The other figures, the ones approaching from town, were much closer now. Three men, and not young either: two looked like grizzled farmers in their simple dirt-worn clothing, armed with swords and daggers. She nearly stumbled when she recognized the third as none other than the giant of a man she’d seen behind the inn.

Vera and Lancelot could have outrun the two behind them, but with three in front of them? They were trapped.

“They can’t be coming for us,” Vera said, a desperate plea. She knew the answer.

“I’ve fucked up.” Lancelot slowed to a stop. She followed his lead, stopping next to him as her eyes darted from one armed group to the other, far too close now. “I’m sorry,” he said as he drew his sword. “We’re going to pull off the road here, and if they follow, you’re going to have to fight, Guinna. Stay close. Keep your focus. I’ll get you through this.” He took her elbow and led Vera off the road so no one was behind them. All five men approached, making a beeline for them.

“Sword drawn, shield up,” Lancelot said hurriedly. “Now Guinna. Get your sword. Stay behind me.”

It was all he had time to say as the first two, the ones who’d followed them in the woods, reached them. The one with the enormous longsword came first. He fought with it in two hands. Lancelot held his sword one-handed, his shield in the other, giving him more reach but less power. It was all deliberate. He drew the man out, feigning vulnerability and enticing the attacker into swinging his sword with all his might. Lancelot raised his shield just in time to take a blow that was so powerful Vera was convinced it would crack the shield in two. She cried out on the impact, but Lancelot held strong and seized on the man’s vulnerable stance to slice deep into his belly and rip the blade free, entrails and blood following in its wake.

One down.

Vera pulled her gaping jaw shut and forced herself to breathe deeply. This was no time to panic. No time to process the horror she’d seen at her friend’s hands.

The wide man with the battle axe was already on Lancelot, and the other three were close behind. Lancelot was a great warrior, but four men were too many to fight on his own. Vera inched closer. She didn’t want to make it worse with her ineptitude, but she didn’t want to leave him stranded. Lancelot fought the man with the axe and the first farmer to join the fray from the other group, too. He was locked in with both when the giant from the inn lumbered in with a blow aimed at Lancelot’s vulnerable side. Vera lurched forward with her shield out and blocked him. The force of it sent her tumbling backward, feet over her head.

“Up, Guinna!” Lancelot shouted without breaking from his fight.

It was the first thing she’d learned in their training: to stay on her feet at all costs. She scrambled up, nearly slicing her leg with her own blade, and stumbled backward.

The giant fixed on her with ravenous eyes, his black pupils so large they filled his whole iris.

“Guard up!” Lancelot cried over his shoulder. She raised her shield, having not even realized she’d lowered it. The giant man skirted around Lancelot and the other two (soon to be three as the final farmer joined the fray). Lancelot tried to maneuver to stop him, but there was nothing for it. Vera had to fight.

When she used her shield to deflect his sword’s first swing, it rattled her, reverberating from the spot on her forearm behind the shield all the way to her teeth, clenched together in effort. Vera blocked blow after blow. The man was relentless—and gaining speed as he attacked. She knew she should counter-strike when he came off balance but was terrified to chance it. She channeled all her focus into one task: trying not to die.

Lancelot fought his three back enough to steal a second and rush to help Vera. With his sword, he stopped a swift swing aimed at Vera’s collarbone and yelled to her, “Run!”

She needed no more telling.

Sweat drenched her skin as she sprinted further into the field, Lancelot on her heels. This was different from distance running, though. It was a mad sprint following exhausting sword fighting. They couldn’t sustain it and used it only to gain better footing before their assailants caught up, and the fight resumed.

Vera couldn’t imagine holding off three attackers the way Lancelot did. Her arms drooped from trying to keep them up to block the nonstop attacks, and her breath came in rattling gasps. She wasn’t going to be able to carry on much longer.

“Stay in it, Guinna!” Lancelot called, sensing her weariness as he shot a hopeful look down the path toward town. No one was coming. Who knew how far away Gawain had been? Vera couldn’t keep taking the blows on her shield. The pain burned in her wrist. She reluctantly started parrying with her sword. She had to drop the shield to wield her weapon with two hands; she needed all her strength to steady her sword.

Her assailant leered as he scooped up the discarded shield. She tried to take advantage of his movement, swinging her sword hard, and he barely got the shield in place. Vera’s sword bit into the wooden shield and wedged there. It wouldn’t yank free. It had been the wrong choice. It left her too close to this man, his inky black eyes lapping at her soul.

This was bad. If she stayed close enough to try to leverage her sword free, he could swing up and stab her in the side. It was too high a risk. She let go of her sword and scrambled back. Vera grabbed a rock from the ground, the only thing near her feet remotely resembling a weapon. His advance was fast. How was he not exhausted? Vera swayed where she stood, fighting to stay alert with the rock cocked back, ready to throw.

Lancelot was fully entangled. He wouldn’t even know what happened to her. Vera stared defiantly up into the hateful face of her assailant and—

She heard the thunder of horse hooves growing steadily louder. She and the attacker looked up in its direction together, and the giant was promptly sliced into oblivion by a horsed warrior and his great upward-arcing swing. Vera staggered back.

The rider glanced back at her as he rode toward Lancelot. It was Arthur. Vera stomped on the discarded shield with one foot, wrenched her stuck sword free with aching arms, and ran behind him. Neither he nor his horse wore any armor. He swung down from his saddle and ran to join the fray as he yelled without turning back, “Ride, Vera!”

She didn’t want to leave them but knew she’d be no help fighting. Vera sprinted to Arthur’s horse.

“Where is Gawain?” she heard Lancelot shout.

Vera was struggling to get her foot in the stirrup when she looked back at the fight as Arthur reached the three remaining men. He had only reeled his arm back to swing when he faltered. For a split second, panic gripped her heart. Was he hurt?

And then she saw.

The oldest farmer in front of Arthur sprouted a gaping hole in the center of his chest. His skin, his organs—all that had once filled that space was removed in a perfect circle, evaporated into nothing. He crumbled to the earth before the light could leave his eyes. The same happened to the man in front of Lancelot, too. From where she stood, clutching the saddle of Arthur’s horse, foot suspended in the stirrup, Vera saw straight through the man’s body to the unstained grass beneath him. He didn’t even bleed. The third man jolted. His black pupils shrank in a flash. His eyes cleared and registered surprise as Lancelot delivered a clean and fatal blow.

Vera looked to the road like a magnet had drawn her attention.

Merlin, still horsed, had both hands raised before him. There was a fire in his eyes, and power pulsed from him. For all the times Vera had stood toe-to-toe with him and shouted him down, she’d never once thought to fear him.

Relief and exhaustion collided, and she dropped to her knees, panting and dizzy. Then, there were hands on her shoulders, and Arthur knelt in front of her.