The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising 1)

“Mordred! Brangien went to Mordred?” Mordred ran the courts. It was one thing for him to excuse Guinevere’s magic in the forest when he thought she did not do any more. Another entirely to excuse magic done in the heart of Camelot. “If word of this gets out, she will be banished.”

“Mordred is certainly not going to tell. This was all his idea. He argued with the king, demanding they ride to find you. When the king said they would wait, Mordred stormed out. Brangien had already searched for you and she took the information to him. It was Mordred who recognized the place Brangien described. He is waiting for us at a camp. We thought it best if only one of us scouted. Easier to hide. And if it had come to it, I could have dressed in women’s clothes and tried to get to you that way. Though I am glad it did not. I feel false in women’s clothing. It is like wearing a lie.”

The forest grew thicker and Lancelot had to focus on guiding her horse. Guinevere kept watch, every rustling bird or skittering animal making her certain they were being followed.

As twilight faded into evening, Lancelot directed the horse into a series of low hills, covered with trees.

Galloping hooves pounded toward them. Lancelot drew her sword.

“Lancelot!” Mordred called. He pulled his horse to a stop with skidding hooves. A second horse was being led by a rope behind the first. “You are being followed. I counted six men. I suspect Maleagant is with them. Quick, Guinevere.” He paused, closing his eyes as relief washed over his face. “Guinevere,” he said again, his voice as soft as a prayer. Then he was back to the urgent business of keeping them all alive. He tugged on the reins of the second horse to bring it closer. Guinevere slid down and then climbed onto the fresh steed.

“Are you hurt?” Mordred moved closer and searched her face in the fading light.

“Nothing that will not heal. Lancelot was just in time. You both were. Thank you.”

“Can your horse ride in the dark?” Mordred asked the knight.

Lancelot laughed. “My horse always rides in the dark.”

“Then we need to move. I will not let that monster have her again.”

“We cannot outpace him,” Lancelot shouted as they pushed their horses to a gallop. It was not as fast as the horses could go, but still faster than was safe in the low light of the moon.

“I know!” Mordred gripped his reins in anger.

“We could pick a place to fight before he can gather more men. If we surprise them, we may stand a chance.” Lancelot sounded calm. Resigned. Guinevere did not like their odds. And she would be useless. Unable to help as she watched two people she cared about fight—and probably die—for her.

Mordred shook his head. “Maleagant has powerful allies, and his soldiers are loyal. If Arthur’s nephew kills him, it would mean war just as surely as if Arthur had.”

“But he will never stop.” Guinevere had seen it. Had felt it. War with Maleagant was as unavoidable as the night closing in on them. “He wants Camelot. He will not give up, even if we make it back. He is a threat to the kingdom. To Arthur.”

Mordred slowed his horse. Hers followed suit. “I…might have an idea. But it is a very bad idea.”

Lancelot circled them as she watched for threats. “I am open to any idea that does not end with us dead, Guinevere recaptured, or Camelot overthrown.”

Mordred continued. “We need Maleagant dead. That much we can agree on.”

Guinevere nodded grimly.

“What if we did not kill him? What if his death could never be traced back to Arthur?”

Guinevere considered it. Perhaps they could ride into Pictish territory. And somehow convince the Picts to kill Maleagant? Unlikely. And even if they managed to kill Maleagant’s entire party, there was no reason the story would not spread. “If people know Maleagant took me, any assassin’s blade or arrow will be attributed to Arthur.”

“We will not use blade or arrow,” Mordred said. “We will use a weapon that King Arthur, defeater of the Dark Queen, banisher of magic, would never use.”

Guinevere went cold. “What weapon?”

“We wake the trees.”

Guinevere shook her head. “We cannot! Merlin put them to sleep for a reason.”

“Obviously we will not wake all the trees. There is a copse a few miles from here. Ancient. Powerful. I knew the channel island Brangien described because I fought here at Arthur’s side. If anyone knows what threats sleep in the roots and the soil, it is I.”

“Even if we thought it wise, it cannot be done.”

“It can,” Mordred said. “I know what you are, Guinevere.”

She tried to protest, but he lifted a hand. “You do not have to explain yourself to me. Not all of us agreed with the need to banish Merlin.” He leaned toward her, so near their legs brushed as their horses avoided bumping into each other. Intensity rolled off him. “We lure Maleagant into the trees. You wake them. They kill him. And then we put them back to sleep. Maleagant is dead, Camelot is safe, Arthur is safe. Please. I do not know how I can save everyone otherwise. And I cannot lose him. Or you.”