“Why, Gil? Why did you do this to me? Why did you build me up just to break me? Why? Why! WHY?!”

Gil’s voice still tugged at her, despite the pain in her chest, “I was sworn to, love.”

“Don’t call me that! Don’t you ever call me that!”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“No! You’re one of them! You trained me, seduced me, made me love you, just so you could break me now!”

“Yes.”

“Bastard!” She couldn’t help it; the word came out as a sob.

His voice remained even, untouched by her pain, “But that’s not the only reason I did it.”

“I don’t care.”

“You needed to know how to defend yourself.”

The heat of her pain sparked an ember of anger deep inside her, “Shut up.”

“You needed to know how to defend everyone else.”

“I said shut up!”

“You needed to learn to be yourself. To become what you could become, rather than being just another piece of fodder for their plan.”

“Don’t you mean ‘our plan’?”

His smirk filled his voice, “Love, why do you think I’ve stopped time for you?”

“Huh?” Lane glanced around; the eyes were frozen in place, but that could be staring. The redhead behind the desk stared, mouth half open, hand frozen midway to setting the remote down.

“Each of us was given a year and a day. I used the first day grieving, praying, in vigil for the oaths I had given. I received a… Not a vision. More a feeling, an intuition. I knew I’d never be forgiven while I lived, but thought if I spent myself for another, what I had helped break might be put right.”

“So you did this to save your sorry ass?”

“No. My fate is sealed. The best I can hope for is to die. Salvation is beyond me. My only hope is that I can give you enough of what I once was that you can survive what is coming.”

“Yeah, right. I can see the eyes, Gil.”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“You see but a fraction of them.”

“How the hell am I supposed to survive that?”

“Because of what you are. Because of what you will be. Because you are becoming.”

“Becoming what? Steak tartare? Wolf fodder?”

“They are not wolves, they are Aeric’s Wild Hunt, and we do not have time. Kneel.”

“Don’t have time? What did you do with the other year? Spend it seducing underage girls?”

“As I recall, that was at your instigation, and you are of the age of consent for your culture. For mine, you’re an old maid.”

Her anger wouldn’t let him get away with avoiding her question, “Year and a day. Focus, what happened to the year.”

“You didn’t spend just one day training.”

“What?”

“I spent the first week of it with you. The rest I gave over to your training. Now please, kneel.”

“I’m on the ground, already, bastard.”

“For what we had, would you rise to your knees, Lady Lane of the Lake?”

“That’s my mom.”

“No, she’s Milady of the Lake. You are the Lady, Lane, and you are of the Lake. Please."

Lane twisted, pulling herself to her knees on the scrap of carpet that hovered over the endless depths. Once she'd righted herself, she glared up at him.

"Fine! Is this what you want? I'm on my knees! Do you want me to beg?"

"Never. You will never beg. Ever."

Lane watched with growing horror as Gil reached over his shoulder and gripped the sledgehammer haft. Slowly, carefully, he lifted it over his shoulder. For the first time she got a good look at the hammer head, huge, and dull black like tarnished silver. Another metal filigree traced through the black, dull silver like oxidized lead. She stared in horrified fascination. Gil noticed and glanced at the hammerhead. A look of long-suppressed chagrin flashed across his face. Words leaked from him in fits and starts.

"That's why they needed me, you know. To carry it. It's connected to the portals, controls them somehow. They told me Thor rebelled. I suppose he did. They bound me with oaths. Because he rebelled. I could break them any time. I told myself I didn't because there was no point. I told myself it wasn't the penalty I'd pay that stopped me."

Gil stopped. He shook his head for a moment, as if surprised by his own candor. His eyes cleared, and he looked down into Lane's eyes. For just a moment, she saw the man she loved; then his expression became stern and formal. He lifted the hammer inches above her head.

"In the name of Saint Michael,"

The hammer came down, angled to strike her right shoulder. It slammed home on her shoulder pad. The plastic shattered, and her body sagged. The padding on her chest seemed to weigh more than the weight in her breast where her heart had broken. The hammer lifted again, hovering.

"And Saint George,"

The hammer came down again, striking her left shoulder. The sound of metal on metal, muted by a thin layer of cloth, rang loud in Lane's ears. Surprise snapped her spine rigid once more, snapped her gaze back to lock with Gil's. His face had aged in the space of moments. Where once he had looked twenty something, now he looked fifty going on seventy, and he continued to age as she watched. She almost didn't notice a chill along her shins.

"And the God whose hammer I bear,"

The hammer swung sideways into the side of her head, and her ears rang counterpoint to the ringing of her helm. Lane ignored the ringing the helm, everything except the now peaceful eyes of the man she loved. His arms, thin with age, pulled the hammerhead off her shoulder. It fell to the carpet with a quiet thump. Gil clutched at the handle. He sagged to dust as he spoke his final words.

"I create thee knight. Rise, Dame Lane of the Lake, last Knight of the Round. Be thou valiant, fearless, and inexorable, now and forevermore."

With that, the handle thumped to the floor, and he was gone.