Morgan frowned and looked sourly at Lynet. At last she said, "Let's not forget which of us is the teacher, dear. Back to your question—no, not all sorceresses are, as you say, unfriendly to people. But the strongest ones are."
"Why is that?"
"The enchantress who cares for no one cannot be touched by grief or worry or fear. Nothing reduces a sorceress's power so much as love."
"Do you love anyone?" Lynet asked.
Morgan's brow furrowed very slightly, then smoothed. "We are not discussing me. Do you?"
Lynet thought of Beaumains's handsome profile and felt her own brow furrow. She and Morgan were silent together for a long time.
Sometimes they would grow weary of tales. Then they would gradually grow quiet, then lapse together into a comfortable slumber on the soft dirt floor of the cavern. When they awoke, they would resume their conversation wherever they had left off, as if they had never slept.
At last, Morgan said, "I think I've done. You will never stop learning, but I've taught you what you must know, and I've never had so apt a pupil. You will never be an enchantress like me, of course." Lynet raised her eyebrows, a bit indignant, but Morgan added, "I don't mean that you'll be lesser, only different. You like humans too much."
"Well, I am one, you see," Lynet said apologetically.
"Are you?"
"Well, of course I ... what do you mean?"
"Your father was Duke Idres, was he not?" Lynet nodded, waiting. "He was well known in this world. His mother—your grandmother—was a notable enchantress, from a distinguished faery family."
"I never knew her," Lynet murmured. "Then I am part faery?"
"You are. You may never have known it, but anyone from this world could see it in you at a glance. You have the look."
"That's what Terence said," Lynet replied.
Morgan nodded. "Terence would know. He is from a very great faery family himself. He is, in fact, the Duke of Avalon."
Lynet blinked with astonishment. "And he serves as a squire in the World of Men?" she asked faintly.
"Don't ask me," Morgan said. "I don't understand it either. Anyway, the point is that you are only part human."
Lynet frowned suddenly. "But doesn't that mean that my sister is also part faery?"
"In theory," Morgan admitted, "but not really. Even in families where the faery strain is strong, you never know where it will come out. In my own family, my sisters and I are enchantresses, but among my nephews only Gawain shows his faery blood. As for his brothers Gaheris, Agrivaine, and especially that nincompoop Gareth, they're as earthbound as mud clods. And your sister, well, she's far too foolish to be anything but pure human, as you'll soon be able to observe firsthand. It is time you went back to that other place."
"You mean home?"
Morgan shook her head. "You don't know it yet, but that isn't your home anymore. This is. But for now, to keep you from homesickness, you are permitted to take a gift with you. Let me show you something." Morgan rolled aside a rock, revealing a small hole in the cavern wall. From the hole, she took out three bottles. "These are three elixers, each with its own powers, none to be taken lightly. You may choose one for your own."
"What are they?"
Morgan lifted the first bottle. "This one is a love potion."
Lynet stared at the amber liquid inside. "I thought you said that to love someone made a sorceress weak," she asked.
"Heavens, girl, don't ever take the stuff yourself. But it doesn't hurt a sorceress's powers to be adored by someone else. All you do is put a drop in a man's drink, and the next person that he sees he will love until the end of his life. Have you anyone you'd like to enslave?"
Lynet held her breath. She had only to close her eyes to see Beaumains's eyes, as they gazed adoringly at Lyonesse. When Lynet thought that she could see him gaze at her in that way, she felt almost giddy. She started to reach for the bottle, but Morgan said, "Just a moment. You ought to know the dangers."
Lynet let her hand drop, but she kept her eyes on the bottle. "What dangers?"
"First, you must make sure that the subject sees the right person immediately after taking the potion. If he sees someone else, you've made a terrible mess. That's what happened with Sir Tristram and Queen Isoult: the potion was meant for Isoult's husband, but Tristram mucked it up. And that's not even the worst danger. You see, there's no cure."
"Why is that a problem?" Lynet asked.
"Just this," Morgan said. "If you use the potion, make sure that you use it on someone you won't mind having around for the rest of your life."
Strangely enough, Lynet realized, she had never thought about the rest of her life. When she dreamed of the tall young Beaumains, she imagined the moment when he would declare his love for her, but she had never really considered what came after that. For a moment, she envisioned herself and Beaumains, middle-aged, sitting by a fire on a winter evening. What would they talk about? Her cherished picture of Beaumains seemed suddenly blurred. "I'll have to think about that," she admitted to Morgan. "What are the other potions?"
Morgan lifted the second vial, filled with a ruby red elixir. "This potion will give you beauty beyond that of any mere mortal woman. Much more practical than the love potion, I might add. With such beauty you can make anyone you like fall in love with you anyway, but there's no tiresome spell forcing the issue. What do you think?" Lynet hesitated, and Morgan seemed to read her thoughts. "Be a bit of a shock for your sister, wouldn't it?"
She was right. It would almost kill poor Lyonesse if Lynet showed up more beautiful than she was. And of course, if Beaumains had fallen in love with Lyonesse's beauty, why should he not do the same for a suddenly ravishing Lynet? Peeking at Morgan, Lynet had a sudden insight into her teacher's stunning beauty. It was tempting, but for some reason Lynet hesitated. "What is the third elixir?"
"This," Morgan said, holding up a crystal bottle filled with a clear liquid, "is a healing potion. Whatever illness, whatever wound a person has, this potion will cure it. But it has bothersome limits."
"What limits?"
"It cannot bring back one who is dead. After you've used it on a person, you can never use it on that person again—no one cheats death forever. And finally, you cannot use it on yourself." Morgan paused, then added wryly, "As you might imagine, this one's not the most popular choice among new enchantresses."
Lynet said, "I'll take that one."
It was surprisingly difficult to say goodbye to Morgan. Although the sorceress was frequently cool and unapproachable, Lynet discovered that she felt closer to this faery beauty than she had ever felt to her own sister. So it was with a leaden step that she returned to the waterfall at the cave mouth, where the World of Men began. But taking a breath, Lynet stepped resolutely through the rainbow-streaked veil of water, into the glory of a sunny day. At first, all she could do was rub her eyes and blink in the unaccustomed light, but when at last she could see, she smiled, because Terence and Robin were on the riverbank waiting for her.
"Hallo, my dear," Robin chirped. "Lovely day for bathing."
"Hello, Robin," Lynet said, smiling. "And hello, your grace."
"You're looking well, my lady," replied Terence. "I take it that Lady Morgan wasn't too unkind."
"I think she could be," Lynet said thoughtfully. "But she never was to me. What time is it? When I went into the cave, it was almost dark, and now it's full day. Was I there overnight?"
Robin giggled. "Ay, my lady, you could say that."
"Be quiet, Robin," Terence said. He turned to Lynet. "It's a bit difficult to tell how time has passed when you're between worlds, isn't it? You've been gone almost a fortnight."
Lynet gasped. "A fortnight!" she repeated in a whisper.
"It's not so bad, my lady," Terence said reassuringly. "The last time Gawain and I went home for a visit, we found that seven years had gone by when we returned here. We've had to give up birthday parties, because we don't know how old we are. Don't worry, though. Your sister and
uncle haven't been worried."
"I doubt they missed me at all," Lynet said. A sudden hope occurred to her. "Do I ... must I go back to them? Now that I'm away, couldn't I go somewhere else?"
"Oh, I wouldn't do that," Robin said. "Things are just getting interesting back at the castle. That's why my lord duke Terence commanded me to be here. I'm to send you home at once."
"I just asked a favor for a friend," Terence protested mildly.
"But what's going on back at the castle?" Lynet asked.
Robin looked at Terence, who nodded. Robin said, "Your uncle has just captured someone whom he plans to torture to make him reveal a secret."
"What captive? What secret?"
This time it was Terence who answered. "It's your friend Roger."
X. The Night of the Half Moon
Evidently, transporting people across great distances was a part of Robin's particular magic, because one moment Lynet was watching Robin's laughing face, and then the forest seem to darken and grow solid around her, and she found herself enclosed by gray stone in her own bedchamber back at the Castle Perle.
At first all she could do was grip her bedpost, as if it were a support against an unstable world. After a moment, though, the muffled sound of two voices in the corridor recalled her to her position. Even through the heavy oaken door, Lynet easily recognized one voice as Lyonesse's. Crossing the room in a few swift strides, she threw open the door and stepped into the hallway. Lyonesse and Sir Gringamore stopped talking and stared at her.
"What have you done with Roger?" Lynet demanded.
"Goodness, Lynet," replied Lyonesse. "Have you been in your room all this time? Really, it isn't healthy. Why, I haven't seen you in almost a week."
"Two weeks," corrected Sir Gringamore. "Bribed one of the servants to bring your food to your room, did you? Well, well, that's none of my affair, as long as you haven't been into the wine. You haven't, have you?"
"I asked you a question!" Lynet snapped. "Where's Roger?"
"I haven't a notion what you're talking about," Lyonesse said. "None of my young men are named ... do you mean that Sir Beaumains is really named Roger?"
"Never heard of any Sir Roger," Sir Gringamore said, considering this. "Could be a new fellow, of course, but it sounds rather plebeian to me."
"Roger's not a knight!" Lynet said.
"Well, what's the use of him then?" replied Lyonesse practically. "Really, Lynet, it's not at all the thing to burst out of your room and interrupt a private conversation. Do go away."
Sir Gringamore laughed pleasantly. "Sisterly love," he murmured.
Realizing that she couldn't penetrate Lyonesse's self-absorption with mere words, Lynet stepped closer, took Lyonesse's dress in her hands, and shook her sister violently. "Where-is-Roger?" she demanded again.
Lyonesse pulled away and staggered back against the corridor wall. In the light of the lamp in a nearby wall sconce, her eyes flamed with equal parts of fear and anger. "I don't know, I tell you! Who is this Roger?"
"Roger the dwarf," Lynet said.
Lyonesse's eyes flickered toward Sir Gringamore, whose stolid face showed nothing. With a trilling, nervous laugh, Lyonesse said, "What dwarf?"
"The dwarf Uncle Gringamore captured for you."
Lyonesse's eyes widened, and she glanced again at Sir Gringamore. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said weakly. "We don't have anyone in our dungeon at all."
"You put him in the dungeon?" Lynet gasped. Turning on her heel, she strode quickly down the corridor toward the stairs that led to the castle's small dungeon.
Behind her, she heard Sir Gringamore say placidly, "You know, my dear, all those beauty oils you put on your face must have soaked into your brain. How came you to say such a henwitted thing?" Lyonesse snapped something at him in an irritated tone, but Lynet was already out of earshot. She stormed down the dungeon stairs and went at once to the nearest door.
"Roger?" she whispered.
"Hallo, lass," came the cheerful reply. "Did you send for me?"
Lynet unbarred the door and went in. "Don't be a fool. You can't think I had anything to do with this. My sister is an idiot." The room was dark, and she couldn't see where Roger was.
"Ah, but you did have something to do with it," said Roger, his voice coming from the far wall. "Your uncle—quite a pleasant chap, even if he did drag me here in a burlap bag—said that you told them I knew Beaumains's real name."
Lynet was silent for a moment. "He's right, I did, just to annoy them. But I never thought they'd kidnap you. Here, you can come out now."
"Well, it's nice of you to say so, but there are these chains to deal with."
"You don't mean to say they chained you up, too! I'll kill her!"
"Suits me," Roger replied. "But before you go, could you bring me a stool? These arm shackles are a bit high for a dwarf, and it's rather uncomfortable, just hanging like this."
Lynet's eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, and she could make out a dark shape suspended halfway up the wall. With a cry of indignation, she whirled on her heel to find a stool, after which she intended to choke Lyonesse until she could get the key to the shackles. Both of these noble intentions were foiled, however, because as she turned she ran right into the soft but formidable form of Sir Gringamore, who had followed her, bringing a bright torch.
"Tut, tut, Lynnie. Always so hasty. Let's just talk about all this for a moment."
"I don't want to talk!"
"Well, you ought to anyway," he replied, imperturbably. "You want your friend released, don't you?"
This halted her. "Yes."
"Well, maybe you can convince him to tell us what we need to know."
"I'll do no such thing. Let me by. I need to get something for him to stand on. His arms must feel as if they're breaking."
She started to push by, but Sir Gringamore grabbed her upper arm and held her. "No, Lynnie. That's what we want. The more uncomfortable he is, the sooner he'll talk."
Lynet turned her fulminating gaze at Sir Gringamore and said very slowly, "Take your hand off of me, uncle, or I'll turn you into the toad that you really are."
Lyonesse, entering the room behind Sir Gringamore, tittered at Lynet's threat, but Sir Gringamore snatched his hand away and peered closely at Lynet. "You're serious, aren't you? Deuce it, I always thought you had too much of your father in you. You've been up to something wicked and magical, I'll be bound."
"Step aside," Lynet said, and Sir Gringamore obeyed.
Lynet returned a moment later with a chair for Roger to stand on. He sighed with relief and said, "Thankee, lass."
"Now," said Lynet, turning to face her uncle and sister, "give me the keys."
"Not until he tells us the knight's name!" Lyonesse said angrily.
Lynet started toward her sister, hands already raised at throat level, but Sir Gringamore stepped between the sisters. "Now, now, my dear," Sir Gringamore said, chuckling slightly. "I don't think that's necessary. We only wanted to scare this dwarf, but it failed. We may as well let him go now."
"I thought we were going to torture—" Lyonesse began.
"You most certainly will not!" declared Lynet.
"Quite right, quite right," intervened Sir Gringamore. "No question of torture at all. Lynnie, will you go get the keys to the shackles?"
Lynet had turned toward her sister again, but at these words she stopped. "Yes, of course. Where are they?" she asked, relieved.
"Hmm? Oh, they're right next door. In the next dungeon room, on the cot."
Quickly, Lynet walked into the other room. Away from Sir Gringamore's torch, she could see nothing, but she felt her way across the room, looking for the cot Sir Gringamore had mentioned. "Could you bring the torch in here, uncle?" she called from the blackness.
"Just coming," he answered. Lynet saw the glow of the torch as it rounded the corner. Then the door to the dungeon room closed, and she heard the bolt fall into place.
Incredulous, Lynet said, "U
ncle?"
"Sorry, Lynnie, but it seemed the best thing to do. You'll be safe enough in there until we've gotten this dwarf to talk."
For the next few minutes, Lynet called her uncle and sister every name she could think of, using vocabulary that she had not even been aware that she knew, but at last she ran out of inventiveness and lapsed into panting silence.
Sir Gringamore chuckled. "That's what comes of letting a girl hang about the stables. Splendidly done, Lynnie. Really very imaginative. But if you've finished, we need to talk to this fellow. Now, master dwarf, won't you just save us all some trouble and tell us who this chap Beaumains really is?"
"I'd be happy to," Roger said calmly.
"What?" gasped Lyonesse, taken by surprise. "You will?"
"Of course. Keeping a secret is all well and good, but the Beau's not worth it. Let Lynet go; I'll gladly trade a fool's secret for a lady's freedom."
Roger paused, then said clearly, "The knight we call Beaumains is really Sir Gareth of Orkney. He is a royal prince of Orkney, the youngest brother of the great Sir Gawain, and one of the finest fighters in Arthur's court."
Lynet knew at once that Roger was telling the truth. Everything fit. She remembered what Terence had told her, how Gareth had made some vow and left the court. So that was why Beaumains had let his hair and beard grow over his face when he returned to court: he didn't want to be known until he had fulfilled his vow. And that was why he had avoided Terence when they met him in the forest: Who would be more likely to recognize him, now that he was clean-shaven, than his brother Gawain's squire? Lynet felt slightly dizzy as she realized the smelly kitchen knave she had ridden with, who had rescued her from the Black Knight, was actually a prince, from one of the oldest and most respected families in all England.
Lynet was not the only person to make this connection, of course. Lyonesse was fairly cackling with excitement. "A royal prince!" she crowed. "Brother of Sir Gawain! Why, that would make him King Arthur's nephew!"
The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf Page 11
