Serpent Rose
Kari Sperring
NewCon Press
England
NewCon Press Novellas
Set 1: Science Fiction (Cover art by Chris Moore)
The Iron Tactician – Alastair Reynolds
At the Speed of Light – Simon Morden
The Enclave – Anne Charnock
The Memoirist – Neil Williamson
Set 2: Dark Thrillers (Cover art by Vincent Sammy)
Sherlock Holmes: Case of the Bedevilled Poet – Simon Clark
Cottingley – Alison Littlewood
The Body in the Woods – Sarah Lotz
The Wind – Jay Caselberg
Set 3: The Martian Quartet (Cover art by Jim Burns)
The Martian Job – Jaine Fenn
Sherlock Holmes: The Martian Simulacra – Eric Brown
Phosphorous: A Winterstrike Story – Liz Williams
The Greatest Story Ever Told – Una McCormack
Set 4: Strange Tales (Cover art by Ben Baldwin)
Ghost Frequencies – Gary Gibson
The Lake Boy – Adam Roberts
Matryoshka – Ricardo Pinto
The Land of Somewhere Safe – Hal Duncan
Set 5: The Alien Among Us (Cover art by Peter Hollinghurst)
Nomads – Dave Hutchinson
Morpho – Philip Palmer
The Man Who Would be Kling – Adam Roberts
Macsen Against the Jugger – Simon Morden
Set 6: Blood and Blade (Cover art by Duncan Kay)
The Bone Shaker – Edward Cox
A Hazardous Engagement – Gaie Sebold
Serpent Rose – Kari Sperring
Chivalry – Gavin G. Smith
First published in the UK by NewCon Press
41 Wheatsheaf Road, Alconbury Weston, Cambs, PE28 4LF
August 2019
NCP 200 (limited edition hardback)
NCP 201 (softback)
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The Hazardous Engagement copyright © 2019 by Gaie Sebold
Cover art and internal illustration copyright © 2019 by Duncan Kay
All rights reserved, including the right to produce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
ISBN:
978-1-912950-25-6 (hardback)
978-1-912950-26-3 (softback)
Cover art and internal illustration by Duncan Kay
Cover layout by Ian Whates
Minor Editorial meddling by Ian Whates
Book layout by Storm Constantine
Author’s Dedication:
For Moira J Shearman, always.
朋友的眼睛是最好的镜子
The best mirror is a friend’s eyes.
One
“Again!” Lamorak rolls to his feet, brushing straw from his shoulders, and looking hopeful. He’s sixteen years old and fairly new to court. For all that, he’s quick to learn how to get his way. I’ve seen the same look on greedy spaniels.
“No.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, Lamorak. I’ve got other things to do. Go and ask Kay: he’s master-at-arms.”
“I don’t want to ask Kay. Kay doesn’t like me.”
“Ask one of your brothers, then. One of my brothers? One of Sagremore’s brothers?”
“You’re making fun of me! Gaheris, you’re my only friend.”
“No, I’m not. You have plenty of friends.”
“The only person who has time for me, then. Gaheris, please.”
“No. Go and ask Aglovale.”
“I don’t want Aglovale. I want you. You’re far more…”
“… Stupid?”
“Sympathetic.”
“Oh, that’s a new one. I like that. Gaheris is sympathetic. Spelt g-u-l-l-i-b-l-e.” I pick up my jerkin from the newel post and start to put it on. “No, Lamorak.”
He has snake’s eyes, long and cunning and yellow. They watch me reproachfully for a moment, then he turns his back. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” He goes to the door, rests his head on the frame. “Forget it.”
He sounds as though he’s thinking of crying. That’s another move I’ve learnt to recognise. I hesitate, with one boot on. “Lamorak, listen. I have duties to attend to, and you should be in the tilting yard practising knightly ways, not up here learning to wrestle.”
He doesn’t look round. He’s not to be assuaged so easily. “Kay’s in charge of training, and Kay doesn’t like me.”
“So? It’s hardly personal. Kay doesn’t like anybody. He told me yesterday that I was the most uncoordinated fighter he’d met this side of a duck. And I’ve been knighted ten years. It’s just his way.”
“But he makes me feel so worthless.”
“Well, ignore it. You’re already far better than I was at your age. He’s just trying to make sure you keep working.”
He turns, tears gone. “D’you really think so?”
“Yes. Kay…”
“No, about me. Am I really any good?”
His moods are ridiculous. Like talking to a woman. Smiling, I finish putting my boots on, and say “Yes, I think you’re very good.”
“For my age?”
“Don’t fish.” Lamorak looks plaintive. “Saint Anne! No, not just for your age. In comparison with all of us. Oh, you’re not up to Lancelot, or my brother Gareth, but… You’re certainly as good as I am – better, probably, though that’s hardly difficult – you’d give Bors a run for his money, or Dinadan… “I tail off. “You’re fine.”
I’m very slow, sometimes. Lamorak’s eyes light up, and he blocks my exit, grinning. “Then I hardly need Kay’s training, do I? So we…”
Like all that family, he’s built slight and wiry. It’s easy enough to turn him, with a hand on his shoulder. “Who’s that, with the blue cockade?’
“Sir Gareth. But…”
“But nothing. Gareth’s out there, working with Kay. And if he needs it, you do. Yes?”
“Yes… But surely you… “He looks up over his shoulder at me.
“I have to go.” I can stare him down, sometimes… After a minute, he shrugs, and swings out onto the ladder. He’s only made me an hour late. I wait for him to reach the bottom before stepping out myself. With my weight, there’s no point in taking risks. Halfway to the stable gate, he pauses, and looks round at me.
“Gaheris?”
“Umm?”
“Am I really better than you?”
“What a great achievement! Yes, I expect so.” He’s frowning, as though that troubles him. “What of it?”
“You always do that… “I want to start walking again, but he puts out a hand to stop me. “Will you fight with me, then? Swords?”
“Not now.”
“No, but...”
“You won’t learn anything. Better to ask Aglovale.”
“Gaheris?” He sounds, I don’t know, somehow anxious. His hand is on my arm, shaking it like a child. “Please?”
I sigh. What can one do? “All right. Swords.” He takes the hand away, bouncing. “But, Lamorak…”
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow.”
There are four of us in all: four tall northern sons of Lot, tolerated in this southern land for our mother’s kinship with Arthur. Most people think there are three, mind you; or think only three worth mentioning. I recall my aunt, speaking to the king of Dyfed, “Yes, my husband’s nephews are a credit to us all. Gawain’s a tiger in battle, and Gareth’s beautiful – and pious, too – and Agravaine’s so clever. Oh, yes, and there’s Gaheris. He’s… dependable.”
Spelt gullible. There are worse things. My brothers make enemies, and other people watch out for it. That evening, in the refectory, Gawain glowers and the servants keep clear. It’s me he’s angry at, for all
that. Halfway down his third cup of ale, he sets his knife down, all of a sudden, and stares. “It must stop. D’you hear me?”
Inevitably, I’ve a mouth full of bread. I say “What?” – it comes out more like “Umphg?”
“Spending so much time on the youngest de Galis. It attracts the wrong kind of attention. And he’s a wastrel.” He gestures to where Lamorak is barely visible underneath one of the waiting maids.
I look. His hair’s a mess, and the girl has her hand inside his shirt. “He’s young, Gavin.”
“He’s got no sense. Now, our Gari…” I catch his eye and look quizzical. “All right, Gari’s exceptional. But I…”
“Lady Mahaut.”
“I didn’t say I was perfect, but…”
“Lady Avise. That girl from…”
“Stop it, Heris. All right, he’s young. But his family…”
“He can’t help who his family is.”
“He’s taking advantage. You know it.” I have never been able to stare Gawain down. “I want you to stop letting him.”
“He’s not. And anyway, it’s harmless.”
“His father murdered ours.”
Despite myself, I look around before answering. Our father’s death has never been a safe subject here. I drop my voice as low as I may, and say, “It was war, Gavin. No one knows for sure. You know that. It could have been Balin. Urien admitted he didn’t actually see Pellinor…”
“Might have murdered ours, then. Little difference. You’re asking for trouble.”
I look across at Lamorak, fondling the girl, and sigh. If we carry suspicion and envy from generation to generation, we’ll never truly have peace. Ten years ago, the rash youngsters were Gavin and me. One young fool is very like another. Perhaps Lamorak feels my gaze: he looks up, and smiles. I smile back, and, beside me, Gawain thumps the table. A goblet jolts and falls, spilling wine into my lap. Gawain sighs heavily, and hands me his napkin. “Honestly, Heris.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hmm.” He pauses, chewing on a bite of meat. “Then there’s your wife. “
“Oh?” My wife’s in love with my brother Gareth. She’s never forgiven him for preferring her sister. “I know Luned isn’t happy.”
“D’you wonder at it, the amount of time you spend with her?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest I take a solo trip to one of my manors, but Gawain’s expression suggests that this may not be quite the time for flippancy.
“You leave her too much alone. She feels it.”
That’s a new one. Perhaps my face shows it, for Gawain looks faintly defensive. “Well, she does. Any woman would. People talk.”
Evidently.
“And if you’re seen to ignore her… Others may try and make something of it. They think, ‘yon lass is lonely’, and…”
“And?”
He looks uncomfortable. “Well, they try things.”
With sour Luned? This is getting interesting. “What kind of things, Gavin?”
“You know.” He stares again. My spine starts itching. “Paying court. Making advances. You should stop it.”
“I haven’t seen it start.”
“Exactly. Because you neglect her. You let people get away with too much. Yon Lamorak…”
“Gavin…”
He rides over me, firmly. “Yon Lamorak’s been making sheep’s eyes at her. She told me so herself.”
All the de Galis family are handsome, even quiet Aglovale. Percevale, the middle one, looks like the picture of St George in my mother’s book of hours. “Lucky Luned. Perhaps it’ll take her mind off Gareth.”
“Gaheris!” Gawain’s voice is too loud. Half the room turns to look at us, and I blush. “This is no joking matter.”
No, Gavin.”
“The family honour…”
Yes, Gavin.
“You must put your foot down, and stop letting people push you around! “
Overnight, it rains. The ground is caramel-sticky, clinging to boot soles, and miring the horses’ feet. The sort of texture that makes the squires uneasy and crimps Kay’s long face with a smile. It’s warm, too, in that particular way that always makes me feel I should wash more often. I feel thick and disjointed, my hands too swollen to be ready on my sword. Lamorak’s wasting his time. Crossing the first court, I skid three times, cursing, and drop my shield.
“Warm, wet and whingeing.” The voice belongs to my brother Agravaine. Better and better. “I’m surprised at you. It’s perfect weather for ducks.” There’s less than no point rising to him: it only makes him worse. I just shrug, and keep walking. Gawain’s doing, probably. Sent him along to watch me. Guard the family honour.
Maybe he can spar with Lamorak. Then at least someone would get something out of this. Me, with luck. Picture Agravaine face down in this mud… Our mother has always said I’m too hard on him… I make myself smile. “Hmm. It’s a pity I missed out on the webbed feet.” He grins back at me, mocking.
Lamorak is waiting by the postern. The snake eyes are downcast. Well, anyone would have a thick head on the amount he drank last night. When I hail him, he jerks upright. “You’re late, Gaheris.” And then, frowning, “Oh, hello, Sir Agravaine.”
“He’s come to see the slaughter. Someone has to take the pieces back.”
Agravaine cuts me off. “No, I’ve come to see fair play. One can’t be too careful with some people.”
“You’d know, I suppose,” Lamorak says, smiling.
This morning is getting worse by the minute. Getting through the postern, I catch my lanyard on the latch and wind up dropping my shield again. Picking it up, I catch Agravaine in the side with the end of my scabbard.
“You are such a fool. Why didn’t you bring Evan?”
“He’s hungover. Anyway, I hardly need him for this. We’re not even armoured.”
“You should’ve been a priest. Good works and lame…”
“Ducks.”
Agravaine catches my eye, trying to frown. I hold his gaze a few moments, then mouth quack. We both break up, laughing.
Lamorak has got ahead of us, and is already on the practice field, doing fives. He’s quick, whipping the blade round, and stopping it with precision. Quicker than me. I may just have reach on him, if I can only keep my footing. I must remember not to hit him too hard, if I can hit him at all, unarmoured as we are. My strength is my only real gift in combat. For the rest… Having Agravaine for an audience is likely to guarantee I wind up flat on my back, even without the mud.
Agravaine is watching Lamorak. After a moment, he turns to me, and his face wears its calculating look. “You’re sure you can do this, Heris?”
The buckle on my sword-belt is recalcitrant. “Umm?”
“I could take him for you. There are no witnesses, after all.”
“Ouch!” The buckle springs open rather suddenly, and jabs me in the thumb. “What was that, Agrin?”
“I could fight him in your stead.”
“I suppose it would be better from his point of view.” I look at him, puzzled. “Shall I ask him?”
It’s Agravaine’s turn to look perplexed.
“Well, he did ask me originally…”
“So what?”
“So, he may prefer…”
“Heris, what does it matter which of us does it? All right, I am the older, but on that argument, it should be Gavin; and as long as father’s finally avenged…”
“Avenged?” Sometimes I speak louder than I intend. Lamorak turns to look at us, enquiring, and moves to approach. I wave him back with a hand. “Would you care to explain that?”
Something, some light, drains from Agravaine’s face. “My God. Gavin was right, then.”
“Right about what?”
“About you and him.” Agravaine gestures at Lamorak. “You’re just letting him exploit you. And to think I thought… How did I come to be related to someone so stupid?”
“Ask Mother.”
“Keep your tongue off her!�
�� For a moment we stand, glaring at each other like over-heated boars. Then he sighs. “You have this golden opportunity… Everyone knows how Lamorak pesters you, and how inexperienced he is. An accident…” I never set out to fight with my brothers. It just happens. My hand is formed into a fist before I realise it. Agravaine watches me, supercilious, superior. “It could still happen, Heris. Maybe you are good enough to kill him. Or bright enough to let me do it for you.”
I hit him. I may be heavy, and stupid, and slow, but I’m still bigger than Agravaine. He goes down in a heap at my feet, and lies there gasping. “Get up and say that again.”
“And let you knock me down?”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not worth it.” He pulls himself backwards on his elbows, and stands up a few feet away. “You’ll regret this, Heris.”
“Going to tell Mother?”
“I might.”
“How brave. The haut Sir Agravaine, hiding behind a woman’s skirts.”
This time, he charges me. I get his legs in a scissor grip, and we both go down. Over his shoulder, I get a brief glimpse of Lamorak, gawping. Then Agravaine bites me, and I get distracted. It takes a few muddy minutes, but finally I’m kneeling astride him, with his right arm locked behind his back. “Apologise.”
His face is half in the mud. Even so, he gasps out “Drop dead.”
I’m not feeling obliging. Somewhere off to one side, a voice asks “What’s happening”, and Lamorak answers “I have no idea.” Someone else, disappointed, says “Oh, it’s only the Orkneys again.”
Lovely, an audience. “Apologise, Agrin.”
“No… Heris, you’ll break my arm!”
“Good. Maybe you’ll learn some manners.”
“From you?” He manages to laugh. “I doubt you could do it. You can’t even bed your wife.”
He’s my brother… Somehow, I keep my spare hand from his throat.
From behind me, Lamorak says “You filthy liar!”, and Agravaine laughs the more. I breathe in, deeply. I must keep Lamorak out of this…
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