Grail Quest - The Shadow Companion Part 4

Gerard made his way another length closer, then another. Several of the creatures paused long enough to rotate beady-eyed heads in his direction, and Gerard shuddered under their scrutiny. He forced himself to remain still and eventually they turned back to their gruesome actions.

"Lad. Gerard. Can you free us?"

Sir Ruden was the only one who seemed able to speak clearly. Sir Brand was clearly unconscious, and Daffyd was facedown on the ground, not moving beyond the faintest rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. Sir Thomas kept struggling against his bonds, to the point where his mouth was m.u.f.fled by the ever-tightening bands.

"Stop that, or it will cut off your air," Sir Ruden said, as sharply as a whisper could manage, then returned his attention to Gerard. "Can you?"

"I . . . don't think so." He wanted to be the hero, but the practical voice was in charge. Even moving a handspan closer meant attracting the attention of the spiders, and he still had no idea what might fend them off. He considered fire but had no means to make any. Water? Most villages were near a stream or creek, but he didn't hear rushing water anywhere. Even so, without a bucket he couldn't do anything, and going into the village to get a bucket would not be wise. The moment he crossed over, he would be bound and imprisoned the same as the others.

"No, sir," he said finally. "I don't think I can."

Silence fell, emphasizing the faint crunching and sucking noises of the feeding spiders. It made Gerard's skin p.r.i.c.kle again. To distract himself, he looked more closely at the spider silk, trying to see if there was a break or a pattern he had missed. With a jolt of horror, he realized that the leather gear the four of them were wearing, basic traveling armor, was beginning to dissolve under the pressure of the bonds. A glance back at Sir Ruden showed that he was aware of what was going on, as well.

"Go." Sir Ruden, his eyes dark through the white ties binding him, stared at Gerard as though by that alone he could move the boy. "Find Matthias . . . return . . ."

Gerard hesitated, torn. Part of honor demanded loyalty and he could not leave his companions there helpless.

Leaving them seemed like betrayal. But to go closer would be to end up with the same fate.

With a heavy heart, Gerard took off.

FOUR.

ovely. Simply lovely."

They were horrible beasts, the blood-spiders, but Morgain could understand her companion's sat isfaction in their work. Only a dozen, placed on the outskirts of a village, could reproduce in an after noon to become a veritable army. Of course, they needed to be fed after that, but every plan had a cost.

And Morgain hadn't had any supporters in that village, anyway, and did not have much to lose.

When her spies reported that some of Arthur's knights had taken her prophetic "gift" and were moving into the Shadows, Morgain had uttered the spell which released the blood-spiders. Then she had given them the image of a knight in traveling gear.

The moment after one of them saw a knight, they would all cease feeding and hold the intruders.

And so it had happened. The monk's prophecy twisted to her own means had been the trigger, Morgain's handcrafted wood-witch had been the bait, and the spiders the jaws of the trap.

A deep bell chimed from somewhere deep within the keep. The shadow-figure, garbed once again in a heavy hooded robe, turned as though responding to something below the tones, something beyond Morgain's hearing. The great hooded head nodded once, and a slender, white-skinned hand was raised to tap Morgain once on the shoulder.

"I need to be here," she said.

"You do not. The araneae will do as they were created to do. The plan has been set in motion, and it cannot be stopped now. Come." The words were spoken in a gentle voice, but they had an undeniable force behind them. Morgain resisted, tapping her fingers on the surface of the flat-edged scrying crystal, then relented. Pushing back in her chair, she waved her hand over the crystal and uttered a silent command. The crystal flickered, then went blank. She had set a spell to keep anything from coming in-or going out. If not monitored, a scry might be used by others wishing to see in, as well-a sort of magical peephole for invaders. Unlike the sometimes scatterbrained Merlin, she never left her flanks unguarded.

Morgain was able to keep up easily with her companion, her wool dress allowing her full stride. Despite her outward confidence, however, a strange sensation filled her. Part of it was antic.i.p.ation: Whatever the shadow-figure was ready to show her would be the result of three years of planning. These were long years, filled with setbacks and failures, small successes and a seemingly endless supply of patience. Part of what she was feeling, however, was fear.

But Morgain did not allow fear to motivate her. It simply was not an acceptable emotion. Fear was a weakness to be exploited in others, not allowed in herself. Fear makes one doubt, hesitate.

She had no doubts. No hesitations.

If this was to be as she hoped, then she would adapt it, and move on. There was no failure, not so long as she breathed. It was not the possibility of failure that made Morgain's breath hitch and her pulse stutter. Rather, it was the awareness that she was, for the first time since she was a child, allowing another to guide her actions. The ghostlike companion was the architect of this particular scheme; she had only a limited role in its creation, for all that she was the cause, the guiding force.

Morgain was not accustomed to not being in control. But to accomplish what her companion promised-a way to humiliate Merlin and to keep Arthur from getting his b.l.o.o.d.y, Romanized hands on the Grail-she would be willing to compromise. Even give up some control. For a little while.

Down they went, around a spiral staircase, through a doorway cut into the rocky wall, and down another staircase, this one without railings or visible support. It led to a large stone room, deep inside the keep. The entire building breathed around them, resting its weight on the walls and supports. This was one of four such underground rooms, deep in the bedrock upon which her home was built.

Safe. Secure. To all intents magical and practical, invisible.

In the center of the otherwise bare chamber, there was a wooden table, similar to the one in her workroom, only three times the size, to match the scale of the room. It was covered with a heavy cloth made of the same material as her companion's robes.

"It is done."

At another time, there would have been satisfaction in those words, or pride, or even relief. The companion's voice was purely matter-of-fact.

"Let me see," Morgain demanded.

Invisible hands pulled the cloth back without flourish, revealing a map spread out on the table, covering its entire surface. At first glance, it looked to be merely a larger version of the map upstairs in Morgain's workroom, without the lights moving upon it, but there was much more vivid, intense detail. The still waters of the ocean were almost lifelike in the way it glistened, and each individual stalk of wheat seemed ready to sway in the breeze, waiting only for the peasants to begin harvesting.

Morgain leaned over the map, looking closely, and was so beguiled that when her companion seized her arm, she was taken by surprise. Even more so when the blade appeared in its slender fingers, the sharp edge scoring a narrow, bloodless line up the inside of her arm.

"What?" It didn't hurt, but the shock was enough to make her voice rise.

Even as she protested, the companion's strong fingers had released her. Morgain pulled her arm away, inspecting the damage. As she did, a single drop of blood rose from the cut and then fell, as though slowed by forces beyond magic.

It hit the surface, breaking into dozens of minuscule droplets, and splattered across the trees, fields, and buildings.

And the shadow-figure said, again, "It is done."

This time, Morgain felt a change in the air around them. Drawn to the source, the sorceress looked down. The map, formerly only lifelike, had actually come to life. Waves crashed against the sh.o.r.eline, birds soared in the air, animals slogged in the fields and pens, and the tiny forms of people moved within their villages, their limbs all powered by some usurpation of nature.

Morgain's pale skin drained even further of color, and her teeth were bared in an expression that could never be mistaken for a smile. Her blood. Her companion had used her blood to create this mockery.

"The trap has been set," the shadow-figure said, as though reading her mind. "Your blood was needed to bait it, to set it in motion. But it is the girl's blood which will trigger it. Her blood, which Merlin has tampered with, touched with his own, and Arthur's as well, that gives us the key to them both."

Morgain didn't bother to ask for further explanation; she knew that it was just the sort of headstrong thing Merlin would do, to tamper with children in that manner. And Arthur would know no better. This was a good trap, well-made, one Morgain herself would not have been able to escape, connected as she was to Arthur through their blood ties. And if Ailis did indeed have connections to both wizard and king, then so much the better. Then the most powerful beings in Camelot would both be pulled in and trapped inside, leaving Morgain free to step into their s.p.a.ce.

But Morgain thought of Ailis . . . thought of risking the witch-child, her would-be student, her protegee . . .

"How dare you," she said, fury turning her words to ice. "How dare you use her?"

She moved forward, her body language screaming her intent to destroy the map. She stopped suddenly; it was as though a wall had appeared in front of her, blocking her path.

"This is what you asked for. This is what I gave you. There is no turning back."

Morgain glared at the map, which glinted with seemingly innocent, still-inert magics.

"Do you know what you have done?" she asked, her voice still bitter, her gaze unwavering, unblinking. The map was more than a picture now; it was the land itself. To close the trap, more than a drop of Ailis's blood would be required. She would have to be drained dry.

"All magic has a cost. All bargains must be sealed with blood. You knew this, Morgain, Enchantress, daughter of Morgause, Queen of Orkney. Take what is given and use it to accomplish your goals. Do not flinch from the cost."

The words might not be pleasant, but that made them no less true. Morgain forced the tension and anger from her body, and made herself look at the map, not as betrayal, but possibility. There was always a cost, but it did not always have to be paid the same way.

FIVE.

ranches scratched at Gerard's face and arms as he rode through the underbrush along the path the wood-witch had taken when she disappeared. He had no idea if he was even going in the right direction. He had to trust his horse to find the way back to its stablemates. Newt had taught him that trick- horses would find water and other horses better than any human could ever hope to.

So he wrapped his arms around the horse's neck, and prayed to the sound of hoofbeats on dirt.

"Gerard!"

It was Tom, Sir Matthias's squire, catching at Gerard's stirrup. He reached for the reins and pulled the horse around, stopping it from running into camp.

"Gerard, where have you been? Sir Matthias-"

"Where is he? Sir Matthias?"

"Gone. Gone to parlay with the local lord, to resupply us in the king's name. He wanted you with him, but no one could find you. Gerard, what's wrong?"

Gerard heard the words, but his brain was already racing ahead. Sir Matthias was too far away now to do any good in time.

Swinging down from his horse, he grabbed Tom by the shoulder. "Walk him until he's cool, then give him grain and water. And find me another horse, plus two more-any that are ready to be saddled right away."

"But-"

"Do it!" Gerard ordered, and Tom, startled by the tone of his command, made a hasty, instinctive bow better suited for a knight than to another squire. Gerard didn't even notice, as he was already striding off in the direction of Newt's bedroll. Without Sir Matthias there, he had only one option; there were only two people who could help. If they weren't there, then he'd look elsewhere.

But there they were: Ailis and Newt sitting on a log, and Callum was perched on the stump the log had come from. Gerard had hoped to do this without an audience, but found himself without a choice.

He cleared his throat and got their attention.

"Gerard!" Ailis jumped up off the log, her hand tugging at her braid in way that always signified unease-or being caught doing something she thought she might get in trouble for. She looked up at him, concerned. "Where have you been?"

Newt, who had been sitting beside her, was slower to stand, his sharp eyes taking in the cuts and sc.r.a.pes on Gerard's face, and the leaves and twigs that were stuck to his boots and in his jerkin. "Gerard, you look like twenty monsters were after you. What's happened now?"

"Ailis, I need you. Newt, you too, I think. right now!"

"We were-" Ailis started to protest.

"Whatever it was, it can wait. They can't."

"Someone's in trouble?" Newt was ready and asking questions. "Where? Who?" Newt might not be a squire, but he understood priorities. Maybe that was why they were friends, despite all the differences between them.

"Come with me," Gerard said.

Callum stood and looked at Gerard. "And me?"

His face was alight with the possibility of going on an adventure with his new friends.

Gerard shook his head. "Not this time." He tried to be considerate, but there wasn't time and he had little experience with this sort of thing. He tried to think what Sir Lancelot-the kindest, gentlest man he knew-might say. "Next adventure, maybe. When I have time to-"

Gerard caught a glare from Ailis and changed his words mid-sentence. "Until we have time to . . . work things out. But not now. We have to move fast, and taking on another person would slow us down."

Callum started to protest. Newt put a hand on his shoulder and nodded his reluctant agreement. The squire was deflated but didn't argue.

"Poor Callum," Ailis said as they walked away, and both boys looked at her as though she had grown a second head.

"I just . . ." She started to explain, then shrugged in frustration. "It's tough to be left out," she said. "Even if you're being left out of stuff that would get you in trouble. You are about to get us into trouble, aren't you?"

The horses were penned on the other side of the encampment, near the small creek. Sir Matthias did not outwardly believe any of the stories circulated about the forest, but everyone knew that running water could stop a curse or a witch from crossing, so it made sense to keep the most vulnerable members of his troop there. If nothing more, it made those who were superst.i.tious feel better. Gerard led them around the outskirts of the encampment, keeping close to the trees. As they went, he told them what he had encountered.

"And you think I can do . . . what?" Newt asked. "Ailis, all right, she has her magic. But me? Unless you think my dog-training and horse-grooming skills are going to work on spiders, which, I'm telling you, they don't-"

"I don't know," Gerard admitted. "I'm running on instinct here. And my instinct tells me you need to come along."

"Do you think-" Ailis stopped. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Gerard didn't even slow down.

Newt paused, looking around carefully, but when nothing popped out of the tree line or came at them from the clearing, he shrugged and moved on briskly.

Ailis waited another moment, her shoulders hunched as though expecting a blow. "What are you?" she asked, softly. "Where are you?"

"Ailis!" Newt was calling back, impatiently waiting for her. Gerard had gone ahead and was now out of sight. Getting the horses, she supposed.

"I know you're there," she said to whatever had made the noise. "So you might as well just show yourself."

When nothing responded, not even the wind, she shrugged and walked on.

"How do you expect to find your way back?" Newt asked Gerard as they left camp, walking the horses as though cooling them down after a ride, so as not to risk anyone asking questions about where they were going.

Gerard was still following his instinct, which was that Ailis and Newt would be what was needed, not a score of overeager warriors. It might merely be wishful thinking, a desire to go back to the simplicity of their former lives, but he didn't think so.

"I left a trail as I rode," he said, pointing to the sc.r.a.ps of cloth on the forest's floor. He had torn off random bits of his shirt and dropped them as he rode. "The forest might be able to open and close at will- or at someone else's will. But I thought it might not be able to find, or move, something of mine."

"Huh? Not bad," Newt said grudgingly, all the more so for the approving glance Ailis sent to Gerard.

The ride was less difficult than Gerard remembered, as though the forest didn't mind him coming back. That unnerved him until he caught Ailis making an open-and-shut motion with her hands, and saw that her mouth was moving. She seemed to be forming silent words that compelled the plant life to back off, just a little.