Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7)

by K. M. Shea

  With his strength, he would eventually knock her to the ground…but Britt bet the entire battle on his thoughtless strikes and the fact that he, lacking Britt’s superior armor, would reveal a hole in his defense.

  Britt kept her movements small and did her best to dodge as Lucius chopped at her left side. Her muscles screamed in protest, and she was starting to feel weak in the knees as her ruined armor pinched her shoulder.

  When Lucius raised his gladius high above his head with the intention of striking Britt in the skull, she made her move.

  She rocked forward, soundless and swift where everyone else roared and shouted. She struck him in the chest with Excalibur. With his arms still above his head, the force rocked him backwards. Britt slithered after him, taking careful aim as she had only one shot. When she was certain of her aim, she slid her hand down Excalibur’s blade and yanked it up, popping Lucius on the chin with the hilt.

  His head flopped back with the force, and he pinwheeled his arms as he gurgled. Britt then swept her leg behind his and yanked them out from under him, making him topple to the ground.

  She kicked his sword away, her breath heavy as she pressed Excalibur into the skin of his neck. “Surrender,” she commanded. Her heart pounded in her throat, and her muscles shook with exertion, but it was done. Lucius was defeated.

  Lucius spat a wad of blood and glared at her. “Never.” He hissed. “You may destroy my army, but I’ll raise one up again. I’ll return, and crush every man, woman, and child here. Your demise is only a matter of time, Arthur Pendragon. I will hunt you until you beg for relief, and I will rule Britain!”

  His proclamation startled Britt, for she had never pictured a scenario in which Emperor Lucius would return. As she stared down into his hostile gaze, men roared, and the hot scent of blood clenched her throat.

  In that moment, she could sense the truth of his words. Emperor Lucius Tiberius would never rest until Britain fell. This battle was not about the defense of their land…but survival.

  Britt hated death. She hated wars, and she hated killing. But she would not make her people sacrifice in this way to ease the pain of being king.

  Excalibur glowed silver like the moon, and Britt felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as the sword turned icy cold in her hands. Merlin.

  “Very well,” she said. She twirled Excalibur, making the blade sing and glow brighter. “Then may God judge you himself.” Britt plunged her sword into Lucius’ chest. The sword, radiating magic, bit through the armor of his chestplate as though it were kindling, and she stabbed him through the heart.

  Lucius shouted, but it was over swiftly.

  Britt’s insides heaved as she tightened her grip on Excalibur, pulling it with her as she stepped away from the Emperor’s body.

  The few knights that weren’t fighting stared at her wide-eyed. Beyond them, the Romans began to realize their commander had fallen as Sir Lanval and Sir Safir took out the last of the honor guard.

  The soldiers fled, their organized formations falling apart as they lacked the leadership of their officers and commander.

  Britt ignored her knights’ slack jaws as she strode towards Roen. “Pursue them,” she said. “I want them run out of Britain.” She tried to mount her gelding, but the muscles of her legs were trembling so badly she couldn’t get her foot in the stirrup.

  “My Lord,” Pellinore said with a brief bow. Before Britt could react, he gave her a leg up, boosting her into her saddle.

  Britt nodded in thanks, but Pellinore did not step back from her or her charger. Instead, he gazed up at her, ignoring the chaos and shouts that swirled around the battlefield as British soldiers swept across the field, chasing the Roman forces.

  “Britt!” Sir Ector, riding a snorting horse, pulled his mount to a skidding stop mere feet away.

  Merlin was right behind him. “You did it, lass! We’ve won!” he laughed as he slid off his horse. “You were—” He fell silent when he saw Britt’s hardened expression.

  “Britt,” Sir Ector puffed as he joined Merlin at her knee. “You did the right thing. Well done.” He squeezed her hand, finally getting a flicker of a smile.

  Britt felt like her heart started beating again, and the horror of battle was not so stark as her foster-father beamed up at her. “Thank you, Merlin…Father.” She took a breath and set her shoulders, her expression relaxing. “Now, we pursue?”

  “You bet we do,” Merlin snorted.

  Britt caught sight of Duke Maleagant and King Bagdemagus streaking across the field, chasing off mounted officers. Beyond them, Percival was rounding up the archers and preparing to move them with King Anguish’s army, and King Lot and King Urien were holding a brief conference with King Ban and King Bors before the four split up, sweeping their forces after the fleeing enemy.

  She breathed more easily, though the fight was not over yet.

  They had won.

  And Britain was more than safe. It was united.

  “Is it really that bad, My Lord, that you should strip down here…in the middle of a battle?” Griflet anxiously wrung his hands and walked back and forth as Mordred helped Britt shed her crumpled pieces of armor.

  “Be reasonable, Griflet. We’re still pursuing troops, not in battle,” Britt pointed out, gritting her teeth when Mordred wrenched her pauldron off her shoulder.

  Though it was late afternoon, the sun was finally peeking out through the hazy clouds. British forces swarmed the surrounding hills and valleys, flushing out the remaining Roman troops to chase back to their boats in the south.

  The battle had been grueling, and the chase was scarcely less so, so after hours in the saddle with her armor uncomfortably pinching her, Britt felt bruised and exhausted, and announced she was stopping to shed her armor. (Of course, her company insisted on staying with her.)

  Ector squinted and peered at Britt’s shoulder as she rotated her arm. “Is it bruised?”

  “It feels like it.”

  “Perhaps we ought to return to camp so Lady Morgan or the Lady of the Lake may attend to you,” Sir Kay said.

  “So it’s Lady Morgan now, is it?” Lionel smirked as he threw a pebble into a nearby river.

  Britt breathed easier when Mordred unbuckled her cuirass, freeing her torso. “I don’t know that it’s necessary to go back yet, though I would like to check in with Gawain.” (After arguing strenuously with the Ladies’ Knight, Gawain agreed to have Ragnelle administer to his wounds rather than head out with Britt and the rest of the knights.)

  “Perhaps we ought to return regardless,” Bedivere said as he squinted up at the sun. “As we ride with the High King, it wouldn’t do for us to get caught out in the hills after dark.”

  “I believe Sir Bedivere’s words are wise,” Merlin said. “It would be best if we began the journey back to camp.”

  “I also believe we should return,” King Pellinore said. “I ought to check in with Percival, and I’m certain the smaller units are anxious to hear from our king.”

  “Of course!” Griflet said, losing his worry in a moment of enthusiasm. “We won!”

  Several of the other knights cheered, still exuberant from the fight.

  Britt, moving more freely in her chain mail shirt, packed her gear into the empty saddle bags on Roen’s rump. “All right, Merlin. We’ll start heading back.”

  Lancelot raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to argue?”

  “I’m about at my limit,” she admitted. “Lucius was a harder foe than I imagined. Fighting him took all I had.”

  “It was a jolly good fight to witness,” Sir Tor said.

  Britt swung up into the saddle, her muscles burning in protest. “The important thing is that we get the remaining Roman forces out of Britain.”

  “Rome is without an emperor now, Britt. As the winner against Lucius, by all rights, the throne could be yours,” Merlin said slyly.

  “No.” Britt shook a finger at him before she turned Roen back in the direction of their camp, following
the river. “Don’t even start!”

  Ector puffed, mussing his well-trimmed beard. “But he’s right, Britt! You could be the emperor!”

  “We’re not marching on Rome,” Britt said firmly.

  “Mmhmm, we’ll see.” Merlin’s expression was as innocent as a baby bunny as his horse picked its way around several large boulders.

  Britt rolled her eyes. “For crying out loud. I’m not—”

  “Death to the king!”

  A crossbow arrow struck Britt, puncturing her chain mail and striking her shoulder. Britt flopped out of the saddle and hit the ground with a boneless crack.

  “Arthur!”

  “Britt!”

  The knights shouted, moving into a protective formation around her, but it was too late.

  Britt couldn’t sit up, and the pain was so intense she had a hard time breathing. Ector and Kay were at her side first. Her foster-brother propped her up slightly as Merlin whirled around, looking for whoever had attacked her.

  “Show yourself!” he thundered, and the ground seemed to rumble.

  Vivien stepped out of the underbrush, holding a crossbow and a dark scowl. “You ruined everything!” she shouted at Britt. “I espied out your courts from the inside; I took your magical scabbard; I seduced your wizard—but you still won! How?!” Vivien’s voice was little more than a shriek.

  Sir Lanval growled and stepped towards her, but Pellinore stopped him. “Just wait,” he said, tilting his head at Merlin.

  “I was going to be a queen!” Vivien howled. “You ruined it—you ruined it all! But now you will die with my dreams.” She laughed and fitted another bolt into the crossbow.

  Merlin roared. He didn’t say an intelligible word. He didn’t point or gesture. He merely clenched his hands into fists and snarled with the ferocity of a dragon, and the world began burning.

  White hot fire ignited in the area, consuming everything in its path. Merlin’s face was a mask of anguish and rage as his magic burned like a star.

  The knights of Camelot backed up, drawing closer to Britt—who gasped with the exertion it took to keep breathing.

  Vivien never stood a chance.

  The knights were split between staring at Merlin in frightened awe and crowding around Britt.

  “It’s in deep,” Pellinore murmured. “And it’s close to her heart.”

  “Britt, hang on,” Ector said, squeezing her hand. “You’re going to make it.”

  “It hurts,” she hissed, biting her tongue.

  “We have to get her back!”

  “But can we risk moving her?”

  Britt scrunched her eyes shut as pain wracked her body, leaving her too weak to scream.

  Lancelot fell to his knees next to her. “I did this.” His dreamy green eyes were dark with regret and building horror.

  Merlin stalked over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders with shaking hands. “What did you say?”

  “I, I told Vivien about Excalibur’s scabbard.” Lancelot shook his head, his expression bewildered. “I didn’t think…I never meant for this to happen, Britt!”

  Merlin shoved Lancelot backwards and stalked away. He kept his gaze on Britt as Kay and Ector tried to staunch the blood flow, but Britt could see the dark hopelessness in his eyes.

  She was dying.

  “Do we pull the arrow out?” Ector asked.

  “We’ll have to, but it will make the blood flow worse,” Pellinore said grimly.

  “Someone ride for Morgan and the Lady of the Lake!” Kay shouted.

  Mordred hopped on his horse—which was still snorting and shying at the singed patch of ground where Vivien had once stood, but Merlin forestalled him.

  “Wait,” he said. “We can summon them here.” Merlin drew Excalibur from Britt’s side and handed it hilt first to Bedivere. “Cast it into the river,” Merlin said, pointing to the river they had been following.

  Bedivere took the sword and ran.

  “But…” Britt tried to voice a protest, but the pain was too much.

  Merlin crouched at her side and took her icy hand in his. “It will be fine, Britt. I promise. You’re going to survive this.”

  Bedivere plowed through cattails and, from the sound of it, must have been at least shin-deep in the water before he threw Excalibur.

  Britt expected it to hit the water with a splash, but an arm covered in a white silk sleeve plunged out of the water and caught the sword, holding it there. Everything was still for several moments, until the water beyond the arm that held Excalibur began glowing.

  Britt’s sight started to grow hazy as she looked from the river to her knights.

  Many of them hung back, their eyes closed in prayer. Others paced back and forth—like Griflet. Mordred smiled at her when he caught her gaze, but Britt could read the fear in his eyes that shadowed every man’s expression.

  Only Lancelot’s expression differed. Anguish wrinkled his brow, and Britt could hear his labored breathing over her own as he still sat where Merlin had shoved him.

  Britt closed her eyes and fought to swallow against the pain that made her lips numb, then croaked, “Lancelot.”

  The handsome, charismatic knight scrambled to her side. “My Lord?”

  She opened her mouth, wondering where to start.

  Lancelot, however, interpreted her silence as rage. “Everything you said about me was right, My Lord.” His famous control faltered, and he rubbed his face. “I let my self-centeredness push me into an act of treason. But I never meant for this to happen, you must believe me! You’re my king!”

  Even in her pain-hazed state, Britt could see the other knights moving away from Lancelot. Kay shook with barely contained rage—Britt was willing to bet if she passed out from the pain, her brother would deck him.

  Just as the legends said, Lancelot betrayed Arthur. And just as the legends said, the act would rip Camelot to shreds. For Lancelot was a prince, and his father, uncle, and cousins would stand with him, even as Orkney, Anglesey, and other parts of Britain rode against them.

  Britt knew she was dying, and with it, so would the dream of Camelot.

  …or would it?

  She licked her lips and rallied the pieces and bits of strength she had left. “Lancelot, I forgive you. You are pardoned from your part of this.”

  The silence of the area was so absolute, her ears rang.

  “…Britt?” Ector finally ventured.

  “You can’t mean that,” Kay said.

  Britt closed her eyes. She wished she could address her foster brother and father, but she had to fix this with Lancelot.

  In a way, she had done this to herself. She had always treated him with suspicion and dislike. Now was her chance to change Lancelot’s future—and the future of her knights.

  She struggled to focus on Lancelot—her eyes and limbs were growing slow to respond. “In combat, you are the best knight in Camelot, Lance. But you have the potential to be more than that. Please…become the knight you could be.”

  Lancelot nodded, his eyes shining with tears and regret.

  Britt shifted her gaze to Merlin, who was squeezing her hand like he could keep her there through sheer will. The grim line of his mouth eased a bit when there was a tremendous splash.

  “Britt!”

  Nymue, Morgan, and Ragnelle ran out of the river, their wet skirts sticking to their legs as they raced in her direction.

  “What happened?” Morgan asked as she and Nymue skidded to a stop next to Britt.

  “Crossbow bolt to the shoulder,” Mordred said grimly.

  “We can see that,” Nymue snapped.

  “It was Vivien,” Merlin said.

  Morgan stilled, her face smoothing with terror. “Did she use her magic?”

  Merlin helplessly shook his head.

  Nymue hunkered over Britt, her long beautiful hair frizzled and snarled. “The arrow is in so deep she didn’t have to.”

  Ragnelle tilted her head as Ector and Kay moved back to give the ladies room to
work. “I do not detect any poison, either.” She continued speaking, but her words sounded slurred to Britt’s ears.

  “Britt, hold on!” Morgan’s voice swam in and out of Britt’s focus. “Stay with us,” she ordered as she tucked a bit of Britt’s hair out of her face.

  “—going into shock.”

  “Can you do anything?”

  “No. We’ll fight it, but…”

  “No!” Merlin shouted, his words clear compared to the other voices that alternated sounding sharp and muffled to Britt. “She can’t die! We have to do something!”

  “We don’t have the capabilities here,” Nymue snapped. “Maybe a faerie king could heal her, but we haven’t the time to get her to one!”

  Merlin slumped next to Britt, still clinging to her hand.

  Britt tried to squeeze his hand and smile. “It’s all right, Merlin.”

  Merlin met her gaze, his blue eyes wide with desperation. “No. No, it’s not.” He snapped his attention to Nymue, Ragnelle, and Morgan. “Send her forward to her time. They have the science to deal with something like this.”

  “Send her what?” Mordred said.

  “I thought you said such a thing was impossible,” Ector protested.

  “Strictly speaking, it is,” Merlin said. “Because of the flow of time, you can only bring someone back into time, not push them forward to the unknown future.”

  “But Britt is already from the future; there’s a spot there for her,” Nymue said.

  Morgan gripped Britt’s free hand. “So there’s a chance we can send her home.”

  “How did you two know Britt is from the future?” Ector asked.

  “I puzzled through it when Britt asked me to alter her language spell, and I got a look at the magic coating her.” Nymue’s fingers skimmed around Britt’s injury with care.

  “Kay told me,” Morgan answered.

  Britt opened her mouth to say something sarcastic about keeping exclusive secrets, but another wave of pain hit her and made her clamp her mouth shut to hold in a scream.

  “Why didn’t we know?” Griflet yelped.

  “Where she’s from hardly matters as long as she ruled well. Can we send her home or not?” Merlin demanded.

  “Is magic even capable of sending a person forward?” Ragnelle timidly asked.