Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7)

by K. M. Shea

  “He can certainly move fast when it suits him,” Kay grunted. He shook his head, then chased after the knight, Mordred and Percival on his heels.

  Gawain lingered with Merlin. “Are you…all right, Merlin?”

  Merlin, who’d been pondering what sort of punishment he should allot Duke Maleagant, shook himself from his pleasurable musings. “I am quite fine, thank you. Come, we wouldn’t want to let Lancelot get too far ahead of us.”

  Gawain nodded and nudged his horse after the other knights. Merlin was only a step behind him, though his thoughts were still dark.

  If Maleagant harms her at all, I will burn this land to the ground.

  Chapter 3

  Moved by Rome

  Dusk settled on the horizon, and Britt pressed herself against the wall, crouching so she would be hidden behind the door when it swung open.

  She was waiting for the servant to deliver her dinner.

  Given her current situation—and her history as a captive—Britt discovered that she was surprisingly well cared for as Duke Maleagant’s hostage. Servants delivered food at regular intervals and frequently asked if she needed anything. (Already they had delivered two additional blankets and a drapery to hang over the drafty window.)

  Given that they had been so kind, Britt was feeling a little guilty as she squatted, waiting to ambush whatever poor soul came to feed her.

  Her guilt left her when the door clanked, then creaked as it was pushed open. A male servant shuffled into the room, carrying a tray of food. As soon as he cleared the doorframe, Britt slammed the door shut behind him. He set the food down and twisted to face her, but Britt caught him off guard and grabbed his shoulder, tossing him over her knee.

  He made a wheezing noise when he hit the ground and the air was slammed out of his chest. His fingers twitched, and he coughed.

  “Sorry about this.” Britt approached him, the shredded drapery in her hands. “But your master is a sexist pig.” She wasted no time in stuffing a wad of the ripped-up drapery in the servant’s mouth, gagging him.

  She stripped the servant of his tunic, though she left his underclothes and cloak for him, then secured his hands and feet with the drapery. Biting her lip, she surveyed him, then wrapped a strip of cloth over his eyes.

  Merlin would have massive heart failure if I didn’t make some attempt towards modesty.

  Her adrenaline pumping, Britt quickly changed out of her dress and slipped into the servant’s scratchy tunic. “Just beautiful.” She peered down at her legs. “This might work. I’m hairy enough to pass off as a dude. Still, this is pretty drafty.”

  Britt eyed the servant’s stockings—chauses, Merlin insisted on calling them—but settled for grabbing his cloak. (Not wanting to be totally heartless, she wrapped one of the extra blankets from her bed around the poor man.)

  Nodding in satisfaction, Britt dusted off her hands then slowly approached the door. She carefully opened it, warily poking her head out into the hallway. Not a soul was outside, not even a guard.

  Britt slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Maleagant might be a sexist pig, but at least it’s making this misadventure easier! She twitched her shoulders back and sailed up the hallway, doing her best to appear confident. Her first goal in her plan to escape was to find a helm to hide her face.

  The armory of Camelot was on the bottom floor of the keep. For technical reasons, Britt was betting it was the same in Duke Maleagant’s castle. So she scuttled down the first staircase she found.

  As she wandered the back halls of the main floor, she could hear faint chirps of music and boisterous shouts muffled by the stone walls. Maleagant must be holding a feast. Wary of this fact, she did her best to stay far away from the sound. She did not want to chance Maleagant finding her. She also wanted to avoid other servants as much as possible, for they would surely recognize she was not one of them.

  She began conducting a random search of a back hallway—opening the doors and peering inside. In her examination, she found a surprisingly well-stocked library, a study, two storage rooms, and what passed for a medieval bathroom. Her curious nature fled, however, when she heard voices moving down a hallway that intersected with the one in which she was standing.

  Britt made an abrupt U-turn and darted back down the hallway she’d been working her way up. She slipped around the corner and leaned against the wall, waiting for the talkers to move on. Unfortunately, the voices turned down her hallway and continued to draw closer.

  Biting her tongue to keep from making muffled oaths, Britt fled, hustling down the new passageway. She glanced at the doors as she ran, looking for a place to hide. She skidded to a stop and backed up when she saw a large, promising door that had Duke Maleagant’s coat of arms burned into it.

  She nudged it, grinning when it slowly swung open and revealed a darkened interior. She hesitated, wondering how smart it would be to plunge into a dark room, but the voices hadn’t stopped or grown faint, so she slipped into the room, taking care to close the door softly behind her.

  She took a few shuffling steps inside, almost cursing when she walked into some sort of crate and bashed her shins. The crate rattled, making a metallic clang. Britt held her breath, but the passersby didn’t seem to notice and kept walking. She exhaled only when their voices faded from hearing, then cracked the door open and heard only silence.

  “Apparently, though I make a decent knight, I would be a terrible ninja.” She rubbed her smarting shins as she threw the door open wide, letting the hallway torchlight brighten the room. Sharpened edges of polished swords glittered, and pieces of suits of armor gleamed in the dimly lit room.

  Britt smugly smiled, pried one of the hallway torches from its post, closed the door, and set up shop in the armory.

  Finding enough pieces of armor that fit her reasonably well proved to be more of a challenge than she expected. When most of the male chestpieces proved to be too large through the shoulders and torso, she tried switching to what was clearly armor meant for squires learning knightly arts. Those, unfortunately, were too short through the torso and chest.

  In the end, she was forced to take a cuirass that was too big for her; she stuffed it with rags and padding to make it more comfortable. Finding a throat guard was far easier, as was securing a helm. Unfortunately, most of the helms smelled like something died in them, and the only helm that fit Britt’s head and had a visor to cover her face smelled terribly of sweat.

  Britt grimaced as she unbraided her hair—it was making the helm sit oddly—and pulled her blonde locks back in a low ponytail. “Maybe having Lancelot in Camelot is worth the trouble and irritation. His fastidious hygiene habits have worn off on all the Knights of the Round Table.”

  Cringing, she slipped the helm over her head. The helm’s sour stench assailed her, but she shut the visor, feeling far more secure dressed in armor and with her face hidden.

  “I better grab a weapon.” She turned to the rows and racks of swords, axes, shields, and maces neatly arrayed along the walls.

  The swords were well-balanced and well made, though none of them fit her hand half as well as Excalibur. It took her a few minutes to find a sword length and weight that suited her, but by the time she was properly geared, she felt quite giddy.

  “All I have to do is snag a horse, then I’m home free! Not bad for rescuing myself.” Britt slipped out of the armory and once again wandered the confusing maze of hallways. She eyed the barren, unadorned walls, and wished that Duke Maleagant had shown a little more predisposition towards decorating. It would make navigating this place so much easier!

  She crossed paths with two female servants, who scurried past and did not question her presence in the back hallway. Her glee grew as she heard the faint whinny of horses. She followed her ears and found an open air corridor that popped out into the castle courtyard.

  She almost skipped down it when a man called out after her, “You there! Halt!”

  Britt’s stomach dropped to her toes,
and she slowly turned around.

  Duke Maleagant, flanked by five soldiers, strode in her direction. Maleagant rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and narrowed his eyes. “Declare your name, knight,” he ordered.

  “Um…” Britt floundered, her mind racing as she tried to come up with a reasonable name. She couldn’t use her usual alias, Sir Galahad, for his name was too easily associated with the Round Table. “No.”

  Maleagant smirked. “Remove your helm.”

  Britt shifted her gaze from Maleagant to the soldiers behind him. Unless he’s practiced like crazy, I can handle Maleagant… But fighting five soldiers on top of that? And even if I did, by some miracle, beat them all, they would still raise the alarm. She sighed, her shoulders caving with disappointment. She was caught. Even worse, it was very likely Maleagant wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and would now have her better guarded. “Hopefully he won’t throw me in a dungeon. If the helms smell this bad, I don’t want to imagine what that place reeks like,” she grumbled as she began to remove her helm.

  Her low ponytail spilled over her shoulder as she rested the helm against her hip and raised an eyebrow at Maleagant.

  Maleagant’s smirk grew, and he flashed his teeth in an almost canine manner. “I knew you would come, Arthur.”

  Britt froze, awestruck by Maleagant’s stupidity. Is he really so unobservant that he wouldn’t realize I’m the girl he thought was Guinevere? It didn’t matter much if he knew she was Arthur; Merlin was most likely bringing a company of knights and an army to take her back anyway. The bigger problem was that Maleagant’s servants were probably not as thick-headed as he was. There was a fairly certain chance they would notice that “Guinevere” and “Arthur” looked suspiciously like twins. There were several possible outcomes if they reported this fact to Maleagant. None of them were situations Britt particularly wanted to experience, and the majority of them would very likely cause everyone in Camelot to foam at the mouth.

  Unaware of her inner musings, Maleagant continued, “You may have successfully freed your dear Guinevere, but it matters not. You are now my captive.”

  Ahh, they must’ve found the servant in my room. Warring between pity for his low IQ and worry for her dim future, Britt pitched her voice a little lower than usual and glared at Maleagant. “What is it you want?” She already knew he wanted to fight her, but at the moment it was in her best interests to attempt to placate him.

  “I wish for a rematch, to cross swords with you again.” Maleagant drew his sword from its scabbard. The blade glowed golden in the setting sunlight that streamed in from the entryway.

  Britt flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. “Why? Do you really think you can beat me this time?” She tilted her head and studied him. “You said so yourself, I have successfully smuggled Guinevere out of your own castle without raising your notice.”

  “I care not what has happened to Guinevere,” Maleagant snorted. “She was a lure to draw you here. My intent all along has been to fight you and restore honor to my name. Besides, I can easily track her down again.”

  Britt scratched her chin and considered him. Perhaps he was not as dumb as she thought and was only incredibly focused…much like a certain wizard she knew. Or maybe he was super near-sighted. Aloud, she said, “Honor? You never had much of that to begin with. Your actions at Camelgrance were deplorable, and I had to defeat you not once, but twice and bring in my knights to make you to live up to your word.”

  Snarling, Maleagant raised his sword. “You insult me?”

  “No. That was more of a reminder.”

  Maleagant roared. “Draw your sword!”

  Britt cast a wary eye at the soldiers guarding Maleagant’s back as she reluctantly slid her stolen/borrowed sword from its scabbard. She missed Excalibur, but she was mostly regretting not having its scabbard with her as well. Excalibur’s scabbard was infused with magic and could keep a person from bleeding. Which would be extremely useful if his soldiers intend to riddle me with holes after I beat their master.

  She tossed her helm aside, since Maleagant did not wear one either, and adjusted her stance, preparing to swipe at him. But the duke surprised her by darting into a lunge immediately. He struck her straight on and with such force she had to move backwards to stay on her feet.

  He tried to slam his head into hers, a move that would’ve sent her to her knees, but Britt managed to disengage their blades and sidestep him.

  Before she could press her advantage, Maleagant took a backhanded swing at her. It was clumsy and didn’t have much force as he was swinging up behind himself, but it kept Britt from striking his open side.

  Adjusting, she held her sword so he chopped down on her blade. She pushed up, forcing Maleagant to either move away from her or to bend his arm at an unnatural angle.

  He chose the former, and took three long strides away before spinning around. He pivoted on one leg and whirled his blade in a circle to gain momentum.

  Someone’s been practicing. Britt dodged the strike and stabbed at his open side. Her blow landed, but Maleagant’s armor stopped it from doing any major damage. What was more unsettling was that Maleagant did not budge with the blow.

  Realizing she’d adopted a rather cocky attitude towards the furious duke, Britt carefully modified her stance. He had vastly improved since the last time she fought him, and while from a technical point she could still beat him, she was positive his stamina would outlast hers. She had to be cautious, or his forceful blows would sap her strength before she had the chance to knock him down.

  As if he read her mind, Maleagant chopped his sword straight down at hers, making her arm vibrate with the force of the blow.

  Britt glanced behind her, then began retreating down the open-air corridor that led into the courtyard.

  Maleagant stalked after her, lunging forward with a stab aimed at her heart.

  Britt danced backwards, avoiding the blow and watching how he moved and distributed his weight.

  He turned his stab into a swipe that would’ve run diagonally across her chest. Britt parried it, though she gritted her teeth and had to plant her legs at the strength behind his attack. He took a tiny step backwards to give himself enough room to maneuver another wide blow at her.

  He’s mostly been using sweeping blows and large distances to complement his strength. If I move the fight close, I should be able to get past his defenses. She inhaled deeply, adjusting her weight from her heels to the front of her feet. She blocked his lunge to her left side. Her arm muscles burned, but she stiffened her shoulders and feinted a tackle at his waist.

  True to his style, he took a step back to make room for another wide, glancing blow. Britt moved just enough to dodge the worst of it. His carry-through strike was so close, it actually made a shallow slice on her cheek. Britt didn’t even notice the pain as she lunged upwards, popping her sword, hilt first, above her.

  She slammed the hilt into Maleagant’s face. She heard bone crunch, and Maleagant shouted and sank to his knees as blood dribbled from his nose.

  Maleagant struggled to hold his sword with one hand and his bleeding nose with the other. He removed his hand from his nose long enough to cast off his gauntlet, and Britt could see she had nailed him a good one. His nose was crooked where before it had been straight.

  The sound of swords sliding free from scabbards made Britt whip around and face Maleagant’s previously forgotten soldiers. All five of them slowly descended upon her, moving like sheepdogs as they tried to back her away from Maleagant.

  “My Lord, are you all right?” one of the soldiers asked.

  Maleagant groaned and still clutched his nose.

  Britt moved to put Maleagant between her and the soldiers. “I won’t hurt him. Well, I won’t hurt him more.”

  The soldiers did not answer her and continued to slink closer.

  Though the chilly winter air gusted down the corridor, sweat beaded on Britt’s brow. She could try running, but the soldiers would be on her tail, an
d she wasn’t likely to get very far. Her arm muscles ached, protesting the vigorous workout she had just put them through. However, after breaking Maleagant’s nose, Britt doubted she was going to get the same treatment she received as Guinevere.

  Two of the soldiers knelt at Maleagant’s side, the other three moved around him, stalking towards Britt with their swords extended.

  Britt set her jaw and slowly raised her sword.

  “That is enough!” A man shouted behind her.

  Britt swiveled, putting her back to the wall, and watched the newest member of the drama storm down the corridor towards them.

  He wore a suit of armor, which was well made, though it did accentuate the slight puff of his belly. His hair and beard were graying, but Britt could see the smile lines worn deep into his face.

  He narrowed his eyes, which were as dark as Maleagant’s. “Gold hair, a tall bearing, and a face too comely to be mortal.” He shifted his gaze to Maleagant. “My son, thoroughly thrashed.”

  Britt’s heart sank as the man, assumedly Duke Maleagant’s father—whom Merlin had surprisingly never thought to mention—frowned at her.

  “You,” he said, “must be King Arthur.”

  Though she was surprised by the revelation, Britt pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin. “I am.” She glanced uneasily at Maleagant, wondering how badly his father would hold his injury against her. “I came here to save a girl who was under my care, the Lady Guinevere, daughter of King Leodegrance of Camelgrance. She was taken—against her will—from Camelot by your son.”

  Maleagant’s father raised his bushy eyebrows. “Based on the state Maleagant is in, I assume you succeeded in freeing her.” He walked past her and joined the soldiers kneeling at Maleagant’s side. “Is it just your face?” He asked his son.

  Maleagant nodded, though he glared at Britt over his father’s shoulder.

  “Let me see.” The older man took Maleagant’s hand and peeled it away. He inspected the broken the nose with a surprising amount of tranquility. “It seems it is broken. I believe it would be wisest to have someone look at it.” He slapped his son on the shoulder, then returned his attention to Britt. “It is fortuitous you are here, King Arthur. For I have just returned from inspecting my lands, and I have witnessed a rather disturbing sight.”