The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [35]
“No, rolled up inside out. So we can see the marks on it—see if it does anything. Go a little one way, then a little another way.”
“And if it starts to glow—”
“We go that way,” Newt said, finishing Gerard’s thought. For once, all three were in perfect agreement.
Retracing their steps had no effect, but a foray down the road to where it split into two smaller lanes caused that area of the map to emit the faintest pale pink glow, like the moment before sunrise, and taking the left-hand turn made the glow darken to a deep rose color. But when they turned the two horses in that direction, the map faded back to its original, ordinary, unglowing self.
“Wonderful.” Gerard stared at the map as though expecting it to apologize. Newt drew a deep breath as though he were about to make another comment about the uselessness of magic. Fed up, Ailis reached from her position behind Newt and grabbed the map out of Gerard’s hands. It felt warm to the touch, like something living. Her fingers tightened around it instinctively.
“Magic’s not a cure-all. Haven’t you been paying any attention at all?” Some of this anger was directed at herself, she knew. Part of her had expected Merlin to come back with them and set everything right. She knew what he could do. She had been closer than any of them to the workings of the castle—she had heard all the gossip from the household servants and the queen’s ladies alike. And Merlin had given them what help he could. Still, she should have asked the question that had been gnawing at her. Something was changing inside Ailis.
She had heard that voice more than once, and she had begun to feel an affinity for everything that was magic. She had no idea if that was good or bad, helpful or dangerous. Ailis didn’t dare mention these thoughts to the boys, especially Newt. She didn’t know how Newt would react at all. He didn’t like magic. But she thought maybe he liked her. And…she didn’t want to risk changing that.
Anyway, magic wasn’t just a thing, like a sword. It couldn’t be handed off, no matter what gifts Merlin gave them, no matter what voices she heard in her head. None of that would change the fact that when they ran into something that three teenagers, two horses, and one sword couldn’t handle—and there was no question that they would—it was going to be bad.
The next morning saw the three teens riding through a patchwork of fields and small, weather-beaten structures. There were people working in the fields, men and women wearing brown tunics bent over the crops, but they didn’t look up when the two horses went by.
“That’s odd,” Gerard said. “When Sir Rheynold and I ride in from his lands—”
“You’re carrying his banner, better dressed, and riding better horses,” Newt said bluntly. “We look like the tail end of a long journey, and not one well started, either. No reason for them to take note of us.”
“Still. I don’t like it.” But the buildings were in good repair, and the workers looked well-fed and healthy, and if they had no curiosity about strangers riding through, then what affair was it of his? Though it did not bode well for asking questions if the workers took no notice of what was around them. Perhaps the master of these lands would be able to give them the information they sought.
The trio passed by a neatly tended farmhouse, but when Gerard stopped to ask an old woman pulling water from a well where they might find a place to stay, she looked at him wide-eyed, like a frightened horse, and told him, in a soft tone he almost couldn’t hear, to “go to the Grange.”
The Grange, as it turned out, was the largest, best-cared-for farm in the community. The main house was a sturdy structure of stone and wood, two stories high, and the cattle grazing about it looked well-fed and strong.
“The map’s glowing,” Gerard said suddenly.
“Much?” Ailis asked.
“Just a little.”
“Put it away. Quickly!” They didn’t know who their enemy was. They couldn’t trust anyone. But with luck, their first talisman was within reach. As an afterthought, Gerard took off his leather surcoat, with its identifying