The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [52]
“Excuse me? Who sneered when we took it in the first place?”
“Me,” Gerard said willingly. “But I’m hungry and you’re not, and it’s not going to keep much longer, so I might as well eat it.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Ailis said. “The two of you are worse than a pair of cats, forever hissing at each other for no reason other than that you’re there. Should I toss cold water on you and make you behave?”
“Already did that,” Newt said.
Gerard just grunted and slid his blade from the scabbard that had been stacked with the rest of their belongings. Stepping into a grassy area away from the horses, he slowly began to move through the basic sword forms. Being away from classes was no reason to let himself get rusty.
“Why must you bait him, Newt? You two would get along if you’d only try.”
Newt shrugged. “We are what we are. I’m a servant. You’re a servant. He’s a squire of royal family. He’s going to be a knight. Knights aren’t friends with servants. They may spend time with them, talk to them. Quest with them even. But they’re not friends. And they’re never ever anything more than that, either. We all have our roles to play.” He glared at her as though daring her to contradict him.
“I know,” Ailis said quietly. “I’ve always known that. It doesn’t matter.”
Ailis went to where her pack lay on her blanket, sat down, and brought out a small ivory comb Lady Melisande had given her last Yuletide, that she’d fortunately had on her person when the bandits stole her pack. Unbinding her braid, she drew the comb though her hair, counting softly until she reached one hundred strokes. By then, Gerard had put his sword away and eaten his share of the leftovers. He was now sitting by the fire, quietly discussing with Newt possible answers as to what the talismans might be or do. Ailis listened to each of them repeating the words of the riddle, making no more sense of it than they had when Merlin’s magic first etched it into ice. She thought about joining them, but decided that she was too tired to move again. So she lay down and went to sleep, trusting them both to keep her safe during the night.
EIGHT
“Again I ask, why can’t magical items be hidden in a cottage next to an apple orchard, half a day’s ride from home?” Newt wasn’t joking.
“Because if the quest were easy, the prize wouldn’t be worth anything,” Gerard said. They had the map open between the two of them, looking down at it and then up in the direction it was leading. Up and up. Into the Hills. It had been two days since leaving Daffyd’s keep, and their exhaustion was matched only by a growing sense of desperation.
“According to who? That’s particularly stupid. Why should the value be on the finding rather than on what the thing itself can do?” Newt was clearly close to losing his temper, reacting less to Gerard’s words than his own frustration.
“That’s not what I meant. Never mind, I don’t expect you to understand.” Gerard didn’t know why he said that, except it was easier than trying to explain what it was he meant.
“What’s wrong?” Ailis had brought the horses down to a stream to water them after their grazing, taking advantage of the break to stretch her legs. Being on her feet felt odd after so many hours in the saddle, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get the rocking feel of a trotting horse out of her bones, no matter how many leagues she walked.
“The map wants us to go up into the Hills.”
Ailis looked down at the map and then up where Newt’s finger was pointing. She noticed in passing that he had started biting the tips of his fingers, almost to the point where they were bleeding. He hadn’t done that before—this quest was starting to take its toll on all of them.
“And that’s bad, going into the Hills?”
“It’s not good,” Gerard said. “The Pax Britannica’s always been shaky there. Arthur’s folk are coastal and he’s always had support down here, but up in the Hills…The tribes there acknowledge Arthur—they don’t have any choice—but they don’t always listen to him. We’ve had