The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf (16 page)

"Oh, well, that was the witch. I suppose I should say enchantress. They all want to be called enchantresses. Mother always did, and so does Morgan. Morgan's my aunt. She's—"

"I know your Aunt Morgan very well," Lynet interposed.

"Do you? Bit of a pill, isn't she?"

"I rather like her," Lynet protested. "Was your mother like Morgan?"

"Oh, heavens, no! Mother was..." Gaheris trailed off. "Look here, I'm making a mull of this. I'd better start at the very beginning, hadn't I?"

Lynet nodded. Gaheris settled himself comfortably in the chair, took a deep breath and began.

"I was born into an unfortunate household," he said. Lynet started to comment on this statement, but Gaheris hurried on. "Oh, I know what you're thinking. I was born a prince, wasn't I? But there are other sorts of misfortune.

"I barely remember my father. He died when I was twelve, but even before he died, I hardly ever saw him. He was always off fighting in the wars, trying to win some new plot of land for Mother to rule. Father was a good man, I think, but his will was no match for Mother's.

"Occasionally, when he was home, he'd take my brother Gawain and me out to the fields to teach us knighthood. It was a good thing for a father to do, but even those times were a trial to me. You see, I'm not much good with a sword. Or .. . or any weapon, I suppose."

"I remember," Lynet murmured.

"Ay, you would. I think that was my lowest moment, when you took my sword away from me and stole my dinner."

"I didn't steal it!" Lynet exclaimed. "I shared it with you, didn't I?"

"Beg pardon, my lady," Gaheris said meekly. "Very kind of you, I'm sure."

"It was burned anyway," Lynet muttered. "Go on."

"Well, as I say, I was an absolute oaf with weapons. And to make things worse, Gawain was naturally gifted. By the time he was sixteen, he was a match for Father, and they could spar together as equals. Me, I could barely hold a sword and walk at the same time. I was, as Gawain told me so often, hopeless."

"What a terrible thing to say!" Lynet said indignantly.

"Nay, don't hold it against Gawain," Gaheris said. "He's my favorite brother. But you see how it must have appeared to him. He did things by instinct that I couldn't do even after hours of teaching. He was in constant despair over me.

"And then there was Mother." Gaheris's face grew bleak, and he was silent for a long time.

"She was an enchantress too, wasn't she?" Lynet said at last, hoping to rouse him from his bitter reverie.

"Ay. The worst kind. She cared nothing for any of
us, but only for her magic and, most of all, for power. We were raised by servants, mostly. Mother cared for no one, but she hated me."

"Why you in particular?"

"I don't know. Maybe because I saw through her. As early as I can remember, I knew that she despised us. My younger brothers, Agrivaine and Gareth, believed that she loved them, and they would fall all over themselves to win her favor, but I wouldn't."

"How could a mother hate her own child?"

"Hating came naturally to Mother," Gaheris replied. "It was what made her strong." Lynet remembered what Morgan had told her in the cave, that love would only weaken an enchantress. She shook her head slowly: It was too much to pay for power. Gaheris continued. "Then Father died, fighting against King Arthur. That was Mother's doing, too, of course. Father liked Arthur, but Mother couldn't accept a king over all England. She couldn't give up being called Your Highness. Arthur told me that Father died nobly."

Gaheris hesitated, then added gently, "You may not have heard this before, but Arthur says your father died well, too. He told me that when the battle was over and they saw King Lot and Duke Idres lying together, knights from both sides wept."

Lynet looked down. "I hadn't heard. Thank you,"
she said huskily. Gaheris reached over and touched her hand, gently, and Lynet felt stronger. "Go on," she said.

Gaheris leaned back in his chair. "Mother completely forgot us after Father died. She shut herself up in her rooms, casting spells and plotting vengeance. Finally, she left the castle entirely. I was relieved, but Agrivaine and Gareth still mourn her."

Suddenly Lynet remembered something. "Oh! Back at Sir Persant's camp, when Gareth was wounded and began to call for his mother, you told him—you said she was gone, and he'd better get used to it. I thought that was cruel at the time, but now I understand."

"Ay. Not that it did any good. He'll never see her for what she was."

"And tonight, when you were taunting him—"

"I knew I stood no chance with him in a fair fight, so I tried to make him angry. It almost worked."

Lynet pursed her lips and looked at the grave face before her. She was amazed at Gaheris's strength of mind, the courage to shrug off the knowledge that his own mother had not loved him. It was a sort of courage, she realized, that Gareth would never have. "What happened to your mother?" she asked.

Gaheris frowned. "Gawain says she's dead. He says she tried to kill Arthur but was stopped by a knight from the Other World. I hope he's right."

"What did you do after your mother left?"

"Well, Gawain went to Arthur's court, and a year or two later Agrivaine and I joined him there." Gaheris grinned ruefully. "It was awful."

"Awful? Why?"

"You see, by the time we got there, Gawain was recognized as Arthur's greatest knight. And there I was, his brother, and a clodpole with weapons. Horrible to have to live up to an older brother."

"Or older sister," Lynet pointed out. "I've suffered, too."

"I suppose so. Well, I was young, so I tried to bluff it out."

"Bluff it out?" Lynet repeated.

Gaheris grinned. "Ay. You never heard a knight brag more loudly about what he was going to do but hadn't done yet. I put on the shiniest armor and practiced talking the way I thought knights were supposed to talk—"

"Like Beaumains—I mean Gareth?"

"Well, yes. Like that. But it didn't work for me. After I'd been bashed off my horse in every tournament, by every knight—well, you see my problem. I imagine I looked a priceless ass."

Gaheris shook his head briskly, as if to shake off a bad memory. "Anyway, that's how things were when Gareth arrived at court, the last of the brothers. He
was the only one of us who had any of Gawain's skill, but from his first day, Gareth had eyes only for Sir Lancelot."

"I think I know the next part of the story," Lynet said. "Sir Lancelot was defeated in some tournament by an unknown knight with an odd name."

"Sir Wozzell," Gaheris supplied.

"Right. Sir Wozzell. Then Sir Lancelot went away, and your brother followed."

"Something like that. Gareth swore that his name would never be heard again in Camelot until he had restored the honor of Sir Lancelot, and he galloped away in a blaze of glory."

"How was he going to restore Sir Lancelot's honor?"

"Kill Sir Wozzell, maybe. I don't know. Gareth doesn't really think in that much detail. Well, I followed him."

"Because you knew he'd be lost in ten minutes."

"Right. And as I traveled, I met a beautiful woman—an enchantress, you know—riding a white horse. She told me she was lost and fluttered her eyelashes at me and asked if I couldn't guide her to Winchester. I told her I was busy, but I'd be happy to give her directions."

"Oh dear," Lynet said, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "I don't suppose she liked that, did she?"

"I suppose not. She said she could never remember
all those nasty directions and fluttered her eyelashes at me again. So I asked if there was something wrong with her eye and told her that I'd once had a horse with a diseased eye like hers."

"You didn't," Lynet moaned, but her eyes lit with laughter.

Gaheris grinned. "I did. That may have been a bit over the top, because that was when she got miffed and cast the spell on me. Hey, presto, I was a dwarf."

"She turned you into a dwarf for that? For laughing at her?"

"Ay. No sense of humor. She said a knight should always treat fair womanhood with respect, and I would remain a dwarf until I'd learned to honor a woman truly. You know the rest. I was only to have my true shape for two hours, every night of the half moon. I don't know why—"

"It's a night for good magic," Lynet explained. "Was it awful, finding yourself a dwarf?"

Gaheris thought for a moment, and said, "A bit of a shock at first, but not all that unpleasant, really. You see"—he licked his lips and frowned—"you see, I'd never been worth much as a knight. But as a dwarf, nobody expected me to be knightly or cared that I was clumsy with a sword. I make a better dwarf than a knight, you know."

Again, Lynet gazed at Gaheris, amazed at his strength of will. Who else would have faced such
a fate so coolly? Finally, she said quietly, "Go on."

Gaheris smiled. "I still had a job to do. I was looking for my addlepated brother. It took over a month, but I finally found him. He'd gotten lost in the woods, of course. Even misplaced his own camp, so he'd lost his horse and armor, too. He was half starved and almost out of his wits. Never saw a more pathetic case. Well, the long and short of it was that I took him back to Camelot and left him there, never dreaming that he'd be so daftheaded as to hide himself in the kitchens under another name."

"And you?"

"I rode away. Camelot held nothing for me. I simply set off into the darkest woods, just to see what I'd find."

"And what did you find?"

"A Savage Damsel," Gaheris said, smiling again. "You know the rest."

"Not by half," Lynet said firmly. "How come you wouldn't ride along with that witch, but when you met me, you volunteered to take me Camelot at once?"

Gaheris rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose it's because you didn't flop your eyes at me and expect me to roll over. Any other questions?"

"Here's one I've been wanting to ask for weeks," Lynet said. "When you finally got me to Camelot, why did you leave me?"

Gaheris hesitated, then said, "Riding with you was too painful."

"Painful?" Lynet repeated. Her throat was tight.

Gaheris swallowed. "You see, the curse had finally found its mark. I'd found something that I wanted more than anything, but it was something a dwarf could never hope for."

"What?"

Gaheris looked into Lynet's eyes, the lamplight reflecting in twin flames beneath his brows. "You," he said.

"Oh!" Lynet gasped. The night air was suddenly fresh and delicious to breathe.

"Don't say anything, lass," Gaheris said hastily. "I know how things are. I've known ever since Gareth killed the Black Knight. You love him, not me." Lynet started to speak, but Gaheris stilled her with a gesture. "No, you don't have to explain. It was always hopeless for me, and I knew it, even if it tore me apart to think so." Gaheris took a deep breath. "The worst time was the night of the half moon, a month ago. Then I was myself again, and I could do nothing to show you how much I loved you. I slipped out of my blankets and hid in the forest until I'd returned to being just Roger. Those two hours lasted a hundred years.

"Then, the next day, I saw you falling in love with Gareth. I thought I'd go mad."

"Gaheris, I—"

"Ssh! Please! It wasn't that I was jealous—I had no chance with you anyway—but, you see, I knew Gareth. He's never been smart enough or strong enough to love just one woman. I thought maybe he'd changed, when you took care of his wounds at Sir Persant's camp, but then I found him in his tent, dallying with that brainless daughter of Persant's." Gaheris grimaced, with anger and disgust. "In fact, if I hadn't sent you off to check your horse's leg, you'd have walked in on them, too."

"Oh, so that's what—"

"I couldn't take it anymore, watching you in love with him while he was such a—It was more than flesh could bear. So I rode off to take your message to your sister. Just then I didn't much care if I lived or died anyway.

"What else is there to tell? Gareth killed the Red Lands Knight and fell in love with your sister's pretty face, forgetting all you had done for him, forgetting you entirely. Good Gog, I hated him! While he was recovering from his wounds, not a day passed when I didn't think about leaving him to die."

"Why didn't you?" Lynet asked.

Gaheris's mouth was tight. "He's a swine," he said simply. "But he's my brother. You know the rest, up through dinner last night, when he treated you so
shamefully. I was so angry that when I took my own form, I thought only of teaching him a lesson."

Gaheris's face was tight and his eyes searched Lynet's. "Don't be too angry with me," he said. "I know you love him, but he's not for you. He's as simple-minded and as selfish and as weak as ... as your sister."

"You're right," Lynet said. "They deserve each other."

"They do indeed," Gaheris said soberly. "But you, Lynet, you deserve something better."

Lynet leaned forward, looking into Gaheris's eyes. "I've
found
something better," she murmured, and then she kissed him.

When she had kissed Gaheris, Lynet straightened up and looked fondly at him while he gaped at her. "Stupid," she said. "It's been days and days since I was in love with your dimwitted brother. His revolting behavior at dinner didn't bother me at all."

"It didn't?" Gaheris whispered.

"Except that when he called Lyonesse his rare golden buttercup it nearly put me off my food."

Gaheris did not move. "You don't love Gareth?"

"No, you idiot. I love you. Shall I kiss you again to prove it?"

Gaheris nodded, and for the next few minutes there was no more talking. When at last their lips were free, they tried putting their love into words. They told each other about the moments when they had first realized they were in love, about the mannerisms and
quirks that they found most endearing in each other, and all the usual things that lovers talk about. Lynet reflected privately that if she had overheard the same conversation between two other people she would have considered it appallingly mushy, but it was different when it was just she and her Gaheris.