Camelot's Crow | ✓ [BOOK 3]

~ 42 ~

THE BATTLEFIELD WAS IN chaos. Bodies surrounded Lionel, enemy and ally alike, fallen victim to the fight. Mab's dragons held back much of the army, but most of Lionel's companions were unconscious, having been struck down by Mordred's violent attack. He worried for them, but he mostly worried for his parents, who were facing off with Mordred himself.

For awhile, he didn't know where his mother was or what had happened to her, but she reappeared when Lionel wasn't watching. When he turned back around, he caught sight of her as she faced him, throwing the man far away into a pile of stone and wooden planks. He'd never seen her do such a thing. Lionel looked away after that, returning his focus to the battle.

The world around him was a blur by now. The young boy had grown used to death, it was no longer something that fazed him, but there was so much of it before him, after while he just felt numb. All he could do was stand there, shielding the druids from attacks, doing his best not to be kidnapped in the process. It was the safest he could be, surrounded by druids and acting as a force field against their weapons. It allowed them enough shelter to focus on weakening opponents and fighting from the sidelines.

The druids were running low, though. All around them, the bodies of people he'd grown to love were scattered about, cut open and torn apart, eyes wide and void of the history and joy and emotion that once glistened deep within them. The stories they told had left them, and for the first time, Lionel felt he was more a shard than a person, standing there still, in the middle of a battle. He couldn't fight, he couldn't heal, all he could do was let the shard within him protect itself and those around him, the only thing keeping him alive.

But soon, the shard would become more important than his life. He kkew that.

Lionel's mind returned to him when his father approached him, holding up a shield to protect himself as he made his way through the piles of rubble and bodies blocking the path. Lionel could feel something, then, for the first time in what felt like hours. Fear, dread, that feeling of something heavy resting in the bottom of his throat that reached up his body with wicked claws, clutching his throat and choking him.

The druids paused to look at Kit's tear-streaked face, then down at Lionel, and back up again. He knew, just as all the rest of them did. It was time.

"We have to go," he told the boy with a grim expression. "I'm sorry, Lionel. I've got one last thing to try." He glanced up at the druids. "Will you be alright without him here?"

They didn't get the chance to respond, as one of Mab's large beasts lowered down before them, shielding them from oncoming attacks.

"We'll be alright," one said with a somber bow of their head. "Go. Gods be with ye."

Kit gave a firm nod, then looked back down at Lionel. His eyes were red and wet, but there was still a hopeful gleam to them, and get clung onto it as though that hope was a rope and he was dangling over the edge of a cliff. He scooped the boy up into his arms, carrying his small figure through the carnage and destruction, and Lionel burrowed into him, taking comfort in his arms.

"Where's my mom?" he asked in a small voice.

Kit said nothing, and Lionel's heart stopped.

When the prince let him down, Lionel looked around the crowd for his mother. She was still with Mordred, but the both of them were unmoving. He couldn't see much but a bright, unrelenting light, brighter than anything he'd ever seen other than the sun itself.

His mother was there. Mordred was going to hurt her. He ran after her, but Kit caught his wrist, pulling him back despite his attempts to fight.

"Lionel," Kit said, voice shaking. "Lionel, Lionel, please. Your mother can't be disturbed. She's holding Mordred back while we..."