King Arthur and Her Knights: Enthroned #1, Enchanted #2, Embittered #3 (33 page)

The young enchanter thrust his hand into the air. He shouted words in a foreign language Britt couldn’t understand as the armed men marched against them. He slowly lowered his hand—still talking—until it was level with his shoulder. He clenched it in a fist and brought it back before he shouted one last word and punched forward.

The air around Britt and Merlin seemed to bend and bow in a circle. It shoved Britt to the ground with the force of a tornado as it rushed past them. Halfway across the field it burst into flames. When the fire hit the enemy lines it split like an opening fan, spreading up and down the line with a hungry roar.

Britt stared at the massacre. She could smell fire, ash, and burnt flesh. She raised her eyes to Merlin. He was standing protectively in front of her, his face devoid of emotion as he watched his magic kill.

Britt thought Merlin’s magic was fake. Or perhaps not fake, but certainly not powerful. Of course she had seen him do little things—light fires without any kind of tinder or flint, make wet things dry—but she thought those were just flashy bits of magic he learned to impress people, and that his real power was the cunning of his mind.

As Britt stared at the scorched field she realized she had no idea just how powerful Merlin was.

Merlin took one step forward, speaking under his breath. He reached out with a hand and pulled back. The closest line of trees fell, crushing enemies like ants.

Piece by piece Merlin massacred the enemy using fire, wind, and trees. Men ran for their lives, but Merlin grimly caught them and held them in place with magic for the fire to finish them off.

Britt stared at the violated field as the last of the enemy were consumed. “I won’t have to tell
anyone
,” she muttered, the grassy area was a mash of burnt ground, bodies, and fallen trees.

Merlin unsteadily sat, putting his head between his legs. “That was hard,” he muttered. “I’m out of practice.”

Britt slowly pushed herself into a standing position. “What will we say?”

Merlin raised a hand and carelessly waved it in the air. “I’ll take care of it before they arrive.”

The dogs growled and Britt spun around. Two men had crept out of the woods behind Britt and Merlin. They had already edged past three of the dogs.

“Why aren’t the dogs attacking?” Britt said, unsheathing Excalibur.

“They haven’t been told to!”

“So tell them to!”

“I can’t,” Merlin said. “They’ll only follow the orders of the kennel master!”

“Sit,” Britt ordered Merlin before she ran at the ambushers, wishing she wore armor—even though it would have been an odd clothing choice for a hunting party.

Britt studied both men for bows or quivers as she charged. They only had swords and daggers on them, which would considerably level the playing field.

Britt descended on the first soldier, mute and deadly as she pushed him back on his heels with the speed of her swings and jabs.

The second ambusher stepped in to stab at her with a dagger. There was a fearsome growl, and the ambusher screamed as Cavall dragged him to the ground.

Sweat dripped off Britt as she attacked. The enemy wasn’t buckling.

She wasn’t fighting a knight who knew the sword, lance, and spear. She wasn’t fighting a common soldier. She was fighting a hardened assassin who lived by killing. He fell back under Britt’s onslaught, but he wasn’t leaving any openings, and he wasn’t letting Britt force any openings either.

Britt knew she had to end it soon. Fighting with the constant push as she did sapped her of her strength and energy fast.

The assassin dodged one of Britt’s swings and swooped forward, slashing at her thigh muscles. Britt redirected her swing into a downward cut, following through so she swung her sword up and behind her as she twisted in spite of the fire that bloomed on her thigh.

Cavall snarled, Llamrei screamed.

“Britt!” Merlin shouted.

Britt and the assassin swirled, eyeing each other. Britt had opened a nasty slice on the assassin’s back, and the assassin had given Britt a deep wound on her thigh. Britt dared not look at it, but she felt it burn as she crouched in one of her attack forms.

The assassin stared at her thigh and cursed, and Britt’s gaze dropped for a brief second. The laceration was deep. Not to the bone, but deep into the muscle. However… not a drop of blood fell from the wound.

Excalibur
.

Britt rolled her shoulders as she recalled Merlin’s lectures of the sword’s scabbard. As long as she had it she wouldn’t die of blood loss. The thought heartened her, and Britt smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

The assassin took a step back, but Britt was already lunging forward. She aimed her strike at the assassin’s right arm. He blocked, but the maneuver brought her in close, allowing Britt to plant herself and knee him in the side.

The assassin lurched to recover his balance, and Britt pulled Excalibur away from his sword before jabbing its pommel into his neck.

He fell like a rock.

“I
love
this sword,” Britt said, raising Excalibur to look at it.

“You idiot,” Merlin wheezed, cracking the assassin on the head with his staff, making him fall unconscious. “Battle makes you mad.”

Britt grinned brashly enough to put a pirate to shame. “Maybe, but I
love
this sword.”

“We’re going to die young, both of us. And it’s going to be your fault,” Merlin said.

Britt didn’t answer and victoriously swung Excalibur through the air, her smile wild, her hair glittering in the sunlight.

“That’s it,” Merlin said, leaning heavily against his horse. “Your emblem has been decided. It will be a red dragon. It’s the same as Uther Pendragon, but that’s fine. He’s supposedly your father anyway. And you’re more of a dragon than he ever was.”

Britt laughed again as she swung her sword in the air one last time.

Eventually Merlin and Britt mounted their horses and limped back to Camelot. Merlin was grouchy and on the verge of passing out, but Britt was giddy with the pain from her wound.

Sir Kay, Gawain, and Sir Bedivere arrived at Camelot minutes after Britt. They clattered into the keep yard, calling for troops and scent hounds. Sir Kay collapsed to his knees when he saw Britt and openly wept in relief.

The expression of emotion finally made Britt lose the madness of battle and she sat at his side, her hand resting on the normally stoic young man’s back.

Britt’s guards and the rest of the hunting party returned an hour later after Gawain streaked back out to the woods on a fresh horse to give the good news. The assassins that were alive were taken for questioning, and it was revealed that they were Lot’s men—surprise, surprise.

After living through Morgause’s enchantment and topped with the bodily damage of their sovereign, Britt’s knights all but demanded war. Britt was able to sweetly talk it out of them only because a pigeon with a correspondence from King Ban, King Bors, and Sir Bodwain returned to say King Ryence had been run off King Leodegrance’s lands and they were coming home.

Still, everyone from Sir Griflet to the head cook worried and fretted over Britt.

Britt didn’t get a moment to herself until nearly midnight when she settled on the castle walls with Cavall and her guards as usual.

She stroked Cavall’s head as she stared out at the grassy fields around the castle. She could barely see them in the moonlight, but she knew they looked untouched and green. Somehow Merlin had repaired all the damage he had wrought with his attack.

Britt heard her soldiers approaching before they spoke. “Let him through,” she said, knowing who it was that approached her in the darkness.

Gawain joined Britt at the walkway, his eyes fastened on her face. Britt turned to smile at him in the sputtering light of the torches posted on the walkway.

Gawain fell to his knees. “My Lord, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice broken with emotion. “I, I didn’t know. None of us did. Our father is a treacherous, traitorous—,”

Britt slipped her hand under Gawain’s chin. “Your father is your father. You are not responsible for his actions, nor do you need to scorn him for my sake.”

“But, My Lord, he ordered your death,” Gawain whispered.

“When you become a knight, Gawain, one of the hardest lessons you will learn will be choosing when to fight. If we were to do battle against your father men would die because I was stabbed on the thigh. That is a foolish reason to go to war,” Britt hesitated, shutting her eyes for a moment. “I remember what my battle with your father was like. Everything reeked of spilled blood. The ground was torn up like a graveyard, there were bodies slumped everywhere. Sometimes I have nightmares of it, and I relive the worst of it.”

“He has caused you such pain, My Lord,” Gawain said. “If you still remember it…” he trailed off, hanging his head.

Britt once more tilted Gawain’s chin with her hand. “It’s a good thing, Gawain,” she said. “If we forgot the pain of war we would fight more than we already do. I’m not ready to rain a second battle like that upon my men, whom I treasure deeply.”

“You will not put my brothers and me in the dungeons?” Gawain asked.

Britt raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I am the type to do that?”

Gawain furiously shook his head. “No, My Lord, but it would be within your rights!”

“Gawain—please stand. I can’t crouch with you on the ground with this wound and I’m starting to get a crick in my neck. Much better,” Britt said when the young man stood. “Gawain, I don’t care about what is within my rights. You will be a great knight, I can tell. I want you to be a victorious hero and triumphant warrior. I want you to go on and do great things so everyone knows how wonderful the princes of Orkney are. I trust you, and I trust your brothers. You have my faith and love for life, Gawain.”

Gawain blinked rapidly in the flickering light. “Thank you, My lord,” he said, sounding choked. He knelt again briefly and kissed Britt’s hands before standing. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, his voice cracking before he fled.

Britt watched him go, feeling bemused.

“Yet another young man you’ve won for life. I’m impressed, you wield words as effectively as you wield your sword,” Merlin said before gesturing at Britt’s guards. “Shoo, all of you, scat. I shall deliver your dear king to his rooms when he is done pacing like a maniac. Go on, get. Yes, all of you. Shoo!” Merlin said, herding the guards down the stairs.

Britt grinned at the enchanter as he ruffled his robe—which he had donned once again—and joined Britt.

“I don’t think it’s so much pretty words as it is that they are starving for someone to tell them how great they can be,” Britt said.

“It could be,” Merlin nodded. “All the same, the fact is I have never seen anyone use respect and affection like a weapon. Well done.”

Britt glanced down at Cavall, who seemed as calm and tranquil as ever. “Cavall… he, he’s trained to attack, isn’t he?”

“He was trained as a guard dog by the kennel master, yes. Kay had him specially trained to attack when anyone threatens his owner,” Merlin admitted.

Britt shook her head. “All this time I thought he gave Cavall to me because I needed a friend, but he’s just another guard,” she said, her eyes burning.

“Use your head for a moment, lass, and
think
,” Merlin said. “The beast fetches an over glorified
rag
for you. He does all matter of strange requests and bears the ungracious children you inflict upon him. As much as I am at loathe to admit it, he is more than a guard, Britt. He is your dog, just as faithful and adoring of you as Ywain or Gawain. If he attacks it is because of his love for you.”

Tears fell from Britt’s eyes as she placed her hand on Cavall’s head. The mastiff panted as he looked up at her with teddy bear eyes. “Thank you,” she said to both Cavall and Merlin.

Merlin leaned on the wall and looked out. “It’s calm and peaceful up here.”

“It is,” Britt said. “Thank you, Merlin, for saving me today.”

Merlin nodded and said nothing.

“Why don’t you want people to know what you’re really capable of? All this time I’ve been mocking you and…,” Britt trailed off.