by K. M. Shea
Britt finally dared to let go of Excalibur and rub her throat. “She has the scabbard,” she croaked. She glanced up at Merlin, and froze.
The wizard wore a look of such rage, it shut down his normally pleasant features and made his face dark and closed. His blue eyes glittered almost black, and his jaw was clenched.
With Britt’s words, lightning streaked across the sky, following the path Vivien had taken. Several bolts struck trees in the forest with an unusual blue tint to their sparks.
“Gawain. Percival. Wake up.” Though Merlin did not raise his voice, the darkness in his tone made both the knights roll out of their bedrolls, swords raised.
“What is it?” Gawain asked.
Percival dumbly stared at the ground, where black scorch marks bore witness to the fire Merlin had created when Britt was blacking out.
Merlin threw his saddle on his horse, briskly tightening the girth. “Vivien made her move and took Excalibur’s scabbard. I’m going to get it back. Take Britt back to Camelot. Get her there safely, and keep an eye out for any Roman ambushes.”
Rain began to fall, but it was not a gentle sprinkle, or even a wet downpour. Instead, the raindrops hit with such force they stung, like bits of hail. Britt coughed as she peered up at the sky. When she first met Merlin’s mentor, Blaise, he had jokingly told her how Merlin had, as a young child, flattened Stone Hedge. He said Merlin had better control now, but as blue lightning snaked across the sky, Britt highly doubted it was the wizard’s calculated plan, but more likely his anger manifesting because he could not—or perhaps would not—withhold it.
Merlin threw himself on top of his leggy horse and turned in the direction Vivien had ridden.
“Be careful,” Britt called, her voice still hoarse.
Merlin glanced down at her, pushing enough of his rage aside that he could offer her a tightlipped smile, though his furrowed eyebrows made the expression look painful. He urged his horse forward, disappearing into the darkness even faster than Vivien had.
Thunder rumbled, and Britt shivered in her newly soaked clothes.
Percival and Gawain had begun disassembling the campsite the moment Merlin told them to return to Camelot. Percival doused the fire, and Gawain packed up the saddlebags, divvying out the equipment Merlin had left behind between the pile meant for his horse and Percival’s.
Britt retreated so she was under the overhang of a large oak tree. “It’s not even dawn yet. Don’t you two want to try sleeping a little more?”
Percival offered Britt a smile, though she could see his worry in the slant of his eyes. “I don’t much fancy trying to sleep through this.” He glanced up at the sky as lightning illuminated it, and thunder rumbled so loudly it shook the ground.
“If we stretch it—and if we make good time—we may be able to reach Camelot tonight,” Gawain said. He tied his saddle pack shut. “With this experience, I would much rather see you safely behind Camelot’s walls than gain a few extra hours of sleep.”
Britt nodded, and began to pack her own belongings. She used the dress Mordred had given her before separating with Kay to wrap her sword. (It would be stupid of her to ride with the blade uncovered.)
The loss of the scabbard made her wince, for the enchanted thing had saved her more than once, but she was primarily relieved that she had managed to snag Excalibur. Though technically the scabbard was more valuable, Britt had never come across a sword that was more suited for her than Excalibur. (Indeed, she had never dreamed of a sword that fit her as well as it did.)
So while she would be extremely grateful if Merlin were able to reclaim the scabbard, her primary concern was that the wizard would make it through the encounter in one piece.
There was no doubt Merlin was excessively powerful, but there was also no doubt Vivien practiced black magic, with which she would find it far easier to end Merlin than he her.
Lightning struck less than a mile away, shaking the ground and sending blue sparks into the sky. Britt shivered as she laid Roen’s saddle blanket on his back. Perhaps I’m worrying too much. He is ticked.
Gawain grimly shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Britt called out to him. “Are you that worried for Merlin?”
The knight shook his head. “No. It is more what Vivien’s activities mean that has me uneasy.”
Britt heaved her saddle on to Roen’s back. “What do you mean by that?”
Gawain flicked rain off his face. “It is guaranteed Rome has no spies closer to us than her, so if she made her move, it must’ve been because the war is upon us.”
Chapter 9
A United Britain
Britt, Gawain, and Percival did not make their goal of reaching Camelot that night. The horses’ fatigue combined with the thunderstorm that squatted over the forest forced them to camp out one more night. However, when dawn arrived, it brought with it a sunny, bright day, and by midmorning Britt knew they would be home in time for lunch.
“I’m a little surprised Merlin has not caught up with us yet.” Britt stared up at the trees, enjoying the sight of the fresh green leaves and the song of the birds. Spring had come.
“He will not easily give up recovering your scabbard,” Gawain predicted.
“Yeah, but I thought it would be an easy win for him against Vivien,” Britt said.
Percival lingered at the back of their little line. “As the lady in question is a practitioner of black magic, it’ll make the fight against her that much more difficult.”
Britt winced. “True.”
Gawain held up his hand, wordlessly requesting for silence.
Off in the distance, Britt could hear the sound of someone whistling cheerfully, and the muffled clop of horse hooves falling on the dirt road.
“Someone from Camelot, perhaps?” Percival asked. “We are close enough now.”
“If that’s another faerie knight, I’m going to chew Nymue out,” Britt grumbled.
Gawain’s hands stole to the hilt of his sword, but he need not worry. The whistler rounded a bend in the road, slowly ambling into view.
It was Sir Tor, wearing his armor and mounted on his charger, with his squire riding a white donkey.
Percival smiled. “Sir Tor!”
The knight, who was built a lot like a defensive lineman from a football team, smiled broadly. “King Arthur, Sir Percival, Sir Gawain! Welcome home!”
“Are you out questing already? We haven’t had an official ceremony for the Round Table yet,” Britt said.
Tor shook his head. “No, I’m not on a quest. I, and several other knights, were sent out to search for you.”
Britt grimaced. “Kay sent you, didn’t he? That man! We haven’t been gone that long.”
“Sir Kay did indeed send me, though not because he felt you were tarrying,” Tor said earnestly.
“Is it the war with Rome?” Gawain asked.
“There are new developments with that, but that was not why I was sent,” Tor acknowledged.
“Sir,” Tor’s squire, a squat dwarf who was probably one of the best in Camelot (though he had a fierce tongue), frowned up at his master. “Just spit out the reason instead of answering so badly!”
Tor’s smile turned sheepish. “Ahh, I am being vague. Very well! I was sent to find you because the kings of Ireland and Scotland have come, and they wish to be named your allies.”
Britt screeched. “What?!”
Camelot was in a barely controlled uproar when Britt and her party clattered into the keep courtyard.
Both the castle keep where Britt and her knights lived, as well as the city, which lay outside the inner gate, was a swarm of activity. Horses paraded past, dressed up in their best tack; oxen pulled wooden carts that rumbled and groaned, heavily laden with supplies and weapons.
The meadow surrounding Camelot was a sea of tents and soldiers. Couriers on the swiftest mounts zoomed back and forth between the castle and the armies outside, carrying messages and orders.
“It seems Kay took his
charge of preparing for war seriously,” Britt said as she boosted herself from Roen’s back and landed on the ground.
A stable boy was at her side in an instant, taking Roen before Britt could even pat the gelding on the neck.
“It seems he did,” Gawain agreed.
“Oh, this isn’t all Sir Kay’s work,” Tor said.
Before Britt could further question the cheerful knight, Sir Bodwain, Sir Bedivere, and Sir Kay charged out of the keep.
“Welcome home, sire,” Bodwain said. The swarthy man was stroking his beard, one of his nervous tics, but paused long enough to give Britt a deep and respectful bow.
“I am filled with joy to see you here safe and sound, My Lord,” Bedivere said. A frown briefly settled on his lips. “Although it seems it was good luck that you were taken as it allowed you to forge an alliance with King Bagdemagus, I cannot help but think the method of your departure is still an embarrassment to us.”
Britt laughed. “You mean he snatched me right out from underneath your noses? Yeah, my pride took a hit from that. I assume Kay told you about King Bagdemagus?”
Bedivere nodded. “He did, but I found King Bagdemagus’s account to be much more detailed.”
“Ah,” Britt said. “Wait, what?”
Eagle eye Kay interrupted before Bedivere could explain himself. “Merlin does not ride with you.” His gaze dropped to Excalibur, which was still wrapped with the dress minus sword belt and scabbard. “… Where is your scabbard?”
Britt scratched the back of her neck and wondered how she could break the news without enraging Kay. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“It will have to wait until after we meet with the kings of Scotland and Ireland.” Bodwain said. “They’re waiting for you in your throne room.”
Britt started for the impressive doors to the castle keep without further prompting. “Tor mentioned some kings had arrived and expressed a desire to become allies.”
“King Bagdemagus and Duke Maleagant have arrived as well,” Kay said.
Britt grinned at her foster brother as they swept inside and started up the hallway. “And you didn’t kick Duke Maleagant out immediately? I’m impressed, Kay. I thought you might hold a grudge against him.”
Kay shrugged. “King Bagdemagus is honorable enough. It is a shame Duke Maleagant does not seem to take much after him.”
Bedivere laughed outright. “What Sir Kay is not saying is that Duke Maleagant complained of the inaction for the past week, so two days ago Kay challenged him to joust and hit him so hard, he knocked him unconscious.”
Britt whistled. “Wish I had been here to see that!” She and her men turned a corner in the hallway, making their way towards her throne room.
“Thankfully, King Bagdemagus did not seem to take Duke Maleagant’s…lesson poorly,” Bodwain said dryly.
“King Bagdemagus knows Duke Maleagant is a bit of a jerk. He probably approved of Kay’s actions, so I don’t need to worry about it affecting a possible alliance.” Britt smiled at the knights and servants who bowed to her as she passed them, welcoming her home.
“King Bagdemagus is not only interested in an alliance,” Bedivere said, his eyes bright with excitement. “He, along with the kings of Ireland and Scotland, wish to swear oaths of fealty to you!”
Britt stopped walking. “What?”
Kay twitched his mustache, the dead giveaway that said exactly how pleased he was. “They wish to take oaths and become vassals.”
“Indeed,” Bodwain rumbled proudly. “With their oaths, you will have successfully united all of Britain—with the exception of King Ryence.”
Britt almost ran the remaining distance to her throne room. “But why? What on earth would possess them to swear fealty to me?”
The soldiers standing at the doors hustled, pushing them open so Britt could get a good look at the inside of her throne room.
Her wooden throne was still positioned on the dais, and skylights let in shafts of warm sunshine. What was unusual, however, was the ring of foreign dignitaries who stood near the dais of her throne.
King Bagdemagus was the only one of the bunch she recognized, but they couldn’t have made their decision based on his testimony alone. Heck, when she left his lands, he was just looking for an alliance!
The group rearranged slightly when they noticed Britt standing in the doorway. They spread out so they stood in a straight line, revealing Mordred.
Mordred stood with a slightly older version of himself—a man who wore a golden circlet and had Mordred’s dark hair and puppy-dog eyes. They had to be related. Brothers or cousins, possibly.
Mordred smiled charmingly, flashing his dimples. “My Lord, King Arthur!” He left the line of kings and approached Britt. “Please, allow me to introduce you to my older brother. I have much longed for you to meet him.”
Britt looked back and forth from Mordred to his brother. “Would your brother happen to be an Irish King?” She asked, sounding deceptively calm.
Mordred laughed. “He is indeed.”
Britt raised her eyebrows slightly. “No wonder you worked so hard to keep Merlin from finding out your parentage. Well done. I never even detected a hint of an accent in your words.”
“I spent much of my youth in Britain,” Mordred said. “It was why I was chosen for my role.”
“Role?”
Mordred bowed his head slightly as his smile turned wry. “I’m afraid I have not been entirely honest with you, My Lord. Let me be clear: my oaths of fealty to you were absolutely true, for I have sworn my life to you, and I will serve you first before anyone else. But originally, my brother asked me to travel to Britain and look into the rumors of King Arthur, High King of Britain. I rode through the countryside for quite a while, and my interest in you was so piqued I had to visit Camelot for myself.”
Britt was quiet, both because she was shocked and because she was trying to process what the young knight was telling her. “And?”
Mordred met her gaze head-on. “I learned that you, King Arthur, are honorable and just. You care about your knights and your people. You are not afraid to break from tradition if it will make your kingdom stronger, but you will not trample anyone as a monarch—quite the opposite. You teach those in positions of power that it is their duty, and their honor, to care for those beneath them. Though I was born in Ireland, you, Arthur, are my King. I believe, no, I know you can defeat Rome. You are the only one who can.”
Britt hesitated, touched by Mordred’s kind words. “Mordred…”
“When we parted ways in King Bagdemagus’s lands, I knew I needed to return home and inform my brother of King Ryence’s traitorous movements. He listened, and he has rallied his allies and his armies. We arrived just yesterday, but my brother and the other kings are in agreement. You are Arthur, High King of Britain.” Mordred smiled and rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly.
Britt blinked back the sting of unexpected tears and smiled at him. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
Mordred shook his head. “You owe no one here thanks, My Lord. All of this is because of the kind of ruler you are.”
Britt nodded once and breathed deeply, rallying her courage. She smiled her genuine smile, which she was still unaware made her entire being brilliant, and started towards the kings. “Welcome to Camelot. I am Arthur, King of Britain. I’m afraid I bear grim news about King Ryence and the movement of the Roman armies…”
When ambassadors from Rome arrived in Camelot several days later, Merlin hadn’t yet returned. So, with no small amount of anxiety, Britt marched to her throne room, preparing to meet the enemy without her chief advisor.
“You will be fine, My Lord,” Sir Ulfius said calmly when she reached the throne room doors. He stopped her long enough so he could polish out a smudge on her gold armor. It, and the beautiful and heavy crown perched on her head, were far too ornate for her to wear and do anything useful in. But Merlin had told her when he gave her the dragon-emblazed armor that
its main purpose would be intimidation.
Britt still didn’t understand exactly what he meant. Though she was tall, even with her armor, she was still leaner than the average knight. But with the wizard missing, she needed every advantage she could get.
“Remain calm and in control,” Sir Bodwain advised. “Whenever you wear a calm but unbothered attitude in a situation where most would be screaming, it is quite disconcerting.”
Britt pushed her crown up so it didn’t fall exactly on her eyebrows. “Thanks. Stop me if I say something stupid.”
The two older knights gave her looks of disapproval. “That will be entirely unnecessary,” Ulfius said sternly.
Britt grinned at the pair, then nodded to the guards who opened the doors for her. She strode into the throne room, purposely ignoring the three Roman ambassadors—more for her own well-being than as a power play.
As she climbed the stairs of the dais, a guard announced, “King Arthur Pendragon, son of King Uther, High King over all of Britain!”
Britt seated herself on her throne, half blinded by her own armor when the sunlight struck her. She could barely see anything due to the golden reflection she generated, but she was vaguely aware of the ambassadors approaching the dais.
“King Arthur,” one of the ambassadors began. “We are ambassadors from Rome, sent by Emperor Lucius Tiberius. Too long Britain has forgotten that it is under the rule of Rome. As such, Emperor Lucius demands tribute and homage, or he shall bring war to these lands.”
Britt waited several long moments, but they said nothing else. “That is all you have to say?” She asked, hardly believing her luck.
The ambassador bowed his head. “It is a promise, Sire. One you should take seriously. If you do not, there will indeed be war.”
She barely refrained from saying “I know,” and instead flicked her fingers, indicating she understood them. “Of course, but that is truly all you have to tell me?”
The ambassador frowned and pushed his shoulders back, but eventually admitted, “Yes.”
Britt wanted to laugh and snarl at the same time.