Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [24]
“Newt, leave them. They know about storms.”
“It’s not the storms I’m worried about,” Newt muttered again, but not loud enough for either of them to hear. He finished tethering the horses to a running line, gave the mule a comforting pat on the side, and came to join the other two.
“This reminds me of a time during my early years, when I was still trying to make my name…” Sir Caedor began, and while Newt didn’t bother to look interested, Gerard settled in to hear the man’s story. At the very least, it would be a way to pass the time while they waited for the storm to pass.
Halfway into Caedor’s somewhat disjointed and rambling tale of a long-forgotten battle in the highlands, a downward strike of lightning startled the horses, making them shift and shudder uneasily.
“Here comes the rain,” Gerard said needlessly, as a wave of water came down in sharp pellets. “Hopefully it won’t last long. Merlin gave us a gift, sending us this far along. I’d hate to waste it.”
Sir Caedor grunted, clearly annoyed at how nature had taken the steam out of his story. Newt merely shifted on the ground, feeling a cold prickle on the back of his neck that had nothing to do with the air turning colder.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
“No, we should be back at Camelot, warm and dry,” Sir Caedor said. “But that’s not the lot of a knight, and we do not complain. The lot of a knight is to champion his king, and complete his mission no matter the cost.”
But Newt had stopped listening to the knight.
“Something’s spooking the horses,” he said, watching them shift and look over their shoulders out into the driving rain.
“More than the storm?” Gerard asked. He might be leading this journey, but when it came to livestock, he deferred to Newt’s experience.
“I think so.”
“There is nothing out there save a few sodden rabbits,” Sir Caedor said, dismissing Newt’s fears. “As I was saying, this reminds me of when I was a young knight, out to—”
Newt got to his feet and walked slowly out into the rain, his hand resting lightly on the dagger he kept strapped to his upper leg.
“Be careful,” Gerard said, picking up on Newt’s unease.
The ground squished under Newt’s feet, all grass and mud. His balance was thrown off by the slippery surface, and when he reached the first horse, he laid one hand on the beast’s flank to steady himself while he tried to wipe the waterlogged hair out of his eyes in order to see better.
“Newt?”
“I don’t know. I think—” He got no further before the ground seemed to rise up to assault him, a hard slap across his face pushed him away from the horse, causing him to stagger and fall on his backside. The mud splashed up around him, getting in his mouth and eyes, but not so much that he couldn’t see his attackers coming forward through the rain: tall, elongated, with narrow, sharp-chinned faces; mouths too wide; eyes oddly shaped. Narrow hands reached for him, mud dripping off to reveal white bones underneath.
“Barrow-wights!” Newt yelped, scrabbling backward toward the overhang. Realizing that it would be no safer there, he crawled forward just as quickly.
“Look out!” Gerard yelled, dashing forward as another figure rose out of the dirt, coming toward Newt. The horses stamped their hooves and snorted, clearly wanting to run away, but restrained by the tie-downs.
“Sir Caedor, help me!” Gerard shouted, knocking up against one of the mud-covered figures and coming away with only a handful of mud to show for it. His sword did no damage at all, as far as he could tell. The wight slashed at him, scoring him on the same cheek Merlin had cut. Unlike Merlin’s blade, this slice stung like fire. He might not be able to hurt them, but they could clearly hurt him.
“Sir Caedor!” he called again, more urgently this time. The knight, his sword drawn, took a pair of wights down with one blow, but found himself surrounded again almost immediately.
“We need to get away from here!” Newt said, somehow getting to his feet and fumbling with the knots he had recently tied in his horse’s reins. The water had already swollen