by KM Shea
“Test?” Britt asked, tilting her head as she thought.
“Yes. Test. Now go away. King Ban and King Bors are coming to discuss tactics, and if they realize I’m not hiding you in the forest with them tomorrow, they’re going to throw a fit.”
Britt thoughtfully left Merlin’s tent and approached Roen—who was tacked and waiting for her. Britt hefted herself onto his back, nodded to her babysitter of the day—Sir Bedivere—and headed off to Ywain.
“Stand up, Ywain.” Britt said, momentarily sliding off Roen. Ywain curiously did so, his eyes growing wide when Britt pulled a dagger. “Relax,” she chuckled, before cutting to the rope that connected him to the stake. “Come on,” she ordered, again mounting Roen—towing Ywain with by his rope.
They walked through the camp, garnering a couple dozen bows and murmured, “My Lord”s.
Ywain looked increasingly nervous as they left the camp altogether and rode into the forest. When they were perhaps a mile from camp, Britt finally stopped.
“Here we go. You’re free, Ywain,” Britt said, dismounting Roen before she cut the rope binding Ywain’s wrists.
“I’m what?” Ywain said, his jaw going slack.
“You’re free to go. You are no longer my prisoner.”
“W-what about King Ban?”
“He will be disappointed, but I’m sure he’ll make it somehow,” Britt wryly chuckled, glancing at Sir Bedivere.
The young knight was watching the exchange, but he did not seem disbelieving or angered, which surprised Britt.
“You can’t just mean to let me go. I know where your camp is! I know strategic information,” Ywain insisted.
Britt remounted Roen to hide her grimace. She hadn’t thought of that. She figured if he ran back to his daddy, all she would lose out on was a prisoner. So much for that idea. “Perhaps,” Britt agreed before wheeling Roen in the direction of camp. “But I genuinely like you, Ywain. I have no wish to see you muddled in this war between your father and myself. Take care. Maybe we’ll meet again,” Britt said, glancing at Sir Bedivere.
Sir Bedivere moved his horse like Britt. He did not seem inclined to turn around and snatch up Ywain. (Which was somewhat unfortunate.)
Ywain sputtered behind them for a few moments as Britt cued Roen into a walk. “My King!” Ywain finally shouted.
Britt halted her horse and twisted in her saddle. “Yes?”
“Did you really mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“Everything you said about your knights. How you want them to ride around and do good deeds, not fight in wars? How you want females to be protected?”
“Yes, I meant every last word,” Britt said, some of her blond hair falling over her shoulder in a golden curtain.
“Why? You’re a good swordsman. Maybe the best. You don’t have to be nice to everyone. You could rule through sheer strength.”
Britt scratched her ear. “I don’t want a kingdom like that. I want chivalry and honor.”
Ywain ran through the undergrowth, startling Roen and Sir Bedivere’s mount when he skidded to a stop in front of them.
“Then please, let me serve you, My Lord!” Ywain said, kneeling before Britt, looking at the ground.
Britt’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “Ywain, do you understand what you’re saying?” she hesitantly asked.
“I know I am the son of Urien, and I still love my father, but please, King Arthur, please let me serve you!” Ywain cried, looking up at her.
Britt stared at the teenager in great perplexity. She turned to look at Sir Bedivere, hoping for direction or advice. Sir Bedivere nodded once in approval, as if this was the outcome he expected all along.
“He either has too much faith in my abilities, or he is startlingly smart like Merlin,” Britt muttered to herself as Roen swished his tail. “I do not mean to doubt you, Ywain, but how can you possibly still love your father and support me?”
“I love my father because he raised me. He is my mentor and parent. But you, My Lord, I love as my King. My loyalty and body belong to you,” Ywain said.
“You would see me spare your father?” Britt asked.
Ywain hesitated, clearly torn, and Britt smiled. “I will do it, if it is in my power.”
“But…why? My King?” Ywain asked.
“I am not in the business of killing the fathers of my friends. Additionally, starting a kingdom such as the one I want on stains of blood is not a wise route,” Britt said.
“My King, I do not deserve your grace, but I wish to be a part of your kingdom,” Ywain said, again bowing his head.
Britt hesitated as she internally reviewed every book she had ever read that involved accepting fealty. Unfortunately her favorite authors, like Jane Austen, had very little to say on the matter. She would have to rely on Hollywood.
“A Jedi gains power through understanding, and a Sith gains understanding through power,” she said.
Ywain blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Forget it. I’ll wing it. Ywain, I am honored by your declaration of fealty. I will do my best to see that I do not fail in pursuit of a just and honorable kingdom. In return, I ask that you would ride with me and be my sword and my shield and strike when I cannot. I will be your king, your friend, and your brother if you will be my knight, my guard, and my justice.”
Britt was surprised to see Ywain actually blink back tears. She whipped to face Sir Bedivere, who also looked touched. Britt frowned, more than a little confused, but Ywain said. “I will, my King, My Lord, and my liege. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Britt opened her mouth but was unable to find anything to say. It was just as well, as Merlin sprouted out of the underbrush as if he were a plant. “Marvelous,” he said, joyously clapping. “Well played! Welcome, young Ywain, to King Arthur’s court!” he said, pounding the young man on the back.
Ywain coughed under the smack but grinned and sheepishly reached up to rub the top of his head as Merlin continued.
“You have won a staunch and passionate knight, Arthur. I have foreseen it! Ywain is destined for great things.”
“Really?” Ywain asked, clearly delighted.
Merlin nodded gravely. “It is for certain. Now, let us return to camp and tell the great news to our comrades in arms!”
Sir Bedivere nodded and dismounted his horse so he could walk next to Ywain. “Welcome, Ywain,” he said.
“Thank you,” Ywain beamed before the smile fell off his face and he started talking. “I don’t know many of my father’s plans, but I do know their rough numbers. They intend to push Arthur’s army all the way back to Camelot where they will lay siege on the castle, as they think Merlin will hide our King during the fighting,” he said as a rush of words fell from his mouth in a mad waterfall, spilling every secret of King Lot’s army that he knew.
Britt, still mounted on Roen, narrowed her eyes as she watched her knight and newest addition to her company walk back to the camp, exchanging intelligence. She looked down at Merlin. “You didn’t foresee anything about him at all, did you?”
“Of course not. I’m a wizard, not a prophet. Hold your blasted beast still. I don’t fancy walking through all those bushes again,” Merlin said, trying to mount up behind her as Roen kept swiveling to avoid him.
Britt halted and allowed Merlin to climb up behind her. “If you can’t see the future why say those kinds of things?”
“Ah-ah, but I can see the future. Pieces of it anyway. But I see grand pictures, the fates of nations and such. I honestly have no idea what the future is like for individuals, but one does not need to be a prophet to make an educated guess. Besides, words have power. Young Ywain will be your knight until his dying breath now, and he will go out and accomplish great deeds, merely because he has been told that he can.”
“Is that why he chose to follow me? Because of mere words?” Britt asked.
“Don’t underestimate your powers of persuasion, lass,” Merlin warned in her ear. “You have s
everal assets that no other man in this age has. You are educated and smart, and you are a female. Which, oddly enough, works to your advantage.”
“You are surprised?”
“I am. I thought your gender would be a great disadvantage. Instead, it seems to be one of the things that draws your knights to you. I don’t know any grown man that would be able to ask another man to fight for him without blushing. It’s just as well you didn’t smile at him. He might have gone straight to the heavens first.”
“You lost me there.”
“The point is your words have great impact on your fellow men. You treat them with respect and expect them to be chivalrous and honorable. You expect more of them, and they want to be better men because of it. Mark my words, more men will fall to your cause as they meet you and speak to you.”
“Is there any hope Lot would give up to me if I talked to him?”
“Not a chance.”
7
To War
Britt frowned as she looked out at her army. 20,000 mounted men pooled in front of, behind, and around her in a mass of glinting armor and tense warhorses. She raised her eyes and looked across the plains where the 60,000 troops of Lot and his allies stood. Hopefully they were cheering and growing careless as they took survey of Britt’s army—which is what Merlin wanted them to do. Merlin had ordered King Ban and King Bors and their 10,000 mounted soldiers to remain hidden in the forest due north of the battlefield. They would ride out and surprise the rebel kings when signaled.
Britt shifted in her saddle, making the leather creak, and returned to watching her army.
“Are you fearful?” Merlin asked, popping up next to Britt on a horse that was misleadingly gangly and skinny. (Knowing Merlin, Britt suspected it could probably outrun most horses on the battlefield.) “Worried for your life?”
“No, not at all,” she said. “I know Arthur doesn’t die here, so I won’t either.”
Merlin shook his head. “I sometimes wonder if your vague understanding of what you claim to be lore of King Arthur will one day ruin you.”
“Maybe, but for now I’ll trust what little I know,” Britt shrugged.
“If you are not being overcome by fear, what is it that is placing that grave expression on your face?”
“I know that I won’t die here, but I know that some of my men will,” Britt said, gesturing to her army.
“And that frightens you?”
“It makes me regretful and sad. I don’t like people dying for me.”
“Then you will have to make sure that every drop of bloodshed is worth it, that every knight who goes to receive his heavenly reward today goes with satisfaction, boasting that he helped put the great King Arthur on the throne,” Merlin said.
Britt adjusted her helm and nodded. “I will. And I will see to it that there is never again such a day as this in my kingdom.”
Merlin shook his head. “Don’t make vows you cannot keep, Arthur. After today, I doubt anyone will try to steal your throne again, but you have allies, and they have neither your artless feminine charisma nor my intelligence to secure their throne. They will need your help and your men. I applaud your determination for peace and prosperity, but I do not think it wise to count today as the last battle your kingdom will see.”
Britt exhaled, her shoulders falling. “Do I have to give a speech or something before we fight?”
“What? A speech? To whom?”
“The men,” Brit said.
“Whatever for?” Merlin asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at Britt.
“I don’t know…to hearten them or something?”
“They already know why they fight. There is no need to bolster their courage. I don’t know what the people are like from your home, but when a man makes the decision to become a warrior or a knight, he accepts his death. The battle will commence when Sir Ulfius and Sir Brastias—you remember him from our war meeting last night, yes?—open the attack with their band of 3,000. They await our signal.”
“Oh. So, in a few hours it will start?”
“Saints alive, no. I actually came to tell you that we are ready. Sir Ulfius and his men can depart,” Merlin said, puttering around with his saddle bag.
“Already?” Britt asked, her voice cracking.
“Indeed.”
“Oh. Okay. Um. All I need to do is ride over to the large rock and climb it, right.”
“Correct. Come. Let us make haste. I do not want Lot to get the first strike in. He has King Pellinore on his side, and Pellinore is a smart warrior who might think up something nasty,” Merlin said before heeling his mount.
Merlin and Britt rode their horses to a large boulder that was about the size of a draft horse. Britt climbed the rock and stood upright, shielding her eyes to watch the battle.
“Now remember, you stand back here with the rearguard,” Merlin reminded Britt from the ground.
“I know,” Britt said, squinting as she watched a large number of her knights rally for a moment before they peeled off from the army.
Britt swallowed the last bit of pride she had left as she watched the knights thunder across the space between the two armies. Maybe Lyssa was right about knights and chivalry.
The mounted knights were a beautifully cruel sight. Their horses, geared and covered in armor, moved like brightly colored flames galloping across the fields, burning everything in their path. The knights were polished—lances, swords, and maces drawn as they shouted.
Britt could barely make out their battle cry.
“For Arthur!”
The splendor of the image was twisted when the band of 3,000 descended on the front lines of the opposing army. Men were knocked from their mounts; horses screamed; and as far away as she was, Britt could still hear the metallic song of weapons hitting armor.
Britt crouched on the top of the bolder, the chain mail beneath her armor scraping her skin as she watched the battle.
Sir Ulfius and Sir Brastias lay waste to Lot’s front lines, scattering the soldiers as if they were sheep. Men were slain and injured on both sides, but the winning side was clearly Sir Ulfius’s men. They swept from the right side of the field to the left. Knights were unhorsed, but they fought fiercely, taking down their enemies with armor-crushing maces and dazing them with powerful, painful blows to the head.
Sir Ulfius’s horse was cut down underneath him. Undeterred, the older knight scrambled to his feet and ran through the enemy, taking down man after man until he crossed swords with King Ryence and one of the petty barons siding with him.
The men—both horsed—circled Ulfius, striking him together.
“Oh, no,” Britt said, about to slide off the boulder.
“Stay, lass,” Merlin ordered. “Just watch.”
Sir Brastias—the other commander of the 3,000—thundered onto the scene on his splendid horse and smashed King Ryence off his horse with his spear. The enemy baron rushed Sir Brastias. When they clashed, they slipped off their horses and hit the ground with such force, they both rolled.
Sir Brastias was dazed for a moment, and the baron tottered to his feet before staggering towards Sir Brastias, his sword drawn.
Sir Kay and six of the best knights of Camelot thundered across the plains, reaching Sir Brastias in time to pounce on the baron before he struck.
“That cheeky seneschal. I told him to stay with the main army. He is up to something,” Merlin muttered as Britt briefly closed her eyes against the slaughter.
Once recovered, Sir Brastias teamed up with Sir Ulfius on foot, dodging stampeding horses to dismount enemy soldiers.
Sir Kay and his six companions cut a path through the heart of Lot’s army. Their horses trampled men as the knights leaned from their saddles and devastated mounted enemies. They stopped only when they reached King Lot.
Sir Kay’s companions spread around the king in a smooth circle, moving in perfect synchronization as they attacked the king’s guards.
Sir Kay thrust his spear at King Lot, pierc
ing the king’s side before unhorsing him. He was unable to finish the job, as King Pellinore—the strategic one—burst through the ranks of Kay’s companions and started attacking him with great ferocity.
By now, layers of Britt’s army separated from the main body, riding off to areas that were previously assigned to them or to locations where Britt’s knights were in trouble.
Britt glanced north, to the woods.
“Nay. We have no need of the brother kings yet,” Merlin said, guessing her thoughts.
Britt shut her eyes. The reek of blood and bile had finally reached her.
“You can move to the back of the army, Arthur. I do not intend for you to encounter combat today,” Merlin said.
Britt forced her eyes open. “No,” she said. “These men are dying for me. The least I can do is witness their courage with open eyes,” she said, swallowing.
Reinforcements had reached Sir Kay and his companions—and just in the nick of time, as Kay was briefly dismounted. His horse fought off enemy soldiers until Kay recovered his wits and remounted. Britt breathed a sigh of relief.
Britt scanned the battlefield, noting the position and condition of her various knights. “You’re certain Ywain is not mounted and in this battle?”
“I am. He was our scout earlier this morning, as nothing would happen to him if he were caught. He is waiting on the far side of the army and will meet with me before we decided to call in the brother kings,” Merlin said.
Britt nodded, looking at the colors and emblems on her knights’ horses and armor. She froze, every muscle in her body stiffening.
“Arthur? What’s wrong?” Merlin asked, his horse pawing the ground. “Arthur? Arthur. Britt!” Merlin said, trying to get her attention.
Britt wordlessly slid off the rock and mounted Roen. The black gelding took off as if he were a black bolt of lightning. Britt clung to his back, Excalibur warm on her hip as her heart exploded in her ears.
