Grail Quest - The Shadow Companion Part 2

"Anything that might need magic," she replied matter-of-factly. "Ger, do you stop practicing your swordplay just because the king has made treaties with the countries around us?"

"Don't be-no." He saw the trap closing around him, but couldn't back out of it.

"So?"

"It's not the same," he said again, more weakly this time. "Magic is different. It's dangerous. . . . Unpredictable."

"All the more reason for me to learn how to control it. The same way you learn how to use your sword. Or do you want me to be entirely defenseless? Is that it? Even Merlin-"

"Even Merlin what?" Gerard pounced on her words like a cat on a rat.

"Nothing."

"Ailis, did Merlin tell you not to do magic?"

"No," she said defiantly. "In fact, he said I should keep practicing. Discreetly."

"And you call this discreet?" With a wave of his hand, he indicated the storm outside.

"You're just upset because we're not going to be moving out in the morning the way Sir Matthias wanted, which means that another group might find the Grail first." She shook her head. Her hair was completely dry by now, and the long, dark red strands streamed down her back in a rumpled cascade. "I told you when the king first started this-the Grail's not a thing to be won. It has to be earned. And if you ask me, there's not a man on this entire Quest who's earned it."

"So you did cause this storm." He declared, triumphant. They were back in familiar territory now. Ailis and Gerard had been squabbling like this, on different topics, since they were children.

Ailis looked as though she wanted very badly to throw her bowl of stew at him. Familiar also meant that they knew exactly where to hit to accomplish the most damage. "Why are you so tangled up in the thought of me using magic? I could understand it from Newt, but you-you know that magic isn't bad! It's not evil!"

"It's Sir Matthias. He thinks . . ." Gerard really didn't want to go on, but he had started, so there was no dropping it now.

"What about him?"

"He thinks that magic profanes the Quest."

"He what?"

Gerard looked miserable. He was not only carrying tales, but making trouble, when all he wanted to do was warn Ailis. "He thinks that magic . . . that it's wrong to use on the Quest. And if he finds out that you've been using it, I'm worried he'll-"

"He'll what? Toss me out by the side of the road-to fend for myself?"

"Of course not!" That would be wrong. Unchivalrous. And it would deeply disturb both Arthur and Merlin, who had chosen to send Ailis out with the Quest.

"Good. Because Merlin sent me on this journey in order to use my skill to help find the Grail, remember?"

"When the time was right, as I recall." Gerard was also remembering a discussion he and Merlin and Newt had had before Ailis rejoined them. They talked over their concerns about the influence Morgain might have had on the girl; about what traps the enchantress might have set, waiting for Ailis to trigger them. Ailis was part of the Quest for many reasons, not the least of which was to see if she drew Morgain to her. But that was one secret that Gerard would rather die than divulge to her.

"All I am saying is . . . be careful. Don't . . . don't play around with magic. Don't cause storms, or . . . or do anything. Just . . ."

"Just sit in a corner and do needlework and look pretty for the knights? Is that what you're saying?" Ailis stood up, slamming her thankfully now empty bowl onto the ground.

"I am so very tired of everyone telling me to sit, and wait, and be a good girl! *You'll have your time,' Morgain says. *The time is coming,' Merlin says. *Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself,' you say. Why not? Why must everything be hidden under a rock? When do I get to stand up and take credit for helping to defeat Morgain, rather than just hiding behind you and Newt and your swords and your bas.h.i.+ng?"

Her hands balled up at her sides as though she wanted to hit something, and the words poured out of her.

"Morgain was right about one thing-n.o.body takes me seriously! Not even Merlin! Everyone tells me what I can't do, and n.o.body wants to see what I can do! n.o.body-except Newt." She saw Gerard flinch and went for the kill, not knowing why, except that it was effective and she was angry.

"Newt's scared of magic, but he doesn't tell me not to use it. He doesn't tell me to sit in a corner and act like a lady, or not to speak to anyone, and not to wear pants, or-"

She knew it wasn't fair. Gerard had never said those things to her. It wasn't his fault Sir Matthias wanted her to be a subst.i.tute for his delicate daughter. And Newt wasn't all that accepting of her, either. He wanted to keep an eye out for her, reminding her of how useless she was without the magic, and how, if it wasn't for the magic, she would never have met Morgain. And then she never would have had her eyes opened to all the possibilities in the world-the possibilities that everyone kept holding out of her reach, telling her "not yet."

"Ailis-"

"No!"

As she shouted it, an unexpected clash of thunder split the heavens. They both stopped and stared at each other.

"I didn't make the storm," she said in a much quieter voice. "But I can make it stop. That should make everyone happy, right? And n.o.body will ever know. Just the way you all want it."

She turned and stalked out into the rain, not bothering with her shoes or jacket or the oiled tarp.

Gerard sighed, picked up his stew bowl, and started eating his dinner. If she was going to be like that, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Elsewhere in the camp, Newt had his hands full with a different kind of argument.

During the storm, one of the flimsier pavilions had blown over, exposing a knight's belongings to the weather and resulting in the hapless squire responsible having his ears boxed.

Newt had come along while the boy and two of his friends were trying to get the fabric back up, while the knight took refuge with a neighbor, drinking wine and watching the boys struggle.

"Fine example of chivalry," Newt had said, but only to himself. Out loud, he had ordered the smallest boy to collect all of the objects still lying in the gra.s.s and place them under a small, oiled tarp.

Meanwhile, he and the two other boys began replacing pegs, careful not to trip over or stumble into any of the neighboring tents in the dark. The rain finally let up just as he was about to tell them to bring out the top-most fabric. They were able to unfold the cloth and set the ropes without too much difficulty, despite the lack of light beyond the torches the knights had put up.

"Down, boy," Newt said now, holding his hand at hip level to ill.u.s.trate what he wanted, the way he would if working with a half-trained dog. His voice was soothing, gentle, and shaking with laughter, as he teased the younger boy who held the other end of the rope.

"Grrrr." The boy at the other end of the rope bared his teeth and growled, but obediently went down onto his knees in order to tie the rope to the peg without losing any of the tautness.

"You pull a good rope," one of the squires called. "Pity it's bound to end up around your neck."

Newt laughed and went to the third rope, making sure it had been tied properly. There were few things you learned faster working in the kennels, the way he had as a young boy, than how to tie a secure knot.

"Up the tent!" Newt called, and they hauled on the ropes until the pavilion cover was upright once again.

"Good, dog-boy!" one of the squires called, continuing the rough-handed teasing. "Say woof!"

"That's horse-boy to you, and I say to you *neigh.' "

"Four legs, a tail, and no brains-not so much of a difference between horse and dog."

"You take that back!"

Newt looked up from tying off the final rope only to see the squire flat on his back in the mud, Gerard looming over him, holding him down. "You don't speak to him like that-not until you've done as much as he has," Gerard growled.

"Ger!" Newt knew that Gerard had a temper- he had, in fact, been at the receiving end of it many times-but this seemed extreme. "Gerard, it's okay!" He hauled Gerard off the now muddy squire, shoving him, gently, to arms' distance away.

"What was that all about?"

"He said-"

"I heard what he said."

"He-it doesn't bother you?" Gerard looked at Newt, then up at the now clear sky as though there might be some answer up there.

"It would have if it meant anything." Newt knew that he had sore spots, things that riled him when poked, but he very rarely got angry. His mother had taught him to let things slide off his shoulders, and working with animals sensitive to your moods had set the lessons in stone. Anger had no place in his life, especially over such a foolish thing as name-calling.

"I appreciate the champions.h.i.+p," Newt said. "But I don't need it."

He was tired of Gerard always playing the squire role no matter what, as though that were the only thing that mattered. He was tired of hiding his partic.i.p.ation in events, of staying quiet in order to keep any rumor or hint of trouble at Camelot from spreading.

"If you'd fought like that when we first met, you might actually have won," he said instead.

"If Sir Lancelot hadn't shown up to save you, you'd have been wearing your face backward," Gerard retorted, reaching to help the squire he'd just tackled up from the mud. "Callum, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Sorry about that, Callum. Newt's a friend of mine, and I don't take well to him being mocked. Even in jest."

"I'll remember that." The boy was unhappy, but clearly unable to find fault either with Gerard's apology, or his reasoning.

Gerard glanced up at the sky, then turned to Newt, his face serious again. "We need to talk about Ailis."

"Ailis? Is she all right?" Newt looked around, as though expecting to see her in the crowd gathering around them.

Gerard looked up at the sky again and found the moon that was beginning to rise. "We need to talk," was all he said.

"Gather!"

The call came from the center of camp, and everyone turned to hear who was yelling.

"Gather!"

"That's Tom," Gerard said, relieved at the interruption. Tom was Sir Matthias's squire, the one who actually was stuck polis.h.i.+ng gear and minding the horses. "Something must have happened. Come on!"

The two friends pushed through the crowd, slipping occasionally on the mud-slick gra.s.s, to where Sir Matthias was standing. A young, nervous-looking monk was beside him. There were torches set up to hold the darkness at bay, but even with them, everything had a strange, shadowy cast. It caused Newt to look around nervously, waiting for something to jump out at them.

"n.o.body else feels it."

"What?" Gerard said.

Ailis had appeared next to Newt, looking straight ahead, watching not Sir Matthias, but the monk with him. "The darkness. n.o.body else feels it."

"You do." Newt's words were less a statement than a question.

"So do you, don't you?" Ailis said, looking at Newt closely. They were feeling the same strange tension in the air, a tension which seemed to be increasing, rather than fading.

Gerard had stopped listening to them. Instead he watched Sir Matthias and the monk.

"Which means . . . ?" Newt wasn't sure what he was asking.

"I don't know. There's something about that monk. The darkness, it has been placed on him, somehow, as though . . ."

"Shhhh," Gerard hushed them as Sir Matthias began to speak.

"This is Brother Jannot. He-"

"The Grail hides." The monk had a deep voice, deeper than his body should have been able to produce, and it carried even into the darkness. "The Grail hides in shadows, in long dark shadows. Bring the light, and dispel the shadows. Find the Grail."

"A prophecy," one of the knights muttered. "He's been gifted with the art of prophecy."

"A miracle," another said. "The voice of G.o.d speaks through him!"

Slowly, the mood of the gathered men changed from irritation and exhaustion to exultation, with Sir Matthias and the now silent monk at the heart of it. Even Gerard and Newt got caught up in the energy, Newt totally forgetting his earlier unease.

Only Ailis, pushed to the side by the crowd of people trying to get close enough to touch the monk's robe, looked distressed, not uplifted, by the prophecy.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, feeling it in her bones, in her blood. There was a sense of the world being twisted somehow. She could feel it, taste it, in the monk's words.

But n.o.body heard her; everyone was so caught up in the monk's revelation. He gave them exactly what they wanted to hear.

THREE.

he next morning found them riding out of sunlit fields and into a dark, shadowed forest. The road narrowed so that they could not ride more than three abreast. The supply wagon came perilously close to overrunning the cleared area and tipping into the narrow rainwater-carved ditch on one side.

"I don't like this." Ailis kept looking back over her shoulder, her hand reaching to stroke her horse's neck for rea.s.surance. The gelding was one of Arthur's own with the royal brand on its hindquarters. It was trained to carry messengers, lads about Ailis's size and weight. That familiar weight, Newt had said, would keep the horse calm and steady no matter how far they traveled, or under what conditions. So far that had been true, and Ailis was thankful for it. She was a better rider now than she had ever dreamed of being before all this began, but it still wasn't natural to her the way it was for the boys.

"Which this would that be?" Gerard asked. "The fact that we're chasing after a rumor based on something a half-mad monk said, the fact that we're riding into a big dark forest everyone calls the Shadows, because the word has *shadow' in its name, or-"

"Or because everyone around here says that this forest is haunted with evil spirits?" Newt added.

"I don't believe in ghosties," Callum said stoutly, but he was a little paler than normal as he looked around nervously. He'd chosen to ride with them this morning, despite or perhaps because of the fight the night before. His mount, a delicate-boned mare with a lovely gait, was taking her cue from him, shying and snorting at every bird or small beast that moved. Newt would have felt sorrier, except for Callum's stubborn determination to outdo Gerard in every way, including his casual disregard for anything not sword or s.h.i.+eld. It was annoying enough to have one adventure-hungry squire around-two was exhausting.

Newt didn't like magic. He didn't trust magic. But he wasn't fool enough to deny it existed. He'd never seen a ghost before. But he'd seen a dragon, a bridge troll, a sea serpent . . . after that, unquiet spirits weren't so difficult to imagine.

"Why would the Grail be hidden in a forest?" Ailis asked for the seventh or eighth time since Sir Matthias had announced their destination that morning.