The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [44]
“We cannot let her win,” Newt said, and kicked his gelding into a gallop, leaving Gerard lagging behind for half a second before, with a whoop, he was racing forward as well.
“Next time, steal her a slower horse,” Gerard told Newt, staring sourly at Ailis, who was trotting gaily several lengths ahead of them, laughing in delight at having won their impromptu race. There was a creek in the near distance with an arched wooden bridge rising over it. Beyond that lay the village that was their goal.
“I didn’t steal it.”
“You took it without permission.” Gerard was trying to be annoyed about losing, but the sheer joy of the race had left them all in an impossibly good mood, despite their situation and the weight of fear that still rested on their shoulders.
“It’s not stealing if you’re taking it for payment. We didn’t get dinner or the promised sleeping quarters, so the mare was payment instead,” Newt claimed.
“A mare isn’t the same payment as a meal.”
“Merlin would back me up.”
Gerard snorted. “Now you’re using the enchanter as support for your position? Considering your stance on magic, that’s not too convincing. Besides, Merlin’s as mad as those villagers, in his own way. I’ll tell you one thing—Sir Lancelot wouldn’t agree with your logic.”
Newt shrugged, not disagreeing with either of Gerard’s statements about the two men. “Lance is a good man. Too good, maybe.”
The squire frowned at that comment. “How can you be too good a man?”
“Sometimes you need to be bad in order to get things done properly.”
“That makes no sense at all.” Gerard shook his head. “Good is good and bad…isn’t. It’s that simple.”
“Nothing’s that simple, squire. Not in the real world.”
“You know so much about the real world, stuck in the straw mucking out horses? Don’t make me laugh.” He kicked his horse, rode up to join Ailis, and left Newt fuming behind them.
“What was that all about?” Ailis asked, turning around in her saddle to look at Newt, who had slowed his horse even more, the better to sulk privately.
“He’s a fool.”
“So you’ve said before.” Her voice clearly said that she didn’t agree with him. Rather than argue, Gerard took out the map and studied it again.
Shaking her head, Ailis nudged her mare forward. “Oh, what a pretty bridge,” she cried. “Look at the stonework—it’s prettier even than the stonework on the walls in Camelot!”
“Pay to pass.”
The horses started at the sudden, booming voice. Ailis and Gerard both had to haul hard on the reins in order to keep their animals from bolting when a huge form pulled itself over the bridge’s railing and dropped—surprisingly lightly for its bulk—on its feet in front of them.
“Pay to pass,” the creature insisted. It was as wide across as it was tall, a block of grayish-white skin covering bulky muscles. Black tufts of hair stuck out from its misshapen head and ears, and its mouth was designed more for tearing than speaking, with a row of jagged teeth that made Gerard think that bolting might be a good idea.
“A bridge troll!” Ailis was delighted. “I’ve only ever heard of them—I didn’t know there were any left!”
Gerard had a sudden thought that his companion was passing insane.
“What do we do?” he asked uneasily. Ailis might be unhinged with her fascination for things like this, but at least she knew what it was and what it might want.
“Pay it, of course. They’re usually satisfied with something you’re fond of—it’s the act of paying that’s important, not how expensive it is. Don’t you know anything?”
“I know how to fight. How to negotiate with honor. How to read and do figures. I don’t know how to bargain with creatures that shouldn’t exist.”
Ailis sighed in exasperation. Gerard was being mulish again, his chin and mouth set in lines she knew far too well. Sometimes, only sometimes, she agreed with Newt’s opinion that Gerard really did take himself far too seriously.
Ailis reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wooden carving of a swan in flight. She held it in her hand for a moment, feeling the smooth texture, reliving the memory of her father giving