The Legend of the King (6 page)

"Whatever number you wish, my lord," Mador replied, bowing. "But perhaps, knowing that Lancelot may not be pleased at being caught, you should gather as many as you think you might need to help you subdue him."

A surge of panic filled Agrivaine's breast. He hadn't thought about the disadvantages of making Lancelot angry.

"Your mother will be very proud of you when I tell her how you led the surprise raid yourself," Mador added smoothly. "She has always said that you were the bravest of her sons."

"She ... she said that?"

"On my honor. But you should be busy gathering your companions—from the younger knights who are still faithful to the good Sir Mordred, I would think." Agrivaine nodded tightly, and Mador added, "And, for my part, I shall make sure that Guinevere's letter to Lancelot says he should bring no weapons with him."

Agrivaine let out his breath in a long sigh of relief, then said, as carelessly as he was able, "Yes, I suppose that would be a nice touch. Do that, if you will."

Agrivaine had surprisingly little trouble recruiting companions for his raid. All he had to say was that he had overheard Lancelot arranging to meet Guinevere in her chambers that evening, and nearly everyone he talked to was eager to join him. The younger knights of Camelot, like Agrivaine, had long grown weary of the tales of their elders' adventures, and were taking pleasure in the rampant rumors about Lancelot that Gareth's accusations had fanned into flame the night before. Most of these younger knights were eager to be in on the final discrediting of the older hero. Agrivaine first recruited his cousins Florence and Lovel, then Sir Colgrevaunce, the brothers Sir Meliot and Sir Melion, Sir Petipase, Sir Galleron, Sir Astomore, and Sir Curselaine. With Agrivaine and Mador, that made eleven, which was surely enough to overpower an unarmed Lancelot. The only person Agrivaine talked to who did not agree to join the raid was Gareth. Agrivaine had assumed that Gareth would never forgive Lancelot for the harsh words he had spoken the night before and would be eager for revenge, but Gareth disappointed him. In the morning and sober, Gareth seemed oddly inclined to say that the whole affair had been his own fault. Agrivaine had to be content with exacting a promise from Gareth not to warn Lancelot.

"After all," Agrivaine said, "if Lancelot's still betraying the king, it must be made known."

"All right," Gareth said at last. "I won't tell anyone, but only because I don't really believe that you'll catch them. Whatever might have been between them in the past, it's been over for years; if I'd been thinking straight last night, I would have known it. Anyone with a brain knows that."

Agrivaine flushed, but then he remembered his mother's assurance that he was her only really clever son. So he smiled and said, "We'll see this evening which one of us has brains."

Mador sent Agrivaine a note about midafternoon, informing him that the letters had been delivered to Lancelot and Guinevere and telling him to gather his knights outside Queen Guinevere's chambers precisely at midnight. Not until he and his companions were assembled did it occur to Agrivaine that Mador had never said anything about joining the surprise attack himself. At any rate, he wasn't there.
Never mind,
Agrivaine told himself,
ten's as good as eleven.
He and the other nine knights waited in silence around the corner from Guinevere's rooms until, just at midnight, they heard footsteps approaching. One of the knights gave a faint hiss of triumph—"It's him!"—but he was quickly silenced by the others. The footsteps stopped outside Guinevere's door, as if the person were listening; then the door opened and closed.

"Come on!" urged Agrivaine.

"Shouldn't we give them some time?" asked Colgrevaunce. "It'll be better if we catch them in an embrace."

But Agrivaine shook his head sharply and led them to the door. If they didn't move quickly, Lancelot and Guinevere would have time to talk and discover that their letters were fake. Then Lancelot would leave, and the plan would fall apart. "Isn't it enough that they're meeting at midnight in the queen's private chambers?" he whispered.

They came to the closed door, and Agrivaine gently pushed it. It was barred from the inside. Agrivaine stared at it blankly; it had never occurred to him that they might bar the door. The others looked at him expectantly, and he said, "It's locked."

"What did you expect?" Colgrevaunce said, a faint sneer in his voice. "A welcome mat? What are you going to do now?"

"I didn't know they would ... I mean ... I don't..." Agrivaine felt himself turning red, and he realized that he had never liked Colgrevaunce.

"Oh, get out of the way," Colgrevaunce said, shouldering him aside roughly. Drawing his sword, Colgrevaunce banged on the door with the hilt and called out, "Sir Lancelot! Come out!"

There was no reply.

"We know you're in there!" Colgrevaunce shouted. "We saw you sneak into the queen's chambers!"

"Who is that?" came Lancelot's calm voice from behind the door.

"Sir Colgrevaunce. And I have nine others with me. We've caught you, you and the queen, betraying the king's trust. Come out at once and surrender."

There was another brief pause. Then Lancelot replied, "I have done nothing wrong. And I do not surrender."

"Done nothing wrong!" Colgrevaunce snapped back. "In the queen's bedchamber at midnight? Who will believe that?"

"It doesn't matter what others believe. What matters is what is true. I've done nothing to betray the king," came the quiet voice again.

"Lovers always feel that way," Colgrevaunce sneered. "But we'll see how the king feels about it. Open this door, or we'll break it down and drag you
both
to the dungeons, which is where you belong!"

"You will not touch the queen."

"Open the door, and we'll see!"

Lancelot's voice remained calm and unhurried as he said, "Go to the devil, Sir Colgrevaunce."

At that, Colgrevaunce threw himself against the door, shaking it. "Come on, lads! Together!" Without waiting, he hurled himself at the door once more, but this time the door swung open sharply before him. Colgrevaunce sprawled full-length on the floor of the queen's chamber, and then the door slammed closed again, and the bar clunked into place.

Agrivaine stared, bemused, at the closed door. Nothing was going right, and he had no idea what to do. "Come on!" shouted one of those beside him. "Break down the door and help Cole!" Several knights threw themselves at the door, which creaked but held. Agrivaine was shoved to the side by their frantic lunging, and he edged toward the back. From behind the door came a shout, several loud crashes, and then silence. The knights in the hall stopped hitting the door and listened. There was no sound for a long moment; then Agrivaine heard the sound of the bar being drawn back, and the door swung open. Lancelot stood in the doorway holding Colgrevaunce's shield and sword. Colgrevaunce lay sprawled motionless behind him. Agrivaine glimpsed Guinevere in a protected corner across the room, but his eyes returned quickly to Lancelot.

"Go away," Lancelot said. "I beg you. Do nothing that I shall regret."

"He's murdered Colgrevaunce!" someone said.

"Vengeance!" cried another.

"Kill him!" shouted a third.

"Kill them
both!
" cried yet another. If Sir Mador had been there, Agrivaine would have said that this last voice was his, but he had no time to look around because someone near the back had lunged toward the open door, pushing others ahead of him, and then they all had their swords out and were erupting into the room. Agrivaine thought once, desperately, about slipping off to one side, but he had not made it quite to the back, and there were still knights behind him, pressing him forward. He stumbled through the open door, tripped over a prone figure, then scrambled to his feet. Lancelot was fighting furiously, striking with deadly precision, while his attackers were in confusion. Agrivaine saw his cousin Florence go down beneath Lancelot's sword. Melion and Meliot were already down. Terror tightened Agrivaine's throat; he couldn't breathe; his arm felt heavy and his feet unable to move. He stood, frozen, at the edge of the battle.

A voice called in his ear. It was Florence's brother Lovel. "Now, Agrivaine! While he's fighting Galleron!"

Lovel threw himself toward Lancelot's back, but Agrivaine remained frozen, watching. Lancelot seemed to sense Lovel's attack and stepped quickly to one side. Lovel's sword missed. Lancelot threw himself at a clump of attackers, driving them backwards with his borrowed shield, then turned again, parried a second blow from Lovel, then struck back. Lovel fell to the floor beside Florence, and Agrivaine watched, transfixed, as blood began to pool beneath him. Looking up, Agrivaine met Lancelot's eyes and instinctively cringed and stepped backwards, but Lancelot didn't attack. Instead he turned his back toward Agrivaine and faced the other knights. It was clear that he considered Agrivaine no threat at all.

Agrivaine felt his face reddening and swore with shame and fury. His voice cracked, which only increased his anger. "I'll show you," he muttered. "I'll show everyone." Raising his sword, he ran toward Lancelot. The knight wore no armor; his back was completely unprotected. Agrivaine pointed his blade and thrust.

He didn't see exactly what happened then. Something jarred his arm and deflected his lunge. His sword passed harmlessly over Lancelot, who seemed to have dropped to a crouch. Agrivaine saw rather than felt Lancelot's sword enter his body, driving up beneath his breastplate. He felt a mild jolt but no pain. Then Lancelot was somewhere else, fighting with another knight, but Agrivaine wasn't interested anymore. Like a flicker of lightning, the thought flashed through his mind, "If this is what it's like to die, why have I spent all my life so afraid?"

A gray haze, like morning fog, filled the room. Agrivaine opened his mouth and said, "Mother? I..."

For the first time since she had been trained as a sorceress, Lynet regretted that she hadn't learned any curses. Her preceptress, Morgan Le Fay, had been very willing to teach her, and had even forced her to listen to a lecture on the basic patterns behind all hexes and malevolent charms, but Lynet had taken little note and had promptly forgotten whatever she did hear.

The reason for her inattention was something Morgan had said early in the training. "Every power that you learn," Morgan had explained, "has an opposite power held in balance. As you master one skill, your capacity for the opposite skill diminishes. So, for instance, the better you are at making things grow, the worse you'll be at making things wither and die."

"So," Lynet had said, "the better I get at curses, the worse I'll be at helping people?"

Morgan had not seen this as much of a loss, but from that moment Lynet had lost any desire to master curses. Only now, looking from the castle walls at the army that had encamped around them for the past two weeks, did she wonder if she had been a bit shortsighted. It would be lovely to lay some sort of blanket curse on the lot of them—nothing deadly, of course, but something disabling. "Temporary blindness," she muttered. "Or horrid great bottom swellings."

"I beg your pardon?" asked her husband, Gaheris, beside her on the wall.

"Just daydreaming," Lynet said.

Gaheris raised one eyebrow. "About bottom swellings?"

"Pustules," Lynet explained. "Hemorrhoids. Boils with scabby bits and oozing drainage."

Gaheris nodded. "I see." He edged slightly away from her.

"On
them,
ninny."

"Oh, right. That wouldn't be so bad. Say, that's a thought! You're a witch, aren't you? I don't suppose you know how to—"

"Enchantress," Lynet said shortly. "And no, I don't. Although if they actually
had
great gaping sores on their sit-upons, I'd know just how to cure them."

"Wouldn't that be nice of you?" Gaheris said.

"I
wouldn't,
though. I'd let them fester."

"That should teach them a lesson," Gaheris said. "Shall I send them a threatening message telling them that if they don't lift their siege at once, my wife won't cure their scabby bits?"

"It's as useful a plan as any other I can think of," Lynet said soberly. "Oh, Gary, what are we going to do? All these people..." Turning, she looked over her shoulder at the main courtyard of Orkney Hall, where nearly a hundred men, women, and children lay clustered under makeshift shelters. When the White Horsemen had swept through the north, burning farms and slaughtering livestock, all the Orkney tenants who had escaped the first attacks had fled to the shelter of the hall, bringing their families and precious little else with them. The castle food stores had lasted barely a week, even on short rations, and now they had butchered and eaten all the livestock except for the fastest horses and a few milk cows that they kept to feed the youngest children. Now the animals' fodder was gone, so even the milk would dry up.

"I don't know," Gaheris said. He squinted to the south, then said grimly, "That'll be the oats."

Following his gaze, Lynet saw a haze of smoke rising just above the level of the forest and then hovering low over the ground in the oppressive air. "The new field," she said.

"All the fields, I should imagine," Gaheris said, "with that much smoke."

"Why are they burning crops?" Lynet asked. "It makes no sense. We have no fighters here, no army. We're a knight, a lady, and a castle full of farmers. They must know that we have no hope of driving them away. Why destroy the land?"

"I've been wondering that, too," Gaheris said. "If they were trying to steal the estates for themselves, they'd take care to keep the fields in good condition. But as far as I can tell, they're setting out to make them worthless." He shook his head. "Twenty years of good husbandry gone. Every barn burned, every fence torn down, every field torched, every animal butchered and left to rot on the hills. There's something evil here, something personal."

"You mean someone's trying to get at you? But what have
you
done to anyone?"