by SM Reine
A loud grunt from the field took our attention. The knight Alain had engaged reeled in his saddle, balance momentarily lost from the latest blow to his shield. Hauling on the reins, he struggled to regain his seat. My admiration for his horse increased when it planted its legs firmly despite half the knight’s weight dragging at its head, giving its rider every chance to re-establish himself.
Alain, though, had other ideas. He pressed the attack, pummeling at his opponent’s shield, then drove in hard with the hilt of his sword, its blade reversed. The knight swung wildly even as he started a slow, hard fall, and the blow caught nothing more than the edge of Alain’s buckler.
The knight’s horse twisted frantically as its rider toppled for the dirt dragging its head down with him. Only after the knight thudded to the ground, the breath knocked from him, did his grip on the stallion’s reins loosen allowing the big horse to shove between his fallen knight and Alain.
With a snort, Sol snaked out his head and sunk his teeth in the other horse’s shoulder. The stallion turned to kick, but Alain was already sidestepping Sol away.
With a sigh that was more bemused than condemning, the old man moved to help up the fallen knight and collect the high-strung stallion. His hand on its neck and a word in its ear was all it took to quiet the agitated beast. Not so the knight, who rose with a scowl on his face and an oath on his lips.
Meanwhile, the contest between Pel and his adversary had escalated, their strokes finding renewed strength even as their obviously great stamina flagged. Knee to knee they battled, Pel’s skill easily and equally matched. Then Pel’s horse put its shoulder to the other stallion, shoved him hard aside, and reared.
Pel swung his sword downward from where he towered above. Reflexively, the knight lifted both buckler and sword to block the blade falling with the force of a sledgehammer upon the anvil.
Pel’s blade smashed against the knight’s own—and the stranger knight’s sword snapped in two under the might behind the onslaught. Had the knight’s horse not danced away from Lleuad’s flailing hooves, the momentum would have cleaved the man as well. As it was, the sharp edge merely trailed a bloody gash along the knight’s sword arm.
When Lleuad’s front hooves hit the ground, Pel dragged on his reins, pulling the horse’s head aside and forcing him to disengage.
The knight, though, seemed to have lost all thought of Pel as he stared at his broken blade. Whether his was a look of astonishment, horror or disbelief, I could not be sure. And when the old man abandoned the horse he’d taken charge of to run to the knight’s side and lift the tip-half of the severed sword from the ground, I realized something of more import than an errant knight losing a piss match had just transpired.
My hound form gave me leave to join the men who held the shards of sword with the reverence accorded to great objects of power or holiness. I nosed the piece in the old man’s hand. A whiff of Old Magic clung to its ores of charcoal and deadly iron. I looked up into the old man’s eyes, blue and clouded with age, and saw deep sorrow reflected back.
Alain and the larger knight he’d fought followed the old man over, and I heard the creak of leather as Pel dismounted to join us.
“The sword was special?” Pel asked. The concern that furrowed his brow seemed genuine. I felt a pang thinking of how one day I would have to likely kill this sincere young man to be free of him. I hoped instead it might be another who would slay him.
“It was a king-maker,” the larger man said.
The sword’s owner looked stricken. The older man, my companion, hurriedly assured him, “The sword itself is neither king nor kingdom. Those things remain yours. That blade is not your crown.”
I nudged Pel’s palm with my nose, willing him to see who the young man before him was. Willing him to understand the consequences. He was of the fae blood. Such things were his to see before they could be made plain to others.
“Impossible,” he breathed. “You can’t be –”
“A master smithy could easily reforge it if its sentimental value is so high,” Alain pointed out.
The old man shook his head. “It is not sentiment we mourn. Rather, what petty kings such as your father will do if they learn that the sword that was pulled from the stone has been sundered.”
“Bah,” Alain snorted. “That’s but a fae tale for the gullible. And by that measure, yon knight would need be Arthur himself.”
The old man lifted a brow. The short laugh that escaped my hound throat sounded more the growl, but the meaning seemed clear enough to Pel who slid from his saddle to join us.
It took Alain and his thick, arrogant head a moment more to comprehend.
“Impossible,” he muttered in echo of his brother, staring at the young man who looked no more than the ordinary errant knight standing so vulnerable in our midst.
“Why all this trickery?” Pel asked.
“No trickery intended,” Arthur shot back, clearly still distraught and now annoyed too. “I simply needed some time alone to hunt with my friends and to remember myself … my passions, my beliefs, the things I mean to hold true to. The last year has been madness itself trying to decipher the intents of a hundred leaders who’ve come to me to offer allegiance, hurl insults at my face, or take measure of my army and their loyalty. I need a few days away from that, with men I have no need to second-guess.”
One of the great gifts that is ours to so rarely witness is to watch someone bestowed with power reveal they too have feet of clay. This earnest young king cradling the broken shards of the symbol of his worthiness had little taint of the falseness that oozed thick as sweat from most men. That was the bond that tied these four men together, and I hoped they each would recognize it in the other, just as I did. With men, however, I had learned early how willfully blind they could be toward the qualities that made them alike, while how quick they were to take up arms against their differences.
The mettle of these men was clear to me. The only question now was whether they could act against prejudices whole civilizations had carefully bred into them.
It was Pel, of course, who led the way. Not through his strength but through his heart.
“Border disputes and swords can both be mended another day. Our father has allied with you insofar as any further insurgency from Franks or Gauls. Any deeper allegiance must come through deeds not words. That sword has only given you the chance to prove yourself in deed; it is not the proof required. A unified isle built on allegiance not dominance is a great dream, one which I know Pellam embraces, one which I embrace, one which even my stubborn brother embraces. But it is a hard dream. Harder than the outright conquering of any land. You have many years and many deeds ahead you’ll be judged on before you’ll see your dream fulfilled. If any man can do it, I believe it will be you. I have faith in the Old Magic that chose you.”
With that, Pel extended his arm to the young, earnest man who’d had kingship thrust upon him. The extended arm was not allegiance, but something even more precious—a sign of faith. With a gratitude for that faith as sincere to my keen senses as Pel’s own heart, Arthur clasped arms with the young prince. True, it was no binding such as what had been thrust upon me, but it held in it a perfect promise, one to the other, of honor and respect.
I held my breath as I waited to see what Alain would do. Faith for a man untouched by magic was harder to come by, but when acquired it was a much cleaner act, having been earned, not granted.
Alain stepped forward, arm extended, saying, “If you betray my brother’s expectations of you, I’ll hunt you down myself.”
A hint of a smile lit Arthur’s eyes at the threat as he clasped arms in kind. The framing of the oath was lost on the young king, but it did not escape me that even in this Alain’s thoughts were for his brother. Pel was his life and would be, perhaps, his death in time.
I had almost forgotten the second knight who stood with Arthur until he came forward to reverently touch the shards of the broken blade, then dropped to his knees in dist
ress. “Of course deeds will win loyalty.” The burl of a man choked back tears. “But this was a symbol, something from God himself, that assured the world Arthur would hold his kingship by Divine right. If the symbol of God’s Word could be so easily splintered, there are many men of faith who would question whether God still intended Arthur for the throne.”
“It wasn’t God who plunged that mortal blade into living rock a score of years ago,” the old man remarked. “It isn’t just God who wishes to see Arthur mount the high throne. God is not the only maker of miracles in this world, although”—his voice softened in sorrow—”what Old Magic is left diminishes every day.” He turned his wise eyes on me at that and I knew there was no hiding what I was from him.
“Then if God didn’t abandon me today, Merlin, it must have been Avalon.”
I started at the name dropped from Arthur’s lips. Merlin. Even amongst the fae he was legend. And had been for a hundred years or more.
“Magicked or not, this sword has fulfilled its purpose,” Merlin said. “Avalon has not abandoned you. They will provide. The princeling here and Bedivere are not the only ones in need of faith.”
“Until then?”
“Until then I suggest not challenging anyone Bedivere can’t best alone.”
Arthur glared at his advisor.
Merlin continued, “Return the pieces of Caliburn to the Ladies. Cast the shards into Glaston Lake and see what comes.”
The glower on Arthur’s face turned sullen. “That’s another day’s ride. We’ve already missed Nones and the festival Kay no doubt planned. He will be worrying for us.”
“Perhaps in the future you’ll remember the aggravation and find ways besides contests and battles of might to settle petty disputes.” Merlin stepped around to his mare, untied a rolled blanket from her saddle and tossed it to his king. “Wrap that thing up before someone gets hurt.”
That Arthur did as Merlin bade without a derisive word suggested to me the old man with fae blood singing in his veins was more than a court counselor in the young king’s eyes.
Arthur was one of those rare men in high power who wore his heart on his sleeve. Perhaps with experience he’d learn not to lay himself so open and vulnerable to any with the wit to see. Watching the emotions play through him made for a wondrous study of the human mind as annoyance at Merlin’s suggestion turned to acceptance and then to discovering a way to turn the unexpected into opportunity and boon. In this case, a reason to keep two intriguing knights near.
“Stay. Hunt with us,” Arthur invited. “A few days only—ride with us from here to the lake, then we’ll find stag or boar to follow. Unless you can be persuaded into a detour to Camelot too. A true bonus if either of you is a better cook than us.”
“You’ll find that Alain and I are quite adept at boiling water.” Pel grinned, and in that moment my heart betrayed me. I wanted only to keep that most perfect and open expression on Pel’s handsome face forever. I growled my answer to my traitor heart not-so-silently and raised my hackles when I felt the stares of five pairs of eyes cut toward me.
“She’s a beauty,” Bedivere said. Under other circumstances I would have preened a bit at the admiration in his voice. “Does she hunt?”
“Only men,” Alain muttered.
My sharp ears didn’t miss Merlin’s soft chuckle.
“It’s settled then? You’ll ride with us a few days?” Arthur insisted. “We can speak of a pact between your father and me, between Pellam’s holds and mine.”
Pel looked to his brother for the word of commitment, though it was clear what the answer in his own heart was.
“A few days,” Alain agreed. “Pellam sent us out to negotiate a peace in the first place, and we’ve not accomplished that yet. I doubt very much he’d begrudge a few extra days to get a high king’s hand over the word of some double-tongued marquess.”
Days? I whined my disapproval.
Already I was annoyed about missing a chance for the blooding I needed to be free, my traitor heart notwithstanding. Mainly I was annoyed with myself for harboring such a conflict of feelings. What decided me in favor at last—at least the thing I allowed myself to believe to be the reason—was reverent mention of the Ladies. I had a suspicion who Merlin meant, and I was keen to meet them myself. Keen to discover whether they might hold answers to more than just a broken sword but to the future of this isle, of the fae, of me.
Because at some point in recent days, I knew not exactly when, a small flame of hope had been kindled within me.
A hope that there was a future worth looking toward.
17. Alain
The days we spent with Arthur and Bedivere and Merlin numbered among some of my fondest. We spoke freely of Arthur’s vision for a united Britain and the moral codes that would guide it. It was clear the young king’s intentions were pure and his determination as firm as stone.
Any doubts I had about Arthur being the one to rally under and ally Pellam and our holdings to were quelled the next day out on the banks of Lake Glaston. We’d follow the spoor of a pack of boar to the moss-grown edges of the water that lapped into the deep holes left by the beasts’ hooves and snouts as they rooted in the soft mud.
The wild pigs had moved on that morning to lair themselves away from the hot sun. Merlin urged us to stay and fish for our supper. Brinn, who left her hound form only in the deep of night when she thought no other eyes were on her and who had sat naked at Merlin’s side whispering to him under the moon, also adamantly refused to leave the shore. In the end, we dropped baited lines in the water and waited to see what the hooks would catch.
The first I knew something was amiss was when Brinn whined, a low trembling sound more like a hushed howl of longing than a high-pitched sound of concern. Merlin stood then, his attention riveted to the thing only he and Brinn could discern somewhere in the middle of that small, calm lake. I squinted, but saw nothing to raise alarm.
Pel rose then too, then Arthur, both staring at the same not-too-distant spot of water that held Merlin and Brinn’s attention. After a moment, I saw a ripple. Then another, and another, though they seemed ordinary enough—an otter surfacing for air or a fish snatching at some insect treading the surface.
Then the water convulsed. Whatever disturbed it was surely bigger than a web-footed otter or a large-mouthed carp. Bedivere and I stood to gain a better look.
I’m not sure what I expected to see. Every lake has its legends of monsters that dwell within it. I knew no one, though, here on our great isle, who had personally witnessed anything more dreaded than large snakes fishing for prey.
A bard passed through our hold once who told of a terrifying lizard larger than a man that snatched animals the size of calves and small deer from the riverbanks and lake shores in distant Egypt. He swore to having seen not one but several of these beasts and that they were as natural to Africa as popes were to Rome.
But that was Egypt and this was a calm and common lake nestled between a brace of rolling hills in the heart of a rather mundane countryside. What I’m certain I did not expect to see was the exquisite woman who rose nearly naked from the water.
“Mother of God!”
It was Bedivere who swore, though for a moment I could indeed believe in the divinity of this creature and believe her to be the embodiment of the Virgin Mary.
It was hard to focus on any single aspect of this vision as she treaded toward us across the lake bottom. As she neared, it became clear this woman was featured the same as Brinn. From the wet-dark red of the single braid of hair that reached to the woman’s narrow waist to the large, dark eyes that held us all with a steady emerald stare. Her breasts, firm and high, were beautifully capped by rose-dark tips. And the sheet of samite that clung damply to her hips and thighs did precious little to hide the forbidden curves beneath.
It spoke to the sheer unexpectedness and beauty of this woman that the most obvious thing about this vision—that which she carried—was also the very last thing I noticed.
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br /> Like a royal standard-bearer, the lady held before her a hand-and-a-half bastard sword that glinted richly in the sunlight. The same white samite that clothed the lady’s thighs wrapped the hilt where she gripped it, the excess falling in ribbons at her sides. In a flash I understood. Like Brinn, this lady too was fae. And the iron content in that great a sword would be enough to debilitate if she should come in too close contact with it.
As the lady reached the shore, Merlin stepped forward to greet her. “Viviane,” he said, “welcome.”
It came as no great surprise that Merlin should know this mysterious lady. I think I would have been disappointed if it had been otherwise. The druid smiled, and, though before her expression had matched the strict and ceremonial seeming of her approach, the lady smiled back. The effect was stunning. Through no will of my own, only pure instinct, I dropped to one knee before her. Bedivere was no more than a breath behind as he too went to his knees. How Pel could remain standing in her presence I had no idea, but he and Arthur stood shoulder-to-shoulder as she continued to pace slowly toward us.
When she stopped at last, she lifted her gaze to Pel’s and with the slightest shake of her head she dismissed him. With the grace of the prince that he was, he stepped to the side so she was facing Arthur alone.
“When Caliburn shattered, we heard it even unto Avalon,” the Lady said, and her voice was like honey on the wind. “Still, its duty is at an end, its purpose served. No one of us doubts you are High King now, Arthur. It only remains that Britain knows you shall High King be. This sword is the symbol of Avalon, of our fealty to you and to your cause. Wield it well and it will return the generosity. With our blessing and the obligation that it bears, I give you Excalibur.”
She passed the sword to Arthur, and the samite fell from the hilt, revealing two great jewels within the crosspiece, one to either side of the blade. “The sapphire represents the south of Britain, the emerald the north. United together, they are balance and might. The way will be bloody, Arthur, but the peace afterward will be sweet. So long as you stay true, Camelot will reign. Be strong, be wise, be ware. And know Avalon is with you always. When you have most need of us, we will be there.”
