“England will not fall to pieces if you take one day to recover,” Lancelot continued.
“What do you know?” Arthur threw his hands up over his head, then winced and rubbed at his wounded shoulder with a frustrated groan. “You’re useless. All of you are useless. You don’t know . . .”
He began pacing furiously from one side of the room to the other. He finally came to a stop where the stained-glass window cast its colored light across the floor. He stood there for a second, and nobody dared speak. Even Cavall didn’t move. They all watched Arthur, who stared at the window in obvious misery.
“You’re all fools to trust me,” Arthur said, so quietly that perhaps the people weren’t able to hear it. Cavall heard it, though. He watched as Arthur turned and left the room.
“Someone should go after him,” Sir Bedivere suggested.
“Leave him be,” Mordred said. “He’ll be fine with some rest. I can run the meeting in his stead for today.”
That was the first thing Mordred had said all morning.
Cavall had a sudden flash of understanding: Mordred wanted to lead the knights. He wanted to be king so badly that he was willing to hurt his own father. The poisoned water, the trips into the forest . . . it was all so that he could take Arthur’s place.
Since nobody went after Arthur, Cavall took it upon himself to go. He followed the scent of his person to the stairwell and found Arthur peering out one of the narrow windows high on the wall. Cavall came up the curved stairs carefully, since the steps weren’t made for his big paws. He nudged Arthur’s side to let him know he was there.
Without turning from the window, Arthur reached his hand toward Cavall. “Did I scare you back there, boy? I’m sorry.”
He left his hand outstretched. Cavall remembered how Arthur had flinched away from him earlier. He didn’t want to startle his person again, so he approached slowly. He edged nearer until he felt Arthur’s fingers brushing his head. The touch was gentle, but Arthur seemed so tired. And sad.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur repeated. “I scared myself, too.”
Chapter 12
CAVALL HAD DECIDED.
He sought out Edelm with a renewed sense of determination. He found the old dog in the library, curled up in the same window seat as before, and despite the urgency of the situation, he approached hesitantly. “Arthur can’t take any more of this. I don’t know who else to turn to except Merlin.” Cavall took a deep breath, uncertain of how Edelm would react to his plan. “I need to get into the forest to find him.”
Edelm studied him from his window seat perch. “I cannot allow that,” he said at last. “It is far too dangerous.”
“I know. I know it’s dangerous. But it’s the only thing I can think of. I’m asking for you to help get me out of the castle so I can get to the forest.”
“It is not a good idea.”
“Please.” Cavall lowered his head. “I’m afraid that if I don’t act soon . . . something very bad will happen.”
Edelm let out a long sigh. “Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”
“No. I’ve decided. I really hope you’ll help me, but if you won’t—”
“I suspected as much.” Edelm stood and stretched and hopped down from the window seat, groaning as he did so. “Very well. You will not be able to leave the way the people do, but I have heard whispers of a hidden entrance beneath the castle.”
“Really?”
“Give me time to search for myself,” Edelm said. “I would like to see this entrance with my own eyes before I send you down there. My whispers come by way of rats, so it may be merely a loose stone in the wall that no dog could hope to fit through. Let alone a dog of your size.”
“Oh.” Cavall’s ears drooped.
“But rest assured,” Edelm said, “if a suitable passage exists, I will find it and I will help you sneak out.”
Cavall’s ears perked up and his heart swelled with exhilaration. “Thank you, thank you.” He wanted to jump up and lick Edelm’s face, but he thought the older dog might not like that very much. He was scared but also excited and relieved that he wouldn’t be completely alone in his quest.
Edelm sighed and shook his head. “You may not be thanking me when you get to the forest.”
That night, when Mordred came, Cavall watched him intently but did nothing. Mordred, for his part, spared a withering glance at Cavall.
Luwella watched them both, and when Mordred had gone, she said, “At least you did not make a scene tonight.” These were the first unprompted words she’d ever said to him.
Cavall sighed and curled in on himself. “Mordred is trying to hurt Arthur.”
She stared at him.
“He got something from the woods,” Cavall explained. “Something from Morgana. A vial. He’s putting it in the water, and I think it’s giving Arthur nightmares.” He watched as Arthur drank the water from Mordred’s pitcher and once again thanked him. “I’ve been trying to stop him from drinking it, but nothing I do works.”
He expected Luwella to tell him how stupid he was and that he should just go to sleep, but instead she gave him that same look from yesterday. “I have heard this name—Morgana. Queen Gwenevere has said she is an evil sorceress,” Luwella said in her strange accent. “She does not like this woman’s son, Mordred, either. Always he is watchink her, and he makes her uncomfortable.”
“So, you believe me?” he asked hopefully.
“I believe there are evil magics in the world. In the place I was born,” Luwella continued, “it was said that Night Mares could be summoned from the Lands of Dreamink by evil sorceresses. There was a story of a sorceress who grew angry at her husband’s lyink, and to punish him, she summoned a Night Mare to follow him wherever he went, so that he could not sleep.”
“How can a nightmare follow you?” Cavall asked.
“Not a nightmare. A Night Mare, a horse,” she corrected, sounding annoyed. “A type of fay who travels through the Dreamink and torments its victims with horrible visions. The lyink husband . . . he was eventually driven mad, and the Night Mare killed him.”
Cavall balked in horror and looked over at the bed, where Arthur and Gwen were pulling the sheets up and snuggling in for the night. Luwella’s story sounded very similar to what was happening to Arthur. “I can’t let that happen,” Cavall said. “But I don’t know how to protect Arthur from Mordred. The only thing I’m good at is waking him up when the dream becomes too bad, and even then he wakes up tired in the morning. But if I could get Merlin to help me warn him . . .”
“Perhaps you should attack Mordred while Arthur is not around.”
Cavall stared at Luwella. Attack a person? He couldn’t believe she would even suggest such a thing. “I don’t want to hurt Mordred,” he said. “I mean, I’d rather not.”
“But if he keeps hurtink Arthur, you will need to,” Luwella snapped. “You need to protect your person. If you won’t take care of Mordred, I will.”
“You will?”
She looked serious. “If Mordred is threatenink my person’s husband, then he is threatenink my person as well. I will bite his leg so badly that he cannot walk. Or maybe I will knock him down the stairs and hope he hurts himself that way.”
“No, you can’t do that.” Cavall shot to his feet. “Please, Luwella, if you hurt a person, you’ll be punished. A broken leg might keep Mordred from his plan for a bit, but it won’t stop him forever.”
“Then I will stop him forever.”
“You mean . . . kill him?”
She nodded. “I don’t like the thought of hurtink a person any more than you do, but dogs need to protect their people, even from other people.”
“There’s got to be a better way than . . .” Cavall did not like thinking about it, let alone talking about it. “I just wish there was a way I could stop the Night Mare myself.”
“In the old legends,” Luwella began slowly, “certain brave warriors could travel into the Dreamink and cast a Night Mare out.”
Cavall perked up an ear. “Is that possible?”
“Everyone’s mind travels into the Dreamink at night,” she said at last. “But to travel by body into the Dreamink when you are awake . . . you would have to be very stupid. The Dreamink is the realm of the fay, and they do not welcome us there. The danger, it would be great.”
“How do you get there? When you’re awake, I mean.”
“Did you not hear me? I said the danger would be great.”
“I don’t care about the danger,” Cavall said. “I want to protect Arthur.”
Luwella rolled her eyes. “It would be easier to kill Mordred.”
“But that would hurt Arthur,” Cavall argued, angry that she was still suggesting such a thing. “I know Mordred wants to be king so badly that he’ll hurt Arthur to make that happen, but they’re still father and son. If I can get rid of the spell that’s giving Arthur nightmares, that would be better. I don’t care if it’s easier or not.”
She sighed again. “Go to the forest at night.”
“What?”
“The forest at night. Midnight, to be precise, though any time after sundown is when the veil between the worlds begins to grow thin. You will be able to enter the Dreamink from there, though not without a fay guide.”
“A fay guide? Like a friendly fay?” He knew a couple who might be willing to help.
“If you attempt it on your own, you may be lost forever, roamink around in the fay lands without any way to escape. That is the fate you risk if you travel into the forest at night.” She leveled another serious gaze at him. “There are stories from my homeland of people wanderink out of the fay mists from centuries in the past.”
Cavall shivered, though he couldn’t say why. The room was warm enough. He didn’t want to think about evil sorceresses and Night Mares and getting lost in the Dreaming for centuries.
“Aren’t there any happy stories from your homeland?” he asked.
“Of course.”
She didn’t elaborate.
“Where is your homeland?” Cavall asked.
“It is a place far away from here. I doubt you have heard of it.”
“Probably not.” Cavall settled down on the carpet again but kept his eyes on Arthur, watching for signs of distress. “But tell me about it anyway.”
It may have been his imagination, but he thought she smiled, just a little bit. “It is a cold, frozen land across the sea. My ancestors were bred to track and hunt wolves, who thrive in the snow.” He remembered Vivian’s words about understanding others. He wanted to understand Luwella and why she was always so standoffish.
“Do you miss it?” Cavall asked.
“In the summer when it gets hot,” she said. “I miss the snow.” She looked up at the candles along the fireplace mantel. “The melted wax reminds me of icicles.”
Cavall had never seen snow or ice, but he’d heard the people talk about it. During the meetings with his knights, sometimes Arthur would express concern that there wouldn’t be enough food when the snows came. It sounded threatening and an odd thing for anyone to miss. “Luwella, how did you get here?” he asked.
“On a boat, when I was very young,” she said. “They told me I was to be a present for a queen. A fine dog for a fine lady.”
“Is that why you’re so angry all the time? Because they took you away from your home?”
“Who says I am angry?” she snapped. She stood, turned her back to him, and lay down again. That seemed to end their conversation.
Cavall wondered what he’d said to offend her, but he couldn’t focus on that for long. He had to concentrate on Arthur. As Cavall expected, sometime later in the night, the king began to thrash wildly in his sleep. He whimpered and begged some unseen thing, repeating that he was sorry. Cavall got up, walked over to his bed, and licked Arthur’s hand until he quieted again. For the moment, that was the best that Cavall could do. But tomorrow, that would change.
Chapter 13
“IS IT A SPECIAL OCCASION?” GWEN ASKED AS she finished braiding and pinning her hair for the morning. She looked away from the mirror and nodded to the sword at Arthur’s side.
Arthur paused from buckling his belt.
“You don’t usually bring Excalibur to bed with you,” she noted. Cavall had been confused by that as well. It was the first thing Arthur had reached for when he’d gotten out of bed this morning. The sword usually remained in the Meeting Hall of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, but last night Arthur had brought it up and left it leaning against the nightstand.
Arthur shrugged and finished buckling his belt. He’d had to use a different loop than normal, since the usual one had left the belt loose around his waist. “I’ve been uneasy lately,” he admitted. “I feel as though I’m being . . . watched.”
“Watched?” Gwen frowned. “By whom?”
Arthur waved her off. “It’s just a feeling.”
She pressed her lips tightly together. Cavall wondered what she really wanted to say.
Arthur patted his thigh for Cavall to follow him, and together they headed out into the echoing hallway. Arthur’s steps were unsteady. Cavall came up and leaned into him to give him a bit more balance. If Arthur noticed, he didn’t let on. His lips moved, but no words came out. His eyes locked straight ahead, but he didn’t watch where he stepped. He tripped on the first stair leading down, and only Cavall’s presence kept him from tumbling all the way. Even then, he still didn’t seem to notice Cavall, or anyone else they passed, for that matter.
They entered the meeting hall without Arthur acknowledging any of the knights. Not even when Sir Ector bowed his head in greeting and said, “Good morning, Your Majesty. How are you?” Arthur stumbled past him.
Sir Lancelot leaned over in his chair and whispered to Sir Ector, “He’s getting worse.”
Cavall didn’t like them talking about his person behind his back, but he had to agree with them. The Arthur that stumbled and leaned heavily against the table hardly resembled the Arthur he’d met in the forest. That man had laughed easily and looked you in the eye when he spoke. This man was a shadow of the person Cavall loved so dearly.
Arthur came to his chair.
“Here, Father, let me help,” Mordred said, jumping from his seat and pulling Arthur’s chair out for him.
Arthur nodded sleepily and made to sit down, but suddenly he froze. His shoulders went rigid, and he stood up stiffly. His gaze fixated on something in the far corner. Something Cavall couldn’t see.
“It can’t be,” he said, very softly.
The knights looked to one another in confusion.
“Your Majesty?” Sir Ector came forward with uncertain steps. “What’s wrong?”
Arthur just repeated, “It can’t be.” He took a step back from his chair, away from the corner. “Can’t . . . can’t any of you see it?”
“See . . . what?” someone asked. Cavall couldn’t tell who spoke because he wasn’t looking at the knights. He was looking at Arthur’s shaking hand. He steadied it by grabbing the hilt of his sword.
“A great beast,” he answered, “cloaked in flames and smoke.”
“Where did you see this beast, Your Majesty?”
“There! Right there!” Arthur drew his sword from his belt in one fluid motion, and all at once, the knights leapt to their feet as well.
“Where? Here, in this room?”
“There!” Arthur cried again. He swung Excalibur left and right, though the blade only met with the colored light streaming through the stained-glass window. It made empty whooshing noises as it cut through the air. “Can’t you see it? Can’t any of you see it? Don’t you all know what danger you’re in?”
Cavall wanted to run to Arthur’s side, but he swung his sword too wildly. Arthur seemed to know what he was attacking, but Cavall couldn’t see or hear or smell anything unusual in the room. The knights stood frozen in shock and fear.
“It’s . . . it’s fast.” Arthur spun around. His eyes tracked w
hatever it was he saw. “Quick. Don’t let it escape!” With Excalibur still drawn, he ran from the room.
“Arthur!” Lancelot was the first to rush after him, followed by Ector and the other knights. Cavall chased along, though he wasn’t sure what he could do to help.
Arthur swung his sword to and fro in the narrow hallway, clanging against stone, hacking at the tapestries, and knocking over end tables as he fought the invisible beast. “The castle’s under attack!” he cried. “The enemy’s at the gate. Can’t you hear them?”
He swung frantically again and a torch crashed away from its sconce. It fell against a tapestry of dogs on a hunt. The fire from the torch took hold and the tapestry burst into flames. The smell of burning wool filled the hallway, and Cavall watched the image of the dogs be eaten away by the blaze.
“Fire!” Ector said. “Quick, bring water.” He grabbed hold of Mordred’s shirt collar and yanked him from the gathering knights. “Bring buckets from the kitchen. Keep it from spreading. Lancelot and I will try to calm Arthur down.”
Mordred nodded, though Cavall thought he saw him smirk before he called to the others, “Men, with me.” They took off in the other direction, toward the great hall and kitchen.
Cavall followed after Ector and Lancelot.
Arthur still fought for all he was worth, chasing nothing up the winding staircase. He kept ahead of his pursuers, always just out of sight as the stairs wound round and round. His words were muddled now, just grunts of fear and frustration. Then, over that noise, Cavall heard a high-pitched scream followed by growling and the clanging of metal on stone. Was the beast real after all? The scream had not sounded like Arthur.
He rounded the corner to find Arthur on his back, Luwella pinning him down and snarling in his face. Off to the side, Gwen huddled against the wall, holding the tattered remnants of the shawl she usually wore over her shoulders. Excalibur lay at her feet. There was no fiery beast in sight.
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