LANCE OF TRUTH (18 page)

A
t first Rhianna thought the bloodbeards had come back, and dropped her hand to Excalibur’s hilt. Then a broad-shouldered man with yellow braids stepped out of the trees, draped in dark furs despite the heat. A golden torque gleamed around his throat. With relief,
she recognised Chief Cynric, who had laid siege to Camelot last winter but later surrendered to her after losing the battle. Other long-haired Saxons stood behind him, their spears glittering.

“Sneaky barbarians must’ve crept up on us while we were talking to the lake spirit,” Sir Lancelot muttered. He gathered up his stallion’s reins and made a valiant attempt to get back into the saddle, but failed. He groaned and pressed a hand to his wound, fresh blood on his fingers.

Rhianna smiled. In the rush to rescue her mother, obviously nobody had thought to tell Sir Lancelot about the peace treaty she’d made last year with the Saxons.

Then Cynric beckoned to his men. Two burly warriors stepped out of the trees supporting a figure in muddy black armour between them.

Her stomach lurched. “
Mordred
!”

Thinking of what Sir Agravaine had said about the Saxons having changed sides three times already, she drew Excalibur. Cai levelled the Lance of Truth at the chief and warned, “Don’t come any closer!”

Sir Lancelot gave up trying to mount, and twisted his free hand into his horse’s mane instead. “Stay close to me, Damsel Rhianna,” he said quietly. “You too, fairy boy – any magic you can manage that’ll get us out of this wood in one piece will help. Cai, don’t you dare drop that lance! They’re on foot. Once we’re clear of these trees, you should be able to lose them on the road to Camelot. I’ll delay them as long as I can…”

“Do you need any help, Pendragon Princess?” the Saxon chief called. “We were on our way to
the celebrations, when we spotted this one’s bloodbeards running through the wood. Then we found Prince Mordred lurking in the bushes and heard your voice. Thought you might be in trouble.” He frowned at Lancelot’s wound. “Did they attack you?”

Rhianna relaxed. The hands on Mordred’s arms seemed to be restraining him rather than supporting him. “It’s all right,” she told her friends. “Chief Cynric doesn’t fight for Mordred any more. The treaty still holds.” She sheathed her sword and started forward to greet the Saxon.

Sir Lancelot grabbed her rein and pulled her back. “
What
treaty? Last time I met these Saxons was on the battlefield with my king, and that man fought under Prince Mordred’s eagle! You can’t trust a barbarian – they change sides
faster than the wind. You’d make a nice little hostage for them, I’m thinking. Don’t be fooled by how things look. You know how sneaky the traitor is. A poisoned blade and turning up a day early for our duel is nothing compared with what the dark knight is capable of!”

She hesitated. What if he was right, and her cousin had rejoined his old allies? The Saxons outnumbered them at least five to one, even without Mordred’s bloodbeards. Lancelot’s wound hadn’t healed properly yet, and Cai had not had any practice with the Lance of Truth.

“Am I any use to you as a hostage, Chief Cynric?” she called, hoping he wouldn’t say ‘yes’.

Cynric chuckled. “Only if Prince Mordred’s paying,” he said, glancing at their prisoner. “But he seems to have come down in the world since I saw him last. We found him skulking in the
woods like a beggar without horse or weapon. You’re the one with the gold round these parts, Pendragon Princess. Besides, if we break the treaty, Arthur’s knights would be down upon our villages like a flash, scaring our wives and children. The last thing we want is their horses’ clumsy hooves trampling our crops when we’ve only just planted them. I prefer to take a few furs to the queen and drink her mead at this big feast she’s promised us all tomorrow. Going to see you all dressed up and named as Arthur’s heir, I hear? That’ll be something to sing about.”

Rhianna grimaced at the reminder.

“And him?” Sir Lancelot said, pointing his sword at the glowering Mordred. “You really think we’re going to let you into Camelot with the traitor who killed King Arthur?”

Cynric shrugged and glanced at the dark
knight. “We can just as easily slit his throat here and dump the body in the lake, if you like. He’s no use to us. But we thought you might like to execute him with a bit more ceremony, considering he killed your king.”

“Let me go, you barbarian scum!” Mordred scowled at the chief and heaved against his captors. “You agreed to fight for me if I got rid of King Arthur! I kept my side of the bargain. I thought you were supposed to be helping me.” But, crippled and unhorsed, he didn’t have much chance of escaping his Saxon captors, who pushed him to his knees.

Rhianna frowned. If it was a trick, her cousin was playing his part well.

“Good idea,” Cai said, keeping the Lance of Truth levelled at the dark knight. “Cut the dirty sneak’s throat.”

Mordred paled as one of his captors caught hold of his hair and dragged his head back.

“No!” Rhianna said, seeing Cynric reach for his dagger. Uneasily, she remembered her cousin pressed against her with her blade across his throat. She frowned at Cai. “Not like this… Mordred might have killed my father and kidnapped my mother, but he’s got Pendragon blood, same as me. He should be taken back to Camelot so he can be tried properly for his crimes.”

Cynric looked a bit disappointed, but slipped his dagger back into its sheath.

“Well said, Damsel Rhianna,” Sir Lancelot agreed. “And when my wound’s properly healed, maybe we’ll get a chance to finish our duel.”

“I’m the Pendragon’s champion now,”
Cai reminded them. “I should finish it.”

Nobody took any notice of the squire. They were all watching the dark knight, who kicked and cursed as the Saxons bound his elbows behind him.

Eventually, Mordred’s struggles ceased. He glared at the chief, panting. “Mother warned me never to trust a Saxon!” he spat. “She’ll haunt you and your children for the rest of your miserable days, you two-faced barbarian dog.”

Cynric laughed. “I’m not afraid of your curses, witch’s brat. Gag him, too,” he ordered his men. “I’m sure Princess Rhianna doesn’t want to hear that kind of language all the way back to Camelot.”

Since most of the party were on foot, they took
the short cut over the hills. At first Cynric’s men were wary, keeping a lookout for any bloodbeards who might try to rescue their prince. But Mordred’s men had vanished, along with his black stallion and the ghostly knights. By the time Camelot’s towers came into view, glittering like fire in the setting sun, the Saxons had relaxed. They shoved the prisoner along between them, taunting him about his cowardly troops who had run off to save their own skins.

Sir Lancelot rode at the front beside Chief Cynric, quizzing the Saxon about the new settlements, while the chief rested a hand on the white stallion’s rein to keep him steady for the wounded knight. Elphin examined the Lance of Truth curiously, and Cai experimented by carrying it in different
positions, poking poor Sandy in the ribs and making Evenstar mist to avoid it.

Rhianna rode at the back to keep an eye on her cousin, who breathed heavily around his gag as the Saxons hauled him along. She couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him. Yet, if their positions were reversed, she knew he’d have no mercy. She felt uneasy about taking him to Camelot. She wanted to talk to someone who could advise her on what to do next. But her mother would not understand, and she’d more or less given up on Merlin.

“Rhia?” Elphin said, breaking into her thoughts. “Did you tell the queen where you were going?”

She realised they had reached the final track leading up to Camelot. She didn’t think her mother would even have noticed her absence,  
considering how busy she had been with preparations for the feast. But as they came in sight of the walls, the gates opened and a company of knights cantered down the hill to surround them with flashing lances.

“No further!” growled Sir Agravaine, lowering his lance to stop Cynric. He glowered at Mordred. “Damsel Rhianna, Elphin, Cai… take your ponies inside. Everyone else, don’t move. That includes you, Lancelot! The queen wants to know what you think you’re doing, putting her daughter in danger like this?”

The big chief spread his hands and glanced at Rhianna. Sir Lancelot looked pale, and swayed in his saddle. Rhianna dismounted and opened her mouth to explain. But before she could say a word, Sir Bedivere trotted down to join them, bringing the queen on the hindquarters of his
horse. Guinevere slid off the mare and flung her arms around Rhianna, hugging her tightly.

She was so surprised that she closed her mouth again. Her mother’s hug was warm and soft, exactly as she had imagined it would feel, all those years she was growing up without her in Avalon. Her eyes pricked with unexpected tears.

She is crying
, Alba observed with a surprised snort.
But she is happy also. Humans are very confusing.

“Thank God you’re safe!” Guinevere gasped. “When I heard you’d galloped off bareback without even your armour, I didn’t know what to think! The knights came back reporting the woods were full of bloodbeards but could find no sign of you. Then we saw you coming over the hills with the Saxons and
Mordred, and I feared the worst…” She cupped her hands around Rhianna’s face and blinked away her tears. “Oh, my darling! Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

“Sorry, Rhia,” Elphin whispered. “It’s my fault the knights couldn’t find you. I told Evenstar to mist across our prints to confuse our trail in case those bloodbeards tried to follow us.”

She smiled as she explained this to her mother. Nobody could follow a mist horse’s trail unless they knew what they were looking for.

By this time, Sir Lancelot had recovered enough to explain about the duel at the lake and how the Saxons had caught Mordred hiding in the woods. Sir Agravaine reluctantly lowered his lance and let Cynric approach the
queen. The Saxon went down on one knee and pulled off his golden torque.

“Please accept this with my personal apologies for worrying you, Queen Guinevere,” he said. “As you can see, your daughter is safe and well. And I have brought you gifts to celebrate midsummer.”

The queen frowned at the gold, distracted. “I don’t want your necklace. It’s a man’s ornament.”

“Then please accept these furs and this prisoner as thanks for letting our families settle in your villages.” He beckoned to his men, who led forward their pony laden with furs. They dragged the dark knight forward, too, and pushed him to his knees.

The queen merely gave the furs a passing glance. But she glared at Mordred, who scowled
back, unable to protest through his gag. “Accepted,” she said in a tight little voice.

When the Saxon chief rejoined his men, Guinevere’s attention moved to Sir Lancelot, who still sat on his white horse, clutching his wound. The knights coughed and shuffled their feet. Rhianna held her breath. Would her mother hug him, too, with all the Saxons watching?