Britt adjusted her helm and nodded. “I will. And I will see to it that there is never again such a day as this in my kingdom.”
Merlin shook his head. “Don’t make vows you cannot keep, Arthur. After today I doubt anyone will try to steal your throne again, but you have allies, and they have neither your artless feminine charisma nor my intelligence to secure their throne. They will need your help and your men. I applaud your determination for peace and prosperity, but I do not think it wise to count today as the last battle your kingdom will see.”
Britt exhaled, her shoulders falling. “Do I have to give a speech or something before we fight?”
“What? A speech? To whom?”
“The men,” Brit said.
“Whatever for?” Merlin asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at Britt.
“I don’t know…to hearten them or something?”
“They already know why they fight. There is no need to bolster their courage. I don’t know what the people are like from your home, but when a man makes the decision to become a warrior or a knight he accepts his death. The battle will commence when Sir Ulfius and Sir Brastias—you remember him our war meeting last night, yes?—open the attack with their band of 3,000. They await our signal.”
“Oh. So in a few hours it will start?”
“Saints alive, no. I actually came to tell you that we are ready. Sir Ulfius and his men can depart,” Merlin said, puttering around with his saddle bag.
“Already?” Britt asked, her voice cracking.
“Indeed.”
“Oh. Okay. Um. All I need to do is ride over to the large rock and climb it, right.”
“Correct. Come on, let us make haste. I do not want Lot to get the first strike in. He has King Pellinore on his side, and Pellinore is a smart warrior who might think up something nasty,” Merlin said before heeling his mount.
Merlin and Britt rode their horses to a large bolder that was about the size of a draft horse. Britt climbed the rock and stood upright, shielding her eyes to watch the battle.
“Now remember, you stand back here with the rearguard,” Merlin reminded Britt from the ground.
“I know,” Britt said, squinting as she watched a large number of her knights rally for a moment before they peeled off from the army.
Britt swallowed the last bit of pride she had left as she watched the knights thunder across the space between the two armies. Maybe Lyssa was right about knights and chivalry.
The mounted knights were a beautifully cruel sight. Their horses, geared and covered in armor, moved like brightly colored flames galloping across the fields, burning everything in their path. The knights were polished—lances, swords, and maces drawn as they shouted.
Britt could barely make out their battle cry.
“For Arthur!”
The splendor of the image was twisted when the band of 3,000 descended on the front lines of the opposing army. Men were knocked from their mounts, horses screamed, and as far away as she was Britt could still hear the metallic song of weapons hitting armor.
Britt crouched on the top of the bolder, the chain mail beneath her armor scraping her skin as she watched the battle.
Sir Ulfius and Sir Brastias lay waste to Lot’s front lines, scattering the soldiers as if they were sheep. Men were slain and injured on both sides, but the winning side was clearly Sir Ulfius’s men. They swept from the right side of the field to the left. Knights were unhorsed, but they fought fiercely, taking down their enemies with armor crushing maces and dazing them with powerful, painful blows to the head.
Sir Ulfius’s horse was cut down underneath him. Undeterred the older knight scrambled to his feet and ran through the enemy, taking down man after man until he crossed swords with King Ryence and one of the petty barons siding with him.
The men—both horsed—circled Ulfius, striking him together.
“Oh no,” Britt said, about to slide off the boulder.
“Stay, lass,” Merlin ordered. “Just watch.”
Sir Brastias—the other commander of the 3,000—thundered onto the scene on his splendid horse and smashed King Ryence off his horse with his spear. The enemy baron rushed Sir Brastias. When they clashed they slipped off their horses and hit the ground with such force they both rolled.
Sir Brastias was dazed for a moment, and the baron tottered to his feet before staggering towards Sir Brastias, his sword drawn.
Sir Kay and six of the best knights of Camelot thundered across the plains, reaching Sir Brastias in time to pounce on the baron before he struck.
“That cheeky seneschal. I told him to stay with the main army. He is up to something,” Merlin muttered as Britt briefly closed her eyes against the slaughter.
Once recovered, Sir Brastias teamed up with Sir Ulfius on foot, dodging stampeding horses to dismount enemy soldiers.