Enlighten (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 5) (4 page)

“You have to go through with it,” Merlin said, tapping his fingertips together as he and Britt sat in the safety of his study.

“
What
?” Britt yelped.

“He asked you in front of a crowd of knights and ladies. You cannot back out of that,” Merlin scowled. “The ladies are sure to ask him how the ride went, and when he tells them you took back the boon, they will be displeased.”

“Why should I care what his fanclub thinks of me?” Britt asked, running a hand through her blonde hair.

“You should care because they will blab it to the rest of your court. In case you don’t remember, Lancelot is the fashion icon you wanted so badly before he arrived. So far his popularity has worked for your cause. He has made clean-shaven faces the rage, and has charmed most of your courts. The downside is that your court will be upset if things turn ugly between the two of you.”

“You mean he can cause the downfall of Camelot—”

“I said no such thing,” Merlin interrupted. “You read too deeply into it. I said your court would be upset, not that they would abandon you. He may be popular, but you are still undoubtedly the favorite. The point is his request isn’t too costly. You take a turn around the surrounding meadow and you’ve paid your dues. In the meantime, we’ll concoct a quest that will take Sir Lancelot very far from these walls. If you ride with him, he will have no reason to refuse your ‘small request’ to dispatch him on a quest,” Merlin said.

“That makes sense, I guess,” Britt said. “So I will really have to ride with him?”

Merlin heaved his eyes to the ceiling. “You can stand his company for an hour, Arthur.”

“Fine. But this quest better send him out for a
long
time,” Britt grumbled.

“Of course,” Merlin said. “You should have just said no to the boon before this got out of hand.”

“How about next time you watch the match and
you
can tell Lancelot to go throw himself off a bridge,” Britt suggested.

Two days later, Britt deeply regretted agreeing to the ride.

“—And should a recreant knight appear before us and demand a joust, fear not! I will fight him to spare you any pain, My Lord—although I am sure you could defeat any recreant knight we find,” Lancelot said.

“We’re just taking a ride around the meadow, Sir Lancelot. I don’t think we’ll be meeting any knights,” Britt said, tossing a treat to Cavall from the saddle.

Cavall caught the snack and gulped it down in a second before he wove around Llamrei—Britt’s gray mare—and eyed the encroaching Forest of Arroy.

“But, My Lord! One never knows what sort of adventures there are to be had in the forest,” Lancelot said.

“That may be so, but we’re not going into the forest,
remember
? That’s the only reason why we aren’t dragging my guards with us,” Britt said.

“Alas, I forgot of your agreement with your foster-brother,” Lancelot sighed.

“Uh-huh, right,” Britt said, scratching her nose. “So what was the real reason you wanted me out here with you, alone?”

“What do you mean, My Lord?” Lancelot said, fixing a mussed up thatch of his palomino’s hair.

“There’s no way you kicked up all this fuss because you wanted to go
horseback-riding
with me.”

“Why do you find that so difficult to believe, My Lord?” Lancelot asked, sounding as threatening as a baby fawn.

Britt was not deceived. “Because you are persistent only if it suits you. So what do you want?”

“You do not believe that I wish to be included in your inner circle?” Lancelot asked. His voice was soft and harmless, but his green eyes were dark and…
intense
.

“Quite frankly? No. My closest knights are the opposite of you in every way,” Britt said, conveniently forgetting that Ywain and Griflet were rather prone to emotional outbursts—like Lancelot.

To her surprise, Lancelot laughed. It wasn’t his usual laugh of cheer and good humor, but it sounded more…authentic, and it was several pitches lower than usual.

Britt was uncertain what to say next—and Lancelot was still laughing—but she was saved when Cavall growled and snapped, staring into the forest.

“Stand down, Cavall,” Britt ordered as Llamrei pranced in place. She squinted, trying to peer in the forest without getting closer. “What set you off?”

“Let’s take a look,” Lancelot suggested, steering his beautiful gelding into the forest.

“What? No. Kay told me to stay in the meadow,” Britt said as Llamrei tossed her head.

“Come now, it will be an adventure. We won’t go in deep,” Lancelot laughed.

“No. I promised Kay,” she said, as unmovable as stone.

Lancelot flashed Britt what looked like an amused smirk, but she suspected it had more rancor than mirth in it. “You’re a grown man, Arthur, and you’re King. You’re not beholden to your brother.”

“Maybe, but I love him enough that I will let him boss me around regardless. I’ve slipped away from him before, and it was my mistake and error. I won’t hurt him by doing it again. Now are you coming out, or are you going to press on alone?” Britt said.

During her little speech, Lancelot lost all signs of humor. “I think I will press on alone. I was never one to back down from an exploit.”

“In that case I bid you farewell,” Britt said wheeling her horse around. She nudged Llamrei forward, and the mare began trotting back to Camelot.

“As you wish, My Lord,” Lancelot called after her before he pushed his horse farther into the foliage of the Forest of Arroy.

Britt was about halfway to Camelot when she heard Lancelot shout. There was the unmistakable clang of swords clashing, and a few muffled yelps.

“Of all the stupid things—I really hate you, Lancelot,” Britt muttered. She couldn’t just leave him to be attacked, and if she returned to Camelot for help they might arrive too late. She would have to get a head start. Certain that guards were watching from the walls of Camelot, Britt wildly waved her arms at the castle before wheeling Llamrei around and cantering for the forest.

She clung to the mare’s back as she rammed into the woods, branches and twigs poking her and tangling in her hair. She expertly slipped Excalibur from its scabbard and raised it when Llamrei leapt into the small clearing where Lancelot’s horse snorted. Britt swung her blade at what looked like a man-at-arms who was inspecting an unconscious Lancelot.

The man shouted and jumped away. Llamrei snorted and turned to go back to Camelot—she was trained to avoid conflict and carry her rider to safety, which is why she was Kay’s favorite mount for Britt. Britt managed to slide from the tall mare, almost falling flat on her face in the process.

When she regained her balance she lunged forward, moving Excalibur in a sweeping arc. The blow hit the man’s hauberk—keeping the blade from cutting through him, but pushed him back on his heels with the force.

A second man—dressed similarly to the first—joined the fray. He shouted as he jumped at Britt with a battle axe. She ducked and the axe missed her, and was instead lodged in a tree trunk behind her.

Britt could hear Cavall barking and snarling, but he wasn’t in the clearing. Were there more men in the area?

Taking advantage of the situation, Britt sprang to her feet, slugging the man in the gut as she rose. An elbow to the back of his neck sent him sprawling, and she had just enough time to whirl Excalibur up to block a chop the original man attempted.

The man was strong, but thankfully slow compared to Britt’s less forceful, but lightning-fast jabs. When the man drew his sword back for another strike, she struck his open side. She whirled in a half circle—gaining momentum—to strike his other side, tossing him like a ball in a pinball machine.

The man—unsteady as he was—was still on his feet. Britt grimly adjusted her grip on Excalibur and started to lunge at him.

Beyond the trees Cavall yelped and Llamrei screamed. She saw something out of the corner of her eye before pain exploded in her skull. She toppled like a fallen bird, landing on top of the unconscious Lancelot. Her ears rang and her vision grew cloudy before darkness set in.

Lancelot groaned and hefted himself onto his elbows. A raging headache throbbed in his temples. “Bandits, surely,” he spat, taking inventory of his injuries and gear. Besides his aching head he had no wounds, and strangely he still possessed all his clothes and gear.

When Lancelot lurched to his feet he brushed himself off, squinting as he saw a squad of guards come galloping out of Camelot. “By all the saints, what has caused their fear?” Lancelot muttered. He frowned when he realized his horse was still with him, and King Arthur’s Llamrei was tied up next to it. The giant dog that followed King Arthur around was there as well, muzzled and trussed up like a boar.

Lancelot looked back at the stoic guards, and realized that something
was
missing—or rather someone. Lancelot growled and his shoulders slumped with irritation and fury. “Sir Kay is going to slay me for losing Arthur—that prancing do good-er.”

Britt started to wake up once or twice, but either her kidnappers had a medieval version of chloroform on them, or they kept hitting her to keep her knocked out, because she didn’t gain complete consciousness for several hours.

When she opened up her blue eyes, she found herself splayed out on a dingy, moist, stone floor. Britt groaned and clutched her aching head. Something metal clanged a short distance away from her, ringing in her ears like cathedral bells located inches from her head.

Britt muttered several oaths—most of them involving Lancelot and a stick.

“So you’ve woke up, have you?” said a voice as rusty as the floor was dirty.

Britt blinked her eyes, hoping to make them work better in the dim light. “Where am I?” she asked.

Another voice laughed—coming from Britt’s other side. “You are in the dungeons of Sir Damas. Welcome, knight, to a pit of hades.”

Chapter 3

Fun in a Dungeon

“You truly have no idea who attacked you? They wore no livery, or symbol of loyalty?” Sir Kay rumbled.

“If I hadn’t been struck from behind—only a coward’s move—I would know. But I wasn’t! I have no idea who stole your precious king, our King,” Lancelot snapped, his good humor worn thin.

For the past hour he had been questioned and badgered by King Arthur’s inner circle about the few moments he remembered of the attack by. The King’s officials were there—Sir Bodwain, Sir Ulfius, Sir Ector, Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere—as were his pet knights—Sir Ywain and Sir Griflet. Sir Tor was present as well—more because he happened to be in Merlin’s study when Sir Kay dragged Lancelot inside than because of any great tie to the king.

“It’s strange,” Merlin said, his hands clasped behind his back.

“What is it, Merlin?” Sir Ector asked.

“Why would these mysterious attackers leave Sir Lancelot behind?” Merlin wondered. “Why not take him with—confounding us further? Even more odd—why would they carry him to the edge of the forest instead of fleeing right then and there?”

“Is it possible they don’t know who they’ve captured?” Sir Tor asked—his normally cheerful face was creased with worry.

“That’s impossible,” Sir Ywain scoffed. “Everyone knows King Arthur. We’re wasting time. We should be out, tracking him!”

“Nay. Sir Tor may be right,” Sir Bodwain rumbled, smoothing his beard. “King Arthur rode out in his plainest gear, yes?”

“Correct. Llamrei wore none of Arthur’s usual trappings either,” Sir Kay said, referring to the beautiful tack that was flourished with red dragons.

“It is best to hope, then, that whoever has King Arthur, does not know of the prize they have dragged off,” Merlin said, his uncomfortably bright eyes fastened on Lancelot. “Otherwise we may have to further pursue Sir Lancelot’s involvement in the affair.”

Aware of how bad it looked, Lancelot impatiently tilted his head. “I didn’t mean to lure King Arthur there. I had no knowledge of the men. Indeed—it was King Arthur’s dog that saw them, for he growled and snapped at the forest.”

“Let us hope your words are trustworthy,” Merlin said, his voice utterly without emotion.

The heavens laugh at me
, Lancelot stewed.
The one time I do not seek to harm the king, he is taken—implicating me!

The main cause of Lancelot’s discomfort was Merlin’s scrutiny. Lancelot was used to being admired and looked at—everything from his manners to the way he dressed was designed to draw notice. But men like Merlin—wise men—didn’t often study Lancelot. In fact, they usually ignored him, writing him off as a silly but chivalrous knight. That is what Lancelot
wanted
them to do.

He did not like the way Merlin stared at him, as if he were studying a newfound threat.

“What are we waiting for?” Lancelot finally said, the words ripped from his throat. “We should be following those attackers, hunting them without mercy!”

“We will,” Merlin said. “But first we must plan,” he said, standing to retrieve a map from the wall. “We can attempt to follow the trail, but the guards already scouted the area and said it would be difficult, if not impossible to follow. Llamrei, Cavall, and Excalibur were left behind. As far as we know, Arthur has nothing with him. Whoever took Arthur, carried him to a stream. Any tracks are lost there—although one might have more luck with a scent hound.”

“If there is no trail, what do we do?” Sir Ector asked, nervously pacing.

“We divide our forces to cover the greatest distance,” Merlin said. “Several knights should push north into the Forest of Arroy, some should travel due east, and several more should travel south east,” Merlin said, his finger tracing the cloud of trees. “We know they did not move west—we have open plains on that side of Camelot and would have seen any movement. Clearly they stayed in the forest. Most likely they will seek shelter in a radius close to Camelot. Based on Lancelot’s description I do not think we are dealing with men looking to ransom a king, which would infer they have no reason to believe they need to carry Arthur far away.”

“We have to be intelligent about where we search,” he continued. “To the north there are small baronets. East takes one into more inhabited parts, but to reach them it is a much longer journey. South east there are several baronets and a prince—though all are sworn to Arthur. The north is the least likely direction, for it is almost abandoned there. I recommend we send fewer knights, and no guards.”

“Sir Ulfius and I will travel east,” Sir Bodwain said after glancing at his longtime friend.

“I will go with you,” Sir Ector said.

“No,” Merlin said. “You will remain in Camelot to rule in Arthur’s absence. It’s what…he would have ordered,” Merlin said, the words dispelling any argument Sir Ector would have posed.

Merlin turned his searing blue eyes on Lancelot again. “You said you and your cousins are acquainted with the Lady of the Lake?”

“Yes.”

“Then Bors and Lionel will accompany Sir Tor and…Sir Percival and his companions there to speak to the Lady,” Merlin said. “And you, Lancelot, you will ride north.”

“What of the south east direction?” Sir Griflet asked.

“Sir Kay and I will cover that direction. After our initial search parties set out, we will send out squads of guards,” Merlin said.

“I request permission to accompany you, Merlin,” Sir Ywain said.

“Your request is most emphatically
denied
,” Merlin said. “I will be using all the powers I have to search for our king—I will not have the patience or ability to keep you from breaking your neck.”

“I can help!” Sir Ywain argued.

“You will travel with Sir Lancelot,” Merlin snapped.

Sir Ywain turned to look at Lancelot so fast, Lancelot could almost hear his neck snap.

“Truly?” Sir Ywain asked.

“Truly,” Merlin wryly said, looking to Sir Bedivere. The knight gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Merlin continued, “You, Sir Griflet, and Sir Bedivere shall accompany Sir Lancelot in his northern search.”

“What of the other knights?” Sir Kay asked.

“The rest of Arthur’s inner circle is gone—off questing or, in King Pellinore’s case, pursuing that rotten questing beast. If they happen to return while we are absent, Sir Ector will inform them. In the meantime, it will be up to Sir Ector to organize the guard search parties, and the remaining knights of the Round Table—though I think it would be likely that if we do not find Arthur in our initial search, we will receive word of him,” Merlin said. “It is to be hoped that we are overreacting. Perhaps it is nothing more than servants of a recreant knight seeking out an opponent, in which case I am certain Arthur would return shortly. However, until we know for certain where he is, it is best to exercise caution. If you find Arthur, send word
immediately
,” Merlin instructed. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Merlin,” the knights chorused.

“Good, in that case we must prepare for our departure. Good luck, men,” Merlin said before he stood and opened the door to the study, clearly dismissing them.

To Lancelot’s surprise, Morgan le Fay was standing out in the hallway, her hands clasped in front of her as she stared at the study door.

“Arthur has been taken?” Morgan asked Merlin as knights filed past.

“Yes,” Merlin said.

Morgan nodded thoughtfully, and turned to go—her skirts swishing around her as she walked up the hallway.

“Sorceresses,” Merlin muttered, casting another intense look at Lancelot before shutting the study door.

Lancelot watched Morgan disappear down the hallway.
Merlin punishing me with Sir Ywain and Sir Griflet and sending me in the least likely direction is no shock—I have placed his precious king in danger, after all. But Morgan-the-man-hater’s affection for Arthur is true? That seems suspicious, even if he is her half brother…

“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Britt said, folding her legs pretzel style when she sat on the filth-covered dungeon floor. “Sir Damas has taken me captive—just as he took all of you captive—in hopes that he can convince me to fight on his behalf and face his brother, Sir Outzlake, in combat.”

“Yes,” said the knight in the cell across from Britt.

“Sir Damas needs a champion because he is a rotten fighter—”

“He’s more of a scholar, really,” a dirty knight in a neighboring cell said.

“—and his brother, the previously mentioned Sir Outzlake, keeps challenging him because Sir Damas won’t share his inheritance with him?” Brit said.

“Well, he’s shared some. Sir Outzlake has a very fine, rich manor not far from here,” one of the roughly ten captive knights begrudgingly admitted.

“Sir Damas must be going against his father’s wishes then, and is hogging the rest of the inheritance?” Britt asked, tapping her fingers on her knees.

“No,” the knight across from Britt said. “Their father willed the majority of his wealth to Sir Damas.”

Britt scrunched her eyes shut. “Then I don’t get it. You all told me Sir Damas is rotten and evil, and that is why none of you have been willing to act as his champion.”

“He is,” a fellow captive said.

“But it sounds to me like Sir Outzlake is the one in the wrong. Sir Damas can’t help what his father willed to him—although he’s obviously no bleeding lamb either, or he wouldn’t be kidnapping knights to fight for him,” Britt said, rubbing the sore spot on her head.

“No, no. Sir Outzlake is very kind,” a captive knight said.

“Then why is he challenging his brother?” Britt asked.

“Because it isn’t fair that Sir Damas received so much, and Sir Outzlake received so little.”

“The knight has a blooming
manor
. He can’t have received that
little!” Britt said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yes, but he needs to provide for his sister,” another knight said.

“Wait, Sir Damas and Sir Outzlake have a sister?” Britt asked.

“Yes, Lady Vivenne.”

“And she’s staying with Sir Outzlake?”

“No, she’s with Sir Damas right now.”

Britt loudly sighed. “That’s it. I think they both could be considered recreant knights.”

“Sir Damas is extremely selfish. He cares only for himself and his pursuit of knowledge,” a captive knight protested.

“Yes, but at least he doesn’t go around trying to attack his neighbors because he wants their things,” Britt said.

“But he is cruel to Lady Vivenne,” Britt’s captive neighbor said. “She has been ignored since the day her father died two years ago. Although Sir Damas sees that she is fed and clothed, he keeps her locked up in his castle.”

“Probably because otherwise Sir Outzlake would try and kidnap her,” Britt said.

“Sir Outzlake would never!”

Britt rolled her eyes at the sea of protests. “Right, yeah. How long has this been going on?”

“Caradan, you were the first captive. How when did it start?” a knight down the line shouted.

“Not a day over eight months,” chirped a voice at the far end of the dungeon.

“And there you have it. Eight months,” Britt’s neighbor said.

“And none of you decided it was better to fight for Sir Damas because then—Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could
get out
?” Britt asked.

The knight across from Britt piously shook his head. “It would never do to fight for Sir Damas’ cause. It is unseemly to get involved in family matters.”

“Besides, it’s not that terrible here,” another knight said. “Maybe a little chilly in the winter, and the food is questionable, but it’s not a horror to sit around and sleep and do as I wish.”

Britt stared at the knight before asking, “How many of you belong to King Leodegrance’s court?”

Britt didn’t get a reply—the great door to the dungeon swung open first. A huge, hulking man dressed in black filled the doorway. He was so muscular he almost had to waddle down the tiny dungeon aisle. He stopped in front of Britt’s cell and did a reasonable impersonation of Darth Vader as he breathed loudly in his black helm. Abruptly, he stepped aside, allowing a spindly man—who couldn’t have been much over five feet and was as muscular as a scrawny boy—to peer at Britt.