The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [74]
“A tear?” Newt asked. He stared at Morgain the way he might a snake about to strike, if you weren’t entirely sure if you were out of its range or not.
“A tear!” Ailis said impatiently. “A tree’s tear. Amber.” On seeing their continued blank looks, she elaborated. “It’s magic. I can feel it.”
“Witch-child,” Morgain said, and her voice was soft again, silky and convincing. “Witch-child, where have they been hiding you in cold, harsh Camelot?”
“I’m not a witch,” Ailis said, taking another step away from that voice.
“My tear speaks to you. My magic calls to you. Have they been teaching you, witch-child? Or do they ignore you, pretend you don’t exist, save all their power for those born with—”
“I’m not a witch!” Ailis yelled, fear and anger mingling in her voice. “Take it from her, Gerard.”
“What?”
“Take it from her! Don’t you get it? A tear!”
“Oh,” both boys said in the same instant, their brains finally catching up with their exhaustion. The spell. A tear. That was what Morgain had used, what they needed to complete the spell’s reversal.
“Let me do it,” Newt said, when Gerard hesitated, unsure how to take the chain from Morgain’s neck without releasing his cold iron sword’s hold on her. And Ailis clearly wasn’t going to go anywhere near the sorceress.
At Gerard’s nod, Newt swallowed hard, then stepped forward and knelt next to Morgain. First a dragon, then a sorceress. He’d been more comfortable with the dragon.
“Forgive me, lady,” he said under his breath. “But I am only a stable boy. My place is to serve, not command. And to do so I must take this from you.” He didn’t really think the polite words would cool Morgain’s wrath any, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try. She merely glared at him as his hands lifted the chain over her head, cupping the amber shape in his palm. He stepped away, out of reach again.
“Run,” Gerard said to them. “Go on, get out of here. Take the tear back to Camelot. Hurry!”
“But…Gerard…” Ailis protested, even as Newt turned to go.
“Do it, Ailis.” His voice allowed no refusal, and when Newt reached out to grab her hand, she went with him.
Gerard waited until the other two were clear of the door back into the courtyard, then made a low bow to the enchantress.
“You lost, my lady. Show some honor in this and allow us to return home unharmed.”
“Honor? You think I have honor?”
“Yes, my lady.” Gerard looked her directly in the eye. “I believe that—despite all I have seen—that you have honor.” She was the king’s sister, after all.
Morgain stared at him and laughed. Even flat on her back, a metal sword to her throat, she still seemed completely, impossibly in control.
“Go home, young squire. Cherish this victory. It is not the end of the game.”
Gerard nodded and, not turning his back on her, walked out of the hall and into the courtyard.
“Why are you still here?” he asked his companions on seeing them standing in front of a wall, the shadowy outline of the doorway revealed if you looked at it sideways rather than directly. Ailis was holding the tear up in front of it by the chain, as though she had been waving it at the walls until the doorway revealed itself. Newt looked torn, as though half wanting to dive through the doorway and half not trusting anything the stone revealed.
“We weren’t going without you,” Ailis said stoutly.
“Idiots! Go!”
Behind them, the sound of a low, long scream echoed, and Ailis turned a shade paler. From beyond the walls around them, Gerard could hear the ocean roar, a thundering sound far beyond any surf or storm he had ever heard before.
“Go!” And he dove forward, arms outstretched to grab each of them, carrying them backward into the half-seen gateway barely a step ahead of the magical storm Morgain had sent to stop them—or, giving her the benefit of the doubt and assuming she would remain true to her given word, to destroy the tear before they could use it.
And then the swirling abyss within the portal swallowed them, just as Gerard felt