In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) (36 page)

Round black eyes that belonged in the face of an animal blinked and stared. Skin stretched tight over jutting brow but hung slack and hollow against cheeks and a jaw that jutted out beneath a spatulate snout where her nose had been. Her teeth, jagged and speckled with black, protruded over her sagging lip. Already, a stream of spittle ran from the mouth she could not close down to her long, wasp-thin neck.

But her hair, her hair, that her mother had combed and perfumed and braided, her hair that Gawain had called fairer than any crown of gold, her hair was little more than a scattering of black bristles over a scabbed and mottled scalp.

“Now, listen closely to me,” Euberacon said, his voice barely louder than a whisper cutting through the roaring that seemed to have filled her ears. “I am inclined to turn you out into the world as you are to see whether it is men or the wild beasts that hunt you down first. But if you show me your obedience, if you serve me without question, then I will return your beautiful face, and yes, that mane of hair you are so proud of. It is all for you to choose now.”

He released her and stood back. Weakened as she was, Risa nearly fell. She barely caught herself on the edge of the fountain. She looked up at him. His snake’s eyes glittered with their triumph. She looked back at her wavering and distorted reflection in the water. She did not need to see what he had done. The smallest movement screamed with the pain and the wrong of it. Fear, fury, wretched sorrow swarmed and sang through her mind. A thousand thoughts wailed like ghosts, first among them the urge to murder the man who stood before her and then take her own life, dashing herself down from the tower against the tiles so no one could see the monster she had become.

“Well, woman, what is your choice?”

And she remembered what the witch had said, and she remembered how Gawain had looked at her in love, and she saw again the horror of her own hands and face and looked up into the black and shining eyes of the man who wielded his power without mercy, and she knew she had no choice. Not anymore.

Slowly, painfully, as if she were an old woman wracked with rheumatism, Risa knelt. She bowed her head until her forehead touched the sun-warmed tiles at his feet.

“Please, Master,” she said, the voice in her new throat was harsh and her new teeth slurred and slushed the words so they were barely comprehensible. “Please, do not send me away.”

“Very good.” He touched the back of her head, and she flinched like a whipped dog. “Your name is Ragnelle now, and will be until I say otherwise. So. Follow me, and learn your new duties, Ragnelle.”

He walked away across the court and did not look back. Ragnelle, who had been Risa of the Morelands, climbed painfully to her feet and followed behind.

Gawain woke to the same stone walls, the same bed and sparse furnishings. He had no idea what time of day it was. The rushlights burned, so there must have been daylight enough for the servitors to be awake and to come and kindle them.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and planted them on the rushes. No dizziness came over him this time, and he stood, and remained standing. A few steps across to the chest where his clothes and gear waited told him he was still weak, that his rib still had not healed, but he was better than before. Healed enough to feel the stone walls as a cell about him.

I need to walk and see the sky, see this land I am in
.

He had only enough time to lace up his breeches before the door burst open, to let in Belinus with Ailla a step behind.

“Ah!” he cried with satisfaction. “The young eagle is testing his wings! How does this morning find you, my Lord Gawain?”

Barefoot and barely dressed, Gawain found it difficult to pull together his dignity, but he managed a small bow. “Much better, my host, thanks be to God and your lady.”

“A dab hand at many things, my Ailla.” Belinus threw an arm about his wife’s shoulders and hugged her roughly. Ailla seemed nothing so much as resigned to the gesture. “Has she told you aught of this Green Temple you seek so eagerly?”

Did his face seem more shrewd as he asked that question. He did not let go of his wife. “No, my host,” Gawain did not look to the lady to see how she took this query. He did not want to give her away if she was trying to hide something from this man. “She has not.”

“Ah well.” Belinus released his wife and clapped his hands together. “Perhaps I will bring back news of it today. Rest well, Gawain!”

He strode away, leaving Gawain and Ailla standing awkwardly before each other. She’d dropped her gaze so she would not have to look at the half-dressed stranger in front of her.

“If you are feeling well enough, my lord, I would be most pleased if you would join us at board.” Evidently deciding Belinus was far enough gone she added, “I imagine seeing nothing but these walls is beginning to pall on you.”

“I will join you with a good will, my hostess,” replied Gawain and he was rewarded with a quick smile before she retreated to let him finish dressing.

Perhaps today you will tell me what is wrong with you. Perhaps you will let me help you before I must leave
. The idea pleased him. Merlin had warned him to remember his honor. Here was a chance to do honor in aiding a lady. If only she would speak and tell him what she held so tightly within her heart.

Belinus’s hall was an ancient place. No tapestries or banners hung from the rough stone walls, nor even any trophies of war. There were no hearths. The fires burned in the center of the floor, filling the long chamber with smoke and ash. The place held more dogs than servitors. There was no dais. The tables were roughly planed boards with only short cloths to cover them. Lady Ailla stood before one of the fires ladling porridge into a wooden bowl. It struck him how out of place she was here, a delicate flower in a thicket of thorns. Who were her people that they had given such a lady into such a place?

He walked up to her and bowed before her as his hostess. What few men were in the hall, all dark-eyed with untrimmed beards, glowered, as if they thought her unworthy of such a gesture. Ailla herself seemed flustered and curtsied with the bowl still in her hands. None of the squat, square women came forward to take it from her, so Gawain did so, with another bow. The contents proved to be a thick porridge of lentils and oats. Plain fare, but strengthening. He sat to eat and Ailla served him herself, bringing watered wine and fresh baked bread, butter and honey. For the first time since he had arrived, Gawain found he had a good appetite and he ate with a will. All around the hall, Belinus’s people watched him and their lady, and said nothing at all.

Well let them stare. There is nothing improper for them to see
. “My hostess,” said Gawain. “I would be grateful to see my horses, and something of the land I am in.” He needed to get his bearings, needed to decide what road to take next, and if he could do this and get Ailla out of this dank and smoky place into the wholesome air for a time, that was all to the good.

She looked to the door almost wistfully. Was that a frown from one of the black-bearded men? What manner of place
was
this?

“Of course, my lord Gawain,” she said with the air of someone who has reached a decision. “If you are finished …?”

He was, and, he found, glad to be so.

The day outside was fresh but damp. It had rained overnight, and the land was still given over to mud and mist. Still, the air was clean, and he could feel the sun despite the clouds. The fog would soon burn away and he would be able to see just where he was.

In the meantime, lady Ailla led him to the stables to see Pol and Gringolet. Having now seen the state of the hall, Gawain was worried about the conditions in which his horses had been housed. He needn’t have been. If anything, the stables were better made than the hall. They were certainly cleaner, and there were several lanky blood mares housed there with his horses. Gringolet greeted him cheerfully from a wide, roomy box filled with fresh straw, which Pol was munching with enthusiasm. Gawain checked the ankle beneath the poultice. It seemed tender, but not badly so. Pol only snorted with mild discomfort as Gawain probed the place. He rewrapped it and straightened up.

“I have great cause to thank my Lord Belinus,” he said as he straightened up and patted Pol’s back.

“My husband has a great admiration for fine horses,” she answered, her voice carefully neutral. “He would not have permitted two such as these to come to any harm.”

“He is a deep and complex man, your husband,” said Gawain, searching for an opening through which he might see his answers.

Ailla hung her head. “Not so. He is simple to understand, if one understands that he is of the oldest ways.”

He decided to take a small risk. “Are you far from home here, lady?”

“Farther than you know, Sir.” She straightened. “But come, I cannot be melancholy today while you are trying to regain your strength. Nor can I keep you out in the damp. The chill will only do you harm.”

Gawain insisted he felt quite well in the fresh air, but the lady would not be gainsaid and insisted he return to his little room. She sat beside him, but this time, Gawain noted, she left the door open. Every now and then, he saw a graceless, shadowed figure pass by in the corridor. The certainty grew in him that her lord was having her watched.

Suppressing a growl of frustration, Gawain leaned back against his pillows. He was far weaker from his brief stroll than he would have liked to admit. “So, my lady, what shall we speak of today?”
Let you pick the topic with those suspicious eyes at your back
.

“My lord Gawain will think me foolish.” A blush touched her cheeks. “But I would like to hear more of Camelot.”

“Not at all, my hostess.”
But when will you speak of yourself? When will you help me, and help me to help you?

So Gawain entertained her with more of the merriest tales that he knew, gratified to hear her laugh and to see the light returning to her eyes. It was a shame that such a beauty need be so sad. He wondered what Risa would think of her, and what she would advise him to do to bring her situation some ease.

Something must have showed in his face with those thoughts, because the lady lowered her voice and asked, “Have you a lady love?”

Now it was his turn to lower his gaze. “I do.”

“And is she fair?”

“Most fair.”

“What makes you sad, my lord? Is she … have you lost her?” he could barely hear her, she whispered her question so softly.

Gawain lifted his head. She was afraid now, holding herself like a deer, thinking she might need to run, but not certain yet. “Yes, lady, I have lost her. I seek her now.”

Ailla’s face paled a little. “You said it was the Green Temple you sought. Is she there?”

“I do not know where she is.” Gawain’s heart twisted. He did not want to speak of this. But to remain silent was no way to draw out the lady in front of him, especially now that they stood so close to the goal. “What I seek at the Green Temple …” he shook his head. “Repentance, perhaps.”

She seemed genuinely surprised to hear this. “What can such a man as you have to repent?”

Despite his resolve to speak openly, Gawain found his throat closed around those words. “Do not ask me that, Lady Ailla,” he could only say. “The answer would take far too long to give.”
That is not true, but to see my shame reflected in your eyes … I am that much of a coward
.

“I think your lady must be very lucky.”

If you knew the truth you would not say so
. “Oh?”

Her veil had fallen partway over her face, screening it from him. “Her lord seeks after her, he does not abandon her to her fate.”

Greatly daring, Gawain reached out and touched Ailla’s hand. For a moment, he smelled the perfume she anointed herself with. A rare and delicate scent for a rare and delicate lady. “And who has abandoned my lady?”

But that was pressing too far. She pulled back immediately, clutching the back of her hand where he had laid his fingertips. “If I cannot ask you of your repentance, I beg you do not ask me of my abandonment.”

Gawain bowed before her as deeply as he was able. “I ask your pardon.”

“No, my lord, I beg you forgive me. It has been so long since I have had anyone to talk to … I have forgotten how to guard my tongue.” She still held the place where he touched her. Did she wish to discourage the repetition of such a liberty, or did she not wish to let it go?

As gently as he could, Gawain said. “I should be very sorry if our talk caused you any worry or grief, my lady.”
And that is nothing but the truth. God grant she believe. God grant she trust
.

“You do not know how much happiness you have given me.”

“I would do more, if my lady would tell me how.”

She smiled in sad contemplation. “There is nothing that can be done for me. My fate is long sealed.”

“It is said that hope remains as long as there is life.”

“Not here. Not …” She stood abruptly. “No. I must not say anymore.”

“Why not? We are alone here.”
I will see when any comes past that doorway. Please, lady, speak. Tell me how I can help Risa, and you
.

“Because my lord will question you on your return, and you must give him what you yourself were given today.” Her fingers laced together in her nervousness and she looked over her shoulder toward the shadowed corridor, listening for breathing, looking for spies.

“That is a but a jest my lady,” but even as he said it, Gawain was not so certain. His bed covers were still stained with the boar’s blood from the day before.

“No. No jest my lord. It is in earnest, I assure you. He follows the oldest laws and will not shy away from them.”

Gawain felt the skin on his arms begin to prickle. “Do you say I am in danger here?”

“Not yet.” She rose. “Let me go, my lord, before I say any more.” She leaned over swiftly and kissed his cheek. “At least let me know I will not bring your downfall as well.”

And she was gone before he could ask any more. Gawain pressed his hand against his mouth so that his curses and frustration would not burst forth and be heard by whoever loitered out there still. So close. She was so close …

The answer was so close. That is what I meant. The answer was so close. Risa’s answer
.

Gawain repeated that to himself until he could at last believe it. Suddenly he could not bear the idea of lying here in idleness and isolation. He got to his feet, forcing the weariness that came over him down and back. He had felt far worse. He could master this. He would find his answers and he would find Risa.

His stride was steady if slow when he gained the hall. The servitors in their shadows turned to regard him, but none made any duty or reverence, and none came forward to greet him. They only watched as he left by the hall’s single door.

The afternoon’s sun was still shining brightly as Gawain crossed the tiny, dusty yard. All around him, he could see nothing but rolling meadowland that retreated rapidly into forest that climbed unbroken up the sides of the great hills looming on every side. He could see no cleared fields, no dwellings beyond the outbuildings of the hall. A woman toiled beneath a yoke of buckets filled with milk, her uncombed hair falling across her face. A man herded a pair of pigs out of the trees and back toward their pen.

It was then Gawain realized what he did not see.

There were no children. There was no boy helping with the pigs, no girl to carry another bucket of milk. No little ones running about the hall or the stables. No women with babies tied to their bosoms while they worked, no grandmothers hushing the infants balanced on their hips.

It was possible a hall, especially a small one such as this, might subsist on what could be gleaned from the forest. But how could there be no children? It was unnatural.

Gawain turned on his heel. He was in the center of some great riddle, its threads and hints stretching out on all sides of him. Did one of them lead to Risa? Which one would it be? And how could he hope to unravel it when the one he was bound to follow lead to death?

One thing was clear. He needed to leave this place, and quickly. He needed to find Ailla and persuade her to come with him.

But even as he thought that, he heard the sound of distant hoofbeats. Belinus, riding a bright bay horse, cantered across the untamed fields at the head of an unruly cluster of men on shaggy ponies. He saw Gawain standing out in the yard, for he raised his hand and urged his horse forward at even greater speed.

The hall’s door came open and its meager population scurried out to greet their master’s return. Ailla, of course, came with them. Gawain moved toward her, trying to catch her eye.

I know there is something very wrong here
, he wanted to say.
You can trust me. I will help you
.