Embark

by K. M. Shea

  Britt crouched, adjusting her stance as she watched Lancelot grow quiet, the smile smoothing off his face as he stared Britt down like a wolf.

  Britt feinted a jump to his right before rolling her weight to her opposite leg and attacking his left. Their swords met with a clash of metal—Excalibur singing in a unique pitch.

  Lancelot drew backwards, nimbly avoiding the knee Britt tried to thrust into his unprotected side. Britt followed her action forward, sinking low to try and shove a shoulder into Lancelot’s gut. She made contact and heard his breath hitch, but the knight didn’t move.

  That was bad. Being “underneath” Lancelot so to speak, was a serious disadvantage. She had to move! Cursing under her breath, Britt pitched forward in an awkward roll—thankful she didn’t wear all of her usual armor and only her regular pieces used to disguise her body. She rocked forward on her feet and had just enough time to spin and bring Excalibur up to block a blow from Lancelot.

  The sheer force the knight used made Britt grunt and clench her teeth—she couldn’t take many of those kinds of strikes without sapping her strength. She needed to get back into an offensive stance as quickly as possible.

  Britt tried slamming her booted heel on top of Lancelot’s toe, but he was wearing the metal shoes of his armor, so it did nothing but make Britt’s heel vibrate in her boot.

  Lancelot chuckled, and Britt met his gaze long enough to see the shadows in his green eyes. He drew back and extended his sword in a sweeping arc. Britt deflected it, although it forced her to plant her weight, leaving her unable to counter attack.

  A crowd of knights and ladies had gathered around the ring by now. Shouts filled the air, and ladies cheered. Some servants had even stopped to watch their sovereign fight Lancelot.

  Unfortunately, Britt had a sinking suspicion she was going to lose.

  “Do you give up, My Lord?” Lancelot asked, raining two blows on Brit as quick as lightning. Britt had barely enough time to defend.

  “To you? Not ever,” Britt said, her teeth gritted and expression stubborn. Lancelot would get cocky—it was his style. She just had to wait for it…

  Lancelot chopped downward, forcing Britt to rest the flat of Excalibur on her arm to hold it steady.

  “Are you sure?” Lancelot asked, drawing closer to put more of his weight into his blade as he made Britt hold their swords aloft. He was so close, Britt could practically taste the salt of his sweat.

  “Gotcha,” Britt growled into his ear.

  “What?” Lancelot blinked. Holding her sword and Lancelot’s sword aloft with her forearm, Britt let go of Excalibur with her other hand and chopped the back of his neck. Lancelot stumbled, his sword shrieking as it scraped down the length of Exalibur’s blade. Britt flung her arm holding Excalibur aloft and wide—pushing Lancelot’s sword away—before hooking her foot behind his knee and shoving him down. When he fell to his knees, Britt tightened her grip on Excalibur and swung it down, landing a blow on Lancelot’s armored chest that sent him sprawling backwards. Britt was on him in an instant, stabbing Excalibur near his exposed armpit.

  Her shoulders heaved, and she breathed heavily in the sudden silence.

  It took two moments before the audience reacted in wild applause.

  “My Lord!”

  “King Arthur!”

  “—picture of knighthood!”

  Britt was so weak her knees shook, and she held herself upright only through the stiffness of her muscles.

  “I say, well done, My Lord. You certainly trounced me that time,” Lancelot said with a beautiful smile before he turned to the cheering crowd. “Our just and honorable lord: King Arthur!” he said, gesturing to Britt.

  Britt panted and eyed Lancelot as the knight slid his sword back into its scabbard. “You certainly are the best swordsman in all of Christendom,” Lancelot said with a bow before he turned away. “Gentle ladies, though I lost to such a skilled opponent, did I not put up a worthy fight?”

  “Immeasurably so, Sir Lancelot.”

  “You were the breathing illustration of skill!”

  Britt looked away from the knight and his adoring fans. She raised a hand in acknowledgement as she finally regained control over her muscles. She slid Excalibur in its scabbard and slowly made her way to the ring’s fence.

  The crowds scattered, drawn to the jousting practice field, where Sir Bodwain—who was cleaning the clock of everyone who dared to go against him—was preparing to face down Sir Bedivere.

  Britt made a face as she eased herself over the fence. “That was much harder than I would have liked,” Britt muttered, replaying the fight in her mind.

  She could have sworn that for a split second, just when Lancelot realized he had been beaten as Britt moved to stab Excalibur into the ground next to him, that his eyes darkened, and he looked…frightening.

  Britt glanced over her shoulder at the flighty knight, who was accepting a cloth from a pretty girl to wipe away his sweat.

  Were my eyes wrong? Is there more to him?

  “My Lord, you fought so well,” a brown-haired, teenage girl in an emerald green dress said, pushing close to Britt. “You looked so handsome with your golden hair shining.”

  “Thank you,” Britt said, trying to side-step the girl so she wouldn’t be so close. “It was a close fight.”

  “Never! Everyone in Britain knows you cannot be beaten,” another teenage girl said, clasping one of Britt’s hands in hers.

  “Did you fight the battle, thinking of any particular maiden, My Lord?” a young lady—who was pretending to be shy—asked as she threaded her hands through her blonde hair.

  “I can’t say I did. I was mostly trying to not get stabbed,” Britt laughed, pulling her hand from the over-familiar female.

  When girls first started blushing and fluttering their eyes at Britt, she had been amused. She would have been fine to let things continue as they were, but as no one seemed to be “winning” the race for Britt’s affection—much less make any kind of headway with her—the girls were growing increasingly more affectionate and grabby.

  For the sake of her disguise, this was not good.

  Britt was wondering if the best escape would be to duck back in the practice ring, when Guinevere shoved her way through the crowd of maidens.

  “My Lord, well done!” Guinevere said.

  “Ah, thank you,” Britt said. After a moment’s hesitation, she offered her arm to the younger girl.

  Guinevere thoughtlessly took it and chattered away. “At first I didn’t think you were going to win, even though I know you’re good. The knights from father’s castle told me you had to be among the best to defeat Duke Maleagant, but it really did look like Lancelot was going to beat you. He’s so noble—Lancelot, I mean. Not Maleagant.”

  Britt led them away from the pool of girls, her shoulders heaving when they were out of hearing range. “I find myself in the rare position of being the one to thank you.”

  Guinevere blinked. “For what?” she asked, completely oblivious to the exit she had just provided.

  “Nothing,” Britt sighed.

  “It’s a shame Sir Gawain is not here. He is nearly as handsome as Sir Lancelot. It would be a pretty thing to watch him fight,” Guinevere said.

  “I see. Enjoy the rest of the matches,” Britt said, nudging her arm in a hint to make Guinevere let go.

  “Of course. Thank you,” Guinevere said. She curtseyed and reluctantly went on her way.

  Britt groaned and pinched the back of her neck.

  “Tough fight?”

  “Merlin!” Britt groaned. “More like hellish fight. He nearly had me there.” Britt uncomfortably rubbed her arm and frowned. “How likely is it that there is more to Lancelot than what we see?”

  “I would say there’s a good chance. Aren’t you always spouting off as much?” Merlin asked, his wizard-cloak flapping in a breeze.

  “I am…but…he might be worse than what I thought,” Britt said.

  Merlin snorted. “Now
you sound like Kay. Speaking of which, you have made amends with him?”

  “I have. Merlin, I’m sorry about yesterday. I—”

  Merlin cut Britt off with a raised hand. “I expect your actions had something to do with one of your infernal King Arthur legends from the future?”

  “Sort of. I wanted to make sure I stay…relevant, I suppose,” Britt said.

  Merlin raised his eyes to the heavens. “Why am I not surprised? I would like to speak of Guinevere.”

  “Wait, aren’t you going to further scold me?” Britt asked.

  “I would, but that has proven to be an ineffective tool in the past,” Merlin dryly said. “It seems I would experience more success if I guilted you into submission.”

  “I always love it when you learn new tricks,” Britt dryly said.

  “More importantly,” Merlin said, waggling a finger at Britt before indicating to the ladies. “Watching that gave me an idea.”

  “Oh?” Britt asked.

  “Indeed. Guinevere is here, feeding off us like a pest, and she already knows about…that. She may as well be useful to us. She could pretend to be your intended,” Merlin said.

  “Absolutely not,” Britt said.

  “I know you dislike the girl—I would be remiss if I did not admit that I find her less than tolerable—but you are supposed to be a young man. Sooner or later, knights will wonder why you never shower affection on a single female, particularly when you instruct them to do so,” Merlin said.

  “Kay doesn’t have a lady either,” Britt said.

  “That you know of,” Merlin said.

  “What?” Britt frowned.

  “Forget Kay. It would be better for your image, anyway.”

  “No. If you’re so eager for me to have a cover-up, I’ll ask Nymue, but not Guinevere.”

  Britt had a rather tumultuous relationship with the mythical Lady of the Lake. When she first met Nymue, she forcibly took Excalibur from the faerie lady, but since that rocky start, the two seemed to get along better—exchanging sharp-mouthed insults like compliments. Britt would even say they were friends…sort of.

  “The Lady of the Lake is far too important to play make-believe with you,” Merlin scoffed. “Guinevere is your best choice. Why are you so reluctant?”

  “WHY?” Britt hissed, stabbing her finger in Guinevere’s direction. “I already told you all the legends of King Arthur point to Guinevere and Lancelot as Camelot’s ruin! They—” Britt stopped speaking when she realized that Lancelot was standing with Guinevere.

  The handsome knight was smiling down at Guinevere, who was blushing and knitting her hands together.

  “So you are still obsessed with that, hmm? We must talk sometime about these legends—they seem to drive every stupid move you make. If it upsets you that much, we can scrap the plan. Perhaps we should instead cultivate the image that you love all women and will not tie yourself down because you are too passionate,” Merlin said, adjusting his cloak. “Britt?” he said when she didn’t respond.

  “What?” Britt asked, looking at the couple with unease. She forced a smile when she noticed Sir Ywain and Sir Griflet standing a short distance away, watching her with great intent.

  Merlin sighed and draped an arm across her shoulders. “Stop worrying. We won’t use the useless pest,” he said, poking Britt’s furrowed brow to smooth it out.

  “Thanks,” Britt said, sagging. “It’s just—it’s been a tough day, and I really hate Lancelot.”

  Merlin patted her shoulder. “There, there. What would you say to a day trip…two days hence?”

  “A day-trip?” Britt perked.

  “Yes. I was going to visit my mentor—Blaise. You could come with. You would enjoy making his acquaintance, and you have been forced to put up with Lancelot and his antics recently. I suppose you deserve a break,” Merlin said.

  “Really?” Britt said, her stance growing a little awkward when she realized just how close she and Merlin were standing with his arm affectionately draped over her. She was thankful for the heat of the day, which masked her self-conscious blush.

  Merlin—oblivious as ever that she was a woman—chattered on. “I believe I’ve told you about him before. He’s a hermit, and he lives in a chapel that is only a few hours ride from here. We’ll have to set out early in the morning and warn the core of your knights—Sir Ulfius, Sir Bodwain and the like.”

  “Okay,” Britt said, her heart beating erratically in her chest. This was getting worse.

  Merlin nodded in satisfaction. “It is settled. Perhaps Blaise will have some words of wisdom to share with you regarding your worries,” Merlin said, patting Britt in a brotherly way once more before stepping away—to her regret.

  “I’ve always been curious about the man who raised you. I will look forward to it,” Britt said.

  “Wonderful. I may as well prepare Sir Kay, or it will be a traumatic experience for him,” Merlin winked.

  Britt laughed. “He’ll insist on sending guards with us.”

  “Unnecessary. You’re the best swordsman we have, and I’m a wizard!” Merlin scoffed.

  “That’s sure to impress him,” Britt said.

  Merlin grinned and said, “Be sure you are ready for your session in court later this afternoon. If you show up sweaty and in your practice armor, I’ll have you dunked in a horse-trough.”

  Britt rolled her eyes. “Yes, Merlin.”

  “Enjoy the matches, lass,” Merlin said quietly. He winked and strode away, humming a song under his breath.

  Britt watched the wizard go with a wry smile. She knew her attraction—she refused to call it love—for Merlin was horribly one-sided. The wizard had told her he didn’t even really think of her as a girl, and even if he was vaguely aware of it, he would never enter into a relationship that could jeopardize his precious plan for King Arthur’s rule. Britt doubted Merlin would ever really love a woman anyway. He was too focused on his goal and too driven.

  She sighed. “Still, it’s disappointing.”

  As an adult—in her early twenties—Britt was satisfied to say that her crush on Merlin was not the all-consuming, dramatic passion of a teenager, which meant she could live with it. Britt was content to act as King Arthur, spend time with Merlin, and live with her new friends and adopted family.

  Britt slapped dust off her thighs and looked to the jousting field. “If Sir Bodwain is still jousting, I should watch the match,” she said, craning her neck.

  Behind Britt, there was a sharp, whistling noise and a thud.

  “MY LORD!” someone shouted, and Britt was hit by what felt like a train.

  Britt groaned and coughed, the air knocked out of her.

  “Sorry, My Lord, are you unhurt?” Sir Ywain asked, peering dolefully down at Britt, even as he held her pinned to the ground.

  “Ywain,” Britt coughed. “What are you doing?” she asked, barely audible over the womanly screams of shock and the hoarse shouts of several knights ringing around her.

  Ywain didn’t answer and looked over his shoulder.

  “Arthur!” Sir Ector said, using his jolly belly to bulldoze his way through the crowd. “Are you alright, boy? Are you injured?”

  “I’ve been flattened,” Britt said, wincing as she tried propping herself up on her elbows. “What happened?”

  “Arthur,” Merlin said, his faced lined with worry as he and Sir Ulfius joined Sir Ector and Ywain. “It missed you—thank God.”

  “What missed me?” Britt asked, starting to grow irritated.

  “A stray shot,” Sir Ywain said, finally moving aside so Britt could see the arrow that was embedded in the ground a few feet away.

  “It was a near miss,” Sir Ector said, his face white.

  “We should have taken the threat more seriously. Can you stand?” Merlin grimly asked.

  “I’m fine. Are you alright, Ywain?” Britt asked, rolling to her feet when Ywain moved aside.

  “Move!” Sir Kay snapped before he—trailed by a panicked Sir Grifle
t—broke through the crowd that encircled Britt.

  Lancelot was only a few paces behind him. “My Lord!” he said, his voice dramatic.

  “I’m fine,” Britt repeated for her incoming foster-brother’s sake. “I wasn’t hit, just a little jarred. There’s no harm done,” Britt said, brushing grass off her thighs.

  “I apologize. I didn’t get to you until after the arrow was shot, but I was worried there would be more,” Sir Ywain blushed.

  Britt slapped Ywain on the shoulder. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Instead I should be thanking you. It was a smart move.”

  “Aye,” Sir Kay echoed.

  “It is a lucky thing it missed you,” Lancelot said. “To think, it came so close!” The knight shook his head—the image of horror—and could only be consoled by several ladies who gathered around him to reassure him.

  “It’s one of the practice arrows from the archery range,” Sir Ector said, plucking the arrow out of the ground. “I don’t think it’s poison-tipped. What do you say, Merlin?” Sir Ector asked, passing the arrow to Merlin.

  “I’ll have to take it to my study to be certain, but it does not seem that it is,” Merlin said, gravely studying the dirty arrowhead.

  “What should we do, Sir Kay?” Sir Ywain asked, looking to the stormy seneschal.

  “Get Arthur inside. I’ll have a squadron of guards meet you in the keep,” Sir Kay said, his voice tight.

  “Don’t you all think you are over-reacting?” Britt asked. “Someone at the archery range probably just misfired.”

  “My Lord, the archery range faces the opposite direction,” Sir Ulfius said.

  “Oh,” Britt said.

  “Whatever black knight that did this shall be caught! He will pay for his misdeed against King Arthur,” Lancelot declared and was generally ignored by those closest to Britt.

  Kay was already talking to a guard—who nodded as the knight gestured at the crowd. Merlin and Sir Ulfius were hunched over the arrow, carefully studying it.