by KM Shea
Britt shifted in her chair and studied the assembly. Gawain and Agravain had been invited to come along. They were enthralled, clinging to the master huntsman’s words. Gareth and Gaheris were too young to come, but Ywain, Griflet, and a number of other knights were present.
Merlin had limited the number of knights, telling everyone it was unreasonable to have a huge party when one was hunting. Britt’s knights were satisfied only because Merlin promised the hunting excursions would be implemented on a weekly basis. Eventually.
“My Lord,” Sir Ulfius jarred Britt from her observations. “I believe we should pursue the large stag that is traveling northeast. What do you think?”
Britt glanced at Sir Kay, who was nodding in support. “I agree,” Britt said as other members of the party murmured in agreement.
“Very well, My Lord,” the master huntsman said. “In that case, we should set the dog relays along this path…”
Britt carefully shifted in the saddle, making her horse’s white ears flick. “Kay, you’re sure I can’t ride Roen?” Britt uncomfortably asked.
“Roen is trained for war, My Lord. Llamrei is trained for…preservation,” Kay explained, his eyes ceaselessly sweeping through the party. Behind him, Britt’s guards did the same thing. “Besides, no knight rides his warhorse on a hunt.”
“I would feel more assured if I had Roen, or my riding helm,” Britt said.
She, Kay, and her guards stood apart from the rest of the hunting party. They were waiting in the fields surrounding Camelot for the last of the hound relay to settle in along the path before they started pursuing the stag through the woods. They were starting south of Camelot and would swing up around it in an arc, traveling northwest.
“It’s not yet finished, My Lord,” Sir Kay said.
“I know,” Britt sighed. “Is Merlin in place?”
Sir Kay adjusted his bow. “I informed him of our path before we mounted up. He was dressed most…uniquely. I would assume he is in a location that satisfies him. I believe the hunt is about to begin.”
A huntsman blew a horn, and the hounds bayed as they were released and snuffled their way down the scent path.
“Be careful, My Lord,” Sir Kay said as he cued his mount into a trot.
“I will,” Britt said, swallowing the lump in her throat. She hated to admit it, but she was afraid.
Llamrei, the white mare Britt rode, seemed to pick up on her unease as she trotted after the rest of the hunting party. The mare was impressively large, but her gaits were deceptively smooth. She did not prance like the other horses, and she was almost as watchful as Sir Kay.
Britt held her breath when the hunting party entered the woods. She rode on the edge of the party, with her knights but on the outskirts of the group.
When Sir Kay explained the situation to the guards, they asked Britt if she would ride on the perimeter of the party. “It would be best to guard you when we are not completely surrounded. It makes it easier to recognize friend from foe,” one guard said.
Britt was glad she had agreed. The hunting party seemed like a mad scramble. “It would be easy to get trampled if you fell off your horse,” Britt muttered as she ducked a tree branch.
The bay of the hounds was a howling chorus, and the stamp of horse hooves was a drum beat as they followed the scent path and tracks of the stag. The huntsmen were grim men popping in and out of view in their green clothes compared with Britt’s merry and lighthearted knights.
Britt had a hard time keeping a smile on her face as every shout of joy and dog’s howl seemed like a beacon to her would-be assassins. Merlin had told her time and time again the previous day that she had to act normal. She couldn’t appear to be nervous.
That order seemed especially hard as the biggest thing Britt wanted to do at the moment was throw up what little bread she managed to eat, turn on her heels, and run back to Camelot.
Facing down an enemy on the battlefield was one thing. There, she stood a chance with her sword skills. Riding through a forest where she was utterly defenseless against a sniper assassin? That was enough to set Britt’s sense of fear on fire.
Britt forced herself to sit deeper in the saddle as she straightened her spine and flashed a smile at Gawain and Ywain as they rode past. I won’t let Lot win, she decided.
The first hour of the hunt passed. They stopped to water horses and gather new dogs.
“How are you fairing, My Lord?” Sir Kay asked.
“As well as could be expected,” Britt said, patting Llamrei’s neck as she stretched her legs.
Sir Kay ducked closer for the merest moment. “You hide your fear well, My Lord,” he said before mounting up when the horn sounded again.
Britt followed his example and slipped onto Llamrei’s back, turning around to nod at her soldiers.
“If we don’t bag the stag in another hour, you’ll need to switch mounts. I hoped to keep you on Llamrei,” Sir Kay said as they trotted along.
“I imagine it will be soon,” Britt said.
Sir Kay shook his head. “There’s no telling,” he said grimly.
Fear curled around Britt’s neck like an animal as the hunt continued. She smiled and joked with her knights, but her heart beat erratically in her chest. Her guards remained clustered around her, watchful and dedicated.
“Maybe it won’t be today. Maybe Lot changed his mind,” Britt muttered.
Something in the forest roared.
“My Lord,” the guards said, crowding around Britt.
A huge boar charged through the forest, streaking past the hunting party. The hounds went wild, abandoning the stag’s trail to give chase to the boar.
A second boar—this one enraged and snorting—plunged through the heart of the hunting party.
Some knights hauled their horses out of the way—for a boar could kill a dog, horse, or even a man—while others crowded forward to get a shot at the animal.
“Did anyone hit it?”
“Which one?”
“Either!”
“After the dogs! The boar will kill them all if it stops!”
“Blast those servants. Where are the spears?”
“We haven’t any! We were stag hunting, not boar hunting.”
“We can’t disassemble now. We must finish the hunt!”
The party was in mass chaos as Britt’s guards managed to pull her away from the mess without attracting attention. “It is best if they settle down before we rejoin them, Milord,” the guard captain said as Britt watched some of the huntsmen chase after the hounds.
Sir Kay was briefly visible in the mad scramble of noble hunters, and Britt waved at him to show she was fine. She then pulled Llamrei in a circle—a decision that saved her life.
A short-shafted, black arrow pierced the ground where Britt and Llamrei had just stood.
“Protect the King,” a guard bellowed.
The soldier closest to Britt ripped a shield off his horse’s rump and tossed it to Britt. Britt caught it, slipped her arm through the arm bands, and held it above her head. The shield thumped and vibrated. Britt almost clocked herself in the head with it when arrows hit the metal surface with a great deal of force, but nothing hit her or Llamrei.
One of Britt’s guards fired off an arrow, and a man screamed as he dropped from a tree.
“Take prisoners!”
“To the King!”
A guard flung himself from his horse, attacking a man who was dashing for Britt. Another guard shot a second assassin out of the trees.
The hunting party—those who hadn’t run off after either of the boars—finally realized what was going on. Men roared and drew their swords.
“To King Arthur!” one knight yelled, his sword raised in the air.
“Stop!” Sir Kay shouted. “If you rush him in a mad group—” His words were lost in the clamor as the knights rode to protect their sovereign.
“Halt!” the guards around Britt roared at the oncoming rush. They were grim as they set themselves be
tween Britt and the assassins and the hunting party.
At that moment, Britt understood their desire to keep her separated. Britt knew the knights that were in the hunting party. She was friends with them, but at that moment the hunting party was a swirl of chaos, and it would be easy for a covert assassin to sneak in and bum rush her with her would-be protectors.
Llamrei bolted.
It was not the scared, witless bolt of a horse that has been spooked and frightened. Llamrei didn’t scream or toss her head. She didn’t crow-hop or try to throw Britt from the saddle. The mare snorted as another assassin sprinted in Britt’s direction—he was stopped by one of Britt’s guards—before she turned to look at the yelling knights. There was an opening directly in front of Britt, and the mare took it.
Llamrei full-out galloped in the woods, a white streak in the blurs of browns and greens. It was a terrifying experience Britt never wished to repeat. Branches and bushes clawed at her face, arms, and legs. Britt crouched low against the mare who safely navigated her way through the woods with an almost human-like intelligence.
Britt had no idea in what direction they were going, much less where they were. All she knew was that the roar of fighting was muted, and then gone all together as Llamrei ran like saddled wind.
Britt peered ahead and saw a fallen tree in the path. It was big for all that it was half rotted. “Llamrei,” Britt shouted as she tugged on the reins, still clinging to the mare’s neck. The mare ran at the tree with determination, and Britt realized she was going to jump it.
Britt cursed colorfully and with great imagination as she set herself in the saddle and recalled the few jumping lessons she took with her sister.
As Llamrei launched herself into the air, Britt rose up out of the saddle—holding her butt aloft and body close to Llamrei. Her thigh muscles strained as she tried to hold herself balanced with the reins tight but not hauling on the mare’s mouth.
The world froze as Llamrei soared over the tree. She landed front legs first. Britt shifted her center of balance so she leaned back and wouldn’t crash into the mare’s neck. Landing was a bit rough, but Llamrei crow-hopped to push Britt back into the saddle.
Britt was so elated she hadn’t fallen off, she almost missed it when Llamrei streaked out of the forest and into grassland. Camelot loomed on the horizon. If Britt could reach it without falling off, she would be safe.
As if renewed by the sight of the castle, Llamrei increased her speed. She galloped at a pace Britt had never seen much less experienced. But above the wind that whistled in her ears and the pounding of her throat, Britt heard someone shout.
“Arthur!”
Hurtling across the field was Merlin—clothed in a green tunic—riding his lean horse. Charging out from behind him was a pack of giant mastiff dogs. Their kennel master released them, and they raced across the field. Britt risked a look over her shoulder—two men on horseback and three archers were behind her. By the set of their faces, Britt didn’t think they belonged to Camelot.
Britt tried to redirect Llamrei to Merlin, but the mare ignored her pulling. A man shouted, and Llamrei abruptly planted her hind legs, swerving to avoid a spear launched by one of the horsemen.
Britt tumbled off the side, hitting the ground with an oomph. Llamrei screamed and skid and swiveled, planting herself between Britt and the oncoming horsemen.
As Britt tried to regain the breath that was knocked from her, something dragged the oncoming assassins off their horses. One fell with a shout, but another sprang from his horse rather than fell off it, and he ran at Britt.
He was intercepted by a huge, snarling mastiff who took him down by latching onto the man’s arm and pulling.
“Cavall,” Britt whispered as she watched the apricot-colored dog attack the assassin.
“ARTHUR!” Merlin shouted, his voice edged in panic.
Britt scrambled to her feet and saw more men dressed in muted colors join the assassins. Britt took up swearing again as she sprinted to Merlin’s side, Llamrei trotting beside her. “This isn’t an assassin or two; it’s a freakin’ army!” Britt hollered.
“I know. Llamrei, stand down,” Merlin tightly said before he called to the kennel master with him. “Call the dogs in.”
The mastiffs were laying waste to the armed men, but when the kennel master called on a horn, they returned to him at a lope, Cavall among them.
As soon as the dogs were back, Merlin said something and struck the kennel master in the head. The man collapsed and slumped to the ground. The dogs growled but stayed put.
“What did you just do?” Britt yelped, hysteria setting in.
“Never tell anyone what you’re about to see. Do you swear it?” Merlin spat.
“What?”
“I mean it, Britt. Never repeat this part of the afternoon to anyone, even Kay. Swear that you won’t!”
“I won’t. I won’t tell anyone!” Britt said as the men marched towards her and Merlin. There had to be over a hundred of them. Where was the hunting party? Why wasn’t anyone coming from Camelot?
“Stay behind me; take hold of my cloak, and don’t let go,” Merlin said.
The young enchanter thrust his hand into the air. He shouted words in a foreign language Britt couldn’t understand as the armed men marched against them. He slowly lowered his hand—still talking—until it was level with his shoulder. He clenched it in a fist and brought it back before he shouted one last word and punched forward.
The air around Britt and Merlin seemed to bend and bow in a circle. It shoved Britt to the ground with the force of a tornado as it rushed past them. Halfway across the field, it burst into flames. When the fire hit the enemy lines, it split like an opening fan, spreading up and down the line with a hungry roar.
Britt stared at the massacre. She could smell fire, ash, and burnt flesh. She raised her eyes to Merlin. He was standing protectively in front of her, his face devoid of emotion as he watched his magic kill.
Britt thought Merlin’s magic was fake. Or perhaps not fake, but certainly not powerful. Of course she had seen him do little things—light fires without any kind of tinder or flint, make wet things dry—but she thought those were just flashy bits of magic he learned to impress people, and that his real power was the cunning of his mind.
As Britt stared at the scorched field, she realized she had no idea just how powerful Merlin was. And he wasn’t through yet.
Merlin took one step forward, speaking under his breath. He reached out with a hand and pulled back. The closest line of trees fell, crushing enemies like ants.
Piece by piece, Merlin massacred the enemy using fire, wind, and trees. Men ran for their lives, but Merlin grimly caught them and held them in place with magic for the fire to finish them off.
Britt stared at the violated field as the last of the enemy were consumed. “I won’t have to tell anyone,” she muttered. The meadow was a mash of burnt ground, bodies, and fallen trees.
Merlin unsteadily sat, putting his head between his legs. “That was hard,” he muttered. “I’m out of practice.”
Britt slowly pushed herself into a standing position. “What will we say?”
Merlin raised a hand and carelessly waved it in the air. “I’ll take care of it before they arrive.”
The dogs growled, and Britt spun around. Two men had crept out of the woods behind Britt and Merlin. They had already edged past three of the dogs.
“Why aren’t the dogs attacking?” Britt said, unsheathing Excalibur.
“They haven’t been told to!”
“So, tell them to!”
“I can’t,” Merlin said. “They’ll only follow the orders of the kennel master!”
“Sit,” Britt ordered Merlin before she ran at the ambushers, wishing she wore armor—even though it would have been an odd clothing choice for a hunting party.
Britt studied both men for bows or quivers as she charged. They only had swords and daggers on them, which would considerably level the playing field.
Britt descended on the first soldier, mute and deadly as she pushed him back on his heels with the speed of her swings and jabs.
The second ambusher stepped in to stab at her with a dagger. There was a fearsome growl, and the ambusher screamed as Cavall dragged him to the ground.
Sweat dripped off Britt as she attacked. The enemy wasn’t buckling.
She wasn’t fighting a knight who knew the sword, lance, and spear. She wasn’t fighting a common soldier. She was fighting a hardened assassin who lived by killing. He fell back under Britt’s onslaught, but he wasn’t leaving any openings, and he wasn’t letting Britt force any openings either.
Britt knew she had to end it soon. Fighting with the constant push as she did sapped her of her strength and energy fast.
The assassin dodged one of Britt’s swings and swooped forward, slashing at her thigh muscles. Britt redirected her swing into a downward cut, following through so she swung her sword up and behind her as she twisted in spite of the fire that bloomed on her thigh.
Cavall snarled; Llamrei screamed.
“Britt!” Merlin shouted.
Britt and the assassin swirled, eyeing each other. Britt had opened a nasty slice on the assassin’s back, and the assassin had given Britt a deep wound on her thigh. Britt dared not look at it, but she felt it burn as she crouched in one of her attack forms.
The assassin stared at her thigh and cursed, and Britt’s gaze dropped for a brief second. The laceration was deep. Not to the bone, but deep into the muscle. However…not a drop of blood fell from the wound.
Excalibur.
Britt rolled her shoulders as she recalled Merlin’s lectures of the sword’s scabbard. As long as she had it, she wouldn’t die of blood loss. The thought heartened her, and Britt smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.
The assassin took a step back, but Britt was already lunging forward. She aimed her strike at the assassin’s right arm. He blocked, but the maneuver brought her in close, allowing Britt to plant herself and knee him in the side.
The assassin lurched to recover his balance, and Britt pulled Excalibur away from his sword before jabbing its pommel into his neck.
