War Duke of Britain

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Rhiannon’s throat was so tight she thought her voice might break if she dared to speak. She could hear her harsh breathing in her ears.

  Lynette sat like a statue beside her.

  As the two front lines drew together, Rhiannon thought the top of her head might explode. She held her breath and felt the jarring impact of the two lines in her feet and through her grip on Tielo’s sides with her knees.

  Abruptly, the entire valley was fighting. The Saxons tore through the British front lines, while the British pummeled their way into the heart of the Saxon army. Everywhere, there were men fighting in pairs, in groups, in tight knots of murderous intent.

  The noise was louder than Rhiannon had thought such things might be. The shouting and screaming and the clash of weapons drowned the sound of her heartbeat and muffled her hearing of everything but the battle. It had an oddly calming effect. Her thoughts were remote, as she watched Saxons and Britons come together, engage and fight, until one of them dropped.

  The engagement was repeated all over the valley. Rhiannon watched with a disinterested and critical eye. She saw one young, terrified lad spin about, his sword swinging wildly. A Saxon ducked under the spinning blade and took the boy from behind.

  Rhiannon’s heart gave a heavy beat for the boy, while the calm part of her mind said silently: He lost control. He panicked. Maintain discipline and survive.

  The reminder was a timely one. Ilsa straightened in her saddle and pointed with her sword. “Forward!” She kicked her stallion into a full gallop.

  Rhiannon urged Tielo forward with her knees and feet. Ahead, a thick body of Saxons were attempting move around the edges of the British army to flank them and cut them off.

  The ground sloped downward until she saw nothing but fighting warriors. Isla plunged toward the Saxon group and Rhiannon realized with a jolt that the Queen would not slow and pick her targets. She would use her horse as a battering ram to plow into the group and halt their progress.

  Rhiannon kicked Tielo into greater speed. Lynette matched her pace. Rhiannon realized she was screaming. They were all screaming as they rode into the Saxons, mowing them down and trampling them.

  Rhiannon hacked with her sword at the Saxons who still stood. They cringed away, for she had the advantage of height.

  Tielo reared and brought his hooves down upon the enemy. He bit at the necks of others, tearing out their flesh and the major blood vessel there. Rhiannon took care of Saxons on her flanks.

  The coppery scent of hot blood rose around her as she worked but her training had taught her to ignore the panic the smell could arouse. She had seen blood before. She might even see her own before the day was done, although she couldn’t let herself think of it now, for it would slow her movements and reactions.

  The lessons whispered in her mind, helping her maintain control and fight with tight efficiency, guarding her vulnerable points. Years of training had instilled instincts which now served her. For the first time, much of what she had been taught made sense. The need to starve her imagination. Watching not just the man in front of her, but the enemy behind him, to discern patterns and anticipate attacks. To keep track of who was fighting beside her and help them when needed.

  She fought on, her heart calm, her mind smooth…until she saw the black and gold banner ahead.

  MERLIN MOVED TO WHERE THEY had placed the high chair, high up by the pass. He reached it as Uther was helped from his horse, to settle in the chair. Uther was breathing hard.

  When Merlin picked up his frail wrist and felt for the pulse, he found it was running smoothly. Fast, but even. Uther rolled his eyes at Merlin. “I see you have found your usual hill from where to watch the battle.”

  “We are sharing the hill, Uncle,” Merlin said mildly. “Did you see him?”

  Uther turned his attention to the battle below. “How could I not? He is all fire and fury.”

  “They said that about Uther Pendragon, I recall,” Merlin said with a smile. “Look,” he added, as he spotted the white, unadorned tunic beneath the equally plain armor Emrys had worn to battle.

  They watched in silence as Emrys and Cai and Bedrawd’s son, Bedivere, leapt upon a knot of Saxons trying to encircle Leodegrance.

  “Cai is the acknowledged leader, yet he follows Emrys,” Merlin pointed out, as Emrys raised his sword and shouted a command. The three of them turned to face more Saxons. From here, the shout was lost.

  “Arthur,” Uther corrected.

  “After today, yes.” Merlin let out a deep breath. “Finally, after today…”

  THE BLACK AND GOLD BANNER of Lothian falling to the ground with a silent flutter pulled Rhiannon’s attention away from the battle surrounding her. The Saxons were thick, where the banner fell.

  Among them, she could see the dark man, Idris. She watched only for the length of a heartbeat, although the moment seemed to last much longer as she absorbed the sight of Idris the Slayer at work.

  The wolf at his side was as much a partner in war as Tielo was to Rhiannon. The creature snarled and snapped, staying down low to protect its belly. It tore at legs and ankles and sometimes leapt up to sink its teeth into a sword arm.

  It stayed on Idris’ vulnerable left side, a warm-blooded shield. Idris’s sword was a mighty blade he used to hew and chop at the enemy. There was little technique in his fighting. He overwhelmed them with sheer power and strength, the blade cutting through anything in his path.

  He fought with an expressionless face, concentrating.

  Only, he had forgotten to monitor his rear. Rhiannon drew in a sharp breath as she saw a group of perhaps eight Saxons. There were too many to count in a single sweeping glance. They were gathering themselves. Organizing. They watched Idris, looking pleased.

  They would take him from behind.

  Anger gripped her. Rhiannon twisted her knees, giving Tielo a direction. “Tielo! Go!”

  Tielo leapt forward.

  “Rhiannon! No!” Lynette cried behind her. “We stay together!”

  Rhiannon barely heard the reminder. She shoved her sword into the sleeve built into her saddle and slid the shortened quarter staff out from under the saddle and raised it over her head. From this angle, she could bring it down with a force which had split logs, in the practice yard.

  Tielo smashed into the Saxon group as they leapt at Idris. Rhiannon hammered the staff down at an angle which slammed into temples and necks. She cleared the ground on either side of her, while Tielo took care of the men in front of him.

  When the last of the tight group had fallen, she looked up, breathless, the staff over her head in the ready position.

  Idris spun to face her, astonishment writing itself on his face. This close, she could see his eyes were as black as his hair. Only, she no longer cared about how soft his flesh might be. “Fool!” she shouted at him. “Watch your back!”

  His eyes widened, as she turned Tielo back, to work her way to where Ilsa’s wing lingered on the edges of the field. Lynette’s black stallion was in the thick of the fighting, only three paces behind Rhiannon.

  “God’s teeth!” Lynette screamed. “Get yourself back to the wing! Now! You can not expose us this way!”

  They fought off Saxons, clearing their path back to the wing.

  Rhiannon acknowledged she had let her discipline slip. She had stopped thinking and had reacted instinctively. It had been a poor choice. She was lucky it had not ended badly. She had let herself get pulled into the field of battle, instead of patrolling the edges as they were meant to, to keep the Saxons from flanking the main army.

  Ilsa scowled at her as they returned to the wing.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhiannon gasped breathlessly, as she wheeled Tielo around.

  “If it happens again, I will have no need for you in my Cohort,” Ilsa said shortly. “We protect each other, or we die. Do you understand?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned back to watch the fighting, waiting for another flanking attack by the Saxons.

  Lynette
gripped Rhiannon’s wrist and shook it. “My mother died doing exactly what you did, when she watched my father fall to the enemy. You cannot expose yourself in that way. We stay together, no matter what.”

  Shaken, Rhiannon nodded.

  “Forward!” Ilsa cried.

  The wing leapt to the defense once more.

  Chapter Nine

  There were too many wounded to be housed inside the big surgery tent. Instead, they laid in ordered ranks around the tent, while the surgeons and physicians moved among them, stitching and treating wounds, as the sun set on the bloody day.

  Merlin stripped to the waist, as all the surgeons were, and helped with the last influx of wounded from the battlefield. He didn’t notice the cold of the evening but did ask the boy carrying his instruments to hold the torch closer to the wound he was stitching, so he could see what he was doing. The man had passed out, which made the job easier.

  Then Merlin stretched and moved on to the next man, only to find his arm wound had been closed and stitched and bandaged with a neat efficiency which matched his own.

  Merlin looked up.

  Two men ahead of him, a woman was on her knees, working on the belly wound of a groaning warrior. She wore a black gown with tight sleeves and no embellishments. Her hair was piled and pinned upon the top of her head, well out of the way of blood and gore.

  Merlin moved around the groaning man and looked down upon her. Startled, he spoke without thinking. “Morgan Le Fey…by all the gods!”

  Morgan looked up. “Let me finish this.” Her voice was musical and low.

  A second man sat beside the wounded one. Merlin recognized him. Druston, one of Lynette and Cadfael’s sons. He was holding the hand of the wounded man.

  Merlin shifted to check the wounded man’s face. Yes, it was Bryn, one of Mabon’s younger sons. He had the look of his sire. Bryn and Druston had been together for many years.

  Merlin pressed his hand against Druston’s shoulder. “He will live. The wound looks clean, and the lady is skilled. Do not worry.”

  Druston nodded but didn’t look away from Bryn’s face.

  Merlin stepped away. He glanced along the line of wounded men. There were none left to be tended. How long had he been at this? He had lost track of time. By the clawing in his belly, he judged it was late. He wiped the blood from his chest and arms and put his tunic on. He was donning his cloak when Morgan got to her feet and came over to him. She was a lovely woman—but then, her mother had such beauty, she had turned Uther’s head.

  “Queen Morgan,” Merlin said. “I apologize for my casual greeting. Your presence here was unexpected.”

  “Le Fey,” Morgan murmured. “You are the last man I would expect to use that witchlike name for me.”

  “I understand now how you may have acquired it. Your level of skill is not commonly associated with women. If you are a healer as well as a surgeon, then your cures would indeed seem like magic.”

  “Exactly,” Morgan said, her tone sour. “You are called a wizard and revered. I am labeled a witch and the ignorant make signs against me as I pass.”

  Merlin settled the dragon pin at his shoulder. “Your skills are more than welcome in any surgery where I work, Morgan.”

  Her smile was brilliant in its warmth, leaving Merlin with a dazzling afterglow in his vision. “You are very kind, Prince Merlin.”

  “I am merely practical,” he said gruffly. “The more hands the better.” He strode away with a hurried pace. There was a family reunion to arrange for the morrow and a king to soothe into sleep tonight, so he might survive the encounter with his son.

  RHIANNON ENJOYED THE DRINKING GAME until the challenge ball was thrown at her.

  She jumped up from her place around the fire, spilling wine, and glared at Cai, who had thrown the sand-filled bladder. “Me?” she cried, while everyone around the huge fire laughed. “You couldn’t find a lesser challenge than me?” she asked Cai derisively.

  Cai grinned. “I know exactly how much of a challenge you are. Come here and put me on the ground, girl. Show these men how it is done.” He beckoned her into the open space in front of the fire.

  “Oh, ho!” someone cried. “My coin upon the giant!”

  “You have no money, Ansel!” came a return cry.

  The shouting and encouragement continued. Emrys pushed Rhiannon forward with his spare hand. He held an enormous cup of wine in the other hand. Emrys had been challenged by King Pellinore twice already. The King had dropped Emrys on his back both times. Emrys didn’t seem bothered by the humiliation.

  If Emrys could stand it…

  Rhiannon moved to face Cai. He raised his big hands expectantly. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, his tone polite, which triggered even more laughter and nudging.

  “The wee thing might be better crawling through his legs and coming up on him from behind!” someone shouted, amidst more bellows of mirth.

  The unexpected… Rhiannon raised her hands, as if she was about to launch herself at Cai and lifted her brow.

  Cai beckoned her forward with a curl of his fingers.

  Rhiannon launched herself at him. She slid between his grasping hands, slammed up against his chest and hooked her arm around his thick neck. “Surprise!” she whispered and pressed her lips to his.

  She felt him stiffen in shock, which was what she had planned upon. Her weight pulled her toward the ground and as soon as her boot touched the earth, she hooked her other heel around Cai’s knee and yanked.

  Cai dropped heavily on his side, his breath bellowing out with the impact.

  Rhiannon dusted her hands off and stood over him. “You were saying…?” she asked sweetly.

  The men and women gathered around the big fire screamed their approval and amusement, banging their fists on the earth and on each other’s shoulders. Sword and knife hilts thudded upon shields.

  “I have never been…defeated,” Cai said heavily. He reached for her ankle.

  She countered the snatch by planting her other boot on his chest and putting her weight on it. “No, you don’t. You’re on your back, Galleva. I won. Take your defeat like a man.”

  “It doesn’t count,” Cai said. He patted her ankle, and she stepped back to let him sit up. “You’re just a girl,” he finished.

  “If it soothes your pride to think of it that way, feel welcome to by all means,” Rhiannon told him.

  Cai moved over to where the challenge ball had rolled and picked it up. He tossed it to her, then folded on the ground beside Emrys. He was grinning again.

  Rhiannon moved around the circle about the fire, as many of the fighters who had survived the day shouted at her to pick them, to give them a chance to prove their strength and agility, especially against her.

  She smiled when she saw Mair sitting beside her brothers, Bedivere and Lucan, her chin on her drawn-up knees. Rhiannon tossed the challenge ball at her and she caught it, a smile forming. She scrambled to her feet and leapt at Rhiannon, giving her no chance to brace herself. Rhiannon fell back, with Mair on top of her, to the delight of everyone.

  Rhiannon was more than happy to return to her place between Cai and Emrys, as Mair retrieved the ball with a happy laugh and began her own circuit of the fire.

  The challenges continued, fueled by drink and relief, for victory had been declared this day. The patrols reported that the Saxons continued to retreat well into the night, toward their borders and safety.

  “I didn’t think victory would feel like this,” Rhiannon said, as Cai filled her cup once more.

  “Sweet?” Cai asked.

  “Shaky. Uncertain.” She grimaced.

  Emrys nodded. “I don’t think it ever goes away. The Saxons are defeated today, but not forever. They will be back. Your instincts know that.” He nodded toward the pair who grappled in front of the fire. They were Pellinore, who was wiry and strong despite his age and slim build, and Bevan, the King of Calleva. Rank and privilege held no sway in these challenges. “That is why the merriment h
as such a fierce edge. They all know it, too.”

  Bevan was a heavyset man, yet Pellinore wrestled him to the earth, anyway, while everyone clapped their appreciation. Then Pellinore breathlessly picked up the challenge ball and threw it with a strong arm, so it streaked across the fire, heading directly for Hoel of Brittany.

  Hoel got his hand up to catch it, his eyes widening. Before the ball could slap into his palm, another big hand dropped in front of his and scooped the ball out of the air.

  Silence fell, as Idris stepped out into the clear space, tossing the ball in his hand and examining Pellinore.

  Pellinore bent and put his hands on his knees. “I am an old man!” he cried. “Have mercy!”

  The laughter built as Idris moved around the fire to where Pellinore hunched over. Pellinore waited until Idris reached for him then dropped to the ground, curled into a ball, and shouted, “You win! You win!”

  The audience fell against each other, laughing hard and holding their bellies.

  Idris stood over the King. He held out his hand. “Come, defeated one. Let me help you back to your chair.” His voice was deep and resonant, a match for his size.

  Pellinore grasped the big hand and let Idris hoist him to his feet, then made a great show of hobbling back to his chair. He dropped into it and held out his hand. “Wine! I must have wine!”

  Someone thrust a goblet into his hand and he drank as if the wine was a magical elixir.

  Rhiannon laughed as loudly as everyone else. It felt good to let the humor out, to shout her surprise and joy at the playacting and entertainment.

  Then the ball dropped into her lap. Silence fell once more.

  She looked down at it, then up.

  Idris stood by the fire, his arms crossed, watching her.

  Emrys slipped her wine cup from her fingers. “Take your defeat with your chin up,” he murmured.

  “Thank you for the foregone conclusion,” she shot back.