LANCE OF TRUTH (21 page)

As their queen and their princess entered, a hush fell. People stared at Rhianna in admiration. The younger knights and older squires nudged one another as she passed, and there were a few wolf whistles. She flushed and dropped her hand to where Excalibur usually hung at her belt, but clutched air.

“
You look beautiful, daughter
,” said a voice at her elbow. “
You do not need your sword tonight.
 
I will keep the young ones in line
.”

King Arthur’s ghost winked at her and drifted to the back of the hall, where it floated up behind Gareth, one of the wolf whistlers, and tapped him on the shoulder. The squire jumped and looked round, but obviously couldn’t see the ghost. Rhianna smiled as the boy stared nervously about the hall.

An avenue opened through the crowd for the queen. Guinevere led Rhianna up to the dais, where two beautifully carved thrones waited with new cushions, and made a short speech about her daughter being of true Pendragon blood and heir to the throne of Camelot. Then she took Rhianna’s hand and guided her to the largest throne. As they sat side by side, everybody in the hall went down on one knee and shouted:

“LONG LIVE QUEEN GUINEVERE! LONG LIVE PRINCESS RHIANNA!”

A bard stepped up on the dais and sang about Sir Lancelot’s duel with the dark knight. He seemed to have made most of it up. But the people clapped and cheered anyway as the silver-haired champion knelt before the queen. His wound had been freshly bandaged, and he looked much better. Rhianna saw her father’s ghost smile, and relaxed. It would be all right, she decided. Sir Lancelot did not want her father’s throne. If he made her mother happy, then she was happy too.

Then Cai knelt before her with the Lance of Truth, and was presented as the new Pendragon champion and the youngest knight ever to have a place at the Round Table of Camelot. Gareth scowled and muttered something to his friends,
but King Arthur’s ghost tapped him on the shoulder again and he shut his mouth quickly.

The queen raised Sir Lancelot, Rhianna raised Cai, and everyone cheered again. They didn’t shout for very long, though. The food soon distracted them, and the Hall filled with whirling dancers while the tables jammed with people telling each other wilder and wilder stories of Prince Mordred’s defeat.

When her mother went off with Sir Lancelot in search of food, Rhianna sat watching the celebrating people. She knew she should be happy. But she couldn’t help remembering that the throne she sat in belonged to her father, while the dark knight who had killed him was still alive in the dungeons below them.

Elphin appeared as if by magic at her elbow, his harp slung over his shoulder. “You look
amazing, Rhia,” he said, his eyes bright violet as they took in her new dress, the rubies flashing in her hair, and the pendant at her throat. “Is that a new necklace?”

Rhianna blushed. “It’s an ugly thing, but Mother gave it to me,” she said, turning the black jewel so Elphin could see. “My father gave it to her before his last battle, apparently. She says it used to be a different colour. Is it magic, do you think?”

Elphin touched the jewel with one of his extra fingers. “Maybe. I think it’s very old. There’s an echo of a song… no, it’s gone.” He shook his head and frowned.

“I’ll ask Merlin about it tomorrow, when he’s less grumpy – don’t, Elphin! That tickles.” His finger lingered on her neck. She playfully slapped his hand away.

Cai pushed his lance between them. “Hands off the Pendragon, or I’ll have to challenge you to a duel,” he said, and the two jostled each other.

“You dare challenge a prince of Avalon, squire?” Elphin said, teasing.

Cai scowled. “I’m a knight now, remember. And I’ve got one of the Lights, so you’d better watch out, fairy boy.”

“Oh stop it, you two!” Rhianna said, getting embarrassed. “Cai, did
you
tell that bard about Sir Lancelot’s duel with Mordred?”

Cai grinned. “Of course! Everyone wanted to know the details. I told him about you attacking Mordred’s camp up at the North Wall single-handedly as well, and how we got the Lance of Truth off him, and how you summoned Lady Nimue to help us, and maybe a few other things as well…”

Rhianna groaned. “Oh Cai, you didn’t.”

Too late. The bard had already taken up his harp again and begun to sing about ‘Rhianna Pendragon and the Lance of Truth’.

“He makes me sound like some great hero from a song,” she said with a chuckle. “But I couldn’t have rescued my mother and got the lance back without you and Arianrhod.”

“And we couldn’t have done it without you and Excalibur!” Cai grinned. “I just wish I’d been there to see your face when you realised we’d swapped the sword… where’s Arianrhod got to, anyway?”

“Oh, she’ll be around somewhere. I told her to enjoy herself.” Rhianna looked for her friend among the dancers, but a great crash of thunder distracted her. They heard the hiss of rain on the roof.

People looked up nervously. Then the Saxon chief Cynric’s big voice boomed out, “It’s our god Odin bringing a gift for the Pendragon princess!”

“Well, he can’t have her. She’s ours!” Cai shook his lance at the roof, and everyone laughed.

While nobody was looking, Elphin leaned over the back of her throne and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “That’s
my
gift until we find your crown,” he whispered, driving all thoughts of her dark cousin out of her mind.

Rhianna’s skin tingled. King Arthur’s ghost raised an eyebrow at her, and she knew she was blushing. Elphin smiled, then took out his harp and jumped down to join the musicians, filling the hall with music until they could no longer hear the storm outside.

I
N
THE
D
UNGEON

F
ar below the dancers in Camelot’s dungeon, Mordred sat on a pile of dirty straw, hugging his crippled leg. He peered nervously into the shadows. It was so dark that he couldn’t see if anybody else was down here with him. Damp oozed out of the walls. Beyond the bars of his cell, a single smoky torch showed a locked door. Beyond that stood his guards and the stairs the fools had pushed him down. He’d almost broken his neck.

The place reminded him of the cave where he’d spent last winter in darkness and pain, except this time he did not have his mother
to talk to. It smelled the same, too – the stink of fear.

“Mother,” he whispered. “If you can hear me, just help me get out of here and I’ll do whatever you say. I promise. I’ll even visit you in Annwn, if you want.”

A draught made the torch splutter. He shivered. Where had that wind come from? Camelot’s dungeon was sealed tighter than its Damsel Tower.

Pain stabbed up his right arm, and he clutched it with a scowl. It had been hurting ever since that clumsy squire had spooked his horse and made him fall off. The boy would pay, once he got out of here. Champion… ha, what a joke! Mordred scowled in the darkness. With a champion like that, his cousin would not last long on the throne of Camelot.

He heard a scraping at the outer door and stiffened as it creaked slowly open. Had they come for him already? But his guards did not appear. Instead, a slender hooded figure slipped through the crack. He saw something glint under the folds of its cloak and broke into a sweat.

An assassin? Come to slip a quiet knife into his ribs?

The hooded figure paused outside his cell and fumbled a key into the lock.

Mordred scrabbled back into the shadows and clawed his way up the wall until he stood propped against it, heart thudding. He looked around for something to use as a weapon. But his guards had taken anything he might have used before they flung him in here.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

The mysterious figure did not answer. It opened the cell door and waited in silence. Mordred eyed the shadowy corridor, gathered all his strength and made a stumbling rush for the stairs.

The figure gasped as he knocked it to the floor, and long black hair spilled out from the hood. A girl. Something fell out of her hand, glittering in the torchlight, and a familiar symbol flashed into his eyes – the witch-mark, carved into her pale cheek.

Mordred laughed in relief as he recognised his mother’s ex-maid and his stolen mirror. He snatched it up and angled the black glass to the light.

“Mother?” he breathed.

The witch’s face appeared immediately. “Don’t speak. The guards are taken care of. Your horse awaits you in the courtyard. The side gate is open. The shadrake will lead you to its lair. Get out of here. Now.”

Mordred looked down at the still form of the maid. He remembered that she served his cousin now and had been part of the trick with the lookalike sword they’d sent him. He gripped her throat in sudden fury.

“Leave her!” snapped his mother. “She’ll be more use to us alive. And leave my mirror so I can reach her – you won’t need it any time soon. Go, before the party finishes!”

He did not need telling a third time. He grabbed the torch from its bracket on the wall and dragged himself through the door, past the guards whose throats had been
efficiently cut and up the steps. Thunder rolled around the castle walls.

At first it was too dark to see anything. Then lightning flashed, showing him his bloodbeard captain holding two black horses in the courtyard. On the battlements, its black wings spread against the sky, the shadrake was ripping out the heart of a sentry. Another dead guard lay near the side gate.

He let the captain help him into his saddle, then leaned across and whacked him over the head with the smoking end of his torch. “That’s for letting me get captured, you idiot! Now get me out of here before I decide to slit your throat, too.”

“Yes, M-master,” stammered the bloodbeard. “Which way?”

“Dragonland, of course! My cousin’s got 
two of the Lights now. If we don’t get hold of the Crown of Dreams before she does, we’re in big trouble.”

“D-do you know where it is then, Master?” asked the bloodbeard.

Mordred snarled, “Of course I know where it is. And if you don’t stop asking stupid questions, you’ll be the first to taste its power. GO!”

The man paled. With thunder rolling overhead, they galloped through the open gate and followed the shadrake into the storm.

Read on for a preview of Rhianna Pendragon’s third thrilling quest…

Hardback
ISBN 978 1 84877 852 8

T
HE
D
RAGON'S
L
AIR

M
ordred reined in his horse and eyed the cave behind the waterfall. A strange green glow came out of it, lighting up the valley. Water dripped from the trees, from his cloak and off the end of his nose. Why did dragons have to make their lairs in a land where it rained all the time?

“So what are you waiting for?” he snapped. “This must be it. Go in there and bring me King Arthur's crown.”

His bloodbeards looked at each other uneasily. Seeing Mordred clench his fist, their captain drew his sword and rode reluctantly towards the wall of green water. His horse
rolled its eyes and dug in its hooves.

“I think the horses can smell the dr-dragon, Master,” he stammered.

“Nonsense!” Mordred said. “The shadrake's forgotten we were supposed to be following it. You all saw it fly off. If it had stuck around, we might have found this godforsaken place sooner.”

“Horses sense more than men, Master,” the captain pointed out, glancing nervously at the sky.

“Go in on foot, then!” Mordred used his good leg to kick the bloodbeard off his horse. “You can still run if you need to, unlike me. We'll wait out here in case the shadrake comes back.”

The captain shuddered. But he knew better than to argue with his master.

Gripping his sword, he vanished into the hillside. Shortly afterwards they heard a muffled yell, followed by the rattle of falling debris. The water glittered eerily green, spooking the horses again. The men paled and crossed themselves.

“Oh, for Annwn's sake!” Mordred snapped. “Do I have to do everything myself? Leave your horses out here and follow me.”

His stallion snorted at the water, but stopped playing up when Mordred growled at it. He ducked over the horse's neck to avoid the spray. Its hooves echoed inside the rocky tunnel, which sloped downwards and burrowed deep into the hillside. At every turn, the eerie green glow brightened.

Sweat bathed Mordred as he remembered his underground sickbed, where he'd almost
died after his uncle, Arthur Pendragon, wounded him with Excalibur during their final battle. But that had been a whole year ago. King Arthur was dead. The Sword of Light was in the hands of Arthur's daughter, who was afraid to blood the blade in case it stopped her taking the sword back to Avalon, where it would help bring her father back to life. Mordred had no such worries. As soon as he got hold of his uncle's crown, he'd ride to Camelot and blood his blade as many times as was necessary to claim the throne.

They emerged in a vast cavern, which stank of dragon. Jewelled daggers, rusty swords and dented shields were piled around the walls, along with what looked suspiciously like human bones. One of the piles had avalanched, and his bloodbeard captain lay 
groaning underneath it. His men hurried over to help.

“Leave him,” Mordred snapped, seeing that the man was still breathing. “Find the crown, you fools! Quickly, before the shadrake comes back.”

While his men searched through the dragon's hoard, Mordred rode his horse slowly around the cavern, prodding at the treasure with his spear. “Where is it, Mother?” he whispered.

“Here, my son,” whispered a woman's voice from the shadows.

Mordred froze. His mother's spirit lived in the underworld of Annwn now, and until today he'd always needed her dark mirror to speak to her. “Where?” he said warily.

“Right under your feet, you foolish boy,”
the witch hissed. “What do you think is making the light in here?”

Mordred's horse stopped dead and threw up its head, banging him on the nose. He looked down and sucked in his breath.

His mother's body lay half buried under the treasure, her dress torn and stained. A crown encircled her dark hair, glittering with coloured jewels. As his horse's hooves dislodged the pile, he saw that one of these – a large green stone at her forehead – was glowing eerily. There wasn't a mark on her, and for a wild moment he thought she wasn't dead.

Then he saw her spirit rippling in the green light.
Dark magic.

His gaze fastened greedily on the crown. He slid clumsily out of his saddle and fell to his knees beside her. He tugged at her dress
with his left hand, pushing the dragon's treasure off her body with the stump of his right wrist. “Help me, then!” he yelled at his bloodbeards.

They came running.

“Morgan Le Fay!” the captain breathed, still looking a bit dazed. “So this is where she ended up. I always wondered how she died.”

“That dragon must've killed her,” said one of the others, looking nervously at the tunnel behind them.

“Don't be stupid,” Mordred snapped. “My mother's a powerful enchantress. She controlled the shadrake. It led us here, didn't it?”

Before his bloodbeards could point out that the creature had abandoned them halfway to Dragonland, he reached for the crown. It was stuck, so he had to brace his 
good leg against the rock and pull. The crown came free with a sudden jerk, leaving a line of charred blisters across his mother's forehead, and rolled across the cave.

Mordred scrambled after it, picked it up and examined it carefully. Some of the jewels were missing, but it was definitely the same crown his uncle Arthur had worn in their final battle. Triumph filled him. He ran a finger over the dent his axe had made when he'd split the king's helmet from his head, and smiled at the memory.

“Behold the Crown of Dreams!” he announced, showing it to his men. “You see before you one of the four ancient Lights, with more power than Excalibur, and twice as much magic as that useless Lance my cousin stupidly gave to her squire friend! This crown
belonged to my uncle Arthur and gave him the power to command men and dragons, and now it's
mine
…” He lifted the glowing circlet above his head.

“Careful, my son!” said his mother in a tone that sent a chill down his spine. “Don't put it on yet.”

Mordred scowled as his triumph evaporated. “Why not? I thought that was the whole idea. I've got Pendragon blood, so it won't harm me.”

“I've got Pendragon blood too, foolish boy, and it
killed
me.”

He lowered the crown and glanced uneasily at his mother's body, which had begun to blacken and shrivel. “How?” he whispered. “How did it kill you?”

“I was careless. There's a jewel missing.
I assumed it was a minor one, knocked out during the battle. But it's one of the magic stones, the one Arthur stored his secrets inside when he sat on the throne of Camelot. You've got to find that jewel and destroy it before the Crown of Dreams will accept you as the next Pendragon.”

Mordred looked at the piles of treasure in despair. Find a single jewel among this lot? Worse, what if the stupid dragon had lost the stone on its way here, carrying the crown from the battlefield? It could be lying at the bottom of the Summer Sea.

“We'll be searching all year!”

“No you won't,” the witch said. “Because the stone's not lost. If my ex-maid's information is right, it's still at Camelot. Arthur must have taken it out before the
battle as a precaution. He left it with Guinevere, and now your cousin has it.”

“
Rhianna
!” Mordred clenched his fist in rage. He might have known King Arthur's daughter would stand in his way again. “We have to get it from her,” he growled. “I need to raise another army.”

“You don't need an army to catch a fly.” His mother smiled. “Not even one that stings like your cousin. My ex-maid still has my mirror, so I can control her. This is what we'll do…”