If I Could Tell It
Chapter 22

Colorado Springs, America, 2011

Three weeks before my birthday, March 3, just as our test scores were about to be released, I was called into the vice principal’s office.

I waited outside the office and stared at the gold-plated name plaque next to the door. Clarence Francesco was spelled out in clear times new roman font.

The door clicked open a few moments later and Mr. Francesco stood in the threshold.

He wore a pristine white collared shirt, gray slacks, and a red patterned tie. His dark hair was combed carefully to the left and not a hair grew on his smooth milky brown cheeks. He was a handsome man, probably around thirty two, and he spoke with an accent somewhere between African American and Hispanic. It had an odd effect as one might imagine.

“Arthur.” He smiled at me and pulled out a red cushioned chair for me to sit across from him. I complied and looked across his desk as if it was a wooden sea that separated the two of us. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“No sir.” I said and scooted my chair into the desk and tried to sit with the best posture as possible in order to seem more confident.

“We have heard from an anonymous source that there may have been some cheating in your class on the infamous Valentine’s Day science test.” Mr. Francesco said, looking down at a paper on his desk. “Do you know anything about that?”

I froze in my chair.

“It’s okay Arthur.” He said. “We know you didn’t cheat. A custodian found an envelope addressed to you with the material in it, in pieces in the trash.”

I still said nothing. Anything I did say would betray my friends, and likely everybody on the football team who was in Honors Biology.

“Nobody will tell anyone it was you who helped us replace out who cheated.” He said. “In fact, Mrs. Makow agreed to raise your grade to an A for your honesty.”

Apparently the school system was not above bribery.

I blew my hair out of my face and bit the inside of my cheek.

“I don’t know.” I said, I felt like my entire body was vibrating with adrenaline at this decision. It was almost how I felt in the heat of battle.

“Arthur come on.” Mr. Francesco said. “I know you know. You are just choosing not to tell us. Who got the questions to the test and who used them?”

I bit the inside of my cheek harder. “I don’t know sir.”

“I know they’re your friends.” He told me. “But you should think about what you’re throwing away for a second. Do you know what you got on that test?”

“No sir.” I said in monotone.

“A C plus,” He said looking me straight in the eyes. “If you tell us what happened on the test, that grade won’t count and you’ll have an A.”

“I can’t say what I don’t know for a good grade, sir,” I told him through the stiffness in my jaw.

Mr. Francesco shook his head. “You’re a good kid, Arthur, and I can tell you’re very smart. You’re just a little too loyal to see what’s best for you.”

I went back to biting the inside of my cheek.

“Well, if you really aren’t going to tell me anything I suppose you can go back to class,” He sighed. “If you change your mind, you know where to replace me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I heard that you saved our hides,” Helix said to me that day in the locker room.

“Yeah,” I said and gritted my teeth, thinking about how my grades were suffering because of it.

Nobody even said thank you, or anything about it, aside from that one comment Helix made to me.

I should have told him.

Central British Battle Camp, Britain, 648

Nine months.

The snow melted at the beginning of March, and we were finally able to hunt effectively again. It was a miracle that only one of our men had died; it was nearly impossible really.

Bedivere and Kay walked into the village and bought flour and dried fruits and vegetables. They also bought four new horses to replace the ones we had eaten. The best thing of all that they brought was honey though. Two big pots of the sweet and sticky liquid. I still remember the moment I stuck my fingers into one of the pots and contentedly proceeded to lick the golden stuff off, savoring every bit.

The battles started up again mid march and we seemed to slog through them as if we were walking through a deep and dark marsh full of thick, deep mud. Only one archer and one footman died in march.

On my fifteenth birthday, there was drinking and a bit of a celebration held by all of the men in camp. I did not receive much, unlike my other birthdays at which the entire country it seemed would get me presents; only a small pot of honey that was presented to me by Lancelot. He and Ellion had been saving up their shares of it all month for me when they saw how much I liked it.

It was almost the best present I had ever received.

Almost.

The steel knotwork ring from my mother still hung between the two sides of my chest, and it was cold against my skin. I could almost feel my heart beating next to it.

I pulled it up out of my shirt and stared at it in my palm.

I thought about what my mother had said when she gave it to me two years ago today. “When you look at this I want you to remember me, and my people, and that they are a part of you as well.”

I was not fighting the war for my father.

I was fighting it for her.

Colorado Springs, America, 2011

Two months after I turned fifteen, May, I started a driver’s ed course after school at Harrison.

Personally, I had no desire to drive, because the entire concept still felt foreign to me, but Miss Marion insisted it was an essential skill for me to be able to drive myself. So, as soon as I was registered in the drivers ed course we went to the Department of Licensing and waited a full two hours for them to take an unattractive picture of me and write down my information. About a week and a half later, an envelope arrived addressed to me with my drivers permit inside. Promptly the moment after I opened the paper, Mr. Ector dragged me out to the car and sat me down in the front seat commanding me to drive out into the street. Promptly the moment after I tried that, we discovered that I had little to no coordination operating a car.

None of my friends were in the driver’s ed course that quarter, so on my first day I lamely walked to the back of the classroom and sat at a desk and started drawing little lines and circles on the first page of my notebook. No sooner had I done that than Jeanette, Ty’s ex girlfriend, came flitting into her class in a skirt that was only a couple feet too short for her. I unsuccessfully tried to hide behind my notebook, hair, and glasses from her. Sadly, she noticed me. And sat right in front of me.

She had broken up with Ty about two weeks before, claiming that she “just wanted to be friends” after they had started dating at homecoming. Ty, however, didn’t see it that way. He was completely heartbroken. I had never seen him that way either; he had always seemed so nonchalant and unattached to anything, but when Jeanette broke up with him? He was a mess. And, being one of his best friends, most of that mess fell into my mess. I was not Jeanette’s biggest fan at the moment.

She tossed her light brown curls behind her shoulders and turned around in her seat to face me. Her mean hazel eyes were inches away from mine, and, suddenly, I felt uncomfortable. Like I was being caught by a wild cat.

“Hi, Arthur,” She said and moved her eyes down to the straight lines in my notebook and then back up to my messy hair.

“Hi, Jeanette,” I said awkwardly, grimacing at her.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” She asked and grinned at me.

I shook my head through my grimace and looked back down at my notebook.

About two minutes later, another overwhelmingly American mean girl came and sat next to Jeanette: Claire Woods from Middle School, the meanest, prettiest girl in America.

In all, there were about twelve kids in the class, none of whom I even knew the names aside from Claire and Jeanette. The teacher, a fat, middle-aged woman, came in a few minutes late and introduced herself.

“My name is Ms. Mazepa.” She said in a smoker’s voice that seemed to match her looks exactly. “Why don’t you go ahead and introduce yourselves to your neighbors while I get ready.”

My plan to avoid contact with Claire and Jeanette quickly evaporated as soon as Claire turned around toward me with a big fake smile and stuck her manicured hand out to me. “Hi, my name’s Claire. What’s yours?”

“Arthur,” I said. I had no doubt that my face showed a cynical sneer. I sat behind you for an entire year and you do not even remember me? You must have been too busy being an awful person to notice. You must get bonus points for being mean AND stupid. “I went to Carmel.”

“Oh!” She squealed. “That’s funny, me too!”

It took every piece of willpower I possessed not to come back with a sarcastic remark and instead nod and look dutifully back down at my notebook.

Ms. Mazepa started the class a moment later and began talking about how important it was to drive and how important our safety when driving was. I felt my eyes glaze over for most of the lecture and then I was suddenly snapped back into perspective when I heard her say;

“You will be taking your drives with a partner. Please choose those partners now.”

Jeanette and Claire quickly chose to become partners and hugged each other. I noticed American girls did that quite frequently, hugging each other. Personally I thought it was a little strange, but maybe that was just because of my outward aversion to touching other people.

Because I knew nobody in the class, I decided to hang back and wait for somebody to come to me. That was obviously a poor decision because the boy who came up to me was incredibly overweight and smelled very bad.

“My name’s Dustin; you wanna be partners?” I looked at him for a second, wishing with all my soul to reject him, but, seeing as I had no other options, could not.

“Yeah, sure. I’m Arthur,” I said and looked back down at my notebook.

“You’re that really smart kid who got a hundred on the circle geometry test right?” He asked. Apparently I did know him; he was in my class.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I said and looked at him again.

“How are you so good at geometry?” He asked and came closer to me. Please go away gross kid.

I wanted to come up with some half intelligent half sarcastic remark that would leave him pondering why he came up to me, but instead all I said was. “I like circles.”

He raised his eyebrows for a second and then sat at the desk next to me.

His smell did not go away with time.

Central British Battle Camp, Britain, 648

One year.

It had been one year since I had come to that camp to fight in the war. And I had. I had fought, and I had killed. It had been one year, but I had aged a decade; all my scars were painful reminders of everything that had happened.

Colorado Springs, America, 2011

Surprisingly enough, I was quite a terrible driver.

When maneuvering a car, I never seemed to judge distances quite right, or speeds for that matter. I could never quite be aware of every single thing around me, and backing up...was a little too backwards for me. It was odd because I had been riding horses since I was barely four years old, and I was therefore fine at navigation, but when it came to the mechanical aspects of the car, I was simply unadept.

I think this may have been because I did not grow up riding in cars and therefore had not had the opportunity to observe people driving. After I came to this realization, I spent every moment I was riding with Miss Marion in the car observing her movements and what she did, instead of looking outside at my surroundings as I had grown accustomed to.

The worst part of all of it was that Dustin, my driving partner, was unmistakably good at driving. Every maneuver the instructor told him to do, he did perfectly, and this infuriated me beyond measure. Worse still, Jeanette and Claire were also excelling quite well at the driving program, both of them who I attributed to be stupid, ignorant girls. I could not believe that they were doing better than me. I was always the best at things, and when I was not, it was simply unbelievable.

Central British Battle Camp, Britain, 648

Thirteen months.

I was homesick. I was truly longing to go back to Camelot, to Avalon. To fight in tournaments where everything was just a game and play capture the flag. To go on trivial adventures that really did not matter. A quest to kill a dragon that may or may not exist, or replace hidden treasure in the forest. Things that were all too much a fantasy right now.

Colorado Springs, America, 2011

In July, after the driver’s ed course was finished, my driving began to improve, and regular school football practices started up again. It was fine, I suppose, and life in America continued on as normal. Or, as normal as it could be when I went to medieval Britain in my sleep.

Central British Battle Camp, Britain, 648

Fourteen months.

If war made me see anything clearly, it was that people are the greatest danger we could ever face.

I have fought and killed both a dragon and a phoenix, both creatures that are fearsome and worthy of fright. However, in my opinion, they pale in comparison to what I have seen men do and what I have done to survive. Being afraid of non-human things seemed silly after seeing the things I have seen.

Colorado Springs, America, 2011

Sophomore year began with all the excitement of the disappointment of the summer ending. Students and teachers slipped back into the dull and laborious routine of school. Going to class, going to football practice, going home, going to sleep (which I dreaded most of all) and then the whole process repeating itself. However, it was at the beginning of sophomore year that someone began to suspect there was something different about me.

It happened the fifth day of school when the second year Latin teacher, Mr. Tribiani took us out in the hall for our oral pre-tests. The objective of the oral pre-test was to see where our class was at in our progress in order for Mr. Tribiani to determine where our material should be. We were quietly filling out word searches in Latin while he called students out to test them.

“Arthur Ector.” He called stepping into the classroom for a moment. I set my pencil down and followed him out into the hall.

“Please sit.” He told me and we sat across from each other at a desk while he prepared a piece of paper and a pen to write my progress on. I complied.

“Salve.” He said. Hello.

“Salve.”

“Quid agis?” How are you?

“Bonum, et vobis?” I replied. Good, And you?

“Bonum, Quomodo schola? Quid enim tuum est ventus genus?” He asked. Good. How is school? What is your favorite class?

“Etiam, meus ventus genus est mathematica.” I replied. Yes, my favorite class is mathematics.

“Quod mathematica sint in genere?” What mathematics class are you in?

“Algebra duo.” I answered. Algebra two.

“Quid censes schola anno tantum?” He asked next. What do you think of the school year so far?

“Suus ’bonum, velim mihi scribas, et classes. Sed nervous quia ego football sed simul excitatur.” I said. It’s good, I like my classes and my teachers. However, I am nervous for football, but at the same time excited.

Mr. Tribiani put down his pen and looked at me. “Do you speak Italian at home?”

“No sir.” I replied.

“Romanian?” He tried. “You must be exposed to one of those languages in order to speak the language so fluently...and with such an old-fashioned accent.”

I swallowed. “No sir…”

“Is there something you aren’t saying? Am I missing something?”

Yes, in that, I am completely fluent in Latin after fourteen years of private tutoring and abuse by a Roman Priest in the year 647!

“Ah no sir.” I said again. “I just really understand the language.”

Mr. Tribiani and I exchanged a few moments of intense stares.

He gave up first.

“I suppose you can go back to class then Arthur.” He sighed.

I nodded to him, pushed my glasses back up on my nose and returned to the classroom.

Central British Battle Camp, Britain, 648

Seventeen months.

November arrived with an icy chill and a shiny frost coating.

I dreaded winter as if I was a dead man walking to the executioner’s block. I think that winter was worthy of it too, looking back on what happened last year.

It was late morning and all of the men were sitting around the bonfire when the crow came. And I do mean crow, a vicious looking black bird swooped down so close I thought it would take a bit of my hair with it. With that swoop, it dropped a tiny scroll in my lap.

It was a little roll of yellowed parchment tied with a thin rope of braided grass. I picked it up with two fingers and stared at it carefully, like it was a bomb that might go off at any second. All the men were watching me.

“Well read it already!” Bedivere said excitedly.

With shaking hands I untied the grass rope and the tiny slip of parchment unrolled in my hands. It was about two inches wide and six inches long. The corners were ripped and frayed, not right angles like paper was in America.

The message written in black ink was in Latin and I read it aloud.

“Frater,

Tollerent unam parted et ad merydiem hodie in campo certaminis eo “

I noticed that meridiem was spelled wrong, Morgain was never much good at Latin. I translated for my listeners.

“Brother,

Bring one man and go to the battlefield at midday today.”

Lionel held out his hand and I put the scroll in his hand so he could make sure that I translated right. He looked it over and then nodded to me. “Who are you going to take with you?”

“Should I even go?” I asked.

“This means results Arthur.” Lionel said. “You must go.”

I nodded and looked around the circle of men. I knew who I was going to choose before my gaze even met theirs.

“Lancelot.” I said with my stare angled directly at his dark eyes. “Will you go with me?”

“Of course.”

“You had best get going.” Lionel said and pointed to the sun. “It will be midday soon.”

We got up and left silently. There was nothing left to say, only a silent prayer abounded around the men, they needed us to stop the war.

It was about a half hour walk from our camp to the battlefield. Probably about two miles, it felt like much longer when we were marching with a hundred pounds of armor and weapons.

“Lancelot” I said when we were about halfway to the valley. “I know about Elaine and you.”

He looked at me, stopped walking for a moment, and then started again. “What do you know?”

“I know that for the past year you have been sneaking off into the forest with Elaine and done…” I trailed off for a moment, looking for the right word. “...questionable things.”

“We have not lain together.” He stated. “If that is what you think.”

I shook my head. The thought had not crossed my mind that someone as nice and refined as Lancelot would have sex before marriage. “No, but I still do not think Ellion would approve of what you have been doing.”

Lancelot shrugged. “Elaine’s actions are not his to dictate.”

“I suppose.” I agreed. It alarmed me how American Lancelot sounded, as if he would let his morals slip through his fingers for simple pleasures. That was one of the most bothersome things about American people, they had no respect for traditions, or even for their own honor. Many peoples’ philosophies seemed to be “if it feels good, do it, no matter the consequences.” I suppose that it was good to take risks, but on the other hand, it did not seem good to sacrifice one’s code for it. “Just be careful, my friend.”

He nodded and looked down at the ground and our worn boots. His right boot had a tear beginning near the toe and his stocking was bloodstained from blisters underneath.

“Do you remember when we used to sneak out and walk to Avalon and collect those white stones when we were young?” Lancelot asked me after a veil of silence, we would arrive at the place of battle soon. “We thought we were so brave.”

I smiled at him and moved a strand of hair out of my line of sight. It bothered me that I could only have my glasses in America, I could never see so well here. “And then there is now.”

He chuckled. For the first time in ages I really looked at Lancelot, at his face and his entire impression that he must exude.

Even though he was sixteen and I was only fifteen, I was still a good two inches taller than him, but we had both grown and Lancelot’s cheeks, neck, and upper lip had become thickly covered in little black hairs in the beginning of a beard. Dark, mysterious eyes peered at me from a chiseled face that was set in a serene, thoughtful expression under silky black hair. He was still slim and small-framed, as I guessed he would always be, but his shoulders had broadened. His voice had deepened, as mine had, but not as much and his words flowed sweetly and smoothly like honey. He could sing well because of this.

Lancelot had become a man. A good-looking man.

I wondered how I looked in comparison, a tall, awkward, blonde boy with too pale of skin and jagged hair. I shaved every day in America now so there was no hope of my growing a beard to look more manly, not that the miniscule amount of stubble I had managed to sprout from my face would make a difference.The only hair I had managed to grow was on my chest, legs, and under my arms and that was not much impressive. I probably looked exactly the same as I did two years ago, just taller and skinnier.

“We are here.” I said solemnly, I did not let on to Lancelot that I was analyzing his appearance in comparison to my own.

Lancelot just nodded and bit his lip. We carefully made our way down the side of the valley where corpses and bloodstains dotted the ground and meandered to the center where two dark figures stood waiting for us, their dark cloaks blowing in the wind. As we came closer I made them out to be Setanta and Morgain, Setanta dressed all in his signature tight deer hide under his cloak.

Morgain smiled cryptically when we came close enough to see their faces clearly. “Brother.”

“Morgain.” I said, I regarded her coldly. I would not let her see the emotions that brewed and bubbled like acid beneath my skin.

“Morgana.” She corrected. I refused to call her that though, she would always be Morgain to me. “I see you have brought Lancelot.’’

Lancelot inclined his chin slightly and subtly stepped closer to me.

“Do you remember when we all used to play together as children?” She asked warmly, as if we were reminiscing at a family reunion. “You two used to be the brave knighten who rescued me from that tall tower in the palace that we pretended was guarded by the griffin. Remember?”

Lancelot spit on her black leather slippers. I wanted to fist bump him.

Setanta almost hit my friend but Morgain coolly put her hand in front of his chest to stop him.

“What do you want?” I asked her. My voice imitated the cool roughness of a jagged rock.

“To propose a deal to you.” She said, she looked up and moved her eyes as if searching the sky for something.

I crossed my arms as nonchalantly as I could and glared at her.

“It is silly for us to keep fighting when there will obviously be no result. All of the men will be dead within a matter of moons, and surely no one should make it through winter, considering how harsh last year’s was.” She explained as she looked Lancelot and me over. Her gaze lingered on Excalibur that was hanging at my left hip. I tried to stand a little higher, undeterred by the fact that I was already taller than all three of them. “My proposition is that we stop all of these silly battles. We will stay on our side of the border and the Britons shall stay on theirs...for now.”

“For how long?” I pressed.

“One year.” Morgaine offered. “We will stay out of British territory for one year.”

I wanted to inform Morgain that she was, in fact, british, but I only said. “Two years.”

“Eighteen moons.” I considered tackling her and holding my sword to her neck in threatening negotiation. Morgain’s gaze narrowed as if she could read my mind. “I am doing you a favor Arthur Pendragon. I have men watching your camp at this very moment, if you dare to test me I will have them all killed.”

“Twenty moons.” I said and laced my hands on my stomach. I could nearly feel Lancelot’s nervous energy on my skin.

Morgain’s face broke into an intelligent smile. “You always were good at negotiating. Twenty moons it is.”

I nodded and held out my hand. She took it and we locked eyes for a moment. She let go before I could give it a firm shake.

“I would rather seal our agreement in blood.” She wet her lips. ”It is more certain that way.”

I drew Excalibur from its scabbard and raised it to cut my hand for its blood flow.

“Oh not like that dear brother.” Morgain raised her hand to stop me. “Þidercyme!”

A giant winged figure descended from the sky to land right next to Morgain who put her hand on the creature’s large, eagle-like head. She ran her hand down its furry, golden back as if it was her housecat.

“This is a griffin Arthur, like in our games.” She said and looked at it lovingly for a moment. “Her name is ácennicge.”

“What are you doing, Morgain?” I asked her as I looked over the terrifying creature. Its intelligent, amber eyes seemed to look straight through me as if I was transparent. I wielded my sword offensively, and Lancelot drew his long cavalry sword and did the same.

“If you can spill her blood, our agreement will be sealed,” Morgain informed us. “Sealed with blood, the sacred blood of a griffin.”

Lancelot and I looked at each other for a moment. His eyes had widened in fear, I gripped the hilt of Excalibur tighter and braced myself to fight.

Setanta spoke for the first time since we had arrived. “Do you accept these terms Arthur?”

“Can I fight you instead?” I asked as innocently as I could muster. “Or are you too afraid of me to fight me yourself?”

Setanta smiled. “I am not so juvenile as to be tempted by your taunts. Answer my question.”

Lancelot and I glanced at each other. He nodded slowly.

“First, I have a question,” I said and eyed the griffin cautiously. “Do you love him?”

Morgain studied me carefully, as if deciding what to tell me. She was calculating which answer would give her the upper hand. “Yes, Arthur, I do.”

I gave her no acknowledgement that I had even heard her answer. Lancelot and I backed up a step into better positions to fight in.

“Áflygennes!” She shouted; the griffin lunged forward at us. I stepped forward, and Lancelot jumped back to run around to its backside.

I waved my sword so the creature could get a good view of Excalibur. It simply reared up on its lionlike hindquarters and let out the most horrifying avian screech I had ever heard. Raptor talons with points sharper than arrows raked at me. I swiped Excalibur up to keep the griffin from shredding my face. The magic sword bit easily through two of the three claws as if it was a hot knife through butter. They fell onto the battlefield like any other weapon a man would have possessed. I picked one up and held it threateningly like a knife.

I remembered Viviane’s words when she had given me the sword, “This is the sword Excalibur. It is the most powerful sword in Britain. It has the power to kill anything.”

The griffin screeched again, more frustrated than anything. I saw the glint of Lancelot’s sword above its head and it cut through one of its feathery ears. It did not even seem to notice that it was now missing an ear, its attention was completely and utterly focused on me. Its eyes were like fire now. It stalked toward me in a limp from two of its talons being missing, still, it strode with the absolute grace of a lion. I ran backwards to give myself the maximum amount of time possible to think.

“Cut its tail off!” I shouted at Lancelot while the griffin continued to advance.

I kept my gaze on its fierce eyes, not bothering to look where I was walking, which was very much a mistake, because I tripped over a rotting cadaver and landed on my back, Excalibur flew out of my hand, a good six feet away. I swear I could have seen the griffin’s beak form a rough smile when I fell.

It raised its still intact claw to most likely rip my heart out.

Then I heard the sound of flesh being cut and the griffin shrieked and spun around to face my friend who was holding a limp lion’s tail. He raised his sword to defend himself, I knew it would not do much to save him from the griffin however. I got to my feet and snatched Excalibur up by the hilt.

“Switch swords!” I yelled at Lancelot.

I threw Excalibur in an impossible arc above the griffin’s body, by some immeasurable amount of good fortune, he caught it and did not cut himself in the process. I was not so lucky. His sword flew in a spinning pinwheel of glinting steel and sharp blade, I had to sidestep it and run after it where it landed a good ten yards away from where I was standing.

I picked it up and blood ran onto my hands from where he had cut the tail off.

“Morgain!” I yelled and sprinted toward her. “Its blood has been spilled! Call it off!”

“What fun would that be?” She asked and smiled evilly.

I jumped fiercely and my hands found a collar to grip. I held Lancelot’s sword to a beating heart as I knelt on ribs that were slowly being crushed by my weight.

“Stop it, Arthur!” Morgain screamed. “I have men poised to attack your camp!”

“Honor your agreement!” I yelled at her. I pressed the sword point into the deerhide. Setanta was struggling to breathe now, his lungs were collapsing under me.

We all heard the sickening sound of blade sliding through several layers of flesh.

The griffin gave one last terrible screech, and then it fell onto its side with a loathsome thump. Lancelot stood panting with my bloody sword drooping in his hands.

“Fine!” She shrieked. ”I swear it on the goddess! No more attacks for twenty moons! Let him go!”

“Morgain,” I looked at her with complete and total hatred. “You took someone I loved away from me.”

“Arthur, no,” Tears streamed down her face. “I will kill all of your men.”

“You are bluffing,” I snarled and the sword ripped through his clothing. I could feel his life in my hands, it was exhilarating.

I heard Lancelot’s exhausted voice in the background. “Arthur, you are not this kind of man.”

“Listen to him!” Morgain cried. “Please, Arthur, please. I will surrender! I will end the war!”

“Arthur!” Lancelot yelled. “Listen! Use your head!”

I stared at Setanta’s face that was struggling for life. I remembered when I had been poised to kill Morgain on the executioner’s block. I let up for less than one second. I felt sorry for her.

I would not make the same mistake twice.

“Some things are worth more than war,” I breathed.

I plunged the sword deep into his chest, piercing his heart. I could feel it stop in the hilt of my sword. I twisted it all the way around and then got to my feet, staring at Setanta’s body ruefully.

Morgain fell on him and kissed his bloody mouth. She stared at me with boundless terror strewn across her face.

I just walked away.

I felt nothing.