A Step Beyond Page 8

  “Two of the older stable boys have a liking for youngsters,” Ailim said succinctly. “The child has been quite good to me, and as I said before, regards me as equal with the gods.”

  Gawain studied the grimy face of the young boy relaxed in sleep. The remains of a deep bruise showed faintly purple on his temple, and where his sleeve rode up leaving his arm bare the outline of fingers showing purple and yellow on the fair skin.

  Gawain rubbed his aching temples with his fingers and rooted in his pouch for a piece of willow bark. He gave up trying to put two coherent thoughts together and laid his head on top of his crossed arms resting on his drawn-up knees.

  “Time enough in the morning to figure things out and sort out the child as well.”

  Gawain slipped into an uneasy slumber with Ailim’s nose resting on his head, the stallion’s warm, sweet breath disturbing the loose strands of Gawain’s hair. Gawain allowed himself to drift into a deeper sleep, secure in the knowledge Ailim watched over him.

  Chapter Seven

  The early morning sounds of the stable woke Gawain before the first light of dawn. The urchin in the straw at Ailim’s feet was already up and gone, tending to his duties, no doubt in order to avoid a beating. Ailim’s coat was brushed and shining, and his tack was neatly laid out on a sawhorse ready for Gawain to use.

  Quiet voices and the jingle of spurs accompanied by the scuffle of boots on the cobbles announced the arrival of the rest of Arthur’s knights. Gawain hauled himself upright and brushed the worst of the straw and dust from his garments. He rubbed his face briskly with his hands and was relieved to note his head felt almost normal.

  Running his hand over Ailim to reassure himself there was indeed no dirt on that broad back before lifting the pad and saddle up onto the horse, he was pleased to find no trace of mud, indeed not a hair was out of place. Gawain adjusted the girth and checked the fittings, being sure the scabbard for his great sword was in just the right place. His instincts told him there would be fighting sooner rather than later, and experience taught him long ago, death came to those who did not pay attention to their own weapons and gear.

  Satisfied all was in order, he hung the ornate bridle on the pommel of the saddle and left Ailim with his head free to enjoy his breakfast. Gawain headed for the tap room to see about his own breakfast.

  “You look like the devil himself, Gawain.” Bedivere greeted him with a cuff on the shoulder.

  “Feel like him, too,” Gawain acknowledged ruefully. “Is there aught to eat before we ride?”

  “Here, I brought yours for you.” Lancelot thrust a package wrapped in oiled paper into Gawain’s hands. “Arthur is anxious to be gone and fetch his queen.”

  Gawain stuffed the package in his pouch and turned on his heel to return to the stable.

  Gawain watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye as the king strode purposefully across the stable yard and took the reins of Caliburn from the young boy who held the prancing stallion. More noticeable was the fact Mordraut was not, as usual, hanging on the king’s shoulder and whispering God knew what into his ear. He glanced over at Lancelot, who appeared to have slept less than well. The expression on Arthur’s face suggested things had not gone well for Mordraut.

  The sight of the stable boy holding Arthur’s stallion nudged Gawain’s brain, and he glanced about, seeking the young urchin who served Ailim the night before. Gawain couldn’t see any child who looked familiar and hastily gave up, running for his stallion as more than half the knights swung up into the saddle, eager to be gone.

  Gawain bolted into the dark interior of the stable and ran smack into Ailim’s nose. The urchin from the night before dangled from the ends of the reins as Ailim threw his head up in surprise.

  “My pardon and my thanks,” Gawain said to the lad. “We must be off. The king is ready to ride.”

  Gawain took the reins from the speechless boy, swinging quickly up into the saddle and touching Ailim with his heel. To his utter surprise, the grey stallion refused to move and swung his head around to regard Gawain with a dark liquid eye.

  “The boy. You promised to deal with his problem,” Ailim reminded Gawain.

  “And I suppose you will remain rooted like a tree until I do.” Gawain guessed impatiently.

  Ailim’s response was to continue to stare him in the eye and not move so much as an eyelash. Gawain snorted in anger and frustration. The king was already on the move, heading out the gate of the inn yard.

  “Boy,” Gawain commanded. “Give me your hand.”

  The grimy urchin stood beneath Ailim’s chin and gaped up at Gawain in disbelief. Ailim bunted him with his nose, and the child put out his arm to steady himself against the strong shoulder of the charger. Gawain grasped his wrist and hauled him up behind the saddle onto the stallion’s broad rump. The child uttered a small squeak of fear and then fell silent, holding onto the high back of the saddle for dear life.

  Once the small body was firmly entrenched on his back, Ailim broke into a canter and left the inn yard to join the back of the king’s company.

  “Hoy, Knight, where go you with my servant?” The inn keeper roared at Gawain’s back.

  Gawain heaved a sigh of barely controlled frustration and drew rein long enough to toss a silver coin into the dirt. “That is worth more than you paid for the lad, and certainly more than you are worth,” Gawain told the fat, balding inn keep.

  The inn keeper grinned, showing rotting black teeth, scooped the coin out of the dust, and tucked it into his breeches. Without a backward glance, the man turned and stomped back into the inn, while the other stable boys gathered in a tight knot and watched with obvious envy as their youngest member was borne away, bumping on the back of the charger.

  Arthur set a furious pace all forenoon, halting briefly to allow the horses a chance to drink at a wayside spring as the bright sun reached the peak of the heavens. Gawain sensed the small burden behind him tense as the horses stopped. He could hear the boy’s quick intake of breath as Gawain shifted in his saddle to look over his shoulder at the pale dirty face.

  “Gawain, what pet did you pick up?” Mordraut drew the rest of the knights’ attention to Gawain’s passenger. “Is this your new form of entertainment?”

  “Your mind and your speech are in the gutter as usual.” Gawain scowled at Mordraut. “I am in need of a page since my last one was wounded. Balin will not walk again without a crutch, and I have provided for him, but I require someone to care for Ailim and my gear. This one suits both my horse and myself well. I fail to see where my choice is of any concern to you.”

  “My, my, you do protest too much methinks, and the lad is young and somewhat comely.” Mordraut let the comment hang in the air between them.

  Gawain pointedly turned his back on Mordraut and reached behind him to grasp the boy firmly by one arm and set him on his feet by Ailim’s shoulder. Gawain’s feet touched the ground seconds after the boy and he gripped the child by his dirty jerkin to prevent him bolting.

  “What is your name, boy?” Gawain bent down so his eyes were level with the child’s.

  The boy’s throat worked, but no words formed on his lips. Ailim casually lipped his hair, and the boy turned his head up toward the great stallion with a smile on his face.

  “They call me Alain, and so that is what I answer to.” The child’s green eyes met Gawain’s gaze honestly.

  “Well then, Alain, know you have nothing to fear from me, except for hard work and little pay,” Gawain informed him. “No one will touch you in any way you do not wish, and if any one bothers you, you are to tell me at once, is that clear?”

  Alain nodded solemnly. His greasy hair fell over his forehead, and the boy brushed it back quickly. Gawain nodded and passed Alain the reins.

  “See my horse gets some water, but not too much you understand,” Gawain instructed.

  “I knows how to look after a horse, Sir Knight. Your great, grey beast is safe with me,” Alain said over his shoulder, already taking
Ailim into the shade and procuring a choice spot for him near both water and good grass.

  “The boy is fine, Gawain. Go eat before you fall from my saddle in a faint.” Laughter was thick in Ailim’s mind voice.

  Gawain slouched over to the knot of men and stuck the stone dipper into the clear water of the spring. The taste on his tongue was cold and sweet. Once his thirst was slaked, he dug in his pouch for the package of food Lancelot had given him in the inn yard.

  The contents consisted of travel food. Bread wrapped around sausage and baked in the brick ovens to a tough hardness that would withstand rough handling. Gawain hacked off a bit with his belt knife and swilled water around in his mouth to soften the dough before trying to chew. The conversations swirled around him, and Gawain let them slid by without paying much heed to what was being said.

  “Gawain,” Ailim’s mind voice touched him gently. “You may wish to hear something interesting young Alain overheard at the inn.”

  Gawain nodded slightly and turned his head in Alain’s direction. Casually, Gawain replaced the water dipper on the stone ledge and blunted his teeth on another piece of travel bread. Scratching his ribs absently, Gawain straightened up from the shade of the tree by the spring and wandered off in the general direction of some thick bushes. Making a show of fiddling with the lacing on his breeches before disappearing from the view of the other knights, he shoved his way into the thicket. It was best if no one else was privy to the conversation, given the presence of King March’s spy among Arthur’s men.

  Quickly, Gawain threaded his way through the close knit trees and made a beeline for the trees where Alain had tethered Ailim. He paused just in the shelter of the trees and touched the horse with his mind voice. To his surprise, Alain tilted his head immediately in Gawain’s direction. Alain slapped the stallion gently on the shoulder and admonished him to behave while the boy took a moment to relieve himself. Alain sauntered over toward the trees where Gawain was hidden and slid into the leafy shadows beside him. Ailim raised his head and winked an eye at Gawain.

  “Did I forget to mention that the boy can hear me?” Ailim snorted a little with amusement.

  “Yes, you do seem to have omitted that fact, although I should have suspected something was afoot when you blackmailed me into kidnapping the child,” Gawain said dryly. “So you can understand that great oaf then?” Gawain addressed Alain, who stood uncertainly just out of Gawain’s reach.

  Alain nodded reluctantly, and Gawain saw the boy’s eyes calculating an escape route through the trees.

  “There is nothing to fear, Alain. It will be most helpful if you can hear Ailim. It may well save my life or yours in the future.” Gawain smiled at the boy.

  “You aren’t mad I can talk to your charger, Sir?” Alain stayed out of reach.

  “It is Ailim’s choice, not mine to make, if he chooses to speak with you. I have no complaint with that,” Gawain said truthfully.

  Alain took a step closer to Gawain and glanced over his shoulder to be sure none of the other pages were nearby.

  “Yon horse says you are in pursuit of King March and his party, and you are headed for the town at Seven Stone Rocks,” Alain began, and then paused.

  “That is so. King March has something of King Arthur’s, and we wish to take it back from him.”

  “But King March’s party was at the inn two nights ago, and I heard some of the men gossiping behind the kitchen, you know with the wenches, and they said they were bound for Wolf Rocks. They were laughing about sending someone off on a fool’s errand.” Alain rushed the words out and then ducked obviously expecting a blow about the ears.

  “Are you sure of what you heard Alain, you heard it with your own ears?” Gawain prodded him.

  Alain nodded emphatically and glanced across the clearing at Ailim.

  “He sends me a mind picture of the men and the wenches that is clear enough I am certain the boy did hear and see what he says,” Ailim assured Gawain.

  “You understand I must tell King Arthur this news. The king may wish to speak with you himself. Do not disappear on me.” Gawain placed his hand on Alain’s shoulder.

  Alain looked at Ailim. “I will be here with your horse and your belongings, Sir Gawain.”

  “See that you are,” Gawain said, striding out of the trees and across the sunlit ground toward the spring.

  He caught Lancelot’s eye and gestured for him to join him some distance from the rest of the men. Lancelot nodded imperceptibly, casually lifted his head, and hailed Gawain.

  “Gawain, come walk with me; there is something I must relay to you from Arthur.” Lancelot broke away from the group and joined Gawain. They walked a few paces into the shade of a huge tree standing alone on open ground with no brush nearby. “What is it that is so urgent?” Lancelot asked bluntly.

  “My new page tells me King March stayed at the inn two nights hence, and the boy heard some of the men boasting how they were sending the High King on a wild goose chase out to the town at Seven Stones Rocks while they were in truth on their way to Wolf Rocks.” Gawain summed up the information in as few words as possible.

  “Are you sure of his information? Arthur will be livid if this is true.” Lancelot frowned.

  “Ailim vouches for the lad, and that is good enough for me.”

  “Well, let us go tell Arthur this news,” Lancelot said reluctantly and heaved a huge sigh.

  “I’ll be right behind you.” Gawain grinned weakly at Lancelot’s drawn face.

  Neither man was eager to place the news in front of Arthur, but there was nothing for it but to grasp the dragon by the tongue and tell him. Arthur’s face was stony and unreadable while he listened. The only sign of the emotion raging underneath that still surface was the waves of red and white which flooded across Arthur’s visage and the twitching of his knuckles as they gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “So do I abandon my quest to catch that bastard March on his way to Seven Stone Rocks and go chasing off to Wolf Rocks instead on the word of a stable urchin?” Arthur demanded of Lancelot and Gawain.

  “I don’t know, Arthur.” Gawain raised one shoulder apologetically. “Ailim vouches for the boy, or I would not have bothered you. You know the stallions can sift the lies from the truth.”

  “I doubt not your stallion can smell a lie. The boy must believe it to be the truth, but in light of the ruse played out at Castle Lyonnesse, I have to wonder if it was truth, or did the urchin see only what he was supposed to see? The boy is far too young to recognize a bit of glamour.” Arthur rocked from foot to foot, deliberating.

  “You have a point, sire.” Lancelot pulled on the ends of his short beard and frowned at his boots.

  “I only know what the boy and Ailim have shown me. If the boy believed it to be truth that is all he can show Ailim, which is of no use to us in discovering if there was a glamour involved.” Gawain stroked the hilt of his sword with his right hand.

  “For right or wrong, we must make a decision.” Arthur abruptly quit rocking and pinned Gawain with his hawk’s eyes. “Let us assume March and his company are headed for Wolf Rocks. How many men do you reckon it would take to hold them there, if we split our force, and some continued on to the town at Seven Stones Rocks on the chance King March has trailed another bit of magic across our path and is really still on the road to Seven Stones.”

  “If they are holed up in the rocks, maybe six of us could corner them, especially if we can make them believe there are more of us,” Gawain said carefully.

  Arthur flicked his gaze to Lancelot. At Lancelot’s infinitesimal nod, Arthur laid his plan out for Gawain and Lance’s consultation.

  * * *

  Gawain strode quickly away from the meeting with Arthur and headed directly for his charger. Dust rose in the warm air behind him, and the tip of his scabbard left a ragged trail in the dirt. Alain saw him coming and hastened to tighten his girths and re-bridle Ailim. The boy stood at alert by the stallion’s head and handed the reins quickly to Ga
wain, as soon as the knight was close enough. Gawain took the lines and called five of the knights by the spring to join him. No sooner had they moved to come to him than Lancelot was conferring with the remaining men gathered by the well. Gawain waited until the five companions chosen by Arthur were gathered around him and began to outline the plan.

  “We are to ride to Wolf Rocks and see if King March is indeed on his way there or already entrenched. If we find no sign of them, we ride post haste to rejoin the king. If King March and the queen are at Wolf Rocks, we are to hold them as best we can, while ensuring no harm comes to either lady, and Arthur will ride to us in all haste. It is most likely we ride on a fool’s errand, and there will be no glory at the end of our road. However, Arthur is not willing to let the possibility lie that March is not bound for Seven Stones Rocks but Wolf Rocks.” The other men in his command made haste to ready their mounts and join him. Ailim pranced impatiently on the road, eager to be gone now there was a purpose and something to do. Gawain reached down and pulled Alain up behind him onto Ailim’s broad grey hind quarters.

  “You’d do well to hold tight; this could be a bit of a wild ride, lad,” Gawain warned Alain. “Do you have travel bread in your pouch? We won’t be stopping for more than a quick breather for the horses until we are in sight of the Wolf Rocks.”

  Alain nodded and arranged his new to him cloak Gawain had hacked down to size with his blade. The sun was warm enough, but the wind had a bite, especially when one added the speed of the great horse beneath his buttocks to the strength of the wind. The knight grinned when the boy grasped the high cantle of the saddle as Ailim leaped into a full gallop his head up and nostrils flared so the red lining showed. The rest of their troop rode close behind, both horses and riders glad to be moving and hopefully headed toward some action and adventure.

  Chapter Eight

  Gawain fought to control his thoughts as the grey stallion carried him onward toward Wolf Rocks. Fear curdled his dinner in his stomach with the thought of the Lady Nuina at the mercy of King March. Anger stirred and raised its head when Queen Gwenhwyfar’s fair face crossed his inner vision.