by SM Reine
With that, the Lady—I could not think of her by such a base title as Viviane—inclined her head. Not a bow, for Arthur was not, nor ever would be, her king. A show of mutual respect, then, of partners doing their best in a world that was changing too fast for fae, for men, for the very land.
Arthur returned the respect, raising the great sword Excalibur in salute. “For our future!”
A shadow passed across the Lady’s face. Even from where I knelt I saw the sadness in the bend of her perfect mouth and in the depths of her green-dark eyes. Did she know the future?
“Thank you, my Lady,” Arthur murmured. “It’s a magnificent gift.”
“Be worthy of it, Arthur. Bring peace to this land.” She smiled again, and I knew I would follow that radiant expression anywhere without question or heed. It made me yearn to be worthy of Excalibur and to be smiled upon too.
She turned then and touched hands with Merlin. “Be well, Merlin. And guard your heart. Stay true to this life you’ve made and do not be lured from it by false love. I see…” She shook her head slightly and sorrow filled her eyes. “I see troubling times for you, for this kingdom, for Arthur should you abandon him. He needs your steadiness and your guidance yet.”
“Abandon—?” Merlin clutched the woman’s hand, the grip hard and sure. “I swore fealty to him, a vow I intend to keep.”
She stared straight into Merlin’s heart. “Love has a way of dissembling all vows. Stay true.” She slid her slender fingers from Merlin’s grip and cupped Brinn’s jaw with them next. “Love may fell a kingdom, but it is also the greatest bond fae or mortal kind may know. Be willing, my child, to open your heart and accept it.”
I saw a tremor pass through Brinn from nose to flank that was just as quickly gone. Her ears flattened and even I could read the desperate plea in her silent stare.
“There is no lesson harder than trust,” the Lady told Brinn before bending to place a soft kiss on the hound’s cheek.
With that she turned to the placid lake waters and even took a step as though to go. But she hesitated, and turned her splendid gaze upon my brother. Jealousy rose like bile in my chest, disappointing me. Could a simple look from a fae woman who chose not to look to me really trigger such a strong, abrupt emotion? With effort, I dismissed the jealous flare.
A frown deepened the Lady’s features and she took a step toward Pel. The flawless hand she reached toward him halted mid-air. “Old Magic trills in you strongly.” There was a touch of awe in her voice. “Yet you can do nothing with it, so it burns inside like liquid fire in your veins. If you cannot find a way to control it, sweet princeling, it will surely drive you mad.”
“Control?” Pel whispered, the breath of the word breaking on hope.
The Lady’s gaze swung smoothly away, to land on Brinn. “She knows.”
For a moment, twin emerald stares connected before the Lady broke hers away. She stepped ankle-deep into the water and walked out till waist and hips disappeared beneath the surface before turning one last time. “We shall meet upon this shore once more, Arthur. Sir Bedivere, you will remember. When it is time, return both your High King and Excalibur to us.” The water convulsed and she stepped into the forming whirlpool and was gone beneath the gentle waves.
It did not escape my notice I was the only one there she failed to address. The only one beneath her notice. That she disappeared without a word of hope or warning for me left an inexplicably bitter taste in my mouth. I knew I was not the stuff of legends, but neither was I a base pageboy or varlet. I deserved notice too.
It only occurred to me as we rode from the lake that perhaps I had no future worth mentioning.
Perhaps even none at all.
18. Alain
“Come with us,” Arthur urged Pel and me the next morning as we waited to break fast. Brinn had brought us two plump grouse and the fat sizzled in the pan, filling the space between us with a savory sweet odor. Bedivere carried a box of dried herbs that could make any ordinary meal seem a royal banquet. “Come to Camelot. Help us build a new era in Britain.”
“We have a duty to discharge first,” I reminded him. “Once done with that, it would be my great honor to spend a few months, or more, in your service.”
The king grinned broadly in response. And what of you, Pellinore? Would you join your brother at Camelot?”
“I am Alain’s first, my father’s second, and yours after that, my lord. But would you truly have a sword-breaker such as me?”
Arthur turned the thin strips of grouse with his dagger and the fat drippings sputtered loud in protest. “Someone was destined to do that, else why would the Lady have had Excalibur waiting? It was a fair blow, fairly struck. I celebrate your strength and would like very much to see you at my table. Only—”
The breath caught in my throat and my gut clenched in apprehension. Only?
“—I need your vow that remarkable dog of yours will accompany you when you come.”
I exhaled with care so as not to reveal my worry. “That one is a headstrong creature. She goes as she will, not by our command.”
Brinn yawned, her extraordinarily long tongue curling back in what Pel and I knew was laughter. She padded to Arthur’s side and rolled over, inviting the King of Britain to rub her belly.
“And she can be a whore for attention,” Pel added.
Laughing, Arthur obliged Brinn, stroking her from the rise of her deep chest to the hollow of her thin flanks while Bedivere removed the pan of grouse from the fire. “She deserves payment for catching such a fine breakfast. A pat or two is little enough reward.”
Brinn stretched luxuriously against the king’s hand. Wantonly I would have said were her actions not masked behind her innocent hound form.
She looked at me and thumped her tail as Arthur’s strong fingers stroked the sensitive expanse of her belly.
She winked then and squirmed with apparent delight at the king’s touch.
“Invite her then when you come. By the Christ Mass I would hope. Certainly by Easter.
“By Easter,” I agreed. I couldn’t be sure why Brinn went suddenly still and a shadow crossed the wicked laughter in her eyes. She rolled demurely out from under the king’s hand and crossed to Merlin who offered her a tidbit of grouseling fat.
~ ~ ~
With breakfast done and the horses packed and saddled, we took our leave of Arthur and Bedivere and Merlin.
“We met for a reason,” Merlin said as we clasped arms in farewell. His voice was soft, for my ears alone. “Fate has you in her hand as surely as she has Arthur.”
“Perhaps.” I couldn’t keep the doubt from my tone.
“You wonder why the Lady ignored you.”
How could he guess?
The druid smiled at my surprise. “You are poor at one thing alone—hiding your emotions. The Lady knew well that you were there. Like me, she could tell you walk a fated path. Unlike the rest of us, you are true to that path, and naught will ever turn you from it.”
“But I don’t know what that path is.”
“None of us do. That is the great mystery of life. All we can do is listen to our conscience and follow where it leads. Give not into the temptations that stand between us and destiny. You think the Lady spited you, when in fact she did you honor. By her silence, she affirmed that of us all, you will follow wisely where your conscience leads.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” I protested.
“Such is the way of fate. You do not need to see the path to follow it.”
Then, with a tap of his heels to his palfrey’s sides, he was off, following his own destiny while I was left to mine.
We watched Arthur, Bedivere and Merlin ride away, south and east toward Camelot. Then Pel and Brinn and I turned north, toward fortune, fate and destiny.
19. Brinn
It was easy to forget these princelings were not simply errant knights wandering the woods in search of wrongs to right—or simply other knights to fight. Despite claims to the
contrary, most of these men riding out with blank shields that bore no heraldry were not noble and valorous young men out to prove their worth under anonymous guise. I likened them to rogue wolves—young males too close in blood to any of the available wolf bitches—ousted from their packs and forced to roam alone until they could find another. Without a pack to help bring down belly-filling prey such as sheep or deer, they hunted in solitude, often being so brazen as to stalk farmers’ flocks of hens in daylight.
Loneliness and hunger and natural male instinct turned many of these rogues into unpleasant brutes, quick to challenge, intolerant of other males met in their travels, and with only one mind when happened upon any unattended females.
Occasionally, though, I was reminded that Alain and Pel’s travels did have a purpose. That they went forth in the name of their father-king as bailiffs and peacemakers, and that they held fast to their honor—especially where one certain female was a constant challenge to it.
Within the week after we left Arthur, the princelings met separately with two nobles, each with a fortified longhouse, a few hundred acres of land and a few score serfs under their protection. These nobles and their serfs went about their business as a wolf pack does, protective of their territory and, in general, oblivious to the concerns of any other packs outside their small range.
They welcomed the brothers and me with gracious words, ample food, a bed between us and a pledge to keep the peace and remit to the king a tribute of their meager wealth before the Feast of All Saints. Behind their gracious welcome, though, it was clear the princelings made them anxious, and they were only too glad to see us on our way and grateful we did not tarry.
“Your vassals have no great love for you or your king,” I remarked as the three of us sat around a small cookfire the evening after we left the second noble’s care.
“No reason they should.” Alain didn’t sound particularly upset by my evaluation. “If we didn’t remind them of their obligations to their liege lord every year or two, I’m sure they would forget he even existed. I doubt they’d much care whether they sent yearly tribute to Pellam or another. Except Pellam allows them to live their lives as they will. Another might not be so generous to see their vassal that independent.”
“Your lives are so … complicated. So many rules. So many wars.”
“That’s because we’re civilized.”
I understood he meant the word in jest, but there was too much truth there to laugh it away. “It always takes more strength to break a natural law than to abide it and make it work for you.”
“Are you saying hundreds of years of civilization will be our downfall?”
“Downfall, no. As a people, you are thriving. As individuals, though … So few are building opulent lives on the backs of the many who serve them.”
“You have a leader—Herne, isn’t it? How is serving him so different from serving a king?”
“Wild things are not lawless. There is social strata in every pack, every herd, every flock. We quarrel. We fight. We’ve even had our own wars in the distant past when men were but a novelty in the world. The difference between Herne and Pellam, wild and civilized, is one of degree. Only civilized leaders put their own comfort and station before the welfare of those they lead. Just as you will do when you are kings.”
Alain laughed. “Our brother, Pelles, will be king of Listeneise after Pellam, and Pelles’ sons after him. Pel and I will each have a title, a tract of land, and not much more.”
Pel, who had been listening in silent accord with his brother, put in, “In another generation or two there will be more titled kings and landed nobles than vassals to be ruled. Yet we’ll all still be fighting for our own little fiefdoms, fending off invaders so greedy they actively vie for food and land enough to support their own.”
“Civilization isn’t evil in and of itself,” Alain said, earnest in his assessment. “It is a tool that has become misshapen for its purpose through greed and abuse. Like a plow or sword that has seen its better days, it can be broken down, re-smelted and reforged into a thing greater than it was before. We learn. The tools we forge today far outshine the tools of our grandfathers. I believe there is hope yet for mankind. We’ll learn to make even better tools tomorrow.”
“And that is what separates us, men from fae. You think bigger and better tools and weapons will be your salvation. You are always seeking to better the things you wield rather than the hands that wield them. It is your hearts and hands and deeds that will shape the new world you build, that will breathe life into the sculpture you carve with civilization. Wield wisely, or see it go to ruin.”
I tried not to speak too bitterly. The princelings were young yet, new come still to the world though they thought themselves men and wise. Some of the plane of their idealism could be forgiven.
If men and fae were to ever share more than peace and tolerance between ourselves, there was much first to be forgiven on either side.
20. Alain
It was easy to forget Brinn was older than her fair features would ever suggest. But the fae had fled civilization any time it crept too near. Age gave her wisdom about her kind, but she still could not look full into men’s hearts and know us for what we truly were.
“Agreed,” I conceded. “Every civilization falls, often for lack of a moral center. We were cast from The Garden for our failings, for our hubris. We are not fae. Yet somehow we survive.”
“Simply to survive is not always to win.” The deep pain in her eyes that reflected the fading of the fae struck me as solidly as a slap to my face. Immediately I regretted the implication, but the words had already done their harm and there was no calling them back. She was right—a careless thought or word could be as damaging as the best-tempered blade.
“I would not have the night end in sorrow,” I said in way of apology. “Can we turn the topic?”
Her lips parted in a half-smile, and she fixed me with a liquid gaze. My body responded faster than thought. I shifted where I sat, hoping she wouldn’t notice. No, that wasn’t truth. I hoped Pel wouldn’t notice.
They both had, of course. How could they not in a setting so intimate with few other distractions? So I forced myself to speak of frivolous things, leaving everything important between us unsaid until the fire died low and Pel and I could retire in good conscience to our beds. Even Brinn, who required far less sleep than us slipped into repose and settled to sleep as well.
And in the dark, turned away from both of them, clenching my teeth to keep from crying out, I stroked myself to remembered visions of moist, full lips, globe-round hips and rose-tipped breasts that tempted me with their every curve.
As I neared release, a thought flashed: If something didn’t change, who would go mad first—Pel or me?
Then stars and moon exploded between my hands and I could think no more.
21. Brinn
I knew what Alain did so quietly, so alone in the night. I sorrowed for the emptiness that act held when I lay so close by. Perhaps with time…
Restless, I woke after only a couple of hours of sleep, needing no more than that, sustained as I was by the Old Magic that sang most brightly in my veins tonight. So I sat by the fire till it died away to ash. It was the dark of the moon, and I took comfort in the deepening shadows that closed about our little camp. I could see well enough, even in the deep dark lit only by the stars. Perhaps not so well as the creatures who came awake in the night but certainly better than the men I’d hunted in it.
While this gave me welcome time to hunt our meals and cook them up as the princelings slept, it also meant many lonely hours by the fire with naught to do but watch meat braise.
In the weeness of the morning, I stretched my long legs and shifted, ready to run a brace of rabbits to ground. No, being honest with myself, I was just ready to run. My hound demanded it.
One league sped by beneath my paws, then a second. Freedom sang in my blood. A wolf howled close by and I bayed my response. Only when a prickle of Magic�
��the stirrings of the bond—spread through my chest warning me of the consequences of straying too far from those who bound me did I slow, reluctantly turning back for the princelings’ camp.
It happened of a sudden. Had I been paying attention instead of chasing a moment of exhilaration…
One mis-step into the middle of a snare and the rope snapped closed around my hind foot. Still in full stride, I hit the ground hard and heavy, brought up short by the noose that tightened even more with the impact.
Stunned, the breath knocked from my lungs, I lay there a moment recovering my wits. When I could breathe again, I tested first my body and then the snare. My dignity proved worse-bruised than the rest of me; the rope proved strong, the knot tied hard upon itself.
I cursed mortal men and their snares long and loud to any ear that would hear. That improved my mood for a time but did nothing to improve my situation. Snarling at the knot that held me firm, I set about gnawing at it. The rope was thick, though, made to hold cunning wolves, and my jaw grew weary with the effort. Still I gnawed through the ache and was halfway done by the breaking dawn.
Squinting through the low fog that had begun to form, I focused on the dim arc of the orange sun that peeped above the treeline and willed it back into its hollow beneath the earth. I needed more time, either to free myself or for Alain and Pel to find me before whoever set this snare did.
Thought of the brothers finding me like this curdled in my stomach. It was one thing to find me and bind me when I was nigh unto death. To find me alive and whole, trapped by a snare meant for an animal … humiliation was too tame a word.
Determined to not let that happen, I renewed my focus on the rope with doubled vigor. The fatigue in my muscles, though, could not match the determination of my will. Reluctantly I paused my efforts, eying the progress I’d made. With luck, in a couple of hours I’d be free. Then it would be short work to nab a plump partridge or pheasant from its nest for the brothers’ noon meal. A glance at the sun sliding higher above the tendrils of fog that clung to the dewed grass told me Alain and Pel would likely be eating their morning meal right now, wondering why I had not returned. My absence would be a concern to them, though not yet a worry. By the time I returned with their noon meal they would be fretting for my safety and consumed with trepidation that perhaps I had abandoned them.
