The Shadow Companion - Laura Anne Gilman [36]
Gerard kicked at a rock that happened to get in his way, and wished that he had never heard of the Grail, never dreamed of coming on this Quest. He almost regretted becoming a squire.
“I don’t mean that,” he said quickly, in case God, or anyone, had been listening to his thoughts. “I don’t.” He couldn’t imagine being anything else, being anywhere else.
“Even men of valor, even men of great deeds, have the flesh and failures of other men.”
Merlin had said that, and he even added “and women as well,” before Ailis could gloat. This entire trip had shown him the truth of that.
It had also shown him men of valor as well. Sir Ruden, for all that he might be short-tempered and reckless, had dealt well and wisely with the spider-things. Sir Joseph had charged in to save a squire who had gotten too close to a wild boar, at risk to himself and his steed. And back at Camelot, of course, there was Lancelot, and Sir Gawain, and his own master, Sir Rheynold.
But at this rate, he doubted there was anyone in this group who would be allowed anywhere near the Grail, himself included.
He wasn’t feeling very noble, or valiant, or virtuous today. He had slept poorly, and woken early, only to find Newt and Ailis already awake, washing their extra clothing in a bucket of water by the fire, Newt’s red-striped pet lounging nearby.
He had seen them laughing and joking, familiar and comfortable. They had not noticed him.
Once, Gerard and Ailis had been close—the newly arrived page and the orphaned serving girl. Time and new responsibilities had changed that, but they had always been friends. Always.
“You’re a squire. You’ll be a knight someday, in a few years, maybe. You won’t be able to go on adventures with serving girls and stable boys then.” Ailis’s words, an echo of Sir Matthias’s own words, and Sir Rheynold’s, too, were a bitter companion.
When they had made camp, after moving out of the Shadows, Gerard had set his bedroll up near Tom, Sir Matthias’s squire, who had an uncanny gift for finding the softest ground anywhere within a campsite. He had thought that the company might be nice, as well. But the other boy was still off running errands, or cleaning tack, or doing any of the endless number of things he was asked to do for Sir Matthias.
Sir Matthias had no need for his special aide tonight. No one, it seemed, had any need for him.
All right, enough of that. He was a noble squire, of the blood of Sir Kay, the king’s own foster brother. He was the squire of Sir Rheynold, and temporarily special aide to Sir Matthias, King Arthur’s chosen representative for Camelot on this Quest. He had friends and important work, and his name was known by his king, and by the king’s enchanter. He did not have a hard life. Self-pity was simply not acceptable.
It was, however, distinctly satisfying sometimes.
Gerard cleared a space, dug out a depression in the dirt, and set a circle of fist-sized stones around the hole. Not very large, just enough to hold a small fire, as much for comfort as warmth.
Once he had a decent blaze going, thanks to a handful of twigs and a deadfall of logs, Gerard pulled his bedroll over to sit on. Hugging his arms around his knees, he stared into the fire, glumly contemplating everything that hadn’t gone right since Arthur first announced the great and glorious Grail Quest.
Something skittered off to his left, and Gerard’s hand reached out to grasp the hilt of his sword, placed carefully beside his bedroll.
“Oh. It’s only you.”
The salamander came up beside his elbow, looking curiously at him, then at the fire, then back at him.
“It’s a fire,” he said. And I’m talking to a newt. Nice, Gerard. Real nice. Could your life become any more depressing? But he was laughing to himself as he thought it.
The salamander gave off its odd chirping noise, then moved closer and rested its head on Gerard’s hand like a dog might do.
Gerard, however, felt no inclination whatsoever to pet it. Especially when the thing’s tongue came out and flicked at the fire.
“Careful. It’ll burn you.”
He still wasn