Crown of Dreams (11 page)

“Think I’m going to tell
you
?” Rhianna said, trying to slip past the ghost.

“Yes, I think you are,” said the witch. “Because I wore that Crown too, you know, and I’ve had more practice in using it than you have.”

Rhianna felt dizzy. To her alarm, a vision of Arianrhod sitting in Camelot’s dungeon flashed unbidden through her head.

Her friend’s eyes widened. “Lady Rhia!” she said, springing to her feet and staring about her in confusion. “What are
you
doing here? Are you a dream…?”

“Oh, how very clever of you!” Morgan Le Fay smiled at Arianrhod and clapped her ghostly hands. “The missing jewel’s still at Camelot, isn’t it? In the one place nobody will think to look, locked in the dungeon with my poor little ex-maid – who is accused of witchcraft when, for the first time in her miserable life, she’s actually free of me. How delicious! I think Mordred’s going to enjoy this.”

“Except I smashed your mirror so you can’t tell him, can you?” Rhianna said.

But the witch was still laughing. She waved her hand through Arianrhod’s shadow, making it fade away. “You’re forgetting the Crown of Dreams, my dear. It records the secrets of every Pendragon who wears it, including yours.”

“No…” she whispered, realising the mistake she’d made in putting on the crown before she fully understood the magic.

Morgan Le Fay chuckled. “Oh yes, as soon as my son wears the Crown again he’ll see where you left your pathetic jewel. And that’s not all. Merlin probably forgot to tell you, but that pretty green jewel at the front contains the secrets of the first Dragonlords, back in the days when Pendragons were not concerned with boring things such as Round Tables and knightly codes. They rode dragons, flying with the storm, taking what
they wanted, when they wanted it.”

The witch’s eyes flashed.

“Then the Romans came with their roads and their hot baths, and Arthur built Camelot in their image. My brother preferred dragons carved into his throne and woven on his tapestries rather than living in his hills. So he sent his knights to kill them. But they didn’t find them all, and there are still some breeding pairs in Dragonland. When my son takes the throne, we’ll get rid of Arthur’s silly dreams of chivalry and restore the old ways.”

Rhianna was starting to feel panicky. If she didn’t get back into her body soon, Mordred might do something horrible to it. “But Mordred can’t take the throne until he’s destroyed my father’s jewel, can he? That’s why he wants it so badly – while it’s
still safe, he can’t destroy King Arthur’s dreams for Camelot.”

“Oh, aren’t you the clever one,” said Morgan Le Fay. “I almost wish you’d been my daughter. Maybe we should make you into Mordred’s queen. He’ll need someone to bear his heirs when he takes Camelot’s throne.”

“I’d rather die!” Rhianna said, reaching with her spirit for the green jewel that held the secret of dragon riding. Could she persuade the shadrake to help her escape? The witch’s ghost wavered as a wing flapped inside her head.

Morgan Le Fay pursed her lips. “Still fighting, my dear? What a stubborn damsel you are. On second thoughts, I don’t think my son will be able to handle you. You’re rather more of a threat than we anticipated. So now we’re sure you haven’t brought the stone with
you, I think it’s best if we just bury you in here. It’s a pity you have to die, but you give people hope, and hope is a dangerous thing. I’d love to talk longer, but I have to go and help my son open the Gate now. Have a good death, Rhianna Pendragon. I’ll see you on the other side very soon.”

The witch disappeared as someone snatched the crown from Rhianna’s head. She jolted back into her body to find the rock shaking around her and showers of stones rattling down from the tunnel roof.

Mordred scowled down at her, holding the crown and breathing heavily. She must have dropped the spear. His bloodbeard captain held the point to her throat. More bloodbeards
crowded into the alcove, staring nervously at the cracks appearing in the roof.

Mordred waved them back. “Get out of here, you fools! Wait for me outside. I’ll take care of this.”

He shook his head at her. “That was stupid, cousin! What did you think you were trying to do? I’ve spent weeks learning how to use this crown! It killed my mother, you know. It’s dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing, and now you seem to have brought the entire mountain down on our heads.”

“That wasn’t me – it was your crazy mother. She’s going to open the Gate of Annwn! You’ve got to stop her.”

“Really? And why would I want to do that?” He glanced up in alarm as more grit fell from the roof into his hair. “I’m afraid I can’t stay to
chat any longer. I’d run if I were you, cousin… oh, but I forgot, someone seems to have chained you to the rock. Suppose you think I’m going to release you so you can escape? You should have tried that trick before we found out you don’t have your father’s jewel.”

“You can’t destroy it!” she said desperately. “You don’t know what secrets it might contain.”

He paused, and she thought he might unchain her. Then another shower of stones fell between them, and he smiled. “Good try, cousin. But you don’t know either, and I don’t need you to discover them now I’ve got the Crown. I doubt my uncle’s secrets are of much interest, anyway.” He limped back down the tunnel gripping his bloodbeard’s shoulder.

Rhianna blinked after him through the clouds of dust. She heard the horses leave
the cave, then a loud rumble deep inside the mountain. A chill went down her spine as she remembered the witch’s words.
We’ll just bury you in here
. She tugged at the chain in terror and opened her mouth to call him back.

The tunnel roof collapsed in a rush of rock and billowing clouds of foul-smelling dust. Ghostly warriors howled out of the depths of the mountain and poured past her in a glowing green river. She huddled against the rock, pulled the bloodstained cloak over her head and made herself as small as possible to avoid the falling stones.

“When I get out of here, you’ll be sorry!” she yelled.

The air that had come up the tunnel suddenly cut off as the alcove crumbled around her, and her world went dark.

D
ARK
A
RMY

M
ordred clung to his horse’s neck as it galloped through the waterfall after his fleeing men. Boulders splashed down around him, and the river roared and foamed underfoot. They were halfway down the valley before he dared pull up. He looked back at the pile of rocks that blocked the cave mouth and shook his head in exasperation.

“It’s your own fault, cousin,” he muttered. “I gave you a chance! Why couldn’t you bring the stupid jewel with you, like a normal damsel would have done?”

“That was close, Master,” said his
bloodbeard captain, drawing rein beside him. He frowned at the cave, too. “Do you want us to dig her out?”

Mordred pulled himself together. “No! She’s done us a favour, burying herself in there. We should be able to get into Camelot while the knights and her friends are still looking for her here in Dragonland.”

“She might not be dead,” the bloodbeard pointed out.

“If she isn’t, then she’ll soon wish she was,” Mordred growled. “I’ll be sitting on Arthur’s throne by the time she digs her way out of there with her bare hands. Now stand back – my mother promised me an army.”

He jammed the Crown of Dreams on his head. The bloodbeards drew back warily as the green jewel began to glow.

A wind howled along the valley, whipping up the river. Then a ghostly green horse leaped out of the hill through the curtain of water, ridden by a warrior wearing a winged helm and wielding a large axe. Behind him poured a stream of other ghostly horses and riders. The waterfall glimmered green as they passed through it and entered the world of men. All were armed, and all had fierce expressions with death in their eyes.

The bloodbeards’ horses plunged and snorted. The pony the captain had used to bring the girl here broke free and galloped off, plunging into the flood up to its belly. The captain turned his horse to give chase.

“Let the stupid animal go,” Mordred snapped. “It can drown for all I care.”

His stallion laid back its ears as the warrior
in the winged helm rode closer. He gripped his reins tightly for courage and faced the ghost.

“So the new Pendragon calls us out of Annwn to fight again,” growled the warrior, casting a glance at the bloodbeards and their trembling horses. “Not much of an army. I expected more from a grandson of mine.”

“King Uther!” whispered one of the older bloodbeards. “It’s Uther Pendragon, back from the dead!”

The other men muttered uneasily and drew closer together.

“My Saxon allies will be waiting for us at Camelot,” Mordred said, more confidently than he felt. “My cousin made a treaty with them last year, but they’ll soon change sides again when they see the way things are going.
We’ve got boats waiting to take us across the Summer Sea. I assume your – er, men – can ride across water?”

He tried to count the ghostly warriors. But they kept fading and then reappearing again in the green light cast by the jewel, making him feel queasy. The Crown burned his forehead. It didn’t fit as well as it had before his cousin wore it – curse the girl, who’d have thought she would dare snatch it off him and try to use it herself?

“Water is no barrier to spirits,” said Uther with a harsh laugh. “Let’s get going! I’m keen to see this great castle my son is supposed to have built after my death. Oh, and your mother sent this for you.”

Mordred had been about to remove the crown before he made a fool of himself.
He barely caught the black gauntlet the ghost threw at him. Cold shivered through him
– a thing of Annwn!
Then the stump of his right arm began to itch, and he realised the gauntlet still contained a human hand – his own right hand, which Arthur had chopped off with Excalibur at the battle of Camlann, and the shadrake had carried into Annwn when Rhianna banished it last year.

His captain’s expression grew fearful. The man had reason to be wary of it, since he’d helped Mordred use its dark magic to torture prisoners during the hunt for Excalibur. Mordred tucked the severed fist into his belt with a smile.

Uther’s gaze followed it. “Morgan said you used to be a pretty boy,” he said with another chuckle. “Shame Arthur cut you up so badly
in the battle. But when you join us in Annwn, your wounds will not matter. You’ll be able to ride with us, whole and strong again, without pain.”

Mordred scowled at his grandfather. “I’m not going to join you in Annwn, old man,” he snapped. “When Camelot’s throne is mine and I’ve learned all the secrets of this Crown, I’m going to send out every man who can ride a horse to look for the Grail of Stars. I’ll make myself whole that way.”

“Did you hear that? My grandson thinks he’s going to escape death.” Uther’s ghost laughed. All the other ghosts laughed too, rippling green across the river.

Mordred shuddered. It was getting dark in the valley, and Annwn’s chill had worked its way into his bones. He could hear his mother
trying to tell him something, but it would have to wait until his head stopped hurting. He snatched off the crown and hung it from his belt beside his dark fist. To his relief, as the green glow died, the ghosts faded to vague glimmers in the night.

“We’re wasting time,” he yelled at his bloodbeards. “To Camelot! My throne awaits.”