Risa, page 30
The whole of Camelot had given itself over to celebration of the Feast Day. Flowers and greening branches decorated every door and a goodly number of the people. The good drink was already flowing and toasts were raised with the cheers as the procession from the great hall rode past. Arthur frequently clasped his queen’s hand and raised it high, and whenever he did so the joyous clamor redoubled. By the time they reached the city walls, Risa’s ears were fairly ringing.
Outside of Camelot’s walls, the procession became much less formal, lords and ladies mingling freely. Laughter and gaity sounded on all sides. Even the animals seemed in a merry mood. The dogs strained their leashes with their gamboling and nosing about, despite the efforts of their masters. Aging Thetis, egged on by the presence of the younger, lighter horses, stepped high and held her head erect and proud.
With all we’ve come through together, you should be proud. Risa patted her mount’s neck and grinned. In truth, setting aside her conversation with Agravain, the only blemish to the morning was that returning to the saddle revealed she was still tired and sore from all that had occurred before she arrived in Camelot.
That discomfort could not keep her from smiling and enjoying the green and peaceful land spreading around her. Ahead waited the fringes of the wood, which would be littered with broad meadows broken by clusters of young trees. Perfect country for deer, even a mystical white hart.
Gawain was not slow to take advantage of the abandonment of formality and reined in his horse until Risa caught up with him.
“My lady seems in a festive mood,” he remarked, putting his steed into step beside Thetis.
“And who would not be on such a day?” She gestured expansively at the blue sky. The clouds were huge and white, but seemed inclined to wander individually about rather than clustering together to make a storm.
Gawain squinted at the sky, and then at Risa. “Ah, is that the cause? I thought perhaps my lady had received some piece of good news.”
Risa blinked. “Nothing in particular that I can recall, my lord. Have you heard of something?”
“No, not I, my lady, but then, I pay no attention to gossip.”
“A wise policy.” Risa nodded soberly.
They looked long and steadily at each other, almost daring one another to smile, until Risa could bear it no longer and broke into a fit of giggles. Gawain joined her in a long, hearty laugh. The horses whickered, as if finding their own enjoyment in the joke, which only made their riders laugh harder.
When she could speak again, Risa asked, “How is it the white hart is hunted?”
“Largely as you see.” Gawain gestured at the relaxed and festive riders around them. “We will ride, we will enjoy the sun, which has kindly agreed to show itself, and then we will return to the hall for the feasting.”
“A pleasant prospect.”
“Will you ride to the hunt with us?”
She thought about merrily racing Thetis through the woods and meadowlands, trying to keep pace with Arthur’s cadre and such ladies as felt bold enough to join the race. Even with the thought that she would be beside Gawain the whole time, it was all she could do to keep from wincing. “I would, my lord, by I fear the exercise would bring glory neither to myself, nor my poor horse.”
Gawain nodded, his face creased in sympathy. “It is my intent to dare the jibes of my foster-uncle Kai and return early to the company of the ladies. I trust this will not displease you.”
“On the contrary, my lord, I shall look forward to it.”
“And there is where you may take your ease to anticipate this and many another happy event.”
An entire flock of snowy pavilions seemed to have landed in the middle of the meadow. The servitors hurried forward with steps for those who wished to dismount, and wine cups for those who intended to ride to the hounds. Risa dismounted and allowed a groom to take Thetis’s reins.
She turned to take her leave of Gawain. “I have no sleeve or ribbon to give you for luck, my lord.”
“Well, then I fear you must give me a kiss, my lady.” Gawain leaned down. With serious decorum, Risa kissed him on the cheek. Around them rose guffaws of laughter although by the time Gawain turned to glower, all faces were perfectly serious.
Oh, he will claim payment for this later. Risa smiled as she dropped her eyes and folded her hands to make herself into the image of maidenly modesty.
When she risked a glimpse up, Gawain bowed solemnly to her, and winked. Then, he turned his horse and trotted to the head of the procession beside the king and queen to take the place rank permitted. She felt, rather than saw Agravain staring at her and sighed. They said time was a great healer. She could only hope that would prove true between the two brothers.
“Lady Risa.” Lady Marie strolled up beside her, apparently having seen she stood alone. “Are you joining us while these others tear their clothing and the countryside to pieces?”
“If I am welcome, Lady Marie.” Memories of the scathing looks and whispers in Pen Marhas followed hard by the fresh recollection of treatment she had received from Kai and Agravain the previous day made her suddenly regret her choice. The other ladies already clustered on blankets in the shade of the trees as the pavilions were made ready for the midday meal and the return of the hunters.
“You are most welcome.” Marie sounded both friendly and sympathetic. Risa hooked her arm through the lady’s and let herself be led to join the feminine company.
The hunting party rode out and everyone cheered. As they vanished into the greenwood, the ladies turned to each other for amusement. Dainties, both sweet and savory were set out with wine and small beer. Fine needlework was unpacked, and in short order, rather to her surprise, Risa found she began to enjoy herself. Oh, there was gossip enough around her, but little of it was mean-spirited. There was talk of the Saxons as well, but it was sensible, rather than terrified or blood-thirsty. Risa herself was questioned, as she expected, but the ladies took their cue from Marie and appeared content with her somewhat short answers, even when she only turned her gaze downward and blushed at the hintings at betrothal. The king would make that announcement, and it was clear the court already knew most of the tale without her confirmation.
“Shall we have some entertainment?” suggested Lady Marie, seeing Risa was determined not to elaborate on the subject of her relationship with Gawain. “It grows dull in the heat.” It was an unusually warm day for the first of May, and more than the delicate pastries were beginning to droop as noon approached. “Lady Risa, would you be willing to oblige?”
At first, Risa was relieved, but then unnerved. What could she know that would entertain these polite and sophisticated ladies? They surely knew the epics better than she did. It was equally sure they would turn up their noses at an outlandish country song.
Or would they? Emboldened by the delightful morning and her friendly reception, Risa smoothed her skirts out and began:
“An outlandish knight come from the Northland,
“He come a-wooing of me.
“He promised to take me into the Northland,
“And there his bride I should be.”
From the laughs of delight and the clapping, it was a good choice, not in the least because Gawain himself was from the Northland, which was why she had chosen the song. She would live a long time among these ladies. Let that life begin with laughter.
“And so he’s turned his back around,
“And viewed the wold with great glee.
“She’s grabbed him around the middle so small,
“And kelted him into the sea, the sea, and kelted him into the sea …”
There were small cries then, in mock-horror at this blood-thirsty deed, along with some remarks passed back and forth about why Gawain should take care not to turn his back on Risa that would have caused some of the younger men to blush had they been there to hear. Risa herself was hard pressed to keep her countenance.
“Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man,
“Lie there instead of me …”
Something dark fell onto her skirt. Risa brushed at it, thinking it was a twig, but as her hand moved she saw instead that it was a feather, long and glossy black.
She had no time to do anything but look up. They rained down like leaves from the trees, talons extended, beaks open and shrieking their triumph. Risa heard shouts, heard screams. She threw up her hands, beating at pricking feathers and soft bodies, but they were too many. They blotted out the sun. She covered her eyes, crying out wordlessly. She felt the talons and stabbing beaks. They were everywhere. There was no part of her they did not touch. Then, impossibly, she felt the ground rush away from beneath her in a roar of beating wings and laughing birds. The terror was too much for her, and Risa’s mind went dark.
Chapter Sixteen
Risa woke to nothing more alarming than a bare room and a thin straw mattress in a plain bedstead. She sat up at once. Her hands were slashed and bleeding from the ravens’ attack. She wrapped her sleeves around them to stanch the still-oozing blood. The air around her felt slightly damp, as if she was in a cellar. A single sunbeam streamed into the room from an arched opening near the ceiling, but it was blocked by a bulky shadow. Risa craned her neck, and saw a black bird sitting on the sill.
Unreasoning terror seized her. She screamed, throwing herself backward so hard she slammed against the wall. The raven chuckled, and flew away.
Risa buried her head in her wounded hands. Shudders ran through her entire frame. She clenched her jaw to stop the screams.
I will not weep. I will not.
When she was able to look up again, the light streamed unbroken through the minuscule window. Risa forced herself off the bed and went to try the blank wooden door. Several futile pushes told her it was barred from the outside. She stood on tiptoe to try to see out the window and made out the edge of a tiled yard and the curving base of what might have been a fountain or a well. She saw no signs of anyone coming or going. She heard no sound but her own harsh breathing.
She lowered herself onto her heels and clutched her sleeves, trying to think. Before she could calm her stormtossed thoughts, she heard the sound of scraping wood and whirled around.
The door opened and a slim woman in an ochre gown entered. She was fair enough to be Saxon. Her golden hair hung to her waist and her blue eyes regarded Risa critically.
This was the witch. Harrik’s witch. She must be. She was just as Gawain had described her.
“Well, let’s have a look at you.” She crossed the room in two strides and caught Risa’s chin in her hand. Risa swatted at her, but she simply seized her wrist in her free hand, twisting painfully. “Now, none of that. Htmm.” She turned Risa’s face left and right. Then she let go and stood back, leaving Risa burning with humiliation and anger. “Pretty enough to snare a blind man like Gawain, but no real knowledge there. No learning or craft. There could be, though.”
“Who are you and what do you want with me?” demanded Risa,
To her surprise, the witch smiled. “I want to be your ally, if you’ll let me. You must listen quickly, for the magister does not want us meeting yet, not until he’s sure his is the hand that holds your leash.”
The magister. There was only one that could be. He’d done it. He had taken her. Risa fought against the rising weakness fear carried by clinging tightly to her anger. “Who brought me here? Was it you?”
“There’s some spirit there, too.” The witch nodded approvingly. “Perhaps I will be able to work with you yet.”
Hope unlooked for surfaced in Risa. “Can you get me out of this place?”
But the witch only raised her brows. “And what good would that do you?”
“I would be free!”
“You would not. Euberacon would only hunt you down again and bring you back. You may believe me when I say his wrath would not be a pleasant thing to face. You are better off where you are for the present, where you may learn the reality of things, and work toward a true freedom.”
Risa steeled herself. The witch had left the door open. If she ran, if she were fast enough …
“You cannot be fast enough, not in this place.” The witch stepped closer. She smelled of mint and incense. Her breath was warm and sweet. Was this what enchanted Harrik? Was this what fed the ravens? “Listen to me, little girl,” she murmured, and despite herself Risa did listen. “Euberacon thinks he understands. He thinks he can control you. He thinks he knows what women want, but even he has limitations. No sorcerer can see all possibilities and every spell has its weak point, for every sorcerer has his. Euberacon does not understand the choices of others. He believes that only he is in control and his choice is final. This is his weakness. Remember that, and you will have the whip hand over him.”
Risa retreated. The cell did not afford much room for movement, but she could back away a few paces and find room to breathe, to think. What is it every woman wants? Where had she heard that question before?
“Why would you tell me this about your master?”
The witch’s blue eyes glinted. “Because he is not the one I serve.”
“Who then?”
“Not yet, Risa.” Yes, her smile said, I even know your name. What else do I know? “I, too, must be certain of loyalty before I reveal so much truth.”
Risa paced sideways, thinking to circle the witch, to bring herself closer to the door, but all at once a hurricane wind blew from nowhere at all, raising a gout of dust and noise. Risa threw up her hands and fell back. The wind died as quickly as it rose, and she was able to see again. The witch was gone. The door was closed, and—Risa rushed to it—barred.
She sat on the edge of the bed. There was nowhere else to go. Her hands hurt. Pinpricks of pain touched her cheeks, but nothing felt inflamed. There was nothing to do but wait for the one who brought her here to reveal himself, and to try to keep her courage up.
Arthur and Merlin are my kin and my brave friends.
Gawain would be searching for her. He would require Merlin to bend his arts to her aid. She must hold tight to that, no matter what happened. She was not abandoned. She never would be, not while Gawain lived. She knew that.
No sorcerer, no matter if they come from the farthest shores of Hell can touch you now.
Risa closed her eyes. No. This is not his fault, not your fault. You must not think that way. Say your prayers, Risa. Stay ready. There will be a way. There must be a way.
God and Mary help me, there must be a way out of this.
It was almost full dark when Gawain returned to Camelot. The groomsmen and boys came out with lanterns and torches to meet the horses and their riders. Gawain dismounted, ignoring them all. He heard Geraint calling him, but he did not look back. He strode ahead into the gathering darkness, across the yard and grounds, past the animal pens, the forge, the weaver’s shed and the pottery, down to the low cottage where Merlin carried out his works.
The place had been built as solidly as any church, with stone walls and a roof of slate. It was said the hinges of the ashwood door had silver pins. Gawain pounded on that fabled door with his fist and stood back, breathing hard. His whole body ached from riding, dismounting and futilely searching only to mount again and ride again. Fatigue was beginning to wrap around him, but he could not, he would not, think of rest. Euberacon had taken Risa. He would find her. He must. It was only Geraint and Gareth’s absolute refusal to go any farther without more men and fresh horses that brought him back here at all.
Over the harsh sound of his own breathing, Gawain heard a man’s voice within the cottage. A second man answered it, and the first spoke again.
“Merlin!” shouted Gawain. “I would speak with you, Merlin!”
Both voices fell silent for a long moment and Gawain heard the shuffling sounds of movement. The door eased open, revealing nothing so much as shadow, and Merlin standing in its heart.
Despite his intentions, there was that in the old sorcerer’s face that made Gawain hesitate.
“Well,” said Merlin. “If you are so determined, you had best come in.”
Gawain strode inside. It was one of the few places in Camelot where he had never actually stood. Gareth, he knew, had once accepted a dare to come to this place and steal something to prove he had done it. He had never said what happened, but Gareth had never taken such a dare again.
There was only one candle lit, so Gawain could see next to nothing of the place he had entered. He had a vague impression of tables and other furnishings, but the rest was nothing but mysteries. But in the center of the floor there were the low and curving stone walls of a great well. Gawain blinked. For a moment it seemed to him a faint silver glow emanated from that well, but by the time his eyes adjusted to it, it was gone.
Merlin was lifting the well’s cover and sliding it back in place. The cover was heavy, and the old man moved slowly. Gawain almost offered to help, but his skin crawled unaccountably at the thought of approaching that well and what he might see in its depths.
Wood grated against stone, and Merlin slipped the cover back into place. Some of the chill ebbed from Gawain. The sorcerer turned and lifted an iron wand, and with it performed the very ordinary action of poking up the fire.
Now Gawain could see him clearly, the bent old man who had been at Arthur’s side since before Gawain had come to Camelot. The fear faded and both will and wit returned.
“What have you found?” he asked at once. “Did you see her? Do you know where she is?”
But Merlin only shook his head. Gawain’s chest seized tight.
