The Shadow Companion - Laura Anne Gilman [30]
“I know where you can get something to eat,” Callum said eagerly, and Newt made a “lead on, then” gesture.
It turned out that many who were waiting for news were gathering near a central fire pit, as much for company as warmth. There were maybe half a dozen knights and their squires, plus a handful of lean and muscled hounds, begging for scraps. Someone was cooking a small pot of a concoction that smelled surprisingly good over the fire. Ailis went over to cadge two bowls and a chunk of bread from the person stirring the pot.
Newt sat down on the ground, claiming a space for the two of them, while Callum, who had eaten already while waiting for them to return, stopped to speak to another squire he knew. Acquiring more outrageous stories, Newt presumed.
The salamander slid gracefully down Newt’s arm, and marched on its four short legs over to the saddlebag planted at his feet. It crawled in, turned around somehow in the crowded space, and stuck its blunt snout out of the pack, its eyes closed with what could only be described as a blissful expression on its lizard-like face.
Newt, mindful of how cold it had been earlier, picked up the saddlebag and moved it closer, sharing his own body warmth with his newfound pet. A muted purring noise arose from the somnolent creature, as though in thanks.
He had no idea why the creature had decided to adopt him, jokes about his name aside, but it was cute, in a sort of slithery fashion, and he certainly wasn’t going to abandon it now. Nobody around them seemed to notice the addition to their party, much less object—not even the dogs. And that was very, very odd.
“Here.” Ailis handed him a bowl made of hollowed-out bread, and filled with some kind of damp meat and wilted greens. It smelled much better than it looked, and it tasted slightly better than chewing shoe leather. Newt took a bite, grimaced, and kept chewing. The salamander stuck its head out, sniffed the air, then retreated, unimpressed.
“Got any more of that?” Gerard came over and dropped down on the ground next to them. He had brushed off most of the dirt, and combed his hair, but still looked like he’d spent the morning rolling in the bushes.
“Get your own,” Newt said, leaning away in case the squire decided to make a grab for his bowl. It was bad, but it was food, and food he hadn’t had to cook.
“Some friend,” Gerard muttered, but when Ailis likewise held her food away from him, he got back up with an obvious effort, and went to beg his own bowl.
By the time he came back, Callum had rejoined them as well. There was a momentary standoff, then Callum relented and let Gerard take the better placement on the ground, withdrawing a pace so that, while still obviously sitting with them, he was no longer in the direct triangle of conversation.
“We’re moving as soon as all the horses are packed up,” Gerard said, swallowing his first mouthful of stew.
“We gathered that much,” Newt said, gesturing at everyone with their parcels packed and horses readied. “Because of the attack?”
“Yes.” Gerard nodded. “Sir Matthias thinks the entire prophecy was a setup. Half the knights want to go back to the monastery and burn it to the ground, thinking that the monks were agents of Morgain. Sir Matthias had to threaten one of them with a horsewhipping if he even pointed his horse in that direction.”
“He thinks it was Morgain who cast the trap?”
Gerard looked at Newt as though the other boy had gone completely mad for even questioning that.
“I’m just asking,” Newt said, defensively. “There’s no proof. I mean, it’s not as though she was standing there, spell in one hand, spider in the other….”
“Spider?” Callum asked, perking up. The other three ignored him. Sir Matthias was telling his men, so the entire story would be over the camp soon enough. It was a matter of pride, now, to be the first to figure