Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [36]
That had been many hours ago. Gerard felt as though his backside had somehow merged with his saddle sometime between the noon meal and now. The daily routine back home of weapons-practice and classes and more practice seemed so much easier than merely sitting on horseback.
“You’re sure there’s an inn ahead?” Gerard asked.
“I am certain,” Sir Caedor replied, leaning back to take the waterskin Gerard was passing him as they rode. “Your uncle and I stayed there while paying a visit on the warleader, ah, what was his name…Ragnar? A heathen Norseman who thought to set himself up as competition.”
That was a story Gerard had heard before, how his uncle Kay had met the Norse warrior and bested him thrice: once on the battlefield, once at the banquet table, and once in a contest of song. Never before had he heard that Sir Caedor had traveled on the same quest, but then Kay was not the most modest of men, and he would not have willingly shared his story with another.
The sun had fallen below the tree line some time ago. The light around them had darkened in response, but since the lodestone seemed to point in the direction of the supposed inn, Gerard had given the go-ahead to continue on. If it would sweeten Sir Caedor’s mood for the evening, the next day might go more smoothly.
The only drawback was that the horses were more likely to stumble when they could not see the road. The air was filled with the dusk chorus of birds and insects, intercut every now and again by the cry of a distant wolf. Gerard had looked at Newt when the first howl sounded, but when the other boy seemed unconcerned, the squire decided it wasn’t something he should be worrying about, either. Even more telling, while his horse had started at the first note, the mule still trotted along placidly.
Gerard just wished that they would arrive at the inn already, to put an end to this conversation, if nothing else. Being caught between the two, friend and knight, was making him feel horribly uncomfortable, and caused his wound to itch horribly. He noticed that Newt was having the same trouble, often interrupting his words to scratch irritably at his own scab.
Sir Caedor finished drinking from the waterskin, wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, and handed the skin to Newt, diving right back into an ongoing debate. “Your faith does you credit, boy. But yes, my experience tells me otherwise. It’s been almost a week since the girl was taken. Deep down inside, you know that she’s most likely dead by now. Or worse.”
Newt glared at the knight. “There’s nothing worse than being dead.”
Sir Caedor made a sound low in his throat, filled with pity at Newt’s innocence. But Gerard knew what his friend meant. You never got another chance after death. Anything else…anything else, you could come back from.
That was Ailis. Solid, strong, dependable. She could come back from anything.
“Well, if she’s dead, why are we still going after her?” Newt’s voice was stern, almost bitter in his challenge, and Gerard tensed.
Sir Caedor surprised him, though. “To avenge her, if needed. To bring her body home. To care for her, as is our sworn duty, as knights—and as men of our word.” This was the kindest thing Caedor had said about Newt until now, even indirectly. “To bring that sorceress to justice, once and for all.”
Gerard almost fell off his horse at that last bit. The three of them? Take down Morgain against her will? Sir Caedor must have gotten into the berries they always warned the pages about, because he sounded like he was hallucinating. Not even Merlin could do anything about Morgain—or rather, he could, but would not because Arthur would not allow it. She was evil and treacherous and dangerous…and she was the daughter of Arthur’s mother, the girl who had once held the baby Arthur in her arms. A fact that the king never, ever forgot, and woe to the man who thought it wasn’t important.
Newt slumped deeper into his saddle, almost becoming one with the leather