Page 20 of The Sword & the Stone

Lancelot caught my gaze, and he nodded to my hip. “Keep Excalibur next to you at all times, even while you’re sleeping. Gal showed you the basics, but the magic should do the rest if you’re attacked."

I couldn't stop the prickle of paranoia as I looked out into the darkening woods. The wards shimmered faintly at the edge of the clearing, a gossamer veil of magic that separated us from whatever lurked in the shadows. Despite the protection spell Merlin had placed on me, I felt vulnerable, exposed. Like a rabbit trembling in its warren, knowing the fox prowled just outside.

Galahad stretched lazily, the muscles beneath his tunic shifting as he did. "All this talk about swordplay has me itching for a real challenge," he said, his amber eyes sparkling mischievously in the firelight. He turned to Gawain with a playful grin. "What do you say, brother? Want to show our queen how it’s really done?"

Gawain's steel-gray eyes lit up at the idea, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "I thought you'd never ask." He stood up smoothly, his hand already resting on the pommel of his sword. "But why settle for those flimsy wooden sticks? Let’s give her a proper show, shall we?"

I leaned in, intrigued. "You mean a duel with real swords? Isn’t that dangerous?"

The two knights exchanged a look of pure delight, like kids up to absolutely no good.

Gawain strode from the fire, clapping Galahad on the shoulder. "I assure you, the only thing in danger here is Galahad's pride."

Galahad snorted and drew his sword with a flourish. The blade glinted in the firelight, its edge wickedly sharp. "Bold words from a man who once lost a fight to a particularly aggressive goose."

Gawain narrowed his eyes. "That goose was clearly enchanted.” The two knights circled each other, their movements fluid and graceful. “Probably byyouwhispering into its little goose ear.”

Gawain lunged forward, his sword a silver blur in the firelight. Galahad parried the blow with a resounding clang, sparks flying as steel met steel. I’d never seen anything like it.

"Is that the best you can do?" Galahad taunted, his fiery hair wild as he spun away from Gawain's blade. "I've seen drunken tavern wenches with better footwork!"

Gawain laughed. “Yes, as they try desperately to get away from your smelly arse!”

I watched, mesmerized, as they fought. Their movements were so fast, so precise, it was like watching lightning dance across the sky. The firelight caught on their blades, casting strange, flickering shadows across their faces.

Galahad ducked under Gawain's swing, popping up behind him with a cheeky grin. "Too slow, old man! Perhaps it's time to hang up that sword and take up knitting instead?" He leapt backwards, the tip of Gawain's blade missing him by a hair's breadth as Gawain rounded on him. "Ooh, close one! Did you feel that breeze, Gawain? Or was that just your ego deflating?"

Gawain's response was a wordless roar as he charged forward, his blade a silver blur in the night. Galahad met himhead-on, their swords locking at the hilt. For a moment, they stood there, straining against each other, neither willing to give an inch.

Then, with a twist of his wrist, Galahad disengaged and spun away, leaving Gawain off-balance. He stumbled forward, nearly face-planting into the dirt before catching himself at the last second. He never let go of his sword, but just barely.

"Oh ho!" Galahad cackled, his amber eyes dancing with mirth. "It seems the mighty Gawain has forgotten which end of the sword to hold! Shall I draw you a diagram, brother?"

Lancelot sighed heavily, shaking his head as he watched Gawain and Galahad's antics. "And here I thought we might actually have a peaceful evening for once," he muttered, his voice a mix of exasperation and fondness. "But no, these two idiots always have to turn everything into a spectacle."

"Are they always like this?" I asked, turning to Lancelot with a grin.

It was Tristan who answered as he prepared tea over the fire. He looked up, laughter dancing in his silver eyes. “Only for the last seven hundred years.”

The sound of laughter interrupted Tristan’s words, followed by a loud thud. We all turned to see Gawain and Galahad laying on the ground, both panting heavily but playfully throwing incredibly half-hearted punches and kicks at each other. I couldn't resist shaking my head; those two were going to be trouble, I could already tell.

"I suppose," Gawain panted, "we could call this one a draw."

Galahad nodded, still chuckling. "Agreed. Though I maintain that I would have bested you if not for that conveniently placed tree root."

"Sure, Gal. That’s what happened. A draw it is then," Gawain said, extending a hand to help Galahad up. "We all know I had the upper hand before that treacherous root intervened."

Galahad grasped Gawain's forearm, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "Keep telling yourself that, brother. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The two knights made their way back to the fire, their heavy breathing gradually slowing as they settled onto logs on either side of me. The scent of pine and sweat mingled with the smoke from the fire, creating an oddly comforting aroma that settled me.

Galahad ran a hand through his tousled red hair, his amber eyes twinkling as he turned to me. "So," he said, a mischievous grin playing at his lips. "Be honest. Who looked the handsomest out there?"

Chapter Six

TRISTAN

I sat backagainst a gnarled tree trunk, my eyes drifting over the others. Arthur looked pensive, her brow furrowed as she stared into the fire. The orange glow highlighted the freckles dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, making her look younger and more vulnerable.

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