Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7)

by K. M. Shea

  Percival, leading Anglesey’s forces—which were mostly archers—brought his men forward, secured behind the closed ranks of King Lot’s and King Urien’s troops. The Anglesey archers engaged the Roman forces and began picking off enemy archers.

  Britt began last-minute checks of Roen’s tack and armor as she prepped for her charge.

  “Though I won’t ride with you, I’ll be watching,” Merlin promised. “Magic isn’t good for battles like this when the fights are too close to differentiate friend from foe, but if you’re in trouble, I’ll be able to give you a hand when needed.”

  Britt smiled. “I appreciate it.”

  Merlin glanced back at the army, then nudged his horse so close their knees brushed. “Be careful, lass.” He reached out and quickly squeezed her hand, the only show of affection he dared display in front of so many who didn’t know the truth of Britt’s identity. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ride with courage. But be safe.”

  Britt grinned. “‘Course. I’m King Arthur, aren’t I?” She glanced over her shoulder to make certain her knights were watching her, then waited for King Ban and King Bors—whom Sir Bors the younger rode with—to lead their charge first.

  She wanted to say something to her knights, for in every movie she had ever seen speeches were given directly before war, but intellectually she knew it was a very stupid idea to try and lecture her knights in the middle of a bloodbath. So instead, she raised Excalibur and roared, “For Britain!”

  Britt and her knights swept across the field, their horses eating up the ground between them and the enemy.

  The red cloak Britt wore flared up behind her, and her knights roared like dragons as they descended upon the Romans, a grim picture of death and beauty with their polished armor and thundering warhorses.

  The first line of Roman soldiers raise their shields, but they didn’t get their spears up fast enough, so the horses plowed straight through them, breaking their ranks like a plow parting the field.

  The acidic, metallic scent of blood laced the air, as did the shouts of the wounded and fallen. Britt swung her sword, downing soldiers as Roen knocked men away.

  Mordred and Gawain flanked her, protecting her back when soldiers tried to encircle her. Once or twice Kay and Griflet zigzagged in front of her, trampling soldiers who hefted spears in her direction as she cut a path straight through the army. Pellinore roared as he took out a row of soldiers, and Lancelot caused chaos as he snaked his horse through the enemies’ formation.

  Sweat dripped down her temple, and Britt reined Roen in long enough for her company to reform their ranks. Craning her neck, she searched out Sir Ector. She spotted him fighting one-on-one with a Roman centurion, but as she watched, Bonmaison soldiers moved to support their lord, ensuring his safety.

  Continuing her survey of the battlefield, she spied Ywain—whose crumpled chest plate bore the signs of a mace blow. The knight himself, though, was fine as he and his lioness roared together, frightening a number of Roman soldiers so badly they actually fled rather than hold their ranks.

  The brother kings, Ban and Bors, teamed up with King Anguish, and together they completely immobilized the right fringe of the Roman army.

  Agravain had been unhorsed, but he had wrestled a war hammer away from a fallen soldier and was sending men flying left and right. As un-fatherly as he appeared to be, King Lot followed closely behind his son, keeping an eye on him even though the king himself had an arm wound that was bleeding pretty badly.

  A soldier roared, and Britt snapped back to attention, swinging Excalibur with precision so its blade bit down on the muscles between the Roman soldier’s neck and protected shoulder. She then kicked him in the chest so he stumbled backwards, away from her and Roen.

  “Where to, Arthur?” Pellinore shouted above the din of the fight. He plucked a spear right out of a Roman soldier’s hands, then used the butt of it to smash three soldiers and toss them to the ground, all while his horse kicked and bit at any soldier in reach.

  “I want to reach the Emperor,” Britt said.

  “The Emperor? He’s the dead center of his army!” Lionel roared.

  “I know. But it’s the quickest way to end this battle, or we will lose thousands of men,” Britt said.

  Sir Bedivere fought off two soldiers bearing down on Kay—who had briefly lost his horse. “I don’t believe Merlin ever mentioned that in the tactical meetings,” Bedivere said.

  “He didn’t,” Britt yelled. “And I purposely didn’t tell him because I knew he’d fly off the handle if I mentioned it.”

  Kay’s charger reared, trampling an enemy before Kay vaulted onto his back. “A very appropriate reaction,” he growled.

  Britt grit her teeth and pushed down in the saddle stirrups as she leaned perilously out of the saddle to engage a Roman soldier. “Merlin was positive we would win, and I agree with him. But our mustered force is incredible, and I’d rather not see the majority of it laid to waste, particularly when I know that with my best knights, reaching Emperor Lucius won’t be a problem.” As she spoke, Roen sidestepped an attempt from the enemy to spear him, and slammed into a soldier that Britt finished off with Excalibur.

  Mordred reclaimed his position at her left. “Wherever you go, My Lord, we will follow.” He smiled at her, briefly flashing his dimples, then intercepted a soldier aiming to run Bedivere’s horse through.

  Britt glanced back at the rest of her knights. Gawain and Lancelot finished off a pair of mounted centurions, as Tor, Safir, and Lanval destroyed a cluster of archers.

  “Lead the way, My Lord!” Griflet shouted. He was unhorsed, but fought admirably well on foot with his sword.

  “Griflet, take a horse,” Gawain shouted, indicating one of the mounts of the fallen centurions.

  “Don’t mind if I do!” Griflet climbed into the saddle of his new charger and hurried to join the other knights in reforming ranks behind Britt.

  Britt brandished Excalibur in the air. “For Britain!”

  “For the High King!” Gawain shouted.

  “For Britt Arthurs!” Kay roared.

  They resumed their path, aiming for the center of the Roman army.

  For a while, Britt was only aware of her personal battles. Every soldier she struck down seem to be replaced by two more. Once, when she got sloppy and instead of using precise sword movements blindly swung her sword, a legionnaire managed to land a glancing blow on her side. Her armor took the brunt of it and didn’t even buckle, but it still felt like she had been hit in the gut with a hammer.

  Gawain made short work of the soldier that had dared to hit her, and they pressed on.

  The Knights of Camelot worked together. They didn’t move in the near perfect synchronization that the legionnaires did; instead they rode together, some of them surging forward then falling back as the next line of knights pressed in to guard and then replace them.

  Tor had taken a blow and began favoring his right side, but Lionel moved in with the strength of a lion to guard his weak side. After being clubbed in the head with the butt-end of a lance, Mordred was moving a little slower, and Kay’s prized horse bore a glancing blow to its rump. (It was nothing endangering, but Britt would bet Excalibur the taciturn knight would get Morgan to inspect it before the day was out.) But the general lack of injuries—even though Britt and her knights were a small company in the middle of the Roman war machine—bore witness to their impassable wall of teamwork.

  During a brief lull in the onslaught, when Griflet and Kay surged forward so Britt was surrounded by her men, she twisted in her saddle, searching out her allies.

  Ector, it looked like, had been forced to retire from the battle by his men, who had bodily escorted him to Merlin’s side where an herb woman was wrapping his head in bandages. (Based on her foster-father’s flailing arms and red face as he shouted directions his troops would never hear over the clashes and clangs of battle, he was fine.)

  Selfishly, knowing he was out of c
ombat made Britt feel incredibly relieved.

  Next, she searched for Ywain. He and his lioness were in the thick of things, covering for his father as he gave orders to their soldiers.

  Britt nodded and squared her shoulders, returning her attention to the battle brewing around her just in time to see a Roman legionnaire spear Gawain in the shoulder, knocking him from his horse.

  Her heart froze. “Gawain!”

  Adrenaline took over as Britt descended on the soldiers moving in on Gawain. She was as silent as death as she cut through their ranks, Roen arching his neck and snorting so the reds of his nostrils showed.

  The angle from her charger’s back was proving to be a difficult place from which to defend Gawain, so Britt halted her horse in the middle of the thunderous battle and very properly dismounted him.

  One of Ryence’s soldiers would have landed a blow to her back, but Lancelot darted in at the last moment, intercepting the blow. “Can’t you slide or vault off like any proper knight?” he demanded.

  “So sorry; my sister’s riding teacher didn’t cover emergency dismounts when I was a kid.” Though her words were laced with sarcasm, when she faced the enemy soldiers, her expression was set in stone.

  Getting into a proper stance, she whipped Excalibur through the air. The enchanted sword sang, and those closest could have sworn they saw it glitter with lightning. The sword felt hot in her hands, and Britt, working in-tune with Merlin even though there was an army between them, whipped Excalibur in front of her. It crackled, releasing an explosion of power that knocked Roman soldiers over like dominoes.

  “It’s the Elvenking!”

  “The Red Dragon has come!”

  She wasn’t sure if it was her soldiers or the Roman ones who sounded the cry, but it swiftly echoed across the battlefield, reinvigorating British forces.

  Britt pulled Excalibur close, then began attacking the troops as soon as they staggered to their feet. She laid into them like Ywain’s lioness, wreaking destruction wherever she directed Excalibur.

  Ryence’s forces—having previously witnessed Britt fighting when she was incensed—fled the area, opening up holes in Roman formations.

  Britt, careful not to get too far away from her knights, backed up to her company, Roen flanking her.

  Gawain wheezed as he sat up on his elbows, his horse standing over him protectively.

  “How bad is it?” Britt asked, swinging her sword in an unspoken promise as she eyed enemy soldiers, silently daring them to close in on her.

  He coughed and shook his head. “Didn’t punch through my armor, but it kicked like a mule. My arm is numb.”

  “You might have dislocated it,” Britt said.

  “I’ll be fine for now,” he insisted. “My aunt will see to it tonight.”

  Britt’s expressionless mask broke long enough for her to offer him a lopsided grin. “I think you should ask Ragnelle.”

  Gawain blinked. “The Lady of the Lake’s handmaiden? Why?”

  Lancelot swung in between Britt and Gawain, his horse pawing at the air. “I hate to break up this heart-to-heart, but might I remind you we’re in the middle of a battle with Roman troops all around us?!”

  Gawain nodded and pushed himself to his feet. Though he grimaced as he gingerly climbed back into the saddle, his face was set with determination as he took up his sword again.

  “See, Lancelot, I much prefer your snide sarcasm to that odious charm you used to ooze,” Britt said. She briefly sheathed Excalibur and whistled to Roen, who trotted up to her. She waited until he was completely still before swinging up in the saddle, making Lancelot sneer.

  “And I would much prefer you to actually learn battle maneuverings instead of flashy magic shows!” Lancelot shot. He cut down a spear a soldier threw at Mordred.

  “It would make you a margin safer,” Kay acknowledged as he threw a lance and took out a Roman centurion who had been heading a charge towards the knights.

  “Very well,” Britt said with a reckless grin. “When all of this is over with, you all can spend a week tossing me off Roen. Until then, however, I have a fight to pick with an emperor.” She heeled Roen, who charged forward like a dark cloud. Heedless of her men’s shouts of concern, Britt hunkered down against her gelding’s neck and freed Excalibur from its scabbard once more.

  She fixed her eye on the spot of gold armor that marked the emperor. No longer did she try to scatter the enemy; now she trusted Roen to plow through and focused on fending off any who attacked him.

  We have to hurry, she thought grimly. With every injury we take, we lose momentum.

  The knights scrambled to fall in place—Mordred and Kay now taking up her flanks with Gawain in the center.

  Though the knights snarled behind her, Britt was silent, every muscle tensed as they drew closer to the emperor and his guards.

  The muscles in Roen’s neck popped as he and the other chargers plowed through Roman formations.

  Britt’s ears rang, and suddenly they broke through the army, colliding with the elite soldiers that guarded the emperor.

  Knights gushed forward, falling on the soldiers with shouts. The air tingled with the clang of blade striking blade as the knights and guards fought.

  Kay caught a spear and twirled it over his head before throwing it at a soldier. “Knights, open up a spot for Arthur!”

  Lionel snarled and flung himself off his horse. He picked up one of the bear-like guards and threw him into his comrades. “Here!”

  Gawain and Mordred surged in like water, Mordred covering Gawain’s injured arm while the Orkney prince and his horse took down a string of soldiers.

  “Now,” Mordred barked, swinging his horse aside so the brief hole opened up by Lionel and Gawain was cleared. “Go, Arthur!”

  Britt kneed Roen, who snorted as he charged through the hole, jumping a fallen soldier. She almost fell off the black gelding’s side, but he crow-hopped, hefting her back into the saddle. Her balance, however, was compromised, so Britt ended up sliding off his opposite side, but managed to land on her feet with Excalibur extended.

  When she straightened, the wind picked up, whipping her red cloak and her golden hair. Across from her was a figure in gold armor decorated with a red eagle, Emperor Lucius.

  He smiled darkly and made no move to grab a weapon. “Welcome, Arthur…King of the Britons.”

  Britt said nothing as she shifted her weight into a better stance and adjusted her hold on Excalibur, trying to make observations on the emperor’s fighting style.

  Around them, the battle waged. Horses screamed and men shouted as the Knights of Camelot and Lucius’ guards fought around them in a perfect circle. Britt and the emperor stood alone in the center.

  “You’ve done well,” Emperor Lucius said. He adjusted his helm, which was true to the Roman style and protected his skull but left an open space for his chin and face. “I didn’t think anyone would be able to unite Britain. It’s filled with a quarrelsome people who seem utterly intent on killing each other. That you were able to gather such a great army is astounding…but I’m afraid your impressive acts will end here.” He unsheathed his gladius.

  Britt stared at his sword. “You’re not going to win.”

  “On the contrary, I cannot lose.” The emperor’s smirk made Britt’s skin crawl. “And once you and your little knights are defeated, I will carve up this land and suck every tax and tribute I can squeeze from it.”

  Britt’s expression stayed icy cold and almost unnaturally calm.

  Lucius laughed. “All your knights will be slain, as will those of your line, and I will take Camelot apart brick by brick and sow the farmland with salt.” He tilted his head, waiting for a reaction.

  Britt didn’t even blink.

  The emperor frowned, his eyes hardening. “This land will regret the day you denied me my tribute and homage.” He hefted his sword, resting the edge of the blade on his armor-covered shoulder. “The world will learn, little king, that no one may threaten the sp
lendor of Rome—especially not a backwater island.”

  As long as Lucius spoke, it gave her the opportunity to observe him, to estimate his reach and speed, and to notice patterns in the way he shifted his weight. But now he had finally opened a hole in his defense, so she took the opportunity and struck fast.

  Moving like lightning, Britt lunged with Excalibur extended, striking him on his armored belly. The blow did not injure him, but he lurched backwards to get distance between them and to chop his gladius down.

  Britt side-stepped it and slid closer to him. When they were almost chest to chest, she popped him in the throat with her elbow. He choked, but before she could push her advantage, one of Lucius’ soldiers swung at her with all his might, crushing her right pauldron and flattening part of her cuirass so it squeezed her chest.

  She grit her teeth with pain and swiveled so she could see both the guard and Lucius—who rubbed his bruised throat. Before Britt or the guard could move, Tor clamped a meaty fist on the guard’s helmet and yanked him backwards, sending him sprawling. As Britt watched, Ywain and his lioness fell upon the guard with growls.

  Britt returned her attention to the emperor, discreetly testing to be certain her range of motion wasn’t hindered by her aching arm and ruined armor.

  Emperor Lucius sneered as he fixed his grip on his sword. “You’ll pay for that,” he hissed, then charged her.

  As Lucius’ gladius was made for thrusting, his fighting style was similar to Britt’s in that he attacked ruthlessly. He rained blow after blow upon her, hitting her with enough force to rattle her teeth.

  Britt stayed on the defense—a dangerous tactic for her, as her skill at the sword depended on quickly defeating the enemy so it did not become a test of stamina or strength—but she knew in this case, it would pay off.

  Lucius was angry, and he struck her with great force but without much thought. He attempted to use his brute strength to tear through her defenses, thrusting at her cuirass-encased torso and well-covered knee joints, and shouting with every strike he made.