Somehow Lila managed to haul Arthur onto her horse and then, against every code of honor her brothers had drilled into her, she urged her horse back through the ranks, away from the clash of metal and the spray of blood. She found a copse of trees and urged the horse over to it. She planted Arthur’s shield upright and lowered him beside it; he was unconscious.

“My Liege,” she said. She checked him over, and she saw it, blood leaking from beneath the plates of his armor along his ribs. She unbuckled his armor with shaking hands, checking him over for wounds; rings were crumpled and bent and driven into his skin – she’d have to pick them out -

Arthur stirred, opened his eyes. “What happened?”

“You were struck,” Lila said. “We need a medic -”

“No,” Arthur said. He tugged on the hem of her tabard. “Just bind the wound and let me lead my men.”

The crash of thunder and screams in the distance meant Emrys was leading the men for now.

“I have no supplies,” Lila said. “I need honey and clean linen -”

“Please.”