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Galahad took no pride in the following statement. It was quite simply true. “I will not need them.”
Lancelot grinned. “We shall see, old man.”
* * *
Lancelot staggered and nearly fell as Galahad’s sword impacted his with so much force his hands stung. Lancelot knew he could not win this fight on his own. Nor would Zoe raise a hand to fight her husband—and that was likely why Mordred had sent the Knight in Gold in the first place.
Gawain and Bors were too afraid of Mordred’s wrath to risk mutiny in front of the most senior-ranking knight as well.
No, Lancelot was going to lose. And painfully so. Galahad, for all his lankiness and size, moved with a speed and a simple brutality that left Lancelot forced to stay on the defensive. He should have run from this fight, but Zoe would not be swayed. And it was not in his nature to avoid an honorable fight.
He could simply pray for a stroke of luck.
Galahad swiftly knocked Lancelot’s sword from his hand, sending it flying. It landed in the brush at the edge of the clearing. It did not take Lancelot long to wind up on his back in the grass, with the tip of the Knight in Gold’s sword resting against his throat.
Lancelot laughed quietly. “You’ve always won.”
“Yes. I have.” Galahad sighed. “Will you come peacefully now? Or must I restrain you?”
“We have been friends for ages, have we not?” Lancelot shut his eyes. “Kill me now. Deny that rusty bastard the pleasure of taking my head.”
“No.”
“Tell him I left you no choice.” He hardly wished to die. But if he had to go, a death at Galahad’s hand would be far more merciful. “I am certain Gawain and Bors would not disagree.” He smirked. “As they would wish the same in my place.”
Galahad sighed. “I—”
Something hit Galahad so quickly and with such force it seemed for a moment as though the Knight in Gold had simply disappeared. It was only when there was athunkfrom a nearby tree, that Lancelot lifted his head to see what had transpired.
Galahad had been thrown across the clearing and the sound was his armored body impacting the tree’s trunk. He half slumped to the ground, struggling to pick himself up from the blow.
“Begone, iron servants.” A figure was standing beside Lancelot. He was dressed in barely anything at all, a scrap of leather wrapped around his waist in a sarong. His pale, nearly white skin was tinted a faint green. Long, dark hair that only glinted evergreen in the sunlight was pulled back in a braid that reached down to his waist. He was handsome and appeared to be no older than perhaps his mid-twenties. But Lancelot knew he was one of the most ancient elementals that lived upon Avalon. Old enough that Enin himself did not recall his age. The faded tattooed markings upon his arms and chest harkened back to some ancient and lost people, forgotten to the sands of time.
Lancelot furrowed his brow. “Enin?” The Lord in Green’s arrival was certainly a surprise, though not an unwelcome one.
Enin ignored him, instead choosing to glare at the other knights. He held out his hand, and Lancelot watched as a spear of tangled wooden vines grew from nothing at his command. That must have been what had struck Galahad. “Leave here.”
Galahad picked himself up from where he had slumped against the tree and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his lip. There was a dent in his breastplate that was already mending itself. Gawain and Bors had drawn their swords, though the forest elemental did not seem to notice.
“Enin the Green, I have no quarrel with you.”
“Yet I have a quarrel with your master.” Enin held firm. His voice left no room for argument. “You will leave, if you value your lives.” The forest around them creaked dangerously, the trees themselves echoing Enin’s words. It might appear that the Lord in Green was outnumbered—but only to a fool.
And Galahad was no such thing. He bowed his head. “As you wish.”
Zoe took the moment to rush to his side, touching her fingers to the Golden Knight’s wound. The shimmering of magic was like the buzz of a storm before it broke, humming through the air as she healed him. He whispered something to her. She kissed him.
And for the life of him, Lancelot wanted to cry. It was such a terrible thing to see true love shattered by war. And Zoe and Galahad had never once been given the chance to live in peace. Pulling himself up to his feet with a grunt, he brushed himself off. “Thank—”
“Shut up.” Enin cut him off.
Well. All right then. Letting out a sharp exhale, Lancelot shrugged and went to fetch his sword from where it had landed. By the time he turned back around, Galahad had mounted his horse, and the three knights were turning away and riding back from whence they came.
Lancelot was surprised to be alive and not imprisoned. Surprised, but grateful.
Zoe floated over to Enin, her feet barely touching the ground. “You came.”
“Yes. I heard your whispers in the trees.” Enin looked tired, the weight of his age weighing on him. “My time to stay away from the quarrel has ended. I can no longer watch the suffering in silence.”
