Heart of Time (Knight Traveler) by Regan Black

One
    King Arthur watched quietly as three of his trusted knights approached the gamekeeper’s hut. The door was flung wide, a fire blazing in the grate, yet his hand rested on Excalibur’s hilt. It was no longer safe to travel unarmed.
    His private guard had taken up positions in the surrounding trees, ready to launch an offensive or a rescue at the designated signal from him. That he’d taken such measures would offend his friends, but he would not risk his life or any of theirs, should one of them prove turned by the enemy.
    For nearly a year Arthur had heard the whispers, felt the warnings at the wispy edges of his dreams and in the heart of his worst nightmares. Creatures who craved darkness and dealt in evil, always a threat to his personal quest for peace, were gaining a foothold in the west. To what end he could not see and Merlin, his most-trusted advisor, remained coy as always about the future.
    He felt it now, another tendril of that ill wind grazing his cheek, despite the clear bright autumn sky and the heat of the fire at his back.
    Three pairs of boots crunched on the path, growing louder as the men approached. Arthur studied the wilderness crowding the path, but he found no sign of the animals typically near each man. He knew they were out there, the hound, the bear, and the hawk, as steadfast, watchful, and stealthy as his own guard.
    When the knights saw him, all three faces lit with friendly and curious smiles. Arthur hoped what he had to say, the task he had to assign wouldn’t extinguish the light in his dearest friends.
    “Is there good hunting this season, my king?” Sir Gawain asked, his long stride putting him a half step ahead of the others in the party.
    “I fear there may well be,” Arthur replied under his breath. “Let us hope so,” he said in a carrying voice, stepping forward and grasping each man’s arm in greeting as they entered the hut.
    The small space seemed to shrink exponentially as the others joined him. Sir Kay ducked under the lintel and, as the last inside, latched the door at Arthur’s request.
    “Tis a far cry from the Round Table,” Kay noted, his sharp gaze raking the room.
    “Indeed,” Gawain agreed quietly.
    “What is it you cannot speak of within Camelot, my lord?” Sir Bors inquired.
    Naturally, Arthur’s finest men would strike unerringly at the heart of the matter. Of all his knights, these three had been with him longest and were best versed in the way his mind worked. Knowing the hut’s small, raw table would do them no good, Arthur had put it out of the way, on top of the rush-filled mattress in the alcove that served as a bedchamber. During the past days, he’d secreted four sturdy chairs to the hut and now he urged the men to take their ease.
    On a long, thoughtful breath, he debated the wisdom of this conversation one last time. He’d searched for options and found none, yet the thought of doing nothing, of merely waiting and watching, turned his blood to ice and choked his heart.
    “You are my brothers. Friends,” he began, feeling his way through a topic he wasn’t even sure he understood. “At this change of seasons as the trees and earth go dormant and prepare for winter, I would make an unfair request of each of you.”
    To a man, they held their peace, all of them sensing this was no ordinary discussion of a quick hunting trip or a risky quest. He admired them more for their patience and silence.
    “I must have your vow before I share all the details of my appeal and I apologize. There will be no dispute between us should you refuse. You may leave at once.” He waited, though none of the knights twitched so much as a finger. “Should you stay, I ask that you keep all that we discuss a secret between those gathered here.”
    Gawain was already scowling hard enough to match Kay’s normally fierce expression. Only Bors seemed unconcerned with Arthur’s vagaries. With only a glance, the three of them seemed to come to a silent accord.