Embark

by K. M. Shea

  “You never said you weren’t in love; you just said you weren’t in love with a knight. I’m older than you, and Blaise told me I needed to be careful with you.”

  Britt momentarily considered fessing up—before deciding that would make life incredibly awkward. “How big is your ego? I—”

  “Tell the truth, lass,” Merlin said, his voice tight.

  Britt made a show of rolling her eyes. “Merlin. You—”

  “Look at me,” Merlin said, drawing Britt’s gaze to him. “Look at me, and promise that you do not love me!”

  Britt opened her mouth but couldn’t say anything.

  “Just say it, Britt!” Merlin said, clenching his horse’s reins.

  Britt swallowed and looked away.

  Merlin groaned loudly and shouted something in a language Britt couldn’t understand.

  “What’s your problem?” Britt frowned.

  “What is my problem? My problem is that everything was going so well, and your stupid…” Merlin could seem to find the right word as he gestured at Britt with a hand. “Your, your feminine heart has just ruined everything.”

  Britt frowned deeper. “You’re being dramatic. Nothing has changed.”

  “But that’s not true, is it? Everything has changed. You cannot love me, Britt. I forbid it!”

  “Why? It’s not like I was going to ever act on it,” Britt said.

  “Because this cannot happen. You will jeopardize everything we’ve worked for! You cannot start getting lovesick—you’re King Arthur! You’re supposed to be a man! Do you know what will happen if your knights that you love oh-so-much find out that you’re a woman? They will rebel! I will lose everything I have worked for!” Merlin said.

  “What part of my personality would ever make you think that I would be lovesick?” Britt demanded. “You didn’t even figure it out until Blaise told you. Even then, it took you two hours.”

  “Don’t play games. You are a female! You are a creature of passion and love. Sooner or later, you will get dreamy-eyed and start crying because I will never return your love.”

  Britt’s tone was even and dark. “What.”

  “You will turn into a swooning girl, like every other female in this time, and your court will crumble when they see how weak you are.”

  “I resent that implication! What an—you are the most sexist jerk I have met in this century!” Britt shouted.

  Merlin groaned. “I take it back. You are just as bad as the rest of your gender!”

  “How can you even say such lies? I can be a woman and still be strong—you’re scared stiff of Morgause and Nymue; don’t try to deny it. And besides that, you didn’t have a clue that I’ve had a crush on you, so I’m not obvious!”

  “You’re not. There is that saving grace,” Merlin said, regaining some of his calmness. “Look, Britt. Whatever your feelings are for me, they must end. Now.”

  “Don’t worry,” Britt promised, her eyes flashing as she tightened up her reins. “From henceforth, I will hold you on the same level of affection and esteem that I hold Lancelot!” Britt said before heeling Llamrei.

  “Britt,” Merlin managed to say before the white mare took off, cantering down the road. When Merlin also cued his horse forward, Britt sank closer to Llamrei’s neck and clung to her as the great mare threw herself into a gallop.

  They popped out of the Forest of Arroy, booking it across the meadow in front of Camelot like a streak of lightning. They skid through the city gates and trotted up the busy road that led the way into the inner palace—into the keep.

  By the time Britt reached the royal stables, Sir Kay and several guards were waiting for her.

  “Arthur, is something wrong?” Sir Kay asked, his eyes tracing her for injuries.

  Britt harshly laughed. “Why don’t you ask Merlin? He seems to think the end is near,” Britt said, savagely glaring at the wizard, who clattered into the stable courtyard on his skinny horse.

  “Arthur,” Merlin said, sliding from his horse. “We need to talk.”

  “Enough!” Britt yelled, making several horses spook. “Whatever it is you fear, I can vow that it will never happen. Believe me, what little threat there was is entirely gone. But if you dare to speak to me like that again, you will find yourself without a king to manipulate,” Britt said.

  Sir Kay and the guards were frozen, like practice targets. Merlin shifted but said nothing in reply.

  Glaring to keep back the tears, Britt swept from the stable, knocking into Lancelot on her way out.

  “My Lord?” the vapid knight said, tipping his head like a curious dog.

  “Sorry,” Britt muttered, moving around him as she stormed to the keep, Sir Ywain and Sir Griflet trotted about twenty paces behind her.

  Britt briefly turned back to look at the stable and saw some kind of messenger approach Merlin.

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to push the wizard off Camelot’s walls. He had done the most possible damage to her—not by being unable to return her feelings, but by entirely rebuffing her and acting as if it was the worst betrayal she could possibly commit.

  Britt shook her head and entered the keep. “Never again,” she vowed.

  Two days later, Britt was admiring the gardens with Queen Adelind—Pellinore’s lovely wife. The older woman was commenting on the blooming flowers when the two were interrupted.

  “My Lord?”

  Britt flashed a genuine smile of pleasure when she saw who greeted her. “Sir Gawain, Sir Tor—you have victoriously returned,” Britt said.

  Sir Tor—his arm in a cloth sling—smiled. “We did, My Lord. We completed our quests—although I might be a little worse for the wear,” he admitted.

  Sir Gawain looked down at the ground.

  “Congratulations. I cannot wait to hear of your adventures,” Britt said. “I planned to hold a feast when all three of you—King Pellinore included—returned, but in the meantime, I would love to hear what, er, befell you.”

  “If you forgive my frankness, My Lord, but there is no telling when my dear husband will return,” Queen Adelind dryly said. “He has gone out on an inspection of our lands and disappeared for months on end. He many not return to Camelot until next week…or next year.”

  Britt hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “Hold the feast, My Lord. I’m sure your knights deserve it,” Queen Adelind said, patting Britt’s hand. She curtseyed to the knights and left.

  “That settles it, then. I’ll tell Sir Ulfius and Sir Kay we are celebrating your return immediately. Are you too tired to tell your stories to the Round Table tonight?” Britt asked.

  “Not at all,” Sir Tor said.

  Britt hesitated when Sir Gawain still didn’t look at her. “Are you alright, Gawain?” she asked, setting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Yes, My Lord,” Sir Gawain said.

  “Excellent,” Britt said, but she still eyed him warily. “In that case, let the preparations begin!”

  Britt spared no expense in hosting the young knights’ feast. There were musicians, jugglers, a fire breather, trays and trays of food, and an endless supply of wine.

  Spirits were high. The hall was filled with laughing ladies and well-humored knights.

  Britt’s table was in better spirits than it had been. Guinevere was still at the table—as was Merlin, but Britt wouldn’t look at the wizard or speak to him unless it was for a court function. She was grateful that Tor and Gawain, as the honored guests, sat with her, giving her someone to happily talk to.

  After most of the food had been served, Gawain and Tor told their tales.

  “My story is rather silly,” Sir Tor said, laughing good-naturedly. He glanced behind him, where Lem stood as his squire. “I rode forth with My Lord, that is to say King Arthur, in search of the white hound. While on the hound’s trail, we ran across two recreant knights. They attacked us. I threw myself on one, and My Lord disarmed the other. We granted them their lives and instructed them to come back to Camelot to swear loy
alty. I say—did they ever pledge loyalty to you, My Lord?” Sir Tor asked, momentarily distracted.

  “They did,” Britt nodded. Her chair was pushed back from the table and her hands were occupied petting Cavall’s head—which the large mastiff had placed on her lap. “Mounted as I was, my party and I beat them back. I believe they are helping with the summer crops.”

  “Oh, Good,” Sir Tor said before abruptly returning to his story. “The knight that I defeated had a great squire, Lem, who graciously offered to serve as my squire. I’m particularly happy about that,” Sir Tor said, stepping aside so those not on the dais could get a glimpse of the new squire. “Some knights from Camelot came out about then and rode back to Camelot with My Lord, but Lem and I kept following the trail of the knight that kidnapped the hound. Lem knew him—by sight anyway—and led me to the campground of the lady to whom the knight paid homage. She—and her lady servants—were sleeping, with the white hound staked and tied up outside their tents with no food or water. T’was deplorable. The poor dog was so happy to see us, it started whining—which woke up the lady. She ordered me to leave it, but I told her I couldn’t. T’was my quest from King Arthur. She warned me she would send her knight after me, but I paid her no heed, and Lem and I set out for Camelot.”

  “The hound,” Lem hissed.

  “Right, if you would bring out the hound, please,” Sir Tor called.

  The white hound—leashed by a servant—trotted into the feasting hall, wagging his tail and looking as jolly as Sir Tor.

  “Well done, Sir Tor,” Britt said as everyone admired the dog.

  “Getting the dog was the easy part. Keeping it? That was a little more difficult. First, I accidentally got us lost trying to get back to Camelot, but then the knight that kidnapped the hound from these very halls found us and demanded that we give the dog back. I refused, so we fought. It was a close match—I was beaten quite soundly—but I managed to turn it around at the last minute. I regret to say the knight didn’t ask for mercy—he didn’t want it—and kept fighting back, so I had to kill him,” Sir Tor said, looking sad for a moment. Lem shook his head sadly. “He injured me pretty badly, so Lem insisted that we stay at a small chapel we found until I could ride without falling off. That’s it.”

  “That still is quite the tale,” Britt said loud enough for all to hear as the hound was led from the room. “You have done well for yourself, Sir Tor. You have made me proud to have you within the ranks of the Round Table.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Sir Tor said before sitting and attacking his food with relish.

  Britt leaned closer and said to the young knight, “Did you keep the recreant knight’s armor and horse?”

  Sir Tor swallowed the wad of food in his mouth. “I did, My Lord. You were right. I didn’t need to worry about money to keep my squire. T’was quite enjoyable to quest. I would like to do it again soon—though I think I need more training.”

  Behind Sir Tor, Lem grunted in agreement.

  Britt grinned and leaned back in her chair, slipping a bit of her dinner to Cavall. “Well done, Sir Tor,” she repeated in her announcer’s voice. “Nephew, it’s now your turn.”

  Sir Gawain sighed and stood up, as if it pained him. “My quest was to track the white hart and to bring it back to Camelot. It was a fiercely swift creature, and it took me days to catch up with it. During that time, I fought a rogue knight who was demanding compensation from peasants for so-called protection—while he offered no such thing. I defeated him. He asked for no mercy, so I gave him none.”

  “Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said, although it was with sad eyes that she looked back and forth between Sir Gawain and Sir Tor. She didn’t think questing would be so…bloody. “Although it seems there are more evil knights in the world than I thought,” she added.

  Sir Gawain nodded and squared his shoulders. “I eventually tracked the white hart to a castle, where I captured it and brought it home.”

  As Sir Gawain spoke, the white hart was led into the room by a man. The room buzzed with whispers and murmurs as they studied what Britt recognized to be an albino deer. It was a beautiful animal, and in spite of the huge amount of people present, it calmly looked about the room—much like a dog—and wore a scarlet red halter.

  “I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you would be able to actually bring the deer back. Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said.

  Sir Gawain shook his head. “It is not so, My Lord.”

  “Why?” Britt asked.

  “I did something most dishonorable—especially given the vows I swore at the Round Table,” Sir Gawain said. “When I tracked the hart to the castle, a knight rode forth to match me in combat. I was…angered, and so I fought him with much hatred, first in a jousting match—in which I knocked him from his horse—and then in a sword fight. The knight—Sir Athmore—was…proud and did not wish to lose to me, though I was steadily winning. His lady was present and called for him to yield. As a knight of the Round Table, I should have known better. I should have offered him mercy even though he would not ask for it. Regardless, I was too angry and too eager to end his life.”

  Sir Gawain was silent.

  Britt patiently waited.

  “The lady could see as much,” Sir Gawain finally continued. “So when I disarmed him, and moved to smite him…she stepped between us. I-I could not stop the blow in time, and I slew her,” Gawain said, swallowing with difficulty.

  The hall was silent.

  “I brought dishonor to you and dishonor to Camelot with my actions, My Lord. And I am sorry for it,” Sir Gawain said.

  For a while, Britt didn’t know what to say. Gawain—the sweet, loyal knight—had killed a woman? “What happened to Sir Athmore?” she asked.

  “He immediately regretted his actions—our actions—for he deeply loved his lady. He bid me to slay him, but I could not. It was he who led forth the white hart,” Sir Gawain said.

  Britt nodded. “And why did you fight him with such anger?”

  Gawain lowered his eyes and could only whisper the words. “He killed one of the hounds you gave me, My Lord.”

  That made Britt feel a little better. She knew Gawain had a complex about pets—given to him by his pig of a father, King Lot. Still… “It is no excuse to kill an innocent, Gawain.”

  “I know,” Sir Gawain said. He squared his shoulders and looked out at the feasters. “I am prepared to face the consequences of my terrible actions, My Lord. Should you choose to strip me of my knighthood and exile me from Camelot, I will understand. Now, at least, I will accept the consequences with honor.”

  Britt tapped her fingers on the chair.

  What was she supposed to do?

  Britt knew Gawain wasn’t a killer. The boy was sick with guilt. It was clear he hadn’t enjoyed the experience. But she was trying to hold her knights to a higher level of integrity. That was why she established the Round Table. What would the legends have her do?

  Britt rolled her head as she thought. The legends would probably have her temporarily exile Gawain, but he wasn’t even 20-years-old yet, and he had gone through so much under his tyrant of a father before arriving at Camelot. It was incredible he had retained his gentleness.

  “Arthur,” Merlin whispered. Even though it was barely above a hushed utterance, it was loud in the silent hall.

  Britt ignored him.

  Blaise said to rule with my gut and my head. Very well, let’s try it.

  Britt slid Cavall’s head off her lap and stood. The sound of her chair scraping on the ground was ominous in the oppressive silence. Britt crossed the short distance between herself and Sir Gawain.

  She stared at the young knight, who looked back at her with trust and despair.

  “Sir Gawain, prince of Orkney,” Britt started, drawing whispers from the crowd. “You have made a terrible choice and spilled the blood of an innocent. In accordance with your actions, I will place upon you a ruling as your King,” Britt said.

  “Yes, My Lord,” Sir G
awain said, his eyes falling.

  The hall fell silent when Britt smoothed Gawain’s hair from his face and—in the most grave, elegant way she could—kissed his forehead. “I grant you a boon: a gift of mercy,” Britt said, smiling fondly. “For I know you, Sir Gawain, and I know that you will not make this mistake again, and that you will spend the rest of your life struggling to make amends for it. I only strip knighthood from those who take delight in wrongdoings. That is not you,” Britt said. “Instead, I dub you—evermore—the Ladies’ Knight. You will be charged with fighting for those who have no one to speak for them. You will oversee their quarrels and act as the champion for any lady who requests it. Finally, I tell you to be known as the most merciful knight in my Kingdom. These things I charge you with, and I congratulate you on successfully retrieving the white heart. Well done, Sir Gawain.”

  The hall exploded into cheers. Sir Gawain, weak-kneed, dropped to Britt’s feet. Britt crouched and hauled him upright, holding him aloft. “What do you say, ladies of Camelot. Do you accept your champion and agree to his charge?”

  The ladies whispered and looked wide-eyed at each other—shocked, apparently, to be so openly addressed for their opinion.

  “We accept,” Queen Adelind said, standing to address the hall. “Arthur is wise beyond his years, for Sir Gawain is a good knight and will do us justice. But, let there be no more bloodshed of the innocent.”

  “Agreed!” Guinevere said, also standing, though she nervously licked her lips and looked to Britt.

  “Then it is settled. Ladies, I give you your champion,” Britt said, raising Gawain’s arm in the air, inciting a new wave of cheers.

  “You don’t have to do this, My Lord. I don’t deserve it,” Sir Gawain said to Britt over the roar of the crowd.

  Britt gave Sir Gawain her truest smile. “People usually don’t deserve it; that’s why it’s called mercy. I hope you will remember this feeling and offer mercy to others as a result—even when they hurt you and cause you pain.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Gawain said.