The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [27]
“Do you suppose—”
Whatever Ailis was going to suppose was lost as a harsh cry and the sound of heavy wings overhead made all three of them duck instinctively. A great owl, its wingspan as far across as Ailis’s outstretched arms from fingertip to fingertip, swooped low and continued across the water. The moonlight touched its feathers, turning the grays and browns into silvers and golds, before the bird curved around and flew into the night and disappeared across the lake and out of view.
“By all that’s holy,” Gerard said, and crossed himself almost without thought.
“Magical,” Ailis whispered, still staring as though the bird might return simply because she willed it.
“The owl,” Newt said a few beats afterward. “‘The owl, lonely flier. Moonlight, water, what you desire.’”
The other two turned to stare at him.
“Do you think—”
“You mean—”
They both spoke at the same time, stopped, looked at each other as though expecting the other to continue, and then started again.
“You mean—”
“You can’t mean—”
They both stopped again and stared at Newt. The stable boy shrugged and stared out over the water. No, Into the water. He urged his horse into motion, heading down the road toward the lake and the moonlight bridge.
If this wasn’t the place the woman’s riddle had spoken of, he’d eat his saddle.
After a moment, the others followed hard on his gelding’s hooves, holding their breath in anticipation of…something. They weren’t sure quite what.
“Halt!”
Newt had to pull up hard on the reins to avoid running over the figure that appeared in front of them. The apparition was tall, wearing a long dark robe with a hood. For a moment their hearts leapt with the hope that it was Merlin come to meet them.
That hope was dashed as other figures could be seen behind them, seemingly appearing out of the air.
“Bandits,” Gerard muttered, his hand instinctively going to his sword’s hilt as he silently counted their opponents. Too many. If Newt had been trained to fight, maybe…
The horses shifted uneasily, clearly wanting to bolt at this sudden rise in tension.
“I believe this is where you hand over your belongings,” the leader of the bandits said, placing his hand on Newt’s gelding’s neck and moving in close, effectively keeping Newt from pulling any weapon he might have on his person. Gerard swore. Hand moved away from his hilt to rest on his knee. Only a fool fought when there was no hope of winning. Better to use his brain to find an advantage. “Study your opponent,” Sir Rheynold always said. Find their weakness and use it.
“Your belongings, if you would, young sirs.”
“We have none.”
It was an even bet who was more surprised at the clear voice that rang out into the night, the bandits or the trio from Camelot. But Ailis swallowed hard, nudged her horse forward, and kept talking.
“We’re as poor as you. Perhaps more so. If you must take something, take my horse. He’s not attractive, but he is a very good ride, young, and has no brands on him, unlike the others, so no one could claim you stole him, later on.” The two horses the boys had brought with them carried Camelot’s mark on their ears, easily identifiable by any knight or noble these bandits might encounter. There’s no way to insist upon your innocence when you’re riding a beast you have no legal claim to.
“You might be lying,” the bandit said thoughtfully.
“We might. But you can see that we are not dressed well, riding at night with no adult to protect us. No jewels. No fancy weapons. And we are very young and not much glory to kill.” She put on her very best serious expression, the one the ladies of the court seemed to prefer on those who served them—the proper face, Lady Melisande called it, although she never said proper for what.
It seemed to work on bandits as well, because the leader peered closely at her then laughed.
“You bargain well, little merchant. And I do not want to have the blood of children on my hands.” The King’s Law was harsh enough on murderers, but those who killed