The herald gave the signal, the knights thundered toward each other, and the sense of unwonted familiarity sank its claws into me and twisted my heart. As the knights clashed together, I surged to my feet. “Sorcery.”
“Sit down,” wheezed an old man behind me.
“What did she say?” stammered another spectator.
“Ssh!” Florian grabbed my arm and pulled me back down to sit beside him.
“Listen, minstrel,” I hissed, “You risk your little fortune trusting those oaths the champions swear? This fight was rigged with sorcery.”
“My lady,” Florian crowded by me with mock solicitude, “you are overcome with the excitement of the event. Pray rest yourself.” He laid a hand on my shoulder as if to support me and whispered in my ear, “However you come by that knowledge, keep it to yourself, silly girl. We can bet on the knight with the advantage and make our fortune.”
I pushed him away. “I did not come here to make cheating wagers. That champion is a fraud.” I pointed down at the man who had won the bout—to tell the truth, I didn’t even know which one he was, only that he reeked of magic. “I’m not the only one to see it. People behind us are hissing him. Don’t you hear?”
“They’re hissing you,” Florian said through his teeth. “You’re making a scene just when everyone was enjoying the joust. Now remember him: Orme of Orcanay, with a silver dragon on a sable field. If he’s really charmed, he’ll win next round. If he doesn’t win again, then maybe you won’t be so quick to jump up and shout public accusations. Where do you come from, to have such a courtly accent and such uncouth manners?”
“From the Isle of Sorcery,” I muttered, but another infernal troubadour had begun yowling, and I don’t think he heard me. I sat there seething at his stubbornness. I knew what I had sensed. Or did I? In leaving my home, had I left behind even the perception of magic? Could I trust my own senses anymore? But by Solomon’s ring, how could I live distrusting my own senses?
Another pair of knights had taken the field. I looked out at the elegant blonde lady in the tall headdress, and noticed she was not nearly so attentive as she had been. Surely her champion had been in the last bout. Suddenly I knew why she reminded me of Grandmother: she’d been working sorcery. But I wasn’t sure how I’d known it. If I stood to accuse her, I couldn’t prove a thing.
“We’ve got to warn Ursula,” I whispered to Florian. “Where are they hiding the champions in waiting?”
“See that pavilion?” Florian pointed.
“The blue one all the way over there?”
“That’s the one.”
“It’s so far. How do they even know it’s time for their bout?”
“Pages come and go for them.”
I pictured elbowing my way through all the strangers between me and that pavilion, and paled. Then I had what seemed to me quite a clever idea. “Florian, you could warn her. Put it in a song and sing it to her the next time she comes out.”
“No, Lady Isabeau. I may have sung some strange fancies in my day, but not one that involves slandering a knight strong enough to knock Guilbert de Montrod from his saddle.”
“It’s not slander if it’s true.”
“The answer is still no.”
“Well then, go and whisper in her ear.”
“You go yourself, if you can’t be still,” he said. “It’s your mad whim, not mine.”
“Fine,” I said, “if that’s all your canting of love and worship is worth, I’ll warn her myself.”
I pushed past him, then drew myself in as small as I could to worm through the crowd, wishing I had the magic to wrap myself in shadow and walk unseen. That was a spell Grandmother had never taught me—she wanted me seen and noticed—but I’d found it in one of her books and always meant to try it some day when my cousins were too unbearable. Meant to, but never did, and now all my magic was left behind on the Isle of Sorcery, along with my mortar and pestle, my herbs, my garden. With nothing to gather together but my wits, I threaded past one spectator after another: lords, ladies, servants, minstrels, lapdogs. The heat of their bodies, the scent of their sweat made me feel unclean myself, and passing so close to one man’s body after another was like a horrid caricature of the campaign of seduction my grandmother had urged upon me.
At one point I found myself almost in the face of the blonde enchantress. I shrank as small as I could, avoiding her eyes. There was no mistaking, now, the nimbus of power that surrounded her. I gathered myself inward—don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me—and only breathed freely when I’d put a fair crowd between myself and that cold power.
At last I made my way to the blue pavilion. Half-armed knights, their helmets resting by their sides, sat bragging as they passed a wineskin or sampled the sliced pears that a page offered on a tray. A young man with a gaudy cockerel embroidered on his surcoat leered at me. “Now there’s a sweeter sight than I expected, by’r Lady! If you’re looking for someone worth carrying your favor to battle—”
“I’m looking for the Maiden of Révie, my—um,” I hesitated. “Sister” would scarcely be believed; Ursula was fair where I was dark, and tall enough to eat apples off my head. “My cousin. Ursula!” I called aloud, hoping she might be within earshot.
“I saw the Maiden back by the horses,” an older knight put in. “Would you like me to conduct you?”
I did not want any man to conduct me, but if I kept bumbling around lost, I’d be importuned again. Better an old man than a young cockerel. “Thank you, good sir. I worry so about my young cousin’s safety, challenging so many seasoned knights.”
“Commendable, I’m sure,” he said. “Never fear: you’ll see she’s quite well.” He led me through a chaos of male bodies and a cloud of male sweat. Knights lounging while servants brought food. Knights stretching their limbs as Ursula did each morning. Knights napping on the ground. Knights in patched surcoats looking around as furtively as I had, as if they too felt sure they did not belong. Then we came to the stables behind the pavilion and passed horses tended by squires, horses tended by stable boys, horses watched anxiously by patchcloak knights. At last, there was Cloudmane standing still to be curried, and Ursula’s voice coming from around his other side, coaxing and crooning, “There, Cloudmane. There, there, my good horse. You’ll get out on the field again soon, my treasure.”
“Ursula!”
“Isabeau! What brings you here? Is something wrong?” Ursula stepped around Cloudmane, who nuzzled her hair.
I dropped a little curtsey and thanked the elderly knight. He took the hint and departed.
“Ursula, beware of the knight with the silver dragon, Orme of Orcanay,” I murmured in her ear. “A lady in the crowd is strengthening him with sorcery.”
“That’s treacherous! We’ll have to warn all the others, too. It wouldn’t be fair.”
That’s what I admire most about Ursula—more even than the power to knock down great hulking warriors. Not for an instant did it occur to her to hoard the knowledge and profit by it.
“That’s what I thought. But Florian won’t sing it out.”
“That’s too bad,” Ursula said. “This is where a minstrel ought to come in handy.”
“And if I complain alone, who will believe me?” I said. “No one here knows me; why should they trust my word? I have no proof. I’ll be counter-charged with slander.”
“What would prove sorcery?” Ursula said.
“It depends what type of spell she’s used. It might be an amulet—something he wears under his armor, probably around his neck or sword-arm. The sorceress need only whisper a chant to enliven the amulet’s power each time he fights. But I’ve also heard of a protective charm carried in the mouth.”
Ursula snorted. “While riding to joust? Not likely. He’d choke on it.”
“Rings can be charmed, too,” I mused. “That would be easiest to find. The worst would be if she made some sort of charmed bath for him before the tournament. A tricky sorcery, but once accompl
ished, utterly invisible.”
“Did you say invisible or invincible?”
“Invisible. Not invincible. What washes on can wash off. A cloudburst would spoil all that careful spell-casting.”
“How would you tell if it were the bath?” Ursula said. “For that matter, how do you know he’s charmed, if you haven’t seen an amulet?”
I shrugged. “How do you know when you’re balanced just right on horseback? No doubt there was a time when you didn’t know, but little by little you learned, so that now you can ride with a lance in your hand, unhorse another knight, and keep your seat. And yet you probably can’t put in words how you know.”
“Very well: you know your art as I know mine. But what’s to be done about it?”
“If it’s a ring or an amulet, we can prove he lied when he swore to fight fair,” I said. “Or maybe even trick him into taking it off.”
“Maybe I can spy on him in the pavilion,” Ursula said. “Most of the knights are friendly with each other. I can strike up a conversation and see if he has a ring—or maybe even get close enough to get an amulet out of his clothes.”
“Good plan.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been afraid it would fall to me to talk to him. Ursula was so much friendlier, so much more at ease with men, with people in general. I was about to turn back to rejoin the spectators, when a voice in my head accused, “Fool! Coward!” This was no job for Ursula. She’d probably ask Sir Orme straight out whether he wore an amulet. She could fight like a hero out of legend, but she couldn’t lie to save her life. I might not have the High Art of Solomon at my command, but I still had the baser arts my grandmother had taught me. “Except—well—maybe I’d better be the one to spy on him, Ursula. You could see if he has a ring on his finger, but you wouldn’t sense magic in it. I could do that. Up close, I’ll even be able to smell whether there was magic in his bathwater.”
“What will we do if it’s the bath?”
“Pray for rain,” I grunted, and stalked off glumly to go flutter my eyelashes at a man.
I wasn’t worried about finding Orme; once I’d noticed that the strangely familiar air meant sorcery, it became easier and easier to train my senses on it and track it like spoor to its source. I found the knight sitting alone with a flagon of wine and a bowl of ripe plums, gazing idly at the lists. With his helmet off, he looked quite presentable, blond and lean, with a strong resemblance to the sorceress in the tall headdress: his sister, no doubt. Good. If she’d been his mistress, I’d have had to scramble for a new way to deceive a man.
“Pardon me, Sir,” I began.
His gaze shifted to me and livened up considerably. “What heavenly vision is this?”
“If you please, have you seen Sir Charles of the Isle?” I thought it safe to drop my cousin’s name; if he were here, I’d know. “He wears a cognizance of a many-headed dragon, gules, on a field of green.”
“Sir Charles of the Isle,” Orme mused. “No, fair maid. I don’t recall any such knight in the lists.”
“Oh, the coward! He promised me he would fight here,” I said. “He promised he would wear my favor on his lance and drive it through many shields to prove the strength of his love for me. Now he is forsworn.”
“Alas, fair maid,” Orme said. “Any man could be carried away by beauty such as yours—the sunlit sky of your eyes, the starlit night of your hair, the rosy paradise of your lips—and tempted to speak oaths he can never fulfill. But I am a knight who could fulfill those oaths. If a damsel like you bestowed a favor upon me, I would not fail to drive it through the shields of all my challengers, though thousands stood against me.”
“How can you be so sure of victory?”
He twisted a ring on his finger. “I am Sir Orme of Orcanay, champion of many tournaments. Did you see my bout with Guilbert de Montrod?”
“I did indeed,” I said, widening my eyes like a hound under the table. “You triumphed mightily, sir.”
“And fired by your beauty, how could I fail to grow even mightier still?”
“But sir, how can you ask for my favor when you wear another woman’s favor on your shield-hand?”
“What do you mean?” He looked down at his hand. “Oh, that ring is just a token from my sister Signy. No other love will claim my heart if you—what was your name, damsel?”
“Isabeau of Révie,” I said, borrowing Ursula’s birthplace, and hoping desperately that I could keep track of all the lies I was telling.
“Isabeau, if you will give your favors to me and to no other man, you will see the strength of my faith to you.”
I’ll bet I will, I thought. Faith as strong as gossamer, I’m sure. It was just as well I had no desire for his faithfulness. All I wanted was the ring—if, indeed, that was his victory charm. A token from his sister, was it? Well, let me see if I could get him to surrender it. “If I give my favors to you—such favors as I have given no other man—then what token of faithfulness will you give me?”
“What token would you have, lovely Isabeau?” he said, and touched my cheek with his left hand, the hand that bore the ring. I felt the cool metal against my skin, and knew instantly that the ring was not his charm, alas. No: it was on his skin itself. No doubt about it: it was the bath. I would have to be cunning indeed.
“You might give me a lock of your sunlit hair,” I said.
He shifted uncomfortably—knowing, perhaps, that a lock of his hair could be used to enchant him. In my current state, I doubted I could do it, but his disquiet suggested that he understood something of magic: enough to know the herbs his sister had put in his bath were good for more than sore muscles. “Since the ring I wear makes you doubt my faith, I shall give it to you,” he said, “if you, also, show no reticence in giving me your favor.”
There was no mistaking what sort of favor he wanted of me, and it wasn’t a kerchief to tie to his lance. I forced a simpering smile to my lips. “Dear Orme, if you come alone to meet me behind the stables, I will show you a favor I have given to no man, a knotted belt that only one man may untie. That man, and no other, will be my true love.” Then I had to avert my face and pretend to be modest and shy, so he would not see the revulsion written there. We set our rendez-vous, and I fled to tell Ursula my plans.
~o0o~
I met Sir Orme behind the stables, not far from where Ursula stabled Cloudmane. “Beautiful Isabeau,” he said, “I half feared you would not come.”
“Did you doubt my faith?” I said.
“I doubted Fortune could favor me so.”
“I’m here,” I said. “But we might be seen here. Come with me.” I beckoned him to an alcove in the stables, too small for a charger and thus empty of everything except odd bits of tack. He followed, avid, a wolf stalking his prey. I leaned against a partition. “Come closer.” He stood near me, so near I could feel his breath. I forced myself to face him as he leaned toward me. “Now,” I said.
As the knight leaned in to kiss me, Ursula heaved a bucket of water over the partition and drenched us both.
“What! What!” sputtered Orme.
Ursula stormed into our stall. “Dishonor my cousin, will you? I’ll thrash you black and blue!” She threw the empty bucket at his head, and while he fumbled with it, grabbed me by the arm and hurried me away.
~o0o~
“You might have told me you were going to disenchant Orme,” grumbled Florian when the day’s tourneying was done. “I lost good money on him.”
“Your fault for betting against Ursula,” I said.
Ursula blinked at him, so stunned and hurt that I half regretted disillusioning her. “You bet against me, Florian?”
“I only—you see—it was Lady Isabeau who led me to believe Orme invincible.”
“I thought you were my troubadour!”
“I am. And no one compares with you. But dear Maiden, incomparable though you may be, a man has to live on something.”
“On dishonest winnings from a rigged contest? You disappoint me, Florian.” And Ursu
la, bless her frank heart, spun away from him.
“Come on, Ursula,” I said. “Your first day’s winnings will have to content you. If Orme’s sister casts the spell again, we can’t pull the same trick twice.” Fortunately, we each had a horse now, plus a spare to carry Ursula’s gear. She’d fought mightily indeed. The two of us made for the road out of Ouesterre.
But before we could depart, two other riders blocked our path: a knight and lady with the same pale golden hair and the same cold anger in their eyes. Orme’s shield-arm was bandaged—-he’d fallen more than once when Signy’s charm no longer strengthened him—but his undamaged sword-arm brandished his unsheathed blade.
“How did you know to disenchant him, you meddling witch?” Lady Signy snarled at Ursula, pointing a white twig at her. I didn’t like the smell of it.
“Thick-skulled slut!” I said, dredging up the insults my cousins used to hurl at me when I annoyed them, “Ignorant hedge-witch! You think Ursula’s the sorceress? I thought you wiser than that.” I raised myself as high as I could in the unaccustomed saddle of my new mount. “I am the Damsel of the Garden, most powerful enchantress of the Isle of Sorcery. Your quarrel is with me.”
“I can punish both of you if I please,” Signy said. “Your man-woman friend first, since you’re so eager to protect her.” She flicked her wand, and I saw Ursula stiffen as if struggling to mask great pain. Then she shifted the wand a trifle downward. Cloudmane shied and bucked, till it took all Ursula’s horsemanship to stay mounted.
Orme, the great coward, only attacked Ursula when she was already doubly distracted, struggling to control her pain and her steed. She parried, teeth gritted, but I feared she could not long withstand both enemies at once. Both our foes set me aside as the lesser threat; did the sorceress know how weak I was outside the Garden?
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