by KM Shea
2
A Quest
Britt tipped back the remaining wine in her goblet before letting a page refill it.
Merlin, seated at her side, leaned in and whispered, “I do hope you’re not going to tolerate the young princes’ presence by consuming as much alcohol as you did during Queen Morgause’s stay?”
Britt spoke through clenched teeth as she smiled at Lancelot when the handsome knight glanced at her from further down her dinner table. “If my methods work, I see no need to correct them.”
Normally, Merlin invading her personal space made her squirrely. Today, she was too angry to notice.
Merlin patted her shoulder. “Cheer up. At least these three won’t be here long, and they’re not trying to kill you.”
“Fantastic,” Britt said, stabbing a radish with her knife.
Britt’s attention was redirected by a dust-covered courier who hurried up the steps. “This is for you, Milord: a correspondence from King Leodegrance,” he said, passing over an envelope sealed with wax.
Britt carelessly passed the letter to Merlin—she couldn’t read old English writing—and took another slug of her wine as the wizard opened the letter and read it.
“What is it?” Britt asked.
“You’re never going to guess,” Merlin said, shaking his head in disgust. “King Leodegrance’s lands are about to be invaded.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
“By whom?”
“Duke Maleagant.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of King Ryence’s allies.”
“We should attack Ryence’s lands and be done with it. I thought Lot was annoying, but Ryence is proving to have more perseverance,” Britt said, slumping in her chair.
“I’m not much inclined to help him,” Merlin said, folding the letter. “We’ve already bailed him out once. If we lose him as an ally, I suppose it is not the worst thing in the world. You have prince Gawain and prince Ywain in your halls. If they had to, King Urien (and perhaps even King Lot) would ride to your aid, so you are not in any danger.”
“Yeah,” Britt said. She stared out at her dining knights and watched them eat, drink, and roar in laughter. “Wait a second,” Britt said. “If Maleagant and Leodegrance do make an alliance, my chances of getting the Round Table are ruined, aren’t they?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Britt thought for a moment before she stood and declared, “It is not right to let an ally face an enemy alone. We must help King Leodegrance. My honor is staked on it,” Britt said.
“Bravo,” Lancelot clapped.
Merlin rolled his eyes at the foreign knight’s antics and muttered, “You just want to save your precious table.”
Britt ignored the observation and slowly turned to face Lancelot, a stiff smile molded on her face. “Were you listening in on our private conversation, Lancelot?”
“Only a bit. I admire the stoutness of your loyalty, My Lord. You are truly worthy of being the King of Britain,” Lancelot said, rubbing his chin.
On either side of him, his hulking cousins shoved food in their mouths like it was their last meal for the week.
“Hmm,” Britt said before forcibly turning her body back to Merlin. “It doesn’t matter what my motives are. What is clear is that we must ride to King Leodegrance’s aid.”
Merlin sighed. “It’s not that easy. If you save him, he’s going to insist you marry his daughter.”
“So, we help him without his knowledge,” Britt said.
“Go on—I am intrigued,” Merlin said.
“A small party of our best knights could easily enter King Leodegrance’s borders. They could pillage and plunder Maleagant’s forces,” Britt said.
“Pillage and plunder? What happened to honor and chivalry?” Merlin asked.
“They flee the moment I sense my table is in danger,” Britt said.
“There is some intelligence in what you say. Maleagant will not be able to amass the army Ryence did. At the very least, the knights could scout the land as we prepare the army.”
“We. We could scout the land.”
Merlin shook his head. “You are not going with them.”
“Yes, I am. I want to see the Round Table.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“You cannot. Not only would it be asinine to send a king on a scouting trip, but looking at the blasted table would mean getting into Camelgrance, King Leodegrance’s castle.”
Britt leaned into Merlin and whispered. “You just made me welcome the man I hate most on Earth in any century and his cousins into my castle. I. Am. Going.”
Britt sank back into her chair as Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Very well, I suppose I should let you win occasionally. Besides, I doubt there’s much danger if we head out immediately.”
“We’ll call a meeting after dinner?”
“Yes, of course.”
“My Lord,” Lancelot said, making Britt stiffen. “My compliments on your bountiful table.”
“Yes, it’s certainly a good thing that it is bountiful,” Britt said. Her gaze did not waver from Lancelot, and his cousins continued to eat with great enthusiasm.
Lancelot laughed. “I must say, My Lord, I find your kingdom both unusual and beautiful. I have never met folk half as clean nor well fed as the subjects of Camelot. ‘Tis a charming kingdom, and all can see that you have the blessing of your faerie neighbors. They guard your forests and do mischief on your enemies, leading them astray in the woods and such.”
“Perhaps, but I think lately they have failed in that area,” Britt said.
Merlin choked on his wine and gave Britt a dirty look, but Lancelot did not catch the implied slight and laughed.
“Careful with your words,” Merlin growled.
Britt smiled triumphantly. “Always.”
“Ywain and Gawain should come. Gawain has become quite adept in combat, and Ywain will never allow us to bring his cousin and not him,” Merlin said, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe.
“The three younger Orkney princes will remain behind,” Sir Kay said.
“Naturally. This isn’t an outing; it’s a scouting party,” Merlin said.
“You will be the one to tell them they are remaining behind,” Sir Kay said.
Merlin grimaced. “Fine,” he said.
“When we split into two groups, Gawain and Ywain should travel with My Lord,” Sir Bodwain said. “My Lord will be able to keep them safe.”
Britt snorted. “I fear you over estimate my abilities, Sir Bodwain.”
Sir Bodwain shook his head. “You are the best swordsman in all of Camelot, and your jousting has much improved since last year. You do not give yourself enough credit, My Lord.”
Next to Sir Bodwain, Sir Bedivere nodded in agreement.
Britt gave the pair a pained smile before looking to Merlin in a plea for help.
The wizard avoided Britt’s gaze.
“If you say so,” she said finally.
When Britt first came to England, Sir Bodwain, one of Merlin’s star Minions, tolerated Britt. He had no belief in her combat skills or her intelligence. His opinion of her changed greatly during the war with Lot. Now, however, Britt couldn’t help but wish he retained some of his disbelief.
Sir Bedivere’s reaction was not a surprise as he always beheld Britt in a saint-like light. He was the only knight in an administrative position who did not know the truth of her gender and origins. His estimation of Britt was already undeservedly high, but when she broke off an enchantment Queen Morgause—her one-time enemy and now her pigeon correspondence pen pal—had cast over all her men (Bedivere included), Bedivere’s esteem of Britt reached uncomfortably new heights.
“Kay and I will ride with Arthur’s party,” Sir Ector said, slapping his pot belly.
“No,” Britt said. “You will remain behind, Sir Ector.”
“What, what?” Sir Ector said, his round face wrinkling with the force of his frown.
; “Arthur is right,” Merlin said. “Someone needs to stay with Sir Ulfius and see to the administration of Camelot. As Kay has insisted on coming along, you are the natural candidate, Ector.”
“I say, that’s not fair,” Sir Ector grumbled. “Why does Kay get to go?”
“Because he asked first and held a sword to my throat as he did so,” Merlin said.
Sir Kay smoothed his mustache to cover his smirk.
“With the addition of Gawain and Ywain, we still should send one more knight with My Lord,” Sir Bodwain said.
“Do you have any suggestions?” Merlin asked. “And no, Bedivere, we cannot bring Griflet. We will have enough untrained knights to watch the way it is.”
Sir Ector scratched his dry scalp. “Shall you take another one of your men, Merlin?”
Merlin shook his head. “With Bodwain, Bedivere, and Kay out of the castle, you will need all the help you can get. My…associates will remain behind to aid you and Ulfius.”
“Who else is gifted in arms and combat?” Merlin asked.
“We don’t know. We haven’t had any jousts or tournaments since My Lord came to Camelot. We only know My Lord is the most skilled swordsman because no one has beaten him in practice fights,” Kay said.
“Perhaps you should take a hunter with you? Not a knight but a forestman skilled in tracking and such. It may be useful,” Sir Bedivere said.
“Perhaps,” Sir Bodwain agreed.
Britt pressed her lips together. “There is someone I wish to bring.”
“Who?” Merlin asked.
Britt briefly closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was about to say. “Lancelot du Lac.”
“He is a fair choice. He is certainly gifted in arms,” Sir Bodwain said.
“I doubt his cousins would insist on going. They are enjoying their stay here,” Sir Bedivere added. “They have been with us for five days and show no signs of wishing to leave.”
“He’s a good lad,” Sir Ector said.
Sir Kay was the only knight who did not look pleased.
Merlin leaned close to Britt and whispered, his breath tickling her neck. “What are you planning? You hate Lancelot.”
“I do,” Britt acknowledged, gritting her teeth. “But as much as I hate him, I would rather die than leave him in Camelot without supervision.”
Merlin chuckled and said, “That’s my lass,” before pulling back with a handsome grin. “It’s settled then. Lancelot du Lac will join us, should he be willing. We will leave two days hence. Remember, when recruiting the knights, we must be subtle. All of Camelot must believe we are going on an extended hunting trip.”
“Aye,” Sir Bodwain said, barely able to conceal a smile as he rubbed his hands together.
Sir Bedivere’s grin stretched across his face. “Ready your gear and your weapons in secret. We are setting out on a quest.”
Britt was not quite so giddy. She was looking forward to the trip, but she wasn’t about to forget that Lancelot would be coming with them. “It will be interesting,” she said.
“It’s not fair. This is the first adventure since Morgause left last summer. I want to come,” Sir Ector objected. “Kay, we should switch. I will go with Arthur; you stay here.”
“I respectfully decline, Father. I will accompany My Lord.”
“You little urchin. It’s not fair, I tell you!”
“Yes, Father.”
Britt started to regret her decision to bring Lancelot immediately after they set out. The young knight, of course, accepted the invitation— “I would never refuse to come to the aid of a king such as you, My Lord!”—and since they set out early in the morning, he had done nothing but grate Britt’s nerves.
To begin with, he aligned his horse next to Britt for the day, never straying from her side.
Hourly, he felt the need to share a “rousing story” in which he always had the starring role, usually defeating a blackguard knight, a giant, or a serpent. He filled the day with mindless chatter and observations, remarking on everything from bird songs to tree foliage.
Britt almost wished she had brought Cavall along so she could tell the massive dog to bite him.
In the twilight hours, Kay signaled the party to halt for the night.
“This journey is going to be more painful than I thought,” Britt said, loosening Llamrei’s girth.
“Are you alright, My Lord?”
Britt turned to find Ywain behind her, his head tilted as he studied her with concern.
Britt blinked. “Yes.”
“Your old wound isn’t hurting you, is it?” Ywain asked, wringing his hands.
She laughed. “My thigh wound healed last summer, Ywain. It didn’t even leave a scar.”
“Yes, but I thought it still might twinge. You haven’t made a long ride like this in some time,” Ywain said.
“I am fine, but I thank you for your concern,” Britt smiled.
The young knight nodded. “If you need anything at all, My Lord, do not hesitate to call,” he said before seeing to his horse.
She barely had enough time to slip the saddle off Llamrei before she was again interrupted.
“Do you need any help, My Lord? Shall I fetch water for your horse?”
Britt set the saddle down. “I appreciate the offer, Gawain, but I should be the one to care for my mount.”
“Can I help you with your armor then? Do you need anything unbuckled?” he offered.
“No,” Britt said, swapping Llamrei’s bridle for a rope halter. “I think I can manage, but thank you,” she said.
Shimmying out of her armor was a tricky thing. She usually didn’t bother to wear a full set, but she wore several pieces (the cuirass, pauldrons, faulds, and gorget—which covered her chest, upper legs, and throat.) to bulk up her form. She was tall—for both her century and this one—but too slender for a boy. The armor gave the illusion of broader shoulders, thighs, and chest.
Everyone assumed Britt’s new bulk was maturity. If they helped her remove the armor, they would notice she was still as slender as ever. Kay or Merlin could help if she needed it.
“I see,” Gawain said.
Britt leaned against her horse and studied the Orkney prince. “Tell me, how goes your lance training? Agravain told me you were seeking to improve your skills.”
Gawain placed his saddle packs on the ground and began unpacking. “I have improved some. I have gotten a better feel of where to aim. Previously, I was content just to hit my opponent on the shield with as much force as I could muster, but some parts of the shield make a man yield easier than others. I fear Kay can still unhorse me though,” Gawain said.
Britt winced in sympathy. “Kay could unseat a knight tied to his mount. The man is a nightmare as an opponent.”
Gawain sat down, his gear spread around him. “You practice with him?”
“From time to time,” she said vaguely. In truth, she had been practicing with Kay ever since she pulled the Sword from the Stone. The stony knight was pleased with her swordsmanship skills and was determined to make her a passable knight. He took it upon himself to train her in the use of a lance and spear. (He gave up on her archery skills after a brief stint of practice revealed she had no aptitude for the weapon.)
“If you’re looking to beat Kay, I suggest you ask Sir Bodwain for help,” Britt said.
“Sir Bodwain? Why?”
She brushed Llamrei’s broad back. “Before he took up the position of my constable, he was a particularly fierce knight. He was quite a terror to battle in his younger days, I’ve been told. I am certain he would be able to help you.”
“I never knew,” Gawain said.
“I’m not surprised. I don’t think much information about any of my knights would travel as far as Orkney. But it was why Merlin advised I select him as my constable,” Britt said.
“I shall ask him to train me, in that case,” Gawain said.
Britt smiled. “I’m sure the request will please him. I need to water Llamrei. Did you al
ready water your mount?”
Gawain nodded and went back to organizing his gear. “There’s a river just a stone’s throw north from here.”
“Excellent. Thank you, nephew,” she said, leading her horse from the camp.
“My pleasure, My Lord,” Gawain said.
When Britt turned to acknowledge the comment with a wave, she noticed Lancelot intently watching her.
The handsome knight made no movement to cover up his stare. Instead, he twisted his lips into a thoughtful frown.
Britt was distracted from his odd behavior when Sir Kay joined her. “Good evening, Sir Kay. Watering your horse?”
“Yes. You shouldn’t go alone,” Sir Kay said.
Britt chuckled. “Of course. Thank you for accompanying me.”
“Yes.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Yes.”
“You remain as enigmatic as ever, brother.”
“Thank you.”
The following morning, Britt knelt at the riverbed and splashed water on her face in an effort to wake up. Since arriving in ancient Britain, she had been infected by a horrible case of insomnia, making mornings a bear to get through.
Britt rocked back on her heels in a squatting position and considered the riverbed. There were a number of strange tracks on the moist banks. She studied them with a frown, looking up when she heard the pounding of horse hooves.
A knight dressed in black armor and riding a sturdy horse crashed through the underbrush, popping out a few feet away from Britt.
“You there, knight. Have you seen anything—like a strange beast—pass this way?” the knight demanded.
“No,” Britt said, stifling a yawn.
“Did you hear anything? Perhaps a noise that is not unlike the baying of hounds?”
She boosted herself into a standing position. “No, we’re in the Forest of Arroy, faerie lands. There are no dogs in these parts.”
“Oh, I say, Arthur, is that you?” the knight asked.
Britt studied the black armor and ventured a guess. “Pellinore?”
“At your service,” King Pellinore said, flipping up the visor of his helm.
“What are you doing here? Your lands are far from this forest.”