Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7)

by K. M. Shea

  The trio waved as Britt directed Llamrei to the inner court gate that would open up into the city.

  Merlin joined her there. “Ready, King Arthur?” He asked, his smile extra bright.

  “Ready!”

  A set of soldiers pulled the wooden doors open, which groaned on their great hinges. When the doors parted, Llamrei snorted and shied at the crowds that lined the streets, cheering and shouting.

  “Hail, King Arthur!”

  “Long live the King!”

  “There goes the red dragon!”

  “High King of Britain!”

  Once Britt had Llamrei back under control, she laughed, touched by the loud support. She nudged her white mare forward, making her way down the empty and carefully swept cobblestone pathway that meandered through the city.

  Men, women, and children lined the sides of the road all the way to the gatehouse. Some waved white flags with red dragons on them, and others stamped their feet and clapped their hands.

  Britt waved and smiled while her heart brimmed with warmth.

  It wasn’t until they cleared the gatehouse that she could finally hear herself think again over the shouts.

  Merlin zipped past her, leading the way through the maze of mounted knights and soldiers who were camped out around Camelot.

  “That was an unexpected rush,” Britt said.

  Merlin stood in his stirrups, peering out over the crowd. “It is not that unexpected. Your people support you in times of peace and war. They know that a Roman overlord would be a bad thing, whereas you have brought nothing but prosperity.”

  “Couldn’t you have just said ‘They like you. Congratulations.’?” Britt complained.

  “I apologize. They like you. Congratulations,” Merlin said.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s too late for that now!”

  “Hail, King Arthur!

  Britt swiveled Llamrei around, a beaming smile invading her face when she saw her foster father, Sir Ector, and King Pellinore guiding their horses in her direction. “Good morning!”

  “I wish you a good morning as well,” Pellinore said.

  “I was under the impression the armies were ready to leave, and we were holding them up,” Sir Ector said. “I’m beginning to think that was nothing more than Kay, trying to get everybody out of Camelot lest he have to feed us one more lunch.”

  Merlin leaned back in his saddle. “He is a very devoted, very concerned seneschal.”

  “Indeed!” Pellinore said. “Though I suspect we do not have his keen mind for accounting to thank for the delay. When dealing with such large forces—and from so many different lands—something as simple as leaving turns into a rather grand procession.”

  “Spoken like a true king,” Britt said.

  Pellinore eyed her. “Are we renewing our passive argument to use kingly titles, again?”

  “No!”

  Ector laughed, making his belly jiggle. “No sense standing on ceremony when we’re all such good friends.”

  “Exactly,” Britt said emphatically. She glanced at Pellinore to make sure he was listening, but the king had his head cocked.

  “Do you hear that?” He asked.

  “Hear what?” Merlin asked. “There are thousands of knights and soldiers here; if we didn’t hear anything, I would be concerned.”

  “The baying of many hounds,” Pellinore said. “I hear it...”

  Ector frowned. “Hounds? I don’t believe we’re taking any canines with us. Kay thought it was a good idea to even leave Britt’s Cavall behind.”

  “It’s not really dogs, just the sound of them,” Pellinore said.

  “I must say, Pellinore, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Britt said.

  A gleam appeared in Pellinore’s eyes. “’Tis the questing beast!”

  Ector frowned, “The what?”

  Britt, having remembered that Pellinore used the questing beast as an excuse to frequently leave his lands on wild goose chases and crazy quests, tried to nip the idea in the bud. “Pellinore, no. We are leaving for war; you can’t run after it now!”

  “It is so close; it must be just past the tree line,” Pellinore said. “Come, we may check up on it and be back before you decide how to organize us to leave.”

  “I am intrigued. I shall come with you!” Ector declared.

  Together, the two older knights turned their horses towards the trees and spurred them on.

  “Pellinore! Father!” Britt grumbled under her breath as she pointed Llamrei in their direction and gave chase. “Like wrangling cats!”

  “They are grown men,” Merlin pointed out as he followed after her. “They are capable of taking care of themselves.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Britt said as they wove around a cart crammed with supplies. “What I do doubt is that they actually get back here before we start marching!”

  They caught up with the older knights just as the forest began to invade the meadow. It was there that Britt had to admit Pellinore wasn’t pulling her leg, for she did hear a strange noise that sounded like a combination of a roaring tiger and a snorting horse.

  Pellinore took the lead, navigating his horse through the shrubbery and ducking low-hanging branches. They were far enough into the woods that the trees muffled the noise the troops made, and they could no longer see the edge of the forest when Pellinore held his hand up to stop them. Once he had their attention, he pointed to a small pond positioned in a break in the trees.

  Drinking from the pond was a reptile-like creature that had the lean frame and muscle structure of a big cat, a wedge-shaped head like a snake, and bat wings folded on its back.

  Britt almost started hyperventilating. For although she accepted with relative ease the idea of faeries, love spells, and magic, she’d never entertained the idea that dragons actually were real. “That’s a dragon,” she hissed.

  Merlin nodded as if this were a commonly witnessed thing. “Yes.”

  “Calling it the questing beast makes it sound far more interesting than just plainly stating it’s a dragon,” Sir Ector stated.

  Pellinore nodded wisely. “’Tis true. That is why I have dubbed it such.”

  “It’s an honest-to-goodness dragon. It’s just the size of a large dog. But it’s a dragon!” Britt said, still doubting her eyes.

  Merlin raised an eyebrow at her. “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because it’s a dragon!”

  “Are you going to slay it?” Ector asked Pellinore. “You’ve chased after it for so long…”

  Pellinore smiled ruefully. “Yes, I have enjoyed chasing it many times.”

  Merlin, looking speculatively back and forth between the king and the dragon, asked, “You’ve caught it multiple times and let it go, haven’t you?”

  “It’s a thing of beauty,” Pellinore said. “And it represents freedom.”

  “It is also a good excuse to skip out on your duties at Anglesey, isn’t it?”

  “Adelind is more forgiving if she knows I chased after the beast than if I spent my time riding around picking fights with other knights,” Pellinore admitted.

  “If you’re not going to kill it, then I suggest you scare it off,” Merlin advised. “For it to be this close to so many knights and soldiers, someone else is bound to find it.”

  “You speak the truth,” Pellinore acknowledged. He clucked his horse and burst through the bushes. “Be gone with you, questing beast! I shall chase after you another day!”

  The dragon growled at Pellinore, but instead of attacking him, as Britt had feared, it turned around, whipping its tail in his direction, and slunk off into the underbrush.

  “That was rather anticlimactic,” she said.

  “It’s a rather docile creature, considering that it is a dragon,” Pellinore said. “As best as I can tell, it mostly eats small game—rabbits and such.”

  “You know the creature that well and have been pulling the wool over our eyes this whole time that y
ou have been so arduously chasing after it. Bravo, Pellinore. Lancelot should take acting classes from you,” Britt said.

  Pellinore laughed. “When you are my age, My Lord, you learn to protect those things in life that you treasure. Riding through the countryside, chasing after that little dragon….” He smiled with fondness in his eyes. “Before you were crowned, times like that were far too infrequent.”

  Britt turned Llamrei back in the direction of Camelot and the waiting armies. “I think you mean, before you were my ally, times like that weren’t very frequent.”

  “Nay, things have changed—for the better—since you became king, Britt,” Pellinore said.

  “Hear, hear,” Ector said as he nudged his horse and followed after Britt.

  “Maybe, but it isn’t just because of me,” Britt said. “It was because of all the work Merlin did before I came here, and it’s because I have experienced knights and lords who helped me—like you two.” Britt smiled at Pellinore and Ector.

  Ector blushed bright red and smiled brilliantly. Pellinore bowed his head, accepting her words.

  “Thank you, by the way, for all your help,” she continued. “Your experience and advice have been invaluable, and your mere presence has been a great example for my younger knights.” She glanced at Merlin to see if he was going to remark about using pretty words, but he appeared thoughtful as he listened.

  “It was my honor to become your ally, Britt, and it is now my honor to call you my king,” Pellinore said.

  “We’re with you until the end, Britt,” Ector said. “That’s what family does.”

  Britt smiled sadly at the thought that she might be forced to watch these two great men grow old and die. Enough. I can think that over later.

  They left the forest, rejoining the forces in the meadow.

  “I feel someone scowling at me. Kay must’ve realized you left,” Ector said.

  “We better go find him,” Britt said. “Or he’ll have half the army looking for us.”

  “The woes of being a well-loved king,” Pellinore teased.

  “You would know!” Britt shot.

  Ector roared with laughter as Britt glanced behind her and smiled at Merlin. The wizard had a small smile on his lips, and he held Britt’s gaze with an intense blue light in his eyes as he rode past her.

  Yep. No sense worrying about the future yet. She reminded herself. Particularly when there’s a battle just around the corner.

  Lancelot was fussing with the reins of his palomino charger when his cousin, Lionel, lacking any sort of delicacy, bludgeoned him over the head with words.

  “I’ve noticed you and our dear little king seem to be avoiding each other,” he drawled. “Did something happen when you were spying on the enemy?”

  “No, nothing at all. I’ve merely decided she’s not worth my time nor my efforts,” Lancelot said bitterly. Against his will, he sought Britt Arthurs out in the great army procession.

  It was their second day of traveling, and she still rode at the front with Merlin, Gawain, Mordred, and Sir Ector.

  “That’s a right shame,” Lionel said as he scratched his stubbly jaw. “She’s quite a bit of fun. In fact, I think I like her.”

  “Perhaps your swinging emotions when it comes to our king have something to do with the fact that you’re rather alike,” Bors said, coming up behind him.

  “What?” Lancelot snapped. “In what way am I like that self-righteous royal?”

  Bors shrugged. “You are both highly skilled and deviously smart, not to mention proud enough to put a peacock to shame.”

  “Let me find a choir to sing amen to that,” Lionel snorted. “But are you sure, Lancelot, you want to cut ties with her?”

  “Why on earth would you think I’m not serious about that?” Lancelot asked.

  Lionel squinted up at the sun that was playing peek-a-boo behind the clouds. “Mostly because she’s the first one besides us you’ve shown your ugly side to.”

  Lancelot shut his mouth so fast his teeth made an audible click.

  “Strategically all is not lost,” Bors added. “Our king highly values truth, somewhat ironically so given what she hid from us for so long. If you are open and honest with her regarding your rotten personality, there is a chance she may consider you a close companion.”

  Lancelot glared at his cousin, both for the idea and the insult. “It does not matter. My mind is made up; I no longer care what the king makes of me. I only care that I am revered and admired by everyone else.”

  As if I would so easily forgive her!

  Telling Vivien about Excalibur’s scabbard had not greatly improved Lancelot’s mood, as he had thought it would. Instead, Britt Arthurs’ judgment against him nipped at his heels, bothering him whenever he smiled and chatted with ladies or laughed with any of the knights who admired him.

  Lancelot was not so preoccupied with feeling sorry for himself that he missed the looks of disbelief his cousins exchanged. Irritated—with Britt that she still managed to rile him up even when they weren’t talking, and with his cousins that they held so little faith in his hatred—Lancelot snapped, “Besides, our king is not the kind-hearted hero everyone makes her out to be. She’s made up her mind about me, and she’ll never treat me with the mercy and love she gives away to her dim-witted, undeserving knights.”

  “What if she did?” Bors asked.

  “There’s no use thinking about it when her very personality would go against that,” Lancelot said. “Besides, it does not matter for, as I stated earlier, I intend not to involve myself with her anymore.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Lionel said with aggravating cheerfulness. “I say, though. I can’t wait to get to the main camp. Battles and fighting Romans are very fine, but all this organization is maddening!”

  “Father will be coming,” Bors said, copying his brother and changing the topic. “I suspect he left mother back in Gaul, but it will be good to see him at least…”

  Lancelot listened to his cousins with only half an ear. The rest of his attention was on the back of a certain girl king, watching as she rode along with her companions and laughed.

  If she ever finds out what I told Vivien, I’m certain she’ll scorn me for life. Then that will show her true colors…

  Chapter 11

  Mustered Forces

  After several days of riding, Britt—accompanied by a force of knights—reached the central camp.

  She trotted in, still riding Llamrei, with Griflet, Mordred, and Gawain. The other kings—including King Anguish of Ireland, King Lot of Orkney, and King Urien—rode with her company as well.

  Mordred shielded his eyes from the midday sun and squinted, his slight spattering of freckles crinkling. “Is that King Bors of Gaul, and King Ban of Benwick?”

  Britt turned Llamrei in the direction he faced and spotted the swarthy king and his well-dressed brother-in-law. “Yes, that is they! Merlin said they would meet us here, but I didn’t think they would arrive before we did.” She looked between the already-settled kings and those who had ridden with her, and connected the dots of Merlin’s thinking.

  She had assumed they were all riding together for the purpose of reaching camp and holding a meeting, but instead it seemed that they were all staying at the medieval equivalent of the “executive floor,” for the camp sported much larger and more colorful tents made of high-quality and costly fabrics. She understood Merlin had done it for political maneuvering, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was a wise tactic to put all the allies and royalty together.

  “Father!” Ywain, dressed in shiny armor emblazoned with a red lioness, strode through camp with a big smile. He marched straight up to his father, King Urien, embracing him in a bear hug when he dismounted.

  When he smiled and laughed, Britt barely recognized King Urien. His entire countenance was transformed, and Britt could finally see the good humor in his eyes that seemed perpetually present in Ywain’s eyes as well.

  Their family reunion was no
t the only one.

  Lancelot’s cousins, Lionel and Bors, greeted their father, as well. Lionel and King Bors roared at each other across the camp and embraced like two bucks slamming into each other. Sir Bors the younger approached his father much more quietly and with a subdued smile, though he submitted happily enough to his father’s rough embrace.

  “You boys have grown! I imagine you’ve been on all sorts of adventures and quests! Some of them got back to Gaul—in particular I heard the one about the giant you two and Lancelot took out. Well done!” King Bors ruffled his sons’ hair and chortled.

  Lancelot, never to be outdone by a dramatic reunion, shouted, “Father! It has been too long!” He strode up to his father, King Ban, with a radiant smile.

  King Ban clasped forehands with his son, then slapped him on the back. “It has, but I have heard you are called the best knight in Camelot. Well done, Lancelot!”

  Britt could see the similarities between the father and son in their tall and lean builds, but it was especially obvious in the way they kept meticulous care of their appearance.

  She smiled, happy to see the family reunions, but also a little sad as she missed her mother and sister with the pain of a long-borne ache.

  “My Lord!” Ywain pulled himself from his father’s embrace and marched towards Britt with great purpose, weaving around horses. Wherever he went, horses seem to spook, and it wasn’t until they moved around Mordred’s charger that Britt could see why.

  At Ywain’s side padded a small lioness. Britt was tempted to rub her eyes as she stared at the creature, wondering what on earth an honest-to-gosh lioness was doing in England.

  Ywain didn’t seem to notice Britt’s shock or that she was reluctant to get off of Llamrei, who snorted at the big cat. He grinned as he reached up with a “helping hand” and pulled her straight off the saddle. “Thank you for your advice, My Lord!”

  “I can guess by your countenance that you have spoken with Laudine again?” Britt asked, shifting her attention back and forth between Ywain and his cat.