LANCE OF TRUTH (7 page)

They completed another circle, before a shout came from behind. “Oy! Where do you think you’re going with the princess…?”

Rhianna glanced back and saw her guards staggering to their feet. She wasn’t going to let them take her back to Camelot now. She struggled to unwrap Excalibur. The blade gleamed brightly as she drew it, burning a hole in the mist.

“Put that sword away, Rhianna Pendragon!” Merlin snapped. “You’ll destroy the magic. Elphin’s finding this hard enough as it is.”

She quickly sheathed Excalibur, and the mist thickened around them again. But she heard hoof beats coming after them and kept her hand on the hilt, looking over her shoulder. They had lost sight of the stones now. Her hair stood out in a crackling copper cloud. Alba’s tail floated like foam. She heard Elphin breathing hard, and Arianrhod give a little gasp.

Then there was a flash of light, and they were trotting across springy heather into a blazing red sunset. The air smelled different. Wind tugged at her hair. And it was
cold.

Rhianna shivered as they drew rein. She gazed around warily. They had emerged from a circle of mossy stones into drifting mist on a deserted moor. Ahead of them, across a wide ditch, a wall of stone snaked along a ridge. Dark towers rose out of the mist along its length in
both directions. A startled stag bounded away, scrambled through one of the crumbling gateways, and disappeared down the slope on the other side.

“The magic worked,” Arianrhod breathed, staring around wide-eyed. Her teeth were chattering. Remembering her first experience of the spiral path, Rhianna felt a bit sorry for the girl. But she was glad her friends had come with her.

Then a shout came from inside the circle, and Gareth stumbled out of the stones, waving his sword dangerously. Close behind the squire came Sir Bedivere riding his chestnut bareback, followed by Rhianna’s two faithful guards clutching their lances.

Merlin, who had been chasing a rabbit, swooped back.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” he scolded. “Get out of that circle and let me close the path before half of Camelot follows you up here!”

The little bird dived back into the stones and vanished in a sparkle of stars.

Rhianna watched the circle anxiously, remembering what Elphin had said about the druid not being sure he could close the path in a bird’s body, but nobody else appeared. Nor did the merlin. The last of the mist blew away in crimson rags and the magic died, leaving their little group standing alone on the northern moor.

The men looked at the Wall uneasily. Then Sir Bedivere leaned over to take Alba’s reins. Before Rhianna could stop him, he’d dragged the little mist horse back into the stone circle after the merlin.

“What am I going to do with you, Rhianna Pendragon?” he said, shaking his head at her. “I knew you and your friends were up to something, but I never thought you’d try anything as stupid as this! If that’s the North Wall, as I think it is, we’re in a lot of trouble. All right, fairy boy, you got us here, so you can take us straight back again. Quickly, before anyone spots us.”

Elphin clutched his spiral and shook his head. “Sorry, sir, but I don’t think I can without Merlin’s help.”

Rhianna bit her lip. Her friend looked exhausted. She wondered how they were going to get back now the path had closed with Merlin on the wrong side.

Sir Bedivere frowned at them. Arianrhod looked at her feet. Gareth folded his arms with
a smug expression. “Are you going to whip her for breaking her promise, sir?”

“If I’d been allowed to go with the knights in the first place, we wouldn’t have had to use magic to get here,” Rhianna said, glaring at Gareth. “And I didn’t break my promise because we rode in a spiral, as you very well know since you were following us, you little sneak.”

“That’s enough, you two!” Sir Bedivere said. He let go of Alba and took a deep breath. “Let me think. If we can’t go back the way we came, then we’ve got to find shelter for the night. It’s too exposed up here.” He looked at the Wall again.

“Lancelot’s place is somewhere near here, isn’t it?” one of Rhianna’s guards suggested. “Maybe if we follow the Wall, we’ll find someone who can give us directions.”

“We’re more likely to run into Mordred’s bloodbeards if we go stumbling about up here in the dark,” Sir Bedivere said. “Best thing we can do is wait for Bors and the others. They should be here soon, and hopefully we’ll be able to work something out before we meet Mordred.” He looked at Rhianna and sighed. “I
thought
I wasn’t imagining things at the Round Table meeting… seems Merlin’s just as much trouble in the body of a bird as he was in a man’s.”

The sun slipped down behind the ridge as they tried to decide what to do next, and it quickly grew colder. Sir Bedivere mumbled something about finding a road. But since none of them had actually been this far north before, nobody seemed to know quite where they were. The men even argued about which side of
the Wall they were on, Prince Mordred’s or King Arthur’s.

“Where did Mordred say to meet him with the sword?” Rhianna asked.

Sir Bedivere gave her a distracted look. “Don’t even think about it, Damsel Rhianna. We’re in enough trouble, as it is.”

But Gareth looked at her with more interest. “That’s Excalibur, isn’t it?”

For the first time, the knight noticed the bundle tied beside the shield on Rhianna’s saddle. He went still. “Don’t tell me you… oh, this goes from bad to worse! So which sword’s Sir Bors got?”

The friends glanced at one another.

“Just an old one nobody wanted,” Arianrhod admitted. “I found a white jewel in the queen’s treasure chest about the same size as the one on
Excalibur’s hilt, and Elphin used his magic to stick it on.”

“You stuck it on with fairy magic?” Sir Bedivere obviously wanted to stay angry. But Rhianna saw the knight’s lips twitch. “I’d love to see Mordred’s face when he realises!”

“Cai’s goin’ to be in trouble when Sir Bors finds out, that’s for sure,” Gareth said with a smirk.

Rhianna wanted to kick the boy, but he was right. Her friends had risked a lot to bring her here with Excalibur. She couldn’t let them down now.

In the end, Sir Bedivere decided to camp in the nearest guard tower for the night so that they would be close to the stones in case Merlin came back, and not too far from safety if they had ended up on Mordred’s side of the Wall.

They gathered heather, and Elphin played a few notes on his harp to light a fire. Gareth gave the Avalonian boy a look that was half contempt, half respect. Arianrhod unloaded food from the pack pony’s bags, and they ate in silence, huddled close to the flames. Sir Bedivere ordered a sentry rota with two men to stay awake at all times. Since they had only three fighting men he included Gareth in this, which cheered the sulky squire up a bit.

Rhianna kept Excalibur near at hand and rested her head on the dragon shield, watching the sparks from the fire fly up through the broken roof of the tower. She felt much too excited to sleep. But the journey along the spiral path must have tired her more than she’d thought. She drifted into a strange dream where the splinters stuck in her father’s shield
glittered like stars in the sky, and the red dragon came alive to fly up through the hole in the roof, shrieking a challenge.

She looked through the dragon’s eyes and saw the dark knight crouched in another of the ruined guard towers below. He brandished the fake Excalibur at her and yelled, “You’re going to pay for this, cousin!”

As she tossed uneasily in her sleep, the shadrake that had chased them across the Summer Lands last year flew up out of Mordred’s tower, and the two dragons – red and black – fought fiercely in the night sky above the North Wall.

S
he woke to feel something pricking her throat. The fire had died to a few embers, and the ruin was full of shadowy figures. At first she thought she was still dreaming. Then one of the shadowy figures bent down to lift her hair from her face, and her heart
pounded in terror as she realised that the prick at her throat was the sharp end of a spear. She saw Arianrhod held captive by the wall. Another man had hold of Elphin. Sir Bedivere and Gareth had also woken to spears at their throats.

“This one’s a damsel wearing armour, sir!” the man standing over her said, lowering his guard.

It was all the chance Rhianna needed. She rolled over, snatched Excalibur out of its bundle and sprang to her feet.

The sword’s sudden gleam dazzled her. The man who had touched her hair staggered backwards in surprise, shading his eyes. The men holding her friends captive dragged them further away, while the two guarding Gareth and Sir Bedivere stiffened.

“Drop that sword, damsel, or your friends die!” called a commanding voice from the door.

Rhianna’s heart sank as she realised the sentries outside must have been overpowered, too. But having only just got Excalibur back, she wasn’t about to let anyone take it from her that easily.

She whirled the blade through the air to make her attacker back off so she could pick up her shield, and retreated step by step until her back met the wall. A glitter on her arm caught her eye. The splinters stuck in the shield were glowing, just like they had in her dream… no time to think about that now.

She put her back to the wall and faced the strangers. By Excalibur’s light, she warily checked their faces but saw no blue spirals marking them as Mordred’s men. They wore
armour similar to Arthur’s knights, and they didn’t seem to have killed anyone – yet. Their leader was a tall, handsome knight with shoulder-length hair almost as silver as her sword. He took a swift stride towards her, and she tensed. But when he saw the Pendragon shield, he froze.

“Arthur’s shield!” he breathed, looking round in confusion. “God’s breath, is that Soft Hands down there…?”

“Yes, it’s me,” spluttered Sir Bedivere from the floor. “You are an idiot, Lancelot! What on earth are you doing creeping along the North Wall like thieves in the night?”

Sir Lancelot.

Rhianna’s arm trembled with anger. She gripped Excalibur tighter and took advantage of the knight’s distraction to put her blade to
his throat. “You let Mordred take my mother!” she said. “Tell your men to let my friends go, or
you
die.”

Everybody stared in horror at Excalibur, shining at the champion knight’s throat. Lancelot’s men started towards her, but backed off when the silver-haired knight raised a hand. Now she had a problem because she could not blood the blade if she wanted to keep Excalibur’s magic pure. But hopefully Sir Lancelot didn’t realise that.

“I’ll do it,” she said. “I’m not afraid to use this sword.”

“I can vouch for that,” Sir Bedivere said. “She fought a dragon and Mordred’s bloodbeards with it last year.”

“And saw off Lord Avallach’s Wild Hunt,” Elphin added.

Sir Lancelot gave Rhianna a wary look. “Don’t do anything you might regret, damsel,” he said. “I want to get the queen back just as much as you do. We’re on the same side here.” He signalled his men to let Sir Bedivere and the others go. “Truce?”

Sir Bedivere pushed his attacker’s lance away and dusted himself off. Gareth scowled and did the same. Arianrhod rushed across to hide behind Elphin, whose harp rippled gently into the night, breaking the tension.

Relieved she wouldn’t have to carry out her threat, Rhianna sheathed Excalibur.

While Gareth and Elphin coaxed the fire back to life with a mixture of human skill and Avalonian magic, Sir Bedivere and Sir Lancelot warily clasped hands. Then the men sat down around the fire to exchange information.

Rhianna watched the silver-haired knight with mixed feelings. She hated him for taking her mother all the way to this wild place and letting Mordred capture her. But it seemed that Lancelot and his men were busy searching for the queen. They had been riding along the North Wall day and night, checking every tower and fort, looking for her. When they’d seen the sparks from their fire and the horses grazing outside, they’d thought Sir Bedivere’s party were Mordred’s men.

“You’re lucky we needed information, or we might have killed you first and asked questions later.” Sir Lancelot glanced at Rhianna, amused. “The last thing I expected to find was a damsel carrying Arthur’s sword! The girl’s quick on her feet, I’ll give her that. Is she really Guinevere’s daughter? You must be crazy bringing her up
here so close to Mordred’s territory, if she is.”

“I didn’t have a lot of choice,” Sir Bedivere said, giving Rhianna a frustrated look. “I’m afraid Damsel Rhianna was raised in Avalon and has never learned the meaning of fear.” He explained about the stone circles and the spiral path.

Lancelot eyed Elphin, who was still softly strumming his harp. “A fairy prince helping men? That’s a first. I know Mordred killed Arthur in the battle, but I’m a bit out of touch. Where’s Merlin and the other knights of the Round Table?”

“More to the point, where’s my mother?” Rhianna interrupted. “Mordred sent us a message saying he’ll exchange her for Excalibur, and Sir Bors planned to take him the sword to find out where he was keeping
the queen so they could rescue her. But we swapped it, because I need Excalibur for when my father gets reborn.”

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. So Sir Bedivere had to explain about that, as well as losing Merlin in the mists between worlds and the druid’s spirit ending up in the body of a bird. Meanwhile, the men swapped their own stories, while Arianrhod nervously heated soup for everyone.

More talk. Rhianna wanted to slap the two knights into action, but she supposed there wasn’t very much they could do in the middle of the night. Besides, Sir Lancelot and his men claimed they had already checked all the towers between here and the west coast and not found her mother.

Lancelot told them how Guinevere had
been captured on midwinter night and smuggled out of his castle by magic. There had been an eerie sea mist that night, and nobody even realised the queen had gone until the trail was cold. The snow up in these parts had lain deeper than at Camelot, so they had been unable to ride out to look for her. Everyone had been worried about her, though most people thought Arthur’s knights had come north and taken her back to Camelot.

Then, when the passes opened again, Sir Lancelot had got a message from Mordred, too – a challenge to joust against the dark knight for the queen’s life.

“So it seems Prince Mordred’s lying to at least one of us,” Sir Lancelot finished, glancing at Rhianna again. “Because he’s obviously no intention of letting Guinevere go until he’s
killed both me and the damsel, and probably not even then, if I know him. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s thinking of marrying his aunt to secure his claim to the throne, once we’re both out of the way.”

Everyone went quiet. The men gave Rhianna sympathetic looks.

She frowned at the silver-haired knight. “But I thought you’re supposed to be my father’s champion?” she said, her voice loud in the shadows. “You’ll beat Mordred easily in a joust! He’s only got one hand now. I’ve seen him…” She thought uncomfortably of the grisly fist the shadrake had stolen away, but surely even the dark magic of Annwn couldn’t stick her cousin’s severed hand back on again?

“So I heard,” Lancelot said. “But not even the Pendragon’s champion can fight magic,
as you demonstrated so well earlier.” He rubbed his throat and smiled ruefully at Sir Bedivere.

“But I’m not going to give Excalibur to Mordred,” Rhianna said, still frowning. “So you needn’t worry about that. If you’re too afraid to ride against my cousin, then I’ll joust against him myself!”

Lancelot’s men glanced at their leader. Some of them grinned at Rhianna.

“I’m not joking,” she said. “
I’m
not afraid.”

Lancelot sighed. “I don’t blame you for thinking I’m a coward, Princess. Believe me, I’d gladly die a hundred deaths and let the Wild Hunt take my soul, if it would save your mother’s life. But you being here changes things. I can’t risk duelling against Mordred with a broken lance, and once he finds out you’ve got Excalibur you’ll be in rather more
danger than her. So I’ve got to stay alive for the time being, because you’re not going to get very far in these parts with only Soft Hands, a squire and two unmounted guards to look after you.”

“Don’t forget me and Arianrhod,” Elphin said.

Rhianna gave her friends a grateful look. “Have you brought the Lance of Truth with you?” she said, getting impatient.

“I kept it, of course. It’s outside on my horse’s saddle. But it’s not a lot of use now, I’m afraid, not since… it splintered.” He seemed about to say something else, but frowned at the fire instead.

Sir Bedivere sighed. “It was your own fault, Lancelot! And now we’re all paying for it. The king’s sleeping in Avalon awaiting rebirth, while barbarians rampage unchecked up and
down the coasts, and the Saxons are more or less in residence in the south. Meanwhile, as if we haven’t got enough problems, Mordred’s got Guinevere and his greedy eyes are on Camelot. You’re going to have to do some fast talking when Bors and Agravaine get up here, I’m warning you now.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Lancelot said tightly. “You’ve never loved a woman, have you, Soft Hands?”

Sir Bedivere flushed.

The two knights glared at each other. Rhianna hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight. Sir Bedivere would probably come off worse, and she felt a bit sorry for him, having made him come after her through the stones.

Then Elphin’s harp rippled out of the shadows, making the fire flame brighter. “I think
I can help,” he said.

Everyone looked at the Avalonian boy.

“As I see it, the problem is with the Lance of Truth being broken,” he said. “If Sir Lancelot carries the working lance, then no man can best him – true?”

“No man except King Arthur,” Sir Bedivere muttered.

Lancelot ignored this. He gripped Elphin’s slender wrist. “Can you mend it?”

“Maybe. If I have all the pieces – and if my wrist isn’t broken so I can still play my harp.”

Sir Bedivere’s lips twitched as Lancelot quickly let Elphin go. “It needs a new shaft,” the champion knight admitted. “And there’s a bit missing off the head. I’m not sure how much. It splintered – I kept all the pieces I could find.”

“It’s certainly worth a try,” Sir Bedivere said. “Gareth, go and fetch Lancelot’s bag.” Gareth cast a hostile glance at Elphin and ducked out into the night, muttering under his breath about being too old for squire’s duties.

Rhianna eyed her friend. “Can you really mend the Lance of Truth?” she whispered. “And if you do, will it help Sir Lancelot kill Mordred?”

Elphin’s eyes whirled violet. “I don’t know about killing Prince Mordred. But it’s one of the Lights you need to bring your father back, isn’t it? It won’t be as simple as sticking a jewel to a sword’s hilt, but I’ll do my best.” He readied his harp for the second time that day.

The men who had ridden with Sir Lancelot grumbled about needing sleep, not entertainment, and those who had followed
Rhianna through the stones sighed at the mention of more magic. But Gareth emptied the pieces from the bag into Elphin’s lap and stared a challenge at the Avalonian boy.

They all looked tired, Rhianna thought. Surely it couldn’t be that easy to mend one of the four Lights? They should take it back to Camelot and find Merlin, maybe wait until midwinter again, when magic was at its most powerful in the land of men. Except they didn’t have time.

Elphin nodded to Lancelot, who held out his broken lance at arm’s length. Rhianna wanted to laugh. The champion knight looked more wary of her friend’s harp than he had of her sword.