Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [25]
“Our supplies!” Sir Caedor said, reaching back underneath to grab the closest pack. “Squire, distract them!”
“Distract?” Gerard asked in disbelief, then turned to face the mud-covered skeletons once again. “Right. Distract.” Lifting his sword and holding it lengthwise across his body like a barrier, he charged the nearest wights—four of them now, and more shaking free of the ground even as he moved—screaming at the top of his lungs: “Arthur! The Pendragon! Camelot!”
By now covered with mud from the number of times he had slipped and fallen, Newt was worried that Gerard might attack him, as well. Using the horses as cover, he reached out to grab the first pack from Sir Caedor, slinging it over his mud-and rain-slicked shoulder. He shoved one foot into Loyal’s stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. He pushed the horse forward, using the beast’s bulk to knock over one of the wights. It fell, while striking out with one bony hand at the horse’s eyes.
“Sir Caedor, here!” He shoved the reins of one horse into the knight’s hands, not waiting to see what the older man did with them. He was a knight; he knew how to handle himself in battle. Kicking his horse forward again, Newt moved away from the barrow and into the melee of Gerard and six—no, seven mud-coated wights. “Ger! Up!”
The squire risked a look away, saw the third horse, and dove for the saddle, dragging himself up into it by sheer force of will.
The moment Gerard was secure in the saddle, Newt urged both horses into a full-out run, not bothering to check and see if Sir Caedor and the rest of the supplies were with them. From the thundering of hooves hard on their heels, the knight had wasted no time following their lead.
The barrow-wights, having driven the intruders away from their resting place, did not bother to follow.
NINE
The morning of the fifth day after her abduction, Ailis woke in her comfortable bed and stretched, feeling not fear or boredom, but anticipation. For the first time in her life, the first time she could remember, there were no chores in front of her; no duties, no responsibilities. Nothing except what she might find in the course of her explorations.
It had taken her a while to get over her fear that someone would drag her back to her rooms and punish her for leaving. But this morning those fears seemed as far away as…Camelot.
After a quick sponge bath in front of the fireplace in her sitting room, she dressed in the comfortable clothing unseen servants had left for her the night before: a durable russet wool dress that matched her hair color, worn over a cream-colored shift of some soft material that moved against her skin as though it were alive, and her now-familiar deerskin slippers. She supposed that the slippers on her feet were a reminder that she was not to leave the castle, while the clothing—otherwise suited for exploring—was tacit permission to continue as she was going.
But regardless of the clothing’s purpose, there was no possible way Ailis could stay in her room. Not when she had discovered such magical wonders waiting for her in the seemingly endless hallways of this place!
“Rrrrrrrrr?”
The griffin’s greeting had become an expected part of her morning. Ailis pushed through the wooden doors and walked confidently over to scratch its lowered head, just behind where ears might be on another beast.
“Good morning to you, too, Sir Tawny.” She had not been able to come up with a name that conveyed the combination of dignity and affection the beast showed her, and so fell back on a descriptive nickname, the way her family had once called her Red. “Are you ready to go?”
She had been surprised on the first day when the griffin had decided to follow her—surprised but strangely comforted. At the same time, she was not at all surprised that every passage she wandered down in the seemingly endless maze of halls,