They appeared a few feet from his hiding place, but neither gave any indication they had seen him.
“How is that possible?” Mordred ran a hand through the scruffy hair on his chin. “What could break your spell on a Night Mare?”
“I fear you may not be the only one who’s recently taken on a familiar,” Morgana said.
“My father?” Mordred laughed. “You think my father has a familiar? Or one of his lackeys? They wouldn’t even know how to bind one to them.” He gave a sharp whistle, and Gless came bounding through the trees and up to Mordred’s side.
“I won’t be called like some common mutt,” Gless snorted through his nose.
Mordred’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Had he heard Gless? Could he understand him?
“I told you he was an impudent beast,” Morgana said.
“I can deal with impudence,” Mordred muttered. “Impudence can be trained away. Incompetence cannot.”
Gless looked like he was going to say something biting in response, but then he pricked up his ears. “We’re being watched,” he said, hackles raised.
Morgana quickly drew up the hood of her cloak, and Mordred reached for the sword at his belt.
Gless’s nostrils flared. “Never mind,” he said. The tenseness went out of his shoulders, and he lowered his hackles. “It’s only my idiot brother.”
The two people relaxed.
“Cavall, come out,” Gless called. “We know you’re there.”
Cavall came out from his hiding place, head and tail low. He hoped they wouldn’t try to hurt him, because he wouldn’t be able to outrun them with his injured shoulder. The rune stone vibrated, but not as strongly as it had that day at Morgana’s cottage. Maybe they weren’t so dangerous now that the Night Mare had been chased off.
“What are you doing out here?” Gless asked.
“What are you doing out here?” Cavall tried not to make it sound like an accusation. “Gless, your person . . . he’s not what you think.”
“What’s he saying?” Mordred asked. So, he could understand Gless now but not Cavall. That was odd, but probably because the two of them were bonded, whatever that meant.
“He’s saying I shouldn’t trust you,” Gless sneered.
“Gless,” Cavall began carefully. He knew he would not like it if another dog started speaking badly about his person, so he tried to be delicate. “The water Mordred’s been bringing Arthur . . . you said it was a draft. But it wasn’t. It was a poison to make Arthur’s dreams so bad he’d be haunted in the daytime as well. Did you know that, when you told me it was just a sleeping draft?”
“I’m impressed,” Morgana said.
“Impressed?” Mordred looked from Cavall to his mother. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s figured it out,” Gless answered. “Not bad for a half-wit.”
“So, you knew?” Cavall was startled at how casually Gless had said that. “You knew this whole time?”
“Arthur’s weak,” Gless said, almost lazily. “Those who are strong should be in charge.”
“You mean you should be in charge,” Cavall said. “That’s what you’ve always meant, isn’t it?”
“I’m not the only one who thinks so,” Gless answered. “The fay think Arthur is weak as well.”
“We fay will no longer bow down to the likes of Arthur,” Morgana said. “With a strong ruler like my son on the throne, we’ll take our land back and things will be as they were in the old days.”
“Arthur is not weak,” Cavall shot back. “He’s a great king.”
“You’re only saying that because he’s your person,” Gless scoffed.
“No.” Cavall denied it quickly, but he wondered if maybe Gless was right. He didn’t know if Arthur was a good king. And he didn’t know anything about Mordred. But then he remembered Edelm’s lecture from his first day in the castle. “No,” he repeated. “Arthur’s a great king because . . .” He thought about how Arthur had come to find him in the forest, at great risk to himself—he’d nearly been mauled by a bear. He thought about how upset Arthur had been when he’d thought Gwen and the knights were in danger. He thought about how Arthur was friends with Merlin and Vivian, even though most people didn’t trust the fay. “Because he’s a good person. I want to follow him and become a good dog.”
Gless snorted in derision. “The fact that you think you can become a good dog by following anyone is pathetic.”
“But . . . don’t you follow Mordred?”
“I don’t follow him, and he doesn’t follow me. We’re equals. Mordred’s been the first one to recognize my greatness, while the rest of you are simpering among yourselves about serving others.”
“If serving means protecting someone and comforting them and not letting others hurt them, then, yes, I serve Arthur. But King Arthur also serves me and everyone else in the castle. Even Mordred. And I won’t let you or Mordred or anyone else try to hurt him.”
Morgana cocked her head and stared at him. “Is it possible . . . ?”
“What, Mother?”
“Are you the one who vanquished my Night Mare?” she asked Cavall.
“I chased it away, yes,” he answered back.
Morgana’s face folded into a picture of rage. “Mordred, kill this beast. He’s foiled our plans.”
Mordred laughed as if she’d made a joke. “You’re not serious. This mangy creature is the one who broke your spell?”
“Don’t laugh,” Morgana growled. “You should never underestimate your enemy. Kill this beast, and be done with it.”
Mordred shrugged and drew his sword.
As he took a step forward, Cavall took a step back. Would Mordred really do it? He shot a glance at Gless, pleading with him. For a moment, Gless seemed uncertain, looking from Mordred to Cavall.
Mordred took another step forward, and so did Gless. “Wait,” Gless said.
Mordred stopped.
Gless looked even more uncertain, but then his ears perked up. “I hear people coming.”
Just then, the forest erupted with the sound of horses’ hooves and men’s shouting. Mordred dropped his sword in surprise, while Morgana drew her cloak tightly about her and dashed away into the trees. She was gone a split second later when several men on horseback came galloping their way. None of them were dressed in armor, and their voices sounded happy as they laughed among themselves.
They stopped short when they saw Mordred stooping to pick up his sword.
“Whoa, whoa,” one of the mounted men called, and Cavall recognized Tristan. “Mordred, lad, what are you doing out here so early?”
Mordred’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He quickly sheathed his sword. “I . . . the dogs got loose.” He nodded toward Gless and Cavall. “I’ve found them, but you should have whoever was in charge of watching them reprimanded.”
Tristan dismounted his horse and came up to Cavall. A warm hand stroked his head. “Cavall looks to be hurt.” He bent down and gingerly prodded the end of Cavall’s tail. Cavall yelped and tucked his tail under him. “What happened to you, boy?”
Just then, Cavall remembered Anwen and Edelm, who were still waiting for him to return with help. He nudged Tristan’s hand and looked down the path to where he’d left his two friends.
“There’s something down there he wants us to see,” Tristan announced, standing.
“It’s probably nothing,” Mordred said.
Tristan raised a hand to silence him. “I know dogs, lad.” He motioned to one of the other men, who dismounted at his signal. “Go check.”
The man nodded and returned a minute later. “Two more hounds,” he reported. “One hurt pretty badly. I’ll need someone to help me carry them.”
As another man rushed to help the first, Tristan stood with his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Just what did you beasts get into last night?”
The two men reappeared, one carrying Anwen and the other Edelm. Cavall wagged his tail but had to stop when it hurt too muc
h. He limped over to his friends to make sure they were all right.
“Ah, you hurt more than just your tail.” Tristan hooked a finger around Cavall’s collar to keep him from walking anymore. “He might not be able to make it back on his own either.”
“Got these two,” the man holding Edelm said, “but how are we going to carry that great beastie back?”
“Leave that to me.” Tristan got to his knees and scooped Cavall up. With a grunt of exertion, he stood, holding the deerhound in his arms. Cavall licked his face to show his gratitude. Tristan snorted and turned his head away, but in the way people did when they pretended to not want a lick to the face. “Enough, beast, enough,” he said as he got to his feet, strong and steady despite his load. “We’ll get you back where you need to be, eh?”
Mordred was given the task of leading the horses. He and Gless hung back, Mordred gripping the horses’ reins tightly in his hands. Whenever Cavall looked over Tristan’s shoulder, he saw Mordred glaring at him hatefully and Gless refusing to meet his gaze.
Chapter 19
“AND WHO SHOULD WE FIND THERE BUT THESE fellows, much the worse for wear.” Tristan laughed with the people who’d come to see what he’d brought back from his outing. “It looks like they took on some beast they had no business with.”
“What do you suppose it was?” one of the serving women asked.
“Hmm.” Tristan examined Edelm, Cavall, and then Anwen, using his hands to assess the damage. Edelm yelped when his hips were touched. With a cluck of his tongue, Tristan took a step back and said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Lancelot’s dog was kicked by a horse. Maybe it happened down in the stables yesterday.”
“Could be,” Lancelot said. “Not sure how he managed to singe his fur, though.” He came over and held Edelm’s head in his hands. “You’re too old for these adventures, boy.”
Edelm wagged his tail in agreement.
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t feel any broken bones, so he should recover.”
Lancelot opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden clatter had everyone, people and dogs alike, turning to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the stairs. Arthur ran into the great hall, barefoot and still dressed in his nightclothes, while Luwella and Gwen came racing after him, the latter still wrapping a thick robe over her own nightclothes. “Arthur, where are you going?” she called, reaching for him. “Send for a guard if you must needs.”
Arthur pulled free of her grasp and came up short in front of the gathered group, breathing so heavily that he needed to bend over his knees before he could speak. The assembled knights tensed, perhaps expecting a fit like the one they’d witnessed yesterday. Once he had caught his breath, Arthur said, “Where is Cavall? I must see my dog.”
“He’s here,” Tristan said, stepping aside.
Arthur let out a long sigh of relief. “I dreamed that Cavall drove off a great, fiery steed. I dreamed that when I was alone and all others had gone, Cavall was by my side.” He sank down on his knees, and Cavall came forward to nuzzle him. Arms wrapped around his neck as they had in the dream, and Arthur buried his face in Cavall’s thick, wiry fur. “I dreamed that Cavall saved me.”
Cavall licked his ears and nibbled at his hair, so happy his person didn’t have to go back to that terrible dream.
Cavall was not badly hurt. He’d lost several inches off his tail, which Anwen said had been from the Night Mare trampling over it. Luckily, it was easily bandaged, though it felt odd to have a tail that no longer dragged on the ground. Tristan stretched out Cavall’s front leg and assured Arthur that it was only a slight shoulder sprain and Cavall would be back to normal running shape in a few days. In the meantime, he remained leashed to the fireplace in the great hall to keep him from walking. It wasn’t so bad, though, because Arthur fed him scraps from breakfast, much to Gwen’s disapproval.
“You should still be in bed,” she whispered so quietly that none of the other people at the table heard. But Cavall heard. “Your fever—”
“Has broken,” Arthur interrupted. “Honestly, I feel better than I have in weeks. And I’m not just saying that so you won’t worry about me.” He handed Cavall a bit of meat, which he took eagerly.
Later, after the people had finished eating, Cavall was left to sit by the fireplace. The servants talked as they cleared the table, sometimes shooting odd glances his way. They wondered how he and the other dogs had gotten out of the castle in the middle of the night. They wondered if it had anything to do with Arthur’s sudden recovery.
“They say fay hounds are able to chase specters and such unnatural creatures,” one woman murmured to another. “Perhaps ’twas such a creature haunting our king.”
“If it be,” the other woman agreed, “then ’tis no mere beast, that hound.”
Edelm had spent the meal lying at Lancelot’s feet. Even though he was hurt worse than Cavall, the people didn’t leash him in place to keep him from walking on his wounded hind leg, either because he was older or because they trusted him more.
“How are you doing?” Cavall asked as the plates were removed and the people cleared out.
“I’ll recover,” the old dog said. “I have been put on bed rest, like you. I suspect Lancelot will be carrying me from place to place for a while.” He looked embarrassed at that. “Arthur is recovering, as well. The knights will no doubt be staying near him today, but he seems to be more at peace and laughs often and freely with them. They are hopeful this bit of madness is behind him.” He gave an old-dog moan as he sat down. “But how are you doing?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“You did well,” Edelm said.
Cavall had to remind himself not to wag his tail.
“As did Anwen. I will tell her as well when next I see her. She truly is doubtful of herself.”
“Really?” Cavall asked in surprise. Anwen always seemed sure, always the first to spring into action. Was it possible that Anwen wasn’t as fearless as she wanted everyone to think? For some reason, the thought of Anwen being able to run headlong into danger while still feeling uncertain of herself made Cavall feel like he could be brave, too.
“However,” Edelm said, growing serious, “I think we all know that Mordred will try again.”
“I know,” Cavall agreed. Mordred had not been at breakfast, and Cavall hadn’t seen him or Gless since they’d returned to the castle. He worried that Mordred would try to come after him again, but Anwen had said it was unlikely. There were too many people paying attention to him now; it would look suspicious. “What should we do?”
Edelm didn’t answer. Was it possible that Edelm didn’t know everything?
“I know what Luwella would say,” Cavall said. “But I still don’t think we should hurt him.”
“No?” Edelm sounded genuinely curious as to why Cavall would say such a thing. “After all he’s done?”
“I don’t think we should hurt people. I think . . .” He wished he was better at speaking, like Edelm was. Maybe then he could put into words what he felt so the other could understand. “Vivian said it’s important to understand why someone or something wants to hurt you. I think . . . if we find out why Mordred wants to be king so badly, maybe . . . maybe we could find a better solution.”
“Humans like to have power and will go to great lengths to achieve it,” Edelm said. “Sometimes there’s nothing more complicated about it.”
“I can’t believe that,” Cavall said. “I think there’s something more to it. Mordred and Morgana think they can be better rulers than Arthur, which means they must think he’s doing something wrong now. Maybe there’s a way to convince them that Arthur’s not a bad person, that he cares about the people he rules, both the humans and the fay. Then they’d understand that what they’re doing is wrong.”
“I think that’s naïve of you.”
“What’s naïve?”
“It means you’re very endearing.”
Cavall was unclipped from his leash and allowe
d to walk around after three days of absolute boredom. He was so eager to get back to his regular sleeping spot in Arthur’s room that he nearly missed Merlin beckoning to him as he darted up the stairs. He trotted up to the first landing but stopped when the rune stone on his collar started doing something it hadn’t before; it started to get warm against his fur. He turned around, unsure of what that meant, and saw the wizard at the foot of the stairs, waving for him to come back.
Cavall did. He hadn’t seen Merlin since that day in the stables, when he’d become Arthur’s dog and Arthur had become his person. “Where have you been?” he asked.
Merlin leaned heavily on his staff. He made having to walk on two legs look exhausting. “I have been . . . busy. I heard you had a grand adventure while I was gone. I apologize for not being here, but time does sometimes fly away from me.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I don’t suppose you saw a great falcon on your adventure?”
“I did,” Cavall answered. He was about to ask how Merlin knew, but then he realized. “That was you?”
Merlin smiled. “It’s easier to travel through the Dreaming with wings rather than a walking stick.”
Cavall thought about that a moment.
“I have to tell you something,” he said at last. “You told me to protect Arthur, and I did. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to next time. Mordred is going to plan something, and Arthur doesn’t even know. And I don’t have any way of telling him. Maybe you could . . .”
Merlin lowered his head, his face hidden under the wide brim of his hat. “Yes, Mordred will make his next move soon.”
It took a moment for Cavall to understand what he’d said. “You . . . you knew Mordred was up to no good from the beginning?”
“From the beginning?” Merlin chuckled, but Cavall didn’t see what was so funny. “I know a great many things, Cavall. I know the exact day and hour that humans first set foot on this island, and I know the exact day and hour that the fay retreated back into the land. I know when the first flagstones of this castle were set, and I know when the last stones will erode away into nothing. I know the people who will be here long after us, how they will build over us, just as the people before them built over the fay. I know when you and Arthur and Mordred will breathe your last mortal breaths.” He held out a withered hand in front of his face and studied it for a few moments as if it were completely foreign to him. “I know all this, Cavall, but I cannot change it.”
Cavall in Camelot #1 Page 13
