King Arthur and Her Knights: Enthroned #1, Enchanted #2, Embittered #3 (50 page)

“He is,” Sir Kay said.

“How can he ride off to his fight without his horse? And aren’t you going with him?” Lancelot asked.

“We will be finished with our task before Gawain is done helping My Lord into his armor.”

“I see. In that case, what are we doing?” Lancelot asked as they entered a small meadow.

“I want to see what kind of charger this borrowed mount is,” Sir Kay said, hefting a lance in one hand and leading the milk white horse Merlin had bargained for in Camelgrance with the other.

“But why?”

“I need to know how well it can joust. My Lord must have a trustworthy steed.”

“But I didn’t think Arthur was going joust? And why would it matter how skilled it is? Any halfwit knight can joust,” Lancelot said.

Sir Kay narrowed his eyes. “That is
King
Arthur to you, and never mind why.”

“I don’t understand,” Lancelot said with a grieved sigh.

“You don’t have to. Just stand right there,” Sir Kay said before swinging up on the horse’s back.

Lancelot shrugged as Sir Kay rode the horse to the far end of the meadow.

Sir Kay wheeled the horse around, lowered the lance, and the mount burst forward in a canter.

Lancelot shifted as Sir Kay and his mount charged across the meadow, their pace increasing rather than decreasing.

“Sir Kay,” Lancelot shouted to his fellow knight. “Sir Kay,” he tried again when the horse and rider still bore down on him.

Kay and the horse were maybe three horse lengths from him before Lancelot realized they weren’t going to stop. “Sir Kay! KAY! What has gotten into you, man?” Lancelot yelled as he started running.

“Kay,
KAY
!” Lancelot said, his voice started to grow a subtle hint of desperation as Sir Kay and the milk white horse chased him across the meadow. “Stop it, turn off,
turn off
! KAY!” Lancelot said, changing his strategy and fleeing to the trees when it became apparent that Kay was going to keep on chasing him.

Sir Kay barely avoided hitting him, and slowed the horse down to a trot, a walk, and then halted it altogether when the trees grew thick again. “Yes, this mount shall serve My Lord well,” he said with great satisfaction.

“If you wanted to test its jousting skills I could have brought my horse and we could have had a practice match. That was dangerous,” Lancelot said, leaning against a tree as he breathed deeply.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Kay asked, cuing the horse forward.

“You weren’t really aiming for me, were you?” Lancelot asked, following behind. “Sir Kay?” he said when silence was his answer.

“The safety of My Lord will always be my priority, Lancelot,” Sir Kay said, disappearing into the trees. “Always.”

On the Observations of Sir Kay

By K.M. Shea

Kay rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the rough wooden chair. He sighed and pushed the two flickering candles arranged on the table back to make room for a logbook. It was new and almost cost him a fortune, but Kay couldn’t stomach writing about this new future king, Britt Arthurs, in the book he previously used to record his foster-brother’s progress.

Kay mended his quill and removed the lid of his inkwell before he started writing.

Today Merlin cast a spell to summon a proper king from the future. I had my doubts it would work, as the future king would have to touch the sword, but Merlin’s magic pulled through. Or so he claims.

The future king is no man at all, but a woman. She is older than me and arrived wearing odd, indecent clothes. She accepted Merlin’s explanation without much fuss, and indeed she seems to be an agreeable person. She speaks well, but she uses words and refers to locations and things that I have never heard of, a side effect of being from the future I should think.

Nice as she may be, Merlin is mad to try and place a woman on the throne, even if he is the one that is really ruling.

Kay sighed again and put his writing materials away. “Arthur, you fool,” he said with no feeling. His simmering anger with his foster brother had finally burned away to leave only regret.

Kay rubbed his hands together as he watched Britt scoot closer to the inn fireplace. It was in the evening hours of Christmas Day, and Merlin and his men were celebrating in the inn common room.

Knights toasted to the success, not so much in Britt’s ability to pull the sword and prove her worthiness in becoming King of Britain as in Merlin taking the first step towards unifying the country.

Kay swept crumbs off the table he sat at and set down his logbook and inks.

Today was the day of the tournament. Merlin insisted on making Britt Arthurs pull the sword as part of an elaborate play which I doubt more than a handful of people noticed and amused only himself.

He wanted me to take the sword from Britt Arthurs and go to my father, claiming I had pulled the sword. A pox on Merlin! What knight who has a healthy respect for the heavens would dare come between the God appointed King and the sign of his worthiness? I know Merlin plans to grace me with the influential title of seneschal, but sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve to be the butt of his jokes.

I must confess that Britt Arthurs is more competent than I gave her credit for. She has not been blinded by Merlin’s persuasive statements and admits in wry humor that she’s aware she won’t be ruling. She is guarded in her meetings with myself and my father. I must get her to be forthcoming somehow, for I greatly need to find out if she has any defensive skills at all.

One of the reasons I was against a woman as a king is because I feared she would be easy to kill. If I could teach Britt Arthurs how to wield a dagger, perhaps it would give her a fighting chance.

As Kay wiped his feather quill clean Britt plopped down on a bench opposite from him. “I can’t decide if Merlin is a raving genius, or a lucky idiot,” she announced, watching Merlin laugh in good humor as he toasted a knight.

“Wizards are often an unfortunate combination of both,” Kay grunted.

Britt started at Kay for a moment before her lips cracked into a rather pleasing grin. “You may be right.”

Kay winced as he rolled his shoulders, attempting to relax his bruised, stiff muscles. “I did not think my duties as seneschal would include being beaten senseless,” he grumbled, hiding the pleased quirk of his lips behind his mustache as he retrieved his logbook, quill, and ink.

Today Britt Arthurs has surpassed my greatest hopes. My father—being the inquisitive soul he is—asked Britt Arthurs if she knew how to ride.

She does, not very well if one listens to her, but I am certain she must be good based on her modest description of her skills with the sword.

I asked her to fight so I could properly gage her skills—after all I must calculate how many guards will need to be posted around her. How foolish I was!

Britt Arthurs is the best swordsman I have ever encountered. She moves with a swiftness that is unparalleled, and never blocks or parries a blow. She moves forward, constantly pushing with endless attacks. If I moved fast enough I could occasionally attempt a blow, but she would always counter strike or—in a rare case—dodge.

Facing Britt Arthurs with a sword is, I will admit, terrifying. She does not have the bloodlust or the intent to kill as many men have. She is, instead, far worse. When she lashes at you it is like facing a dragon. There is no cruelty in her eyes, only the promise of a swift end.

She has not the strength necessary to wield some of the more brutal weapons, like a mace or spear, and she knows nothing—not even the rules—of jousting. Her utter hopelessness in these various weapons, though, is eclipsed by her skill with the sword.

She does not appear to know her own talent as she claimed I was holding back during our brief skirmishes. (If only that were so.)

It was disheartening to be so soundly beat by a woman, but I am so relieved that Britt Arthurs will not die easily that I am not much repulsed.

I must think of a creative way to guard her, for she jealously protects her privacy. Guards posted to her will not be a popular rule, but what else can I do?

Kay stumbled into his room in the wee hours of the morning. He stared at his bed for a few moments before shaking his head. “No, it is important to write while the memories are fresh,” he said, making his way to the small writing table.

Today, the day of Pentecost, my Lord Britt Arthurs was crowned King of Britain. King Lot, King Urien, King Pellinore, and King Ryence all protested as expected, but it was still done.

During the celebration feast my Lord Britt Arthurs granted boons and such. She gave me the post of seneschal. I know Merlin made the decisions of whom to post to what positions, but I am honored by the title all the same.

My Lord Britt Arthurs did buck orders and announced Sir Bedivere as her marshal. Merlin was displeased—likely more over my Lord Britt Arthurs making a decision without his say so—but Sir Bedivere does not seem to be a bad sort of knight. I have already sent out inquires about his character and skills. I have heard back from my London contacts, who speak favorably of him, but I will have to wait until we arrive at my Lord Britt Arthurs’ new castle—which is yet unnamed for Merlin gave little thought to it when he ordered construction some 10 years ago—to conduct a more detailed character study.

Preparations for war are underway as King Lot and his sniveling brother King Urien insulted my Lord Britt Arthurs at the celebration feast. Something of a fist fight broke out during the feast. I am sorry I did not get to do more than knock King Urien to the ground. I should have liked to shake him until he was dazed, but my Lord Britt Arthurs and Merlin ended the fight before I had time.

I am taking pains to record the London price of grain and ale and other necessary provisions that an army will need. The prices are somewhat steep, I feel, so I will inquire in other parts of Britain as soon as possible.

In more favorable news the training of Cavall goes well. The kennel master has been training him in protective and battle maneuvers since I sent a letter to him in February. He claims the dog is not overly aggressive, but I shall have to judge for myself before I gift him to my Lord Britt Arthurs.

I am still well pleased with the idea, for a dog will be able to follow my Lord Britt Arthurs everywhere—even into her private quarters, where I dare not send guards. Additionally, my Lord Britt Arthurs will most likely be less offended by a dog she believes I mean to be a pet than a squad of soldiers.