Knights of the Round Table: Geraint

by Rowley, Gwen

  Hartun smiled, revealing several brown teeth. “I had a fight with a troll. I won.”

  “You mean you stole his property. He might already be after you.”

  Hartun shrugged and came around behind her to grip her shoulders. “He will not be leavin’ his cave, not to come so far south.”

  Enid turned her direct stare on Bureig, who shrank away from her legs. “And how do you know what magic I possess?”

  “We seen it,” Bureig said softly.

  “You haven’t been following us,” she shot back.

  Bureig lifted his chin, obviously trying for courage. “No, we been attackin’ ye.”

  “Bureig!” Hartun hissed.

  The littler man dropped to his hands and knees, like dog sensing it would soon be kicked.

  “You are with the mercenaries,” Enid said slowly. “Has your leader sent you on such a dangerous mission without support?”

  Hartun laughed. “Not so dangerous. And he wouldn’t listen to me. I knew gettin’ ye away was the key to gettin’ yer man away, too. But that’s not how he wanted to play it. I’ll show ’im. I’ll bring yer mate to him, and then I’ll get me reward.” He stuffed a dirty rag into Enid’s mouth.

  “Me, too!” said Bureig.

  This seemed to embolden the little man, for he grabbed Enid about the calves just as Hartun tipped her backward.

  Where was Geraint?

  Enid tried to fold in a heap to the floor, but the two men dragged her toward a window at the back of the cottage. After opening the shutters, Hartun climbed out, and between the two of them, they maneuvered her through, with much soft cursing and heavy breathing.

  She tried to call out, but any noise was muffled by the gag. The cottage was the farthest from the village green, and it hid their escape. They had two horses waiting. After throwing her over the back of one, stomach first, Hartun climbed up behind her, and they were off. Enid turned her head, trying to see behind them, but the road took a quick bend around the base of a cliff. They picked up speed, following the ocean to the east. The pounding against her stomach was fierce, but that was nothing compared to her rising fear.

  She was being used as bait, and Geraint, ever her protector, would take it. Though in the midst of problems with their marriage, she knew he would do anything to rescue her, even if it endangered himself.

  She felt a tug on her skirt, heard the sound of tearing. By the gods, what was this villain trying to do to her on a horse?

  She saw the fabric flutter to the ground behind them.

  “Won’t take yer man long to find yer trail,” Hartun said with satisfaction.

  They rode for another hour, and by the end of it, Enid was hoping to pass out just to avoid the ceaseless pain. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to draw a deep breath again.

  But after a last climb up a steep path, the horses drew to a halt. The sky was darkening with twilight, as the sun sent its last rays arching overhead. Enid was pulled off the horse, and she groaned as the men dumped her onto the ground. She blinked up at them, dazed and unable to swallow.

  Bureig looked fearful. “She had that gag in her mouth a long time.”

  Hartun looked about. “Go ahead and take it out. No one’s behind us yet. Surely her man will find the clues we left.”

  Bureig knelt beside her and reached toward her mouth. Enid gratefully opened wide, but even then, the fabric stuck to her, peeling away some of her skin. She moaned, but instead of scurrying back, Bureig hovered over her with obvious concern.

  “Are ye thirsty?”

  She restrained her sarcasm and nodded frantically, trying to look helpless. It wasn’t very difficult to let tears glisten in her eyes when she was so worried about her husband.

  Bureig held a horn over her face, then tipped it slowly, letting water run into her mouth. She drank it frantically.

  “Not too much,” Hartun cautioned. “She’ll sicken on us.”

  Bureig backed away. Now that one need was met, Enid turned her head to watch Hartun. He was taking several torches out of a bag attached to his saddle. He lit them by striking sparks with flint and steel, then drove them into the earth at intervals. She couldn’t quite follow his every movement from her position on the ground.

  “What is he doing?” she asked Bureig.

  “Lightin’ the pit.”

  Her mouth sagged open. “Pit?”

  “Roll ’er in!” Hartun yelled.

  Bureig’s worry was evident. “Can’t we lower her in gently?”

  “If you harm me,” Enid said forcefully, “my husband will see that you both die. If you want mercy—”

  “Ye’ll be the one cryin’ fer that,” Hartun said. He gave her a shove, and she rolled once. “Bureig, help me! None o’ yer slobberin’ over her.”

  After the fifth roll, she felt the earth give way beneath her shoulder. She cried out and hung there, suspended, knowing that with one more push, she would fall into the darkness below. What awaited her down there? She struggled once more against the ropes, but they held her immobile.

  Hartun squatted above her, peering into her face. “I don’t have to send ye down there, if ye decide to be nice to me.”

  She glared at him. “I would rather face the pit.”

  With a grimace, he gave her a final shove, and she fell. Her shriek was short-lived, for the depth of the pit was not too great. She landed on her back, with the wind knocked out of her, gasping for air as she gaped up at the purple sky. The depth couldn’t be more than twice her height.

  Hartun peered over the edge. “Ye alive?”

  She licked her lips and debated not answering. But all that would get her was Hartun clambering down after her, and in his anger he might do worse.

  “I am unharmed—I think.”

  “Good. Rest ye well, milady. Maybe we’ll let ye see yer man before we take him away. And then it’s off to the captain, and he’ll decide what’s to become of him. And give me my reward,” he added gleefully.

  “Our reward,” Bureig whined.

  As they moved from the pit, their bickering faded away.

  The hard, uneven earth beneath Enid’s back was damp, and soon she was wet and chilled through. She tried not to think about how thirsty she was, how her stomach growled, and how her muscles ached. She screamed for help, but when they laughed, she realized it only played into their game. Geraint would come running frantically if he heard, rather than taking the time to create a sound plan.

  To keep her mind occupied, she considered how strange it felt to be waiting for another person, helpless and dependent. She’d begun to take her magical gifts for granted, and had thought nothing could harm her. Now she was totally dependent on Geraint to rescue her. She would hate the mere thought if it were anyone else. But with her husband, she appreciated his protectiveness. It didn’t make her feel inferior to need him. It made her feel . . . loved.

  Another hour passed, and the sky turned to black. Still the torches blazed at the corners of the pit, and for that she was grateful. Something crawled slowly along her neck, and she held her breath, praying not to be bitten. She wanted to shake until it was off her, but didn’t dare. At last it crawled away. Was it in her hair?

  She was going to drive herself crazy with these thoughts. She was trying not to think of what was on her skin, when its itchiness took on new meaning. The moon was calling her, although she couldn’t see it. It was the third night since she’d renewed her magic. If she didn’t perform the ritual, she would lose everything. She would be useless to her mission—useless to Geraint in her own rescue, should he be able to free her.

  It was still early, she told herself, trying to remain calm.

  Chapter 15

  AT first, Geraint thought his wife had merely wan-dered off again, and he was angry and offended. Fryda had come to him, near tears, unable to find Enid. But after searching the village, he realized she was gone. Her horse was still there, so he couldn’t believe she’d left voluntarily.

  Someone had taken
her.

  A chill swept through him, and he found that he, always so logical, was having trouble thinking about anything other than setting off after Enid, heedless of the danger. The fact that she seemed unable to have used her magical strength gave him a terrifying feeling of helplessness.

  “Milord,” Ainsley said, “what are yer orders?”

  Geraint watched the milling soldiers talk in low, angry tones. “Ainsley, my first thought is to go alone. Maybe the presence of a group of mounted men would get my wife killed.”

  “Ye don’t know that, milord.”

  “We know nothing. Is she with an army? Is magic involved?”

  “We can only find out by chasin’ ’em,” Ainsley said. “And if ye want my opinion, we should all go. If ye need to leave us behind at some point, ye only have to say so.”

  “Very well. Let us leave this cursed place.”

  When the soldiers were all mounted, and Geraint about to lead them away, they were called back by two of the village elders who supported a sobbing woman between them.

  “Milord,” the village bailiff said, “Mistress Ailith has confessed to aiding the two men who took the princess.”

  “Only two?” Geraint said harshly, looking down on the woman from his horse.

  Her knees buckled and they let her sink to the ground. She raised her tear-stained face. “Milord, they threatened to kill me babies if I didn’t help them.”

  Geraint sighed. “What can you tell me?”

  “I only saw two men, both dressed poorly, though armed like soldiers. They bade me bring yer wife, and she came willingly, because I—lied to ’er.” The sobs began anew.

  “Mistress, we must hurry!” Geraint said.

  “When I got back to me cottage, the back window shutters were broken, so I think they took ’er out that way. They—they said I should tell ye to come alone. They’ll be able to see your soldiers, and will kill ’er if you disobey them.” She bowed her head. “’Tis all I know, milord. Please believe me.”

  “I do. You do not know which way they went?”

  She shook her head, and he could hear her mumbling, “My babies, my babies.”

  Geraint looked at the bailiff. “Do not deal harshly with her, for the fault is not hers.”

  The woman collapsed onto her face, sobbing her thanks.

  Geraint looked at Ainsley. “Two men.”

  “They could be meetin’ others.”

  “Mayhap, but since they want me alone, I doubt it.”

  Ainsley frowned. “Ye can’t be thinkin’ to go alone, milord.”

  Geraint looked to the west, where the sun was already falling. “They must think I’m alone.”

  “Very well,” Ainsley said, beginning to smile. “They won’t even know we’re behind ye.”

  “And you will stay behind, but for a trusted scurrier to watch for my need of you.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “Then let us go.”

  At first following the trail went slowly. The ground was rocky and hard, and the earth had earlier been trampled by Geraint’s soldiers. But there were only three paths away from the village, and Geraint now knew that he was meant to follow, so they would have left a marker. It made him feel better about Enid’s condition—they needed her alive, didn’t they? He couldn’t let himself think anything else.

  The main road went north, up the steep cliff path. Surely they wouldn’t have used this—they might easily have been seen. So it was either path along the ocean, east or west. He rode a hundred yards to the west, but the horse had to go slowly, picking through rockslides and boulders and places where the trail just gave way. This would be too difficult for an easy escape, so Geraint turned back. He didn’t see any sign of his soldiers as he crossed the main road again and headed east. This path was wider, obviously well used. It wasn’t long before he found a ragged piece of fabric fluttering among an outcrop of rocks.

  “It is hers,” Geraint breathed, feeling exhilarated and determined. He had found the path.

  Soon, as the sun began to set, the road was harder to follow. Storms had washed boulders down from the cliffs, forcing Geraint to travel slowly. He found himself leaning forward in his saddle, as if that would make the journey faster.

  Within an hour, he saw man-made light flickering in the distance, higher up. As he got closer, he could see that torches ringed a deserted hill overlooking the sea. The paths to the top were treacherous and narrow, hugging the hillside above the crashing ocean. There was no movement on the hill, certainly no army, as Geraint had feared. But then he couldn’t see his own soldiers either.

  He left his horse tethered by the side of the road and began a cautious climb up the twisting path that hugged the cliffside. He could have ridden, but he was hoping he hadn’t been seen yet. The sun had already set, the sky was dimming from gray to deep purple, and the streaming shadows were confusing, but he struggled on. As he neared the top, he quietly drew his sword. It looked like this might be the only way up, which would be perfect for his soldiers to trap the villains.

  He hunched behind a boulder. All he could see were the torches, two horses tethered near the wall, and a yawning darkness in the center of the open hilltop.

  His stomach tightened. It was a pit.

  There was a sudden tumble of pebbles, and something long and light dropped on Geraint from above. His instinctive reaction was to duck and roll away, right onto the open hillside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a piece of rope being pulled back. They had meant to capture him, not kill him, which was important to know.

  He sprang to his feet, just as two men jumped from the cliff above him. One raised his sword threateningly, but the bigger man only grinned as he held up a spiked club. Geraint attacked. They seemed stunned that he came after them both, because they stumbled back toward the cliff, then separated, so he’d be forced to face them on each side. He slashed at one, was parried, felt the other coming at his back, whirled and just missed being slammed in the head with the club. He turned and vaulted over the pit to the far side.

  “Geraint!”

  He heard his wife’s scream, and his relief was so great he almost fell to his knees to peer down at her. But instead he held his sword menacingly, looking back across the pit at the villains.

  “What do you want of us?” he demanded.

  Enid shouted, “They’re with the mercenaries!”

  The taller, broader bearded man scowled down at her. “I woulda told him! Ye give away no secrets, girl.” He glanced back at Geraint. “Ye come with us peaceful-like, and she goes free. I don’t need her.”

  “I’m bound with magic rope!” she cried.

  “So how was she to go free in your little scheme?” Geraint demanded.

  “I woulda given her a knife.”

  Geraint considered his options. He tried to appear hesitant, let his sword drop a bit, as if he didn’t know what to do. But behind Enid’s captors, he saw the first of his men creeping up the cliff trail, two at a time. They passed the boulder he’d hidden behind, hugged the cliff wall—and dislodged a rock, which skittered away down the side.

  The kidnappers turned to look over their shoulders just as Geraint leaped across the pit again.

  The smaller man cried out, and together the two villains stumbled back toward the cliff. All was pitch dark behind them, but Geraint could hear the roar of the ocean below as the waves crashed into the rocks.

  Geraint put out a hand. “We will not harm you. You only have to talk to us.”

  Both men took another step back, and the smaller one gave a squeak of fear. The bigger man searched behind him, then to Geraint’s shock, he grabbed hold of his friend and yanked backward. They disappeared over the cliff with only a single shriek.

  Geraint rushed to the edge, but he could see nothing in the darkness. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocky cliff made him shudder. What a terrible way to die.

  “Milord!” Ainsley called. He came over to stand beside Geraint. “They do much to protect
their secrets, these mercenaries.”

  With a nod, Geraint turned away. He pulled a flickering torch out of the ground and held it over the pit. “Enid?”

  She lay bound on her side, but she lifted her head. “Aye, Geraint, I am well. But this magic rope—” Her arms suddenly broke free as the rope shredded from her strength. She snapped the second rope with her hands. “It’s become normal! Why would it lose its magic?”

  “Perhaps with the death of its master, the magic is gone.”

  She looked unconvinced, but she slowly stood up, then groaned, rubbing her arms. “I have been frozen in that position for hours.”

  “I shall come down.”

  “Nay, just send down a rope. ’Tis not far.”

  “Do not protest. You are weak with exhaustion.”

  Ainsley produced a rope, knotted it around a boulder, and Geraint climbed down it easily.

  Enid smiled at him softly. By torchlight, he could see that she was spotted with mud, but there were no obvious injuries.

  He put his arms around her, and she swayed against him.

  “I so feared for you,” he whispered into her hair.

  “And I for you. They wanted to take you back to the main body of the mercenaries, to use you to win their own reward.”

  “It sounds like they were working on their own.”

  “They were. They thought they were so clever. But they are dead?”

  He nodded. “They jumped into the ocean below rather than be taken by us.”

  “That is dedication—or fear of their master.” She shuddered. “I wasn’t sure if they needed you dead or alive.”

  “We are both very much alive, and I am grateful to God for that.”

  She pulled back and looked into his face. “I had no doubt you would rescue me. With anyone else, it would gall me to need help. But with you, I only feel protected.”

  There was a softness inside him he’d never felt for another woman. Regardless of their secrets, he was glad he had married her.

  “Come, Enid, let us be away from this place.”

  He helped her from the pit and down the steep path to the seaside road below, where the rest of their men waited. Though they had to use torches to travel west again, toward the main road, no one wanted to linger near the cliffs.