-toes to add a fresh bulrush pulled from the water’s edge.

Their blond heads together, the three witches peered into the brazier’s depths. Murky black, the simmering liquid roiled upon itself as if alive. Cassandra pressed her lips in thought. It’s the wrong color. It says here, the smoke should be blue. What have we left out?

Bride and Felicity peered around their sister’s tall lanky form and scanned the ancient tome. Cassandra exclaimed, I forgot the wolfsbane! Where is it?

Felicity shouted, Here! I put it in some water to keep it fresh.

Stripping the purple petals from the stem, Cassandra dropped them into her witch’s brew. She stirred three times clockwise and three times counterclockwise. Tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot, she pronounced with certainty, That should do it.

Casting trepidation and unknown consequences aside, as well as Lady Aoife’s cautions not to get into trouble, Cassandra gathered her sisters up. Hold tight. This is a powerful spell. We want to keep it confined to the local area.

Walking around the table bearing the boiling pot, arms extended, hand in hand, they chanted the words they’d memorized to conjure a knight to slay the disaster that had descended upon them.

Heart of a lion, his courage renown!

Cunning of a wolf, his spirit untamed!

Strength of a bull, his prowess unmatched!

With the blood of a dragon, he rises to victory!

Danu, Mother Goddess, heed our plea. Send us a champion, a paladin, to rid our woe from the sea.

Cassandra held her breath. When nothing happened, her sea-green eyes flicked to the deep recesses of the room then down to her searching sisters. Let’s try it—

The explosion sent them tumbling across the hard floor and into wooden furniture made by one of the carpentry students. Thick blue-black smoke billowed out of the pot, its menacing tentacles seeking their delicate lung tissue. Coughing, her eyes running, Cassandra found Felicity then Bride. Shoving them before her, they crawled on hands and knees out the door to fresh air.

Blinded from the soot in her eyes, she could hear booted feet running to their aide.

Cassandra, are you okay?

Strong hands clasped her and pulled her to her feet. She wiped her eyes clear and then looked up into Neely Wingard’s concerned blue eyes. Like herself and her sisters, Neely was one of Aoife’s rescues. An apprentice to the blacksmith, he was as strong as a grown man. What have you done? Are you hurt? His square head, topped with a shock of dark blond hair, moved left and right, scanning her for damage.

Finding no gaping wounds, he pulled her to him in a bear hug, smothering her against an ash smelling tunic. My heart almost stopped when I heard the explosion. I thought you’d killed yourself.

Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, the top of her head was four inches shy of a chin that had just recently been introduced to shaving. He was so big, she forgot he was as young as she was. They’d been raised together at Tragumna, refugees from a suspicious world. She murmured against powerful chest muscles, I’m fine. Bride? Felicity?

Nanny’s checking them out.

She felt him tense. Cassie, what have you summoned?

Cassandra spun in his arms and turned to face the cottage’s open door. A black form took shape within the murky smoke emanating from the small building that served as Cassandra’s herbal shed. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in disbelief that the spell had actually worked.

Tall and well-muscled, the soot covered man reeled and bellowed, What in the hell just happened? Where am I? Who are you? Where’s my TV?

Weaving on bare feet, he stepped out into the bailey and onto rock shards strategically placed to assist drainage away from the building. Ow! Hopping on one foot, he lost his balance and toppled over.

Fearful of mortal wounds, Cassandra scuttled over to see if he was harmed from the explosion. When he flopped over onto his back, the smell of hops wafted out of his slack mouth. She looked to her younger sisters, their jaws agape just as hers was. The exhilaration of successfully pulling a man through the time and space continuum caught up to her stunned senses and raced through her blood. She shouted out to all those coming to their aide. We did it! We did it!

Did what, dear? Nanny tsked and spit on her apron. Grabbing Felicity in a headlock, she vigorously wiped the soot from the struggling girl’s face.

Elation lifted Cassandra’s spirits. She spun around and around, giddy from the newly discovered power at her command. She pointed with aplomb to the soot-darkened man, holding his hands at his temples. We brought forth a knight to defeat Fafnir.

Nanny peered at the white-eyed man reeling in the bailey. Well, you need to send him back, dearie. He doesn’t look like much of a serpent slayer to me. Shaking out her soot stained apron, she deftly tied it so that the knight’s privates were shielded from Felicity’s inquisitive young eyes.

Huh? What? He turned in a slow circle, absorbing his surroundings. He lifted his hand to the five story keep. Where’d that come from?

Cassandra grabbed onto the man’s arm and helped him stabilize. He stood weaving before her, his bloodshot eyes examining her face and garments. In case the explosion damaged his hearing she yelled, Are you a knight?

Knight? Yeah, I’m Knight. What is this place?

Have you slayed sea serpents?

His chest puffed out with pride. Then he ruined his manly pose by belching alcohol laced fumes.

Cassandra felt an inkling of dissatisfied regret. What kind of sot had she summoned to their aide?

When he bragged on his accomplishments, his words were slurred. Last year, I led the team to a twelve and naught Super Bowl win. It was a slaughter.

He wasn’t sober, but at least he claimed he could fight. Cassandra turned to the desperate people gawking around her. Behold! I have summoned a knight to slay the evil beastie. His heroics include twelve slain serpents. The crowd returned her cry with heartfelt clapping and shouts of huzzah!

He will do battle against the vile Fafnir and free the shipping lanes from his pernicious grasp.

Her knight shook his head, then dug his fingers into his ears. I’ve got a ringing in my ears. What did you say?

She shouted, I said, you’re to kill Fafnir for us.

Kill? Fafnir? Who is Fafnir? Why?

"He’s not a who. He’s a what. He’s a sea serpent."

Unmindful of his goose bumped bareness, she yanked him over to a chest-high wall. Her slender finger pointed towards the white-capped waves of the sea. She proclaimed, That is Fafnir.

The knight’s hands clutched the harsh ridges of the stone battlement. His words left his mouth propelled by alcohol fumes, That’s a sea serpent. That’s the Loch Ness Monster. What was in that beer? Did Margot drug me?

She took a step back. I don’t know a Margot and that is no Nessie. You see, Nessie lives inland near Inverness, Scotland. That beastie out in the firth is Fafnir and he is a plague upon us. I and my sisters have summoned you to slay him and free our people from his tyranny.

Fafnir took that moment to leap out of the water with a dolphin caught among the serrated rows of teeth in his sleek head. The knight wobbled on his legs before sinking to the stone easement in a good imitation of a passed out derelict.

Cassandra toed his limp form with her doeskin boot. Disappointment marred her fair features. "Hmmm. Mayhap I should have used more Lion’s Tail."

Neely glanced between her and the prone knight. His voice broke. Send him back, Cassie.

The order rubbed her the wrong way. He was always telling her what to do as if she belonged to him. Even if he was right, occasionally, that still didn’t make him her better.

She held his calm blue eyes with her defiant green ones. I can’t. I put an onus on him.

* * * * *

He’s stirring. When he awakens, he’s going to be furious.

I’ll explain everything to him in a rational manner. He’ll understand.

No, he won’t. He’s not from here. He won’t understand.

The female squawking from the soap opera Margot left on penetrated Richard’s whimpering brain cells. Eyes closed to keep the hangover at a minimum, he reached across and patted the coffee table seeking the remote. When his questing fingers grasped a firm leg, he allowed an eyelid to crack a fraction. Spying the young female from his nightmare instead of Margot, he quickly slammed the lid down. Evidently, he was still dreaming.

A rude jarring poke to his shoulder raised the eyelid once again. The young groupie’s breath in his face smelled of fish. In a lilting sing-song she said, Get up. You have a job to do.

Richard closed the lid against the determination in those green eyes. He was not bedding under-aged jail bait. Rolling over, he put his back to her and whatever it was she was poking him with. She could seek out one of the other players or a member of the support crew.

The coarse fabric under his face and the tight confines awoke a niggling suspicion that he was no longer in his living room. He opened both eyes. Where was his spacious couch? He strained around the grit in his eyes and focused on the glaring white mass before him. The unmoving apparition slowly evolved into individual stones. Why was there a rock wall in his living room?

Sir Knight? You must awaken. Time is of the essence. You have to dispatch Fafnir before… before anon.

Throat raw, head throbbing, and bladder painfully filled to maximum capacity, he rolled over to confront his tormentor. Make that tormentors, plural. There were three go-to-jail cards staring at him. Identical in face and hair, they could have been Russian nesting dolls.

Richard groaned. If the tabloids got a sniff of this, not only his career and livelihood were gone, but also his freedom. Fears of his name being added to a community pedophile watch list had him up in a sitting position. He grabbed his temples with the palms of his hands to keep his skull together as his brain exploded into a throbbing ache.

He cast a bilious eye at the oldest girl; she couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She returned it with a glare at him as though he’d stolen her iPod. What? What did I do?

Arms akimbo, she stood straighter and gave him a haughty look over a pert nose. It’s what you haven’t done. You’ve been asleep for a full day. Time is wasting. You have to don your arms and go out and kill Fafnir today.

He was bearing his arms. One on either side of his torso. Both beginning to lose their muscle tone after so much inactivity. Wonderful. She was on drugs. This was getting better and better. He could see the tabloids now, Knight Found in Love Nest with Drugged Teen.

He turned his attention to the middle one studying him with a cocked head. She appeared to be about a year younger with a softer cast to her features. A searing lance of pain in his bladder urged him to his feet. Feeling fabric around his knees, he looked down and noticed he was wearing a loose fitting tunic that may at one time have been white, but had degenerated into a dingy grey. He leaned over to address the middle child and instantly regretted it.

Regaining a vertical stance, he asked, Where are my clothes? My wallet? That held a credit card with no ceiling and all his identification. He needed to get his stuff, call a cab and get the hell out of here. He could only pray that none of these girls had a smart phone and friends who wanted to blackmail him.

Number two child of the dubious frown gave him a shrug. All of your personal things remained behind when we pulled you through the time and space continuum. Nothing from the Old World can pass through unless it was made with New Camelot techniques.

With diminishing expectations for anything coherent, he turned his pounding head to number three. A tiny little thing, her clear blue eyes were so round they almost devoured her face.

Where am I?

She gave him a brilliant gap-toothed smile guaranteed to melt the hearts of men fifteen years in the future and lisped, Why, sir, you’re in New Camelot.

Richard drew in a deep sigh of patience. He needed to find an adult, someone who could answer why the hell he was here. He looked around the rustic room and overhead, taking in the large number of hanging herbs, dried flowers and the sooty thatch ceiling. He also needed to find a restroom. He stepped around the trio of deranged young females and lowering his head under a wooden lintel, exited the room’s warped oaken door. His first impression of his surroundings was of a cold draught going up his loose garment to chill his exposed genitalia. Add, where were his tighty-whities? to the list of questions roiling around in his alcohol stewed brain.

The second impression was one of disbelief. Before him was a five-story castle. His head swiveled. A thirty-foot stone wall, replete with barbican, portcullis and a crenellated surface, was the backdrop for a hodge-podge of thatch covered stone buildings positioned against it. The clang of metal-on-metal drew his eye to his right where a blacksmith worked on his forge giving instructions to a young man that could easily be a fullback on a college football team.

The smell of roasting hops snatched his nose to the left.