by K. M. Shea
Sir Kay smoothed his moustache in great joy. As Britt’s seneschal, the knights’ feeding and upkeep had caused a constant drain on her coffers that he didn’t appreciate. He had heartily approved of the plan to send knights out when Britt and Merlin first discussed it.
“You see? I told you the young ones would like the idea,” Merlin murmured to Britt.
“Leodegrance’s knights aren’t thrilled,” Britt whispered.
“Of course they aren’t. This will require them to risk their lives. Forget those old swine. It appeals to your younger knights—the rowdy ones who need to be aired out to play,” Merlin said before he raised his voice to speak to the crowd. “Arthur asks this because I have foreseen the great things you will do. Ladies will be saved; mythical creatures will be slain, and kingdoms shall be won!” he boomed, lying through his teeth.
The crash course on the order of the Round Table went on until late in the evening. When even Merlin could hear Sir Ywain’s stomach growling, he released them to a celebration feast in the main hall.
There, they joined Guinevere and the ladies and knights who would not be in the Order of the Round Table.
Chapter 3
The Quest of the White Hart
As usual, Britt was seated at the head table in the feasting hall. Only Merlin and Guinevere sat with her, although a steady flow of knights passed by the table to give their compliments to Guinevere and make eyes at her, or to ask Britt (and Merlin) a question about the Round Table.
“I hope you have found your first day at Camelot to be pleasant, Lady Guinevere,” Merlin said in one of the few lulls.
“There are so many great knights,” Guinevere giggled.
“Yes,” Merlin cautiously agreed, giving Britt the evil eye as she leaned back in her chair, feeding Cavall bits of meat. Britt ignored the look, leaving him with the job of speaking. “Have you made friends?” Merlin asked.
“Certainly. Lady Blancheflor and Lady Clarine first greeted me when I arrived. They were very kind and complimented me on my dress,” Guinevere said, rattling off the other ladies who greeted her as Merlin grew a vacant expression.
Britt hid her amusement—Merlin, entering in girl talk!—behind her wine cup before she took a mouthful of a beef pasty.
“Have you met King Pellinore’s wife, Queen Adelind?” Britt asked, nodding to the table directly in front of the dais, where King Pellinore and his lovely—and brilliant—wife sat with Sir Kay, Sir Ector, and a number of Britt’s closest knights.
“No. Is that bad?” Guinevere asked, quickly turning away from Merlin to stare wide-eyed at Britt. “I’ll go introduce myself right now,” she said, standing so fast she stepped on the hem of her dress.
“Guinevere, it’s fine,” Britt said, catching her by the wrist.
Guinevere shifted and looked ill. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, I’ll introduce you in a bit,” Britt said, cocking her head as she took in the younger girl’s worry. “You don’t have to worry about offending me, you know.”
Britt knew she guessed correctly when Guinevere shivered.
“Look,” Britt said, glancing at Merlin for assurance. “I’m not a jerk. I know we warned you about…talking, but I’m not going to kick you back home just because you haven’t met everyone yet.”
“Indeed,” Merlin said. “As long as you don’t make too much work for the servants or cause rebellion among the knights, you may stay as long as you please.”
Britt was not fooled. She could see the cranks of his mind working behind Merlin’s innocent expression. Already he was pondering ways to use Guinevere’s presence for their advantage.
“But the moment I find you taking liberties—claiming to be my lady or love or something else equally as stupid—you’re going back to Camelgrance. If you never do that, we’re good,” Britt said. “Although I want my table back to myself in a few days.”
“Hear, hear,” Merlin grumbled.
Britt noticed, with a stormy countenance, that Lancelot seemed to be working his way in their direction. He probably intended to spill more poetry at Guinevere—who was all too easily impressed.
Fortunately, the entire banquet was interrupted when the doors to the hallway banged open. A white stag ran into the room, his antlers gleaming like ivory as he jumped tables and knocked over two servants and a knight. A white hound, baying like a beagle, nearly skid out as it too ran into the room, chasing after the deer.
Britt watched the crazed parade with narrowed eyes before she studied her wine glass. “We should ask Sir Ulfius who brewed this stuff. It’s potent,” she said.
“You are not seeing visions, Arthur. The hart and hound are real,” Merlin said, standing with a thoughtful look.
“Seriously? What’s a hart?” Britt asked, rising out of her chair.
“The deer,” Merlin said, watching as the hound almost caught the stag but missed—its jaws snapping shut on air. The hart pranced out of the room, and the dog followed, colliding with a foreign knight at the door. The knight picked the dog up—quite the feat as it wasn’t a small canine—and hurried from the room.
The room was silent for several moments, until Britt broke it with the unkingly observation of, “What just happened?”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a beautiful lady riding a white palfrey—a horse—indoors, entered the room. “My Lord, be merciful and address my grievance! The hound that was just stolen from here is mine. Please send someone to retrieve it—no!” the lady shrieked when another unknown knight—also riding a horse, but his was a courser, a warhorse—stormed the room and grabbed the lady off her horse. He tossed her over the front of his saddle and urged his steed from the room. “No! My Lord, help me! Please,” the lady called as she fell out of hearing range.
No one moved—except for Britt. She climbed down the dais steps and picked up the reins of the abandoned, white horse. “How did they get a horse in the keep, and why didn’t anybody do anything?” Britt said, eyeing her tables and tables of knights.
The knights sheepishly looked at each other as Britt patted the horse on the neck.
“‘Tis a quest!” Merlin declared.
“How?” Britt frowned, handing the horse off to a page boy.
“The signs are unmistakable. The hart and the hound—even the lady’s horse are all white—the color of holiness,” Merlin said. “The damsel is now in distress and must be rescued—as should her dog.”
“And the hart?” Britt asked, approaching the dais again.
“And the hart,” Merlin agreed. “It is obvious. This is a quest the heavens have delivered to glorify the Order of the Round Table, that a select few knights may be honored.”
“Right.” Britt looked at him quizzically. He eyed her back. “So, who volunteers to go out on this quest?” Britt asked, turning to face her men.
“I will,” Sir Tor said, standing by his seat in the back of the room. He was stationed near the door that the unusual party-crashers had used. “If you will give me your leave, My Lord,” he added.
“Of course, Sir Tor,” Britt acknowledged. “You shall pursue…”
“The hound,” Merlin whispered.
“The hound,” Britt repeated, her voice loud enough for Sir Tor to hear.
“I will go forth as well, should you wish it, My Lord,” Sir Gawain said.
“Me, too!” Sir Ywain was quick to add.
“Gawain is the best choice for the deer—the hart. You will use the two tracking hounds I gave you at Christmas?” Britt asked.
Sir Gawain bowed. “It will be my pleasure, My Lord.”
“As for Ywain,” Britt hesitated. Sir Ywain was young and eager to please, but Britt wasn’t sure he was the best choice to send after a kidnapped lady. He was brash and tended to take large risks—a trait that wouldn’t mix well with the task of rescuing someone.
“I would be honored to go—either with Sir Ywain or alone,” King Pellinore said, standing.
“Really? I mean…” Britt sn
apped her mouth shut to hold her words in as she looked to King Pellinore’s wife.
Queen Adelind was famous for running Pellinore’s lands whenever he was off chasing after the questing beast—which was often. She was even more famous, though, for sending Pellinore scathing notes for being absent for so long.
Queen Adelind, who was beautiful in a soft, subdued way, tucked the elaborate braid her long, brown hair was coiled in over her shoulder. “It would be an honor to Anglesey if my husband would take up this quest and refrain from running off, should he happen to see the questing beast,” she said with a smile that was beautiful but as firm as a shield of stone.
“I don’t want to send Ywain alone, but do he and King Pellinore get along well?” Britt whispered to Merlin.
“Well enough, but I doubt he could keep Pellinore’s pace,” Merlin said.
“Ah,” Britt said before raising her voice. “Of course. In that case, I ask that King Pellinore would retrieve the genteel lady who was taken before our very eyes.”
“My Lord,” Sir Ywain objected as Sir Griflet patted his shoulder in commiseration.
“You’re still too bad at jousting to go questing, Ywain,” Sir Griflet said.
“You aren’t any better than I am,” Sir Ywain scoffed.
“Yes, but I wasn’t fool enough to ask to go out on a quest, as terrible as I am,” Griflet pointed out.
“No, I suppose you learned your lesson the first time,” Sir Ywain grunted.
“What did you say?” Griflet demanded.
Britt ignored their scuffle and addressed the three knights. “I imagine you wish to start your quest tonight, lest the trail becomes cold—or lost?”
“It would be for the best, My Lord,” King Pellinore said, his hands clasped and his lips folded in a smile. He was looking forward to the chase.
“Very well. Let us end the festivities for tonight. It seems there is some clean-up to be done. Knights, I wish you well in your endeavor. Good evening,” Britt said to all those present.
“I have words of wisdom to share,” Merlin said, approaching the three knights. “Especially to you, Sir Tor.”
When Britt was assured the young wizard was fully distracted, she slipped from the feasting hall—making her apologies to Guinevere—and made a beeline for her room, Cavall padding faithfully behind her.
“Send for Roen—have him saddled. For a long ride,” Britt said to a servant girl she found finishing the preparations in a visitor’s room.
“Yes, My Lord,” the girl said, curtseying before she ran away.
Britt hurried to her room, shutting the doors behind her.
“This time, you’re coming with,” Britt said to Cavall as she dug out two saddle bags. One saddle bag was already filled with all the things she would need for camping outside for a day or two. (On one occasion, Merlin had spirited her out to the forest to give her a much-needed break from her kingly duties. Since then, Britt made it a habit to have a bag prepared. Just in case.) Britt shoved a leather leash for Cavall and a spare collar in the second bag. She slung the packs over her shoulder—intending to fill the second bag with food for her dog—and walked for the door. She tripped on her backpack—one of the few items she had left from her life in the twenty first century—sending the contents of the bag sprawling across the floor.
“Dang it,” Britt breathed.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Merlin said from the doorway.
Britt looked up and set her packs aside, scooping items—like clothes and a travel book—back in her backpack. “Nowhere. I just have a few items I want to give to Gawain, Tor, and King Pellinore.”
Merlin looked unconvinced. “A likely story,” he said.
“Whatever. Could you grab my iPod?” Britt asked, nodding at the iPod touch that had flown from the bag and was now a foot or two away from Merlin.
“Your what?”
“The white and black thing,” Britt said, pointing as she zipped up her backpack.
“I see. Arthur, we need to talk,” Merlin said, glancing at the door that was barely cracked.
“About?”
“Earlier today I received word from one of my men. He’s heard rumors,” he said, grunting when he stooped over to pick up Britt’s iPod.
“About?” Britt repeated.
Merlin pursed his lips. “An attempt against your life,” he finally asked.
Britt blinked. “Oh,” she said, her muscles going slack for a moment. “From whom? King Ryence? King Lot?”
Merlin shook his head. “No names, only a whisper that someone from the north seeks to harm you.”
Britt snorted. “That isn’t a surprise. Someone is always out to get me.”
“Perhaps, but one should never take spoken rumors lightly,” Merlin said.
“You told me I should never take rumors seriously either,” Britt said.
“That, too,” Merlin agreed. “Either way, it is best to be paranoid at all times and in all things. Are you paranoid in all things?”
“Maybe it’s Lancelot. If Lancelot tried harming me, could we exile him?” Britt asked with a dreamy smile.
“It’s not Lancelot,” Merlin sourly said before he looked down at the device he held in his hands. “I say, what is this?”
“It’s an iPod. It plays music. Or, it used to play music. The batteries were drained ages ago, and it’s not like you have an electrical socket I can plug it into.”
“Is it like some sort of thin music box?” Merlin asked.
“Yes, only this can play hundreds of songs instead of one,” Britt said. “Wait, they have music boxes already?”
“Good heavens, no,” Merlin said, turning the iPod over in his hands. “But I’ve heard from other wise men about that—men who can see the future. Like Blaise, my master. This is a marvel,” Merlin said, studying the mp3 player—even though the screen remained blank.
“I thought you didn’t approve of knowing about the future. You said you were more concerned with the present,” Britt said.
“I am. I care not about future events. But the advances in tools and industry can be fascinating,” Merlin said.
“Mmm. Did you need anything else?” Britt asked.
“No, but something should be done about the death threat. It is against you, so we must take some kind of action. We would be fools not to,” Merlin said frowning and glancing at the door. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Nothing,” Merlin said.
“Have you told Sir Kay?” Britt asked.
“And the rest of our core group, yes. Sir Ector suggested we march north and sweep across the entire country,” Merlin dryly said.
“Then do what Kay recommended and tighten up the castle defenses,” Britt said.
Merlin eyed Britt. “How do you know he said that?”
“It’s Kay. He’s quite predictable,” Britt said.
“Perhaps,” Merlin agreed. “What are the packs for?”
“Gawain and Tor.”
“Oh?” Merlin suspiciously asked, holding out the iPod.
“You can keep it, if you want,” Britt said.
“It is a keepsake from your home,” Merlin said.
“Yeah, but…not quite. It’s not working—it won’t play music ever again unless I can get it hooked up to a power source. You may as well have it.”
“I…thank you,” Merlin said, surprisingly pleased with the gift.
“You’re welcome,” Britt said, smiling fondly at the wizard’s excited look. She shifted in irritation when Merlin gave Britt a smile, making her heart thump oddly.
“I’m going to my study. Don’t wander too far,” Merlin said, weighing the small machine in his hands as he left the room.
“Of course,” Britt cheerfully replied. She waited until his footsteps retreated down the hallway before hurrying from her room, Cavall padding after her. She needed to make herself scarce before Kay started looking for her. Merlin always knew when Britt was thinking of something th
at might remotely affect one of his King plans, but Kay seemed to have a built in radar that activated only when Britt was about to put herself in a position that did not have her swaddled and coddled like a baby. Granted, he was growing more understanding—provided that she tell him of her schemes and plans and allow him to come with her. But what Britt had planned for tonight? There was no way Kay was going to allow it.
Britt wove her way to the back hallways—stealing her way down the wing that housed the pages and squires. She stopped in a room that contained only a cot and a set of white, unadorned armor. Moving quickly, she slipped on a hauberk, essentially a tunic made of chainmail, and grabbed the base pieces of the white armor set—the cuirass, which was a chestplate; the plackart, which reinforced the cuirass around her belly; faulds, the flaps of armor that covered her thighs; and a gorget, which covered her throat. For Britt, these pieces of armor were not only the most important as they covered her vitals, they were also the pieces that made her appear bulkier and hid her lack of male development.
Britt slipped on her leather, knee-high boots—the first of their kind. Britt had worked for weeks with the royal cobblers to get them made, as boots weren’t really a thing yet—and grabbed her packs. She hooked the lighter pack on Cavall and carried the other, as well as her necessary pieces of armor, before she left the room and slipped out a side entrance that dumped her near the dimly lit stables.
Britt sighed in relief when she saw King Pellinore on his horse, studying the plump, nice-looking horse Sir Tor was to ride. Sir Gawain was nowhere to be seen.
“Didn’t Kay and Sir Ulfius get you properly geared up as a knight, Sir Tor?” Britt called as she made her way across the stable yard, Cavall on her heels.
“Good evening, My Lord,” Sir Tor said with a pleasant voice and an unassuming bow. “They did. They gave me new weapons and an armor set, My Lord.”
“That is kind of you, Arthur. Most Kings make their knights pay for their equipment. I make my knights pay for their equipment—meaning no disrespect to you, Sir Tor,” King Pellinore said.
“No offense taken,” Sir Tor said with an easy-going smile. “Sir Kay said as much and informed me I better be worth the cost.”
