Endeavor (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 6) (6 page)

The feast continued on, but it wasn’t until after the food had been cleared that the next bit of excitement arrived.

“Do you intend to practice with Excalibur on the castle walls this night, Milord?” a guard—one of the ones Kay had selected to be part of Britt’s elite guards/babysitters—asked.

“Yes. I’m hoping to slip out soon—the noise is getting to be too much.” Britt rubbed her temples as she stared out at the hall.

The feast doors opened, and Britt straightened with a smile when she saw who stood in the doorway. “Griflet!”

Knights crowded around the young man to welcome him back, but they cleared out when Britt reached him.

“My Lord,” Griflet said, bowing to Britt. He offered her a boyish smile. “I’ve returned home!”

“How were your travels? What feats did you manage?” Britt asked, performing a manly back-slap for appearance’s sake. She noticed Griflet winced under the lighthearted blow. “Are you alright?”

“As good as can be expected. My travels were magnificent until their end. I was helplessly trounced by a white knight.”

“Come, eat and rest at my table, and tell me your story,” Britt said.

Griflet—and several knights of the Round Table—followed Britt to her place on the dais and filled the abandoned table.

Griflet ate with gusto, which quickly restored his energy and spirits. He spoke of the quests he conducted and the services he rendered for the poor and champion-less. He looked at Blancheflor with great longing as he recited his actions, but the beautiful lady didn’t seem to be aware he even existed.

Griflet’s stories progressed like the typical recitation of a knight’s feats, until the end.

“That was where I found the abbey with the shield.” Griflet paused to take a swig of his drink.

“Shield?” Britt asked.

“Yes. T’was a great white shield emblazoned with a red cross. One could see, just by looking at it, that it is blessed and is surely a holy talisman.”

“I see,” Britt said.

“I was filled with great desire to own it. It is a noble-looking thing, and all who saw it would admire it,” Griflet said, staring at the lady Blancheflor again.

“Did you take it?” Sir Percival asked.

Griflet winced. “Ah, well. The hermit who lived at the abbey told me off. He said the only one worthy of the shield was to have it, and anyone who took it would face the White Knight.”

“But you took it anyway?” Britt guessed. She would never understand why, but the men of Camelot were like ravens—obsessed with shiny things.

“Yes,” Griflet was slow to admit.

“Then where is it?” Sir Agravain demanded.

“I met the White Knight.”

“And?”

“I lost.”

“Ah,” all the knights around the table said, their voices heavy with sympathy.

“Where was the abbey?” Sir Agravain asked, eagerly leaning forward.

“A ride a day and a half south of here,” Griflet said.

Britt glared and tapped her fingers on the table. “Pellinore,” she muttered.

“Did you say something, My Lord?” Griflet asked.

“You say this was all over a shield?”

“Yes.”

“He trounced you badly?”

“That is not to say that—”

“Griflet.”

“Yes.”

Britt’s glare sharpened into a scowl.

“Is something wrong, My Lord?” Sir Percival asked.

“Yes. This has your father’s fingerprints all over it.”

Sir Percival blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Twice he’s set up camp and swiped shields from knights. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is his newest modus operandi.”

“His what?”

“Nothing,” Britt said, shaking her head.

“Is the abbey due south or southeast?” Agravain asked.

“You’re not thinking of going, are you?” Sir Safir asked.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like to have a go at this knight?” Agravain asked.

“No, because I have a correct notion of my level of skill,” Sir Safir said.

“You are too modest, my friend,” Sir Percival said.

“The White Knight is dreadfully skilled. It will take someone great to defeat him,” Griflet said.

“Wasn’t it King Pellinore who pounded you the last time you went after a shield?” Agravain asked.

“I am much more skilled now,” Griflet huffed. “Besides, you haven’t done a tenth of the quests I have.”

“He’s got you there, Sir Agravain,” Sir Lanval said.

Britt affectionately shook her head and pushed away from the table. Her knights didn’t even notice when she slipped away.

“Wasn’t it you, My Lord, who defeated King Pellinore?” Mordred asked. He stood directly behind her, making her jump.

“I apologize, Mordred. I didn’t know you followed me. What was that?” Britt asked, resting one hand on her sword belt.

“I couldn’t help but overhear what Griflet and his friends were saying. The time he faced King Pellinore, right after he was knighted; didn’t you ride out and defeat King Pellinore in return?”

“He was dressed as a black knight at the time, and Merlin clubbed him in the helm first to get him off his horse so it would be a sword fight, but yes.”

“It is remarkable,” Mordred said, strolling after Britt as she walked the perimeter of the room.

“What?”

“You. I cannot recall ever hearing of a king who fought for his knights and subjects on such a personal basis. Most stay in their castles and fight only in wars.”

“Oh, well, it was early in my reign. We didn’t even have a peace treaty with King Lot of Orkney at the time. My life was a lot less valuable then.” She grinned. “Merlin let me off my leash more often. The last time I rode out on a real adventure was last year when I accompanied Sir Tor for part of his first quest.”

“Do you wish you could quest more?” Mordred asked, tilting his head like a curious dog.

“Of course. It’s refreshing to get away from the politics and weight of being king, but it is also nearly impossible to leave because of those same reasons.”

“Would you like to go to the abbey with me and face this White Knight of Griflet’s?” Mordred asked.

Britt was so surprised, she stopped walking. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Britt carefully considered Mordred. It would be a dream to leave Camelot for a few days, but was it wise to go with
Mordred
? “Perhaps…but only if you convince Sir Kay to agree to it,” she said.

“Why, if I may inquire.”

“I made Sir Kay a promise last year that I would never venture forth without informing him—or without his blessing. If he does not accept your proposed idea, I’m sorry, but I will be forced to refuse it.”

“I see,” Mordred said, scratching his cheek as he thought. “Very well, I shall speak to him.”

“Honestly, I don’t think you’ll ever get him to agree,” Britt said, thinking it was only fair to warn him.

“I can be most persuasive, My Lord.”

Britt shrugged. “Give it all you’ve got, then. I look forward to hearing the results. If you’ll excuse me,” Britt said, making her way to a door.

“Of course, My Lord,” Mordred bowed, and Britt slipped from the feasting hall.

He has no idea how badly he is about to fail
, Britt thought, shaking her head.

CHAPTER 6

The Holy Shield

Two days later, Britt, baffled and shocked, found herself mounted on Roen, geared up in plain, silver armor, and holding the rope of a packhorse.

“How did this happen?” she asked.

Mordred checked the girth of his saddle. “You said to get Sir Kay’s permission, so I did.” he mounted up.

“Are you secretly a
wizard
?” Britt asked, turning in her saddle to face the handsome knight.

“No,” Mordred chuckled. “I’m afraid magic is not one of my talents. But I believe I did tell you I am very persuasive.”

“Forget persuasive. You would need to have the powers of mind control to convince Kay to let me quest with only you and no bodyguards,” Britt said.

“I’m not sure I follow your meaning, My Lord.”

Britt frowned and looked around the nearly empty stable-yard. Only three other knights were present: Kay, Sir Bedivere, and Sir Bodwain.

Britt nudged Roen, her black courser, to the trio. “Are you sure he didn’t magic you into agreeing, Kay?”

Mordred laughed. “I can hear you, My Lord.”

“I know. I genuinely want to know,” Britt called back to him.

“Both Merlin and I believe it would be wise for you to leave Camelot for a while, My Lord,” Kay said.

Britt sighed. “This has something to do with Vivien, doesn’t it?”

Sir Bodwain and Sir Bedivere avoided Britt’s gaze, but Kay nodded.

“And
why
does Merlin insist on keeping me in the dark?” Britt asked, her voice frosty.

Sir Bodwain gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s because he cares for you, My Lord.”

“More like he’s afraid I’ll do something stupid.” Britt snorted and secured the packhorse’s tether to Roen’s saddle.

“No,” Sir Bedivere shook his head. “Not this time.”

Sir Bodwain pitched his voice low. “He’s afraid for you, Arthur. He’s protecting you as best he can. Ignorance is part of it.”

Britt looked to Kay for confirmation. Her seneschal nodded, easing some of the tightness in her chest.

“Well then. I may as well enjoy myself.”

“Remember, you agreed to travel as Sir Galahad,” Kay said, naming the alter ego Britt had created when her position as king was shaky at best.

“For safety—I know. Thank you for seeing me off, gentlemen. Although I must say I’m surprised you are the only ones,” Britt said, leaning forward in her saddle. She gave the stable-yard another quick inspection, looking for Merlin. He did not appear.

“We won’t announce your quest until tonight,” Sir Bedivere said. “We thought it would be the wisest course of action—or young knights like Agravain might chase after you.”

“That sounds about right,” Britt chuckled.

“Are you ready, My Lord?” Mordred asked, fussing with his war-horse’s black mane.

She patted Roen. “Yes.”

“Shall we be on our way?”

“I guess.” She turned Roen for the gates.

“Arthur, be safe,” Kay said, his voice gruff.

“You too, brother.” Britt smiled and a winked. “Until I return—most likely with King Pellinore. Makes you wonder how he got a hermit to agree to help him,” she muttered. She waved to her seneschal, constable, and marshal before losing sight of them when she followed Mordred through the inner gates.

“So, do you have any idea where we are going?” She nudged Roen closer to Mordred and his horse.

“Of course. Sir Griflet gave me directions, and Sir Kay has lent me a map,” Sir Mordred said with a shy smile that nicely complemented his dimples.

“I see. When we get back, can I ask for your help, Sir Mordred?”

“Of course, My Lord. I would aid you with anything. What is it that you need?”

“Your golden tongue to crack Merlin’s plans for Ireland.”

Mordred laughed and directed his horse around a cart of straw. “I’m afraid not even my skills of persuasion are powerful enough to move Merlin, My Lord. That is a skill only you possess.”

“Falsehoods. I could move Camelot more easily than I can move Merlin.” Britt said, waving at an awed blacksmith.

“I must risk your royal wrath to say that you are gravely mistaken, My Lord.”

Britt removed her focus from Roen’s ears and raised her eyes to stare at Sir Mordred. The knight did not react to the sudden scrutiny and guided his horse toward the outer walls of Camelot with ease.

Although it was midday, the windows in Merlin’s study were closed, and a fire was lit in the fireplace to illuminate the stuffy room.

“Are you
certain
Sir Bedivere has that witch distracted?” Sir Ulfius asked, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword.

“Yes,” Sir Bodwain said. When he sat down on a wooden chair, it groaned under his large frame. “He lured her outside of Camelot. The guards will send notice of their return.”

“I don’t like it,” Sir Ulfius said. “When I took my oaths to our King, I knew I would have to protect her from much. But a user of black magic?”

“Has it been confirmed, then?” Sir Kay asked. His eyes flickered between the older knights and then settled on Merlin.

The young wizard was hunched over one of his worktables, his colorful eyes crinkled with worry. “It’s undeniable. Vivien reeks of death and destruction.”

“How could a mere
girl
have such power in dark magic?” Sir Bodwain asked.

“Careful, Sir Bodwain.” Merlin straightened his posture like a pained, elderly man. “You underestimate the female gender. Remember, our King is also a woman—her allegiances merely lie on the other end of the spectrum.”

“But Vivien is fifteen if she’s a day. King Arthur is some years ahead of her and underwent an extensive education,” Sir Ulfius said. “How did Vivien acquire such power? Morgause and Morgan are the most powerful sorceresses, and they will not touch black magic. Who taught her?”

“Sometimes darkness itself will draw a man into its embrace,” Merlin said, his voice tight. “But in this case, I suspect she was led. She’s not working alone.”

“It cannot be Orkney. King Lot still sulks, but he is fully under Arthur’s power,” Sir Bodwain said.

“Correct. Orkney is no longer a threat,” Merlin said.

“Rome?” Kay guessed.

Merlin braced himself on his worktable. “I believe so.”

“The traitorous witch,” Sir Ulfius muttered.

“Ulfius, such language,” Merlin said. A wane smile passed across his lips.

“Can we drive her from Camelot?” Sir Bodwain asked.

Merlin shook his head. “It will only stoke her fury. She already made one magical attack against Arthur after being publically corrected. I managed to intercept it, but I might not manage it a second time.”

“Then we should slay her.” Kay’s voice was hard and unforgiving.

Ulfius and Bodwain looked at the younger knight with shock.

“If there is a threat against my King, I will not rest until I see it eliminated,” Kay said.

“Touching, but sadly there is very little you can do.” Merlin flopped down in a chair. “Politics is still an issue—killing the daughter of a king will bring our enemies out of the woods.”

“We would win,” Sir Ulfius said.

“Undoubtedly, but it would break Britt to send her men to that battle, followed by a conquest for Ireland, and the inevitable war against Rome.”

“Kings must sometimes do ugly things—if it is for their people,” Sir Ulfius said.

“Not Arthur,” Merlin said.

“She is strong. Too many times I have underestimated her,” Sir Bodwain said.

Merlin snarled. “Allow me to put it plainly, men: War is not an option. Britt has already bourn more than her share of sorrow for our vision. I will not make her shoulder more!”

The room was silent as Merlin took a moment to recollect himself. “War aside, I’m not certain Vivien
can
be slain. She is filled with great darkness.”

“What magic has she been using?” Sir Bodwain asked.

“Seduction, mostly.”

“But only a few knights have fallen at her feet. Indeed, since Arthur’s vocal disapproval, many take pains to avoid her,” Sir Ulfius said, smiling broadly.

“Her spells are not aimed at the knights, but at Arthur,” Merlin said. “Arthur being a female means the specific spell Vivien is using will not work on her, and it is making her angry…and suspicious.”

“That was why you sent Arthur from Camelot, then.” Sir Bodwain rubbed his forehead. “To get her out of Vivien’s grasp.”

“It was a last resort,” Sir Kay said. “I would have preferred to send guards with her, but it would have been conspicuous. Mordred is a trustworthy knight; he’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Even though he does not know Arthur should, by all rights, be
queen
?” Sir Ulfius doubtfully asked, raising his shaggy eyebrows.

“At this moment, Arthur is safer at any location besides Camelot,” Merlin said.

“So, what choices do we have?” Sir Bodwain asked. “How do we react to this?”

“She cannot be forced out or slain. Do we send word to her father to call her back?” Sir Kay asked, smoothing his mustache.

“The King of Northumberland is in his dotage. He will do nothing to contain his offspring,” Merlin said.

“Then what can we do?” Sir Ulfius asked.

Merlin shook his head.

“There must be
something
,” Sir Kay said.

“With luck, we might be able to distract her if we tempt her with a different kind of power,” Merlin said, staring into the fire.

“What do you have in mind?” Sir Ulfius asked.

“I would rather not say.” Merlin raised his gaze to study the men. “However, I would like to affirm that we all believe Britt is the highest priority. Any sacrifice required of us is worthy if it will see her through this time.”

“She is a good King,” Sir Bodwain gruffly said.

“Even if we were not her advisors?” Merlin asked.

Sir Ulfius pondered the question. “She would find new men to lean on. She’s intelligent, so much so that she knows she cannot rule without help. But none of this matters. She’ll always have you, won’t she, Merlin?”

“Yes,” Merlin said carefully. “Always.”

It wasn’t until the following day that Britt and Mordred reached the fabled abbey. Considering it was in the middle of the forest, Britt had been expecting a small, square hovel. Instead, the abbey was a beautiful, stone structure, complete with archways, a bell tower, and airy corridors.

Mordred motioned to the bell tower. “This is it. Griflet mentioned the carving of the Virgin Mary.”

“A hermit lives
here
?” Britt asked, sliding off her horse. “Sheesh, if this is what the building is like, no wonder Griflet wanted the shield.”

“Who is Sheesh?” Mordred asked.

“No one. It’s an expression of surprise where I come from.”

Mordred tied his mount and the pack horse to a hitching post. “Bonmaison has such a colloquialism? How interesting.”

“Er, right. Shall we find the shield?” Britt asked, picking a leaf from Roen’s mane.