“You know, a lesser man would feel emasculated by his wife stepping up like that. He would think that it said something negative about his manhood.” Bors side-eyed Arthur as they watched Guinevere walk through a host of spitting, shouting Saxon warriors towards Cedric. “It takes a big man to let his little woman do his work for him. That is all I am saying. A big man, secure in his masculinity, not worried about how others . . .”

“Why don’t we all just shut the fuck up for a minute?” Arthur nudged Melehan’s body with his foot. “Any second now, right?”

Merlin grimaced internally but kept Melehan’s face still. “Certainly, especially when you consider the reality that a ‘second’ is an indefinite unit of time. I mean, what is a ‘second’ when you get right down to it?” He caught Arthur’s expression. “Apologies. I promise I will definitely be able to teleport us away momentarily.”

Merlin had identified three fast-travel options, and he didn’t like any of them. As far as he could tell, Melehan had only developed this most basic cultivation ability since joining the Saxon army. This meant that he had linked all his destinations to various military installations. The easiest option – Qi-wise – was to get them to a small fort that he recalled sat just on the edge of Uther’s territory. If he spirited them there, he would still have plenty of Qi left for some destructive spell-slinging.

However, he had to be realistic. Even as a generally competent cultivator, Melehan did not have access to the required range of techniques. If Merlin could have called on even a fraction of his original resources, he wouldn’t think twice about dropping them into the fort and “bringing the thunder, “as Uther was wont to call it.

But now?

This was not the first occasion he had to bemoan the loss of the ‘good old days’.

The second option, though, wasn’t much better. From the impression Merlin could get of the place, it was over the sea in Frankia—presumably in the middle of some Saxon outpost? That hardly seemed like a sensible place to portal the Prince and the Princesses of the Britons.

That left the third option, and even that had its drawbacks. It was a massive dark tower - so much so that Merlin felt he should view it as ‘The Dark Tower’ - which seemed to have some sort of tricky defences around it. While Merlin knew how to overcome them, it would leave him very short of Qi to be able to help his fellow travellers out on arrival.

However, more than that, he had absolutely no idea where he would be taking them.

“Does anybody know anything about a giant Dark Tower in the middle of nowhere?”

Bors shrugged” Only if you are asking what Mrs Bors calls my . . .”

“Wizard, in a few seconds, my wife will be fighting, one-on-one, against Cedric of the West Saxons. Right now, I’d take a fucking Dark Tower.”

“Funnily enough, that’s what Mrs Bors said last night . . .”

Merlin quested out to the third destination once more. How had something like that structure been built without him knowing? It was a proper, old-fashioned Wizard's Tower. Even looking at it through Melehan’s memories, he could feel the pull of Qi being sucked into the place.

But there was something else there, wasn’t there? A Presence he recognised…

Merlin’s excitement made Melehan almost jump to his feet.

"Morgan. I found her!"

*

Looking at her opponent, Guinevere regretted her bravado in accepting the duel.

The West Saxon was tall and wiry and had utterly the wrong amount of bellicose intensity in his eyes. A touch more, and she knew she’d be able to inflame it into cockiness. A drop less, and she’d be able to overwhelm him through her own aggression.

But as it was? She knew this guy was going to be a handful.

“Is this the best the British can offer? A whore to the slaughter?”

Cedric’s men roared in coordinated approval of this insult. Guinevere chose to remain silent.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

“What, too afraid to answer? Or is your mouth only good for one thing?”

Guinevere rolled her eyes and planted her spearhead down in the dirt. “Look, mate. How much humiliation can you really take here? I’m all up for a bit of banter, but if you’re already at the stage of killing your own men when they give you bad news, me ripping you a new one before literally ripping you a new one will hardly improve your reputation. You’ve trapped two warriors, a mouthy whore, and a crippled wizard, and we’ve been able to beast you around for the best part of the afternoon. Our Commander is so sure you are a limp dick that he’s sent me out to deal with you because he can’t be bothered to do it himself. If I were in your shoes, I’d call it quits before I bend you over my knee to deliver the spanking you so richly deserve.”

Guinevere watched Cedric’s eyes as she spoke, hoping to see the flame of anger ignite and roar within him. Unfortunately, she was to be disappointed. He merely grinned back wolfishly.

“I think we would all like to see that, whore.”

Without any further words, Cedric attacked.

*

“Wizard!” Bors and Arthur shouted in alarm at that exact moment.

"I know, I know. I am working as fast as I can." A glimmering light was now surrounding the seated men.

“Work faster!” Arthur’s voice was grim, his eyes locked on the battle unfolding before him.

*

Guinevere had instinctively settled into a defensive pattern. She was light on her feet and found it easy enough to dance around the early exchanges. She didn’t dare make any attacks of her own yet; she couldn’t risk a clash of spears that would leave her unarmed.

She had fought against men her whole life.

Her father was anxious enough about the likelihood of her getting married due to the forthrightness of her personality that he had allowed her to be trained as if she were the much-desired son with whom he had not been blessed.

Guinevere had always found that the trick was to weather the early storm of a much stronger opponent. Men wanted to dominate her. To humiliate the weaker figure in front of them. In her experience, it made them cocky. Literally. Her well-trodden path to victory was to be submissively on the back foot and seek to strike when Cedric got sloppy.

But it did not seem that Cedric was interested in playing that game.

His eyes never left hers as he stalked her, his spear snaking out in a blur to test her footwork, but with no real commitment behind it. His movement was economy of movement, and carrying Arthur’s heavier spear, Guinevere was worried if anyone was going to be tired, it would be her.

As if her body was listening to her train of thought, she lost concentration momentarily, and the tip of Cedric’s spear drew a thin line down her forearm. She spun away out of range, cursing.

It wasn’t a nasty wound, but she suspected he hadn’t intended it to be. The bastard was taunting her.

*

Arthur swore, seeing his wife falter. He turned to Melehan and saw the projection of a giant, imposing monolith of stone appearing, like a ghost, on the wall of the small cottage. The wizard was whispering over and over to himself, "Almost there. Almost there."

*

She had no choice but to change it up.

Guinevere closed the gap by spinning her borrowed spear in an expansive arc, moving from constant, cautious retreat into reckless assault. She was rewarded with a momentary flash of concern in Cedric’s eyes, and it was now his turn to fall back.

Years of sparing with the household jarls blossomed in her mind as she drew in close and threw every dirty trick they had taught her at Cedric.

Now she was inside the range of his spear, she sought to stamp down on his feet. She aimed a knee at his crotch and whipped her long hair into his face.

Guinevere could not hope to seriously hurt him—he was at least twice her weight—but she needed the confusion this line of attack would cause to buy her a few extra seconds of respite.

But it was to no avail.

She couldn’t create a wide enough opening to slip her spear through his defences. And what was worse, she was passing the point of ‘tired’ and into 'complete exhaustion.'

And Cedric knew it.

The butt of his spear connected with her knee, causing her to stumble. Switching off the numbing pain, she barrelled forward to press her attack, but, like a moved by a gust of air, he slipped to the side, slashing carelessly as he drove past her, opening another wound on her back. There was a hushed pause – it probably was barely a heartbeat, but to Guinevere, it stretched out for hours.

She was outmatched here, and as every man in her life had always told her, her arrogance got her into trouble she could not escape.

With a yell – visualising a host of condescending, paternalistic faces as she did so - she sighted on the middle of Cedric’s body and threw her spear with as much venom as she possessed.

Almost lazily, he knocked it aside.

*

“Fuck!”

Bors had ripped open the door and was running towards the duellers as Guinevere threw her spear. Arthur was on his shoulder, and they crashed into the Saxons separating them from the princess.

They took countless injuries as they sought to force their way through, but they were never going to close the distance in time.

*

Cedric glanced over at the cottage.

His men would soon subdue the two warriors. It had all worked out precisely as he had expected. The now unarmed woman opposite was trying to settle into a defensive crouch, offering the smallest possible target. She was a feisty one; he would give her that. It seemed a shame to kill her.

But not that much of one.

He didn’t even look her way as he thrust, keeping his eyes locked on the two men being dragged down by his war band. They seemed oddly distraught about the death of a whore.

His spear took Guinevere in the chest.

*

"And we are a go!" Merlin grabbed Melehan’s hands together and finally triggered the technique. He vanished instantly. At the same time, the men restraining Bors and Arthur were left groping on to thin air.

A heartbeat later, Princess Guinevere likewise dissolved into the ether.

As did Cedric’s Spear.