The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf (2 page)

The guard snorted. "A likely tale. Who are you really?"

Lynet was paralyzed with fear, but the cackling voice answered immediately, "You be too quick for us, I see. No hiding anything from a clever guard like you. We be escaping from the castle there, riding off to King Arthur to ask him if he mightn't like to send a knight to bash your master a bit for us. Could you tell us the way to Camelot?"

Lynet gasped, and her knees felt weak, but the guard only snorted and wheezed with laughter. "Your first story was better. What do you want, then? We've no handouts for the peasantry here."

"Not even a loaf of bread?" the voice said, shifting from its cackling to a whining tone. "It be a long road to Camelot, you see."

The guard laughed again. "You've got a proper gall, you do. All right, here. It's a bit of old biscuit. Take it and be off."

"Thank'ee, lad. You be a gennleman, a true gennleman."

Before Lynet's bemused eyes, a burly guard stepped out of the shadows, handed a flat piece of bread to a slight figure in a long shawl, then waved them on. A
small cold hand grasped Lynet's wrist and pulled her sharply forward. She walked—or rather, staggered—through the ring of tents, following the imperious figure that was tugging her along, and before she knew it, the sleeping camp was behind her, and she was concealed in the shadows of the forest.

"There you are," the figure's voice said, with a chuckle. It no longer sounded like an old woman, but rather like a boy or a young man. "Through the camp. Now, if I were you—well, I'm not, of course, since I'm no ninnyhammer—but if I were you, I'd put some distance between myself and them."

"I'm not a ninnyhammer!" Lynet responded sharply.

The figure giggled suddenly. "Did you really think that you might pass for a servant in that silk dress? Oh dear, heaven preserve such innocence. Arthur's at Camelot, which is northeast. Do you know the Pole Star?"

"Who are you?" Lynet whispered breathlessly.

"Never mind that. Do you know the North Star?"

Lynet didn't, astronomy being another useful art that was not taught to ladies, but she said, "Of course I do. Why did you help me?"

The stranger hesitated, then said, "How old are you, Lynet?"

Startled at being called by name, Lynet could only gasp and whisper, "Sixteen."

"I just wanted to see that you saw seventeen. You
know—or rather, you ought to know—you have great potential. We at the Seelie Court have been watching you for some time now. I couldn't see you throw it all away for one mad, misbegotten plan. Now, you just keep the Pole Star ahead of you and a little to your left, and you can't miss Camelot."

"What is the Seelie Court?" Lynet demanded.

But there was no answer, and Lynet was vaguely aware that a presence had been withdrawn, leaving her alone. Dazedly, she mounted her horse, picked out a bright pinpoint of light that might possibly have been the North Star, and set off.

That particular star may not have been the North Star, but it hardly mattered, since during that night of interminable plodding, Lynet followed several different stars. Every time one faded, or she lost track of exactly which star she was following—it was very poor planning on someone's part that every star looked so much like all the others—she would simply choose a new one and hope that this time she was correct.

Her eyes grew heavy, and more than once she almost fell off her mare, but perhaps the one useful skill that ladies were taught was riding, and Lynet was a true horsewoman. By instinct, she was able to stay in the saddle, even when more than half asleep. At last, the sun rose, directly before her, and she guessed that she was far enough from the Knight of the Red Lands
that she could rest. She found a mossy bank under a tree and was soon fast asleep.

The sun was high in the sky when she awoke, and she knew she must have slept for hours. She was acutely hungry and spent several minutes casting about for the fruit and berries that she supposed knights errant ate when traveling. Finding nothing that appeared remotely edible, she remounted, thinking some very harsh thoughts about knights errant who ate everything they found and left nothing for the next travelers.

By midafternoon, Lynet had begun to wonder if grass really tasted as bad as people said, and she knew she was hopelessly lost. At last, she came upon a peasant's cottage, where a man and woman were working in a little garden plot. "Excuse me, good people, could you tell me the road to Camelot?"

The woman stood, her face round and smiling. "But of course, dearie. It's the simplest thing in the world."

Lynet sighed with relief. "Oh, thank you. Do I stay on this road?"

The woman looked doubtfully at her husband, who had joined her. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and said, "You can if you like. But you'll need to turn at Hand's Cross."

"She could turn at the old tanner's field," the woman remarked.

"Ay, she could, but the bridge is washed out on the dairy road."

"She could skip the dairy road, though, if she went round the old grove."

"You mean the walnut grove?" asked the man.

"Ay, she could go round that one, too, but I meant the one where the Smith's boy was taken for poaching last winter."

The man snorted. "Nay, with the water so high, she could never get through the ford."

The woman laughed and turned to Lynet. "He's right, of course. The mister knows best, I reckon. You best not go that way."

Lynet blinked and managed to say, "Very well, I won't. Would you ... could you tell me which way would be better, please?"

"Look here," the man said in a businesslike voice, "if you want to stay on this road, you best turn at Hand's Cross."

"Where is Hand's Cross, please?" Lynet asked.

"Just past Old Barn Meadow."

"Old Barn Meadow," Lynet repeated.

"Then, a mile after you turn, you'll look for a big oak tree. Go about three furlongs past the oak, then turn again, at the house where the steward used to live."

"Not the present steward, mind you," the woman
interrupted. "It was the old steward who lived there, before it burned."

"The house is burned now?" Lynet asked helplessly.

"Oh, ay," the man agreed. "That would be eight, ten, year ago now."

"No," the woman said. "It would have to be more than that, because Thomas was still at home then. That was the same summer he broke his leg."

"Couldn't be!" the man protested. "When I was taking him to the village to have it set proper, I remember stopping and passing the time of day with the old steward..."

Lynet prodded the mare and trotted on, resigned to her fate. After she died of starvation, her body would be found by a band of overfed knights errant in the grove where somebody had been caught poaching.

The sun was low in the sky, and Lynet was faint and famished, when she smelled the unmistakable aroma of roasting meat. Senses sharpened by hunger, she followed the smell to a small copse. There she glimpsed a campfire, with a haunch of venison roasting over it on a stick. She dismounted and lurched toward the food. She was largely indifferent to danger, but she had enough presence of mind to pick up a large branch to use as a club if the owner of the meat was unfriendly. Holding the club in front of her, she stepped to the edge of the small clearing where the meat dripped and sizzled. No one was there.

Lynet looked quickly around, seeing nothing, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly back to the roasting meat. Just as she was about to step out of the shadows and help herself, a flickering shadow to her right caught her eye. From a small bush where she had not thought a man could be concealed sprang a dark figure, and Lynet glimpsed a long sword. Instinctively raising her club, she felt a solid jolt as the sword buried itself in the wood. Lynet leaped backward and felt the sword, still embedded in her branch, pull free from its owner's grasp. Frantically, Lynet grasped the sword by the handle and jerked it free from the wood. Holding the sword before her, she whirled and faced her assailant.

It was a dwarf, bearded and stocky and dressed in ill-fitting clothes. The dwarf staggered backward to escape the sword in Lynet's hand, tripped over a root, and sat heavily. "Why, you're a lady!" the dwarf gasped.

"Don't think I won't use this sword, though," Lynet snapped.

The dwarf ignored her. "A lady," he repeated. "I've just been disarmed and taken prisoner by a lady." He shook his head slowly. "I really am pathetic," he moaned.

Lynet gripped the sword with both hands and pointed it at the seated dwarf. Her hands trembled slightly, and to hide the shaking, she waved the sword threateningly. "Answer me, if you value your life!" she snapped.

"Oh, I value my life," the dwarf replied quickly. "What do you want to know?"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes, I'm alone." The dwarf frowned at the darkness behind Lynet. "Are you?" he asked.

"I don't have to tell you anything!"

"No, that's true," the dwarf agreed. "Forget I asked. How else may I help you?"

Lynet said gruffly, "Give me some of that food!"

The dwarf grinned slowly, and though his face had the heavy, large-featured character of most dwarfs, Lynet could see his eyes twinkle engagingly in the
firelight. "So, I was right," he murmured. "You
are
a bandit! A savage brigand."

Lynet felt a stir of amusement, and she let her expression soften. "Pardon me, sir dwarf. May I please share your dinner?"

"That you may, my lady. Indeed, you may even set down the sword while you eat. I won't attack you again. Terribly sorry about that. Bad manners to kill ladies, you know." The dwarf stood and bowed stiffly.

Lynet lowered the sword, a smile growing on her face. She had not known many dwarfs, but the ones she did know were notable for their lack of humor. This wry little man with the laughing eyes was different, and instinctively she trusted him. While the dwarf set about taking the meat from the fire, she brought her mare through the bushes and picketed her beside the dwarf's horse. Behind her, the dwarf cried out "Ouch!" and swore vigorously. Lynet glanced over her shoulder at the dwarf, who was dancing around the steaming haunch and blowing on his fingertips.

"Is it hot enough?" Lynet asked innocently.

"Just touch it right here and see for yourself, why don't you?" the dwarf retorted.

"No, that would stupid," Lynet said. "I might burn myself."

Casting her a baleful look, the dwarf sawed off a chunk of venison and handed it to her on a bent metal plate. Lynet ate ravenously, and only after her third
helping did the pangs in her stomach subside enough for her to think of anything else. The dwarf, who had finished his meat long before, was leaning against a rock, watching her.

"The meat's burned," Lynet said.

The dwarf nodded. "Ay, that would be why you just picked at your food."

Lynet tried to look dignified, but without success. "I was hungry," she said.

"You don't say. Have another plate?" Lynet nodded, and the dwarf began hacking the blackened meat again. "It is a bit overdone, I suppose," he said.

"I thought all dwarfs were good cooks."

"And I thought all ladies were too polite to comment on someone else's cooking." Lynet blushed, and the dwarf handed her the meat. She began to gnaw on the venison, and the dwarf said, "Do you mind telling me what you're doing alone in this country?"

Lynet hesitated, but decided to tell the truth. "I'm on my way to Camelot."

"Are you now? Where from?"

"Cornwall. I live in the Castle Perle. You wouldn't know it, but—"

"Heard of it. Isn't that where the old duke, Idres, lived?"

Lynet nodded, watching the dwarf warily, but he said nothing about Idres's part in the old rebellion
against King Arthur. Maybe that revolt had been forgotten, she thought hopefully. The dwarf was more concerned about geography, it seemed. "If you're going from Cornwall to Camelot, why are you so far east?"

"I have my reasons!" Lynet said with dignity.

"Got lost, did you?" the dwarf said. "Well, I've no wish to go to Camelot, but I've nothing better to do. I'll take you there."

Lynet lifted her chin. "I won't trouble you," she said haughtily. "I can find my way." The dwarf grinned and cocked one amused eyebrow. Lynet sighed and lowered her chin. "No, I can't. I accept your kind offer, sir—What is your name?"

The dwarf scratched his chin and said, "Roger. Call me Roger."

"Very well, Roger," Lynet replied. "I am Lady Lynet of Perle."

Roger grinned at the title, and unrolled his blankets. "Good night, Lady Lynet of Perle."

Her stomach full at last, Lynet realized how exhausted she was. She pulled her cloak and a blanket around her and lay down. Before she went to sleep, though, she said, "Roger?" The dwarf grunted, and she said, "I'm sorry I was rude. Thank you for offering to help me."

"You're welcome, my lady," came the dwarf's muffled voice.

"And Roger?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Will you show me which one is the North Star?"

The dwarf chuckled. "Yes, my lady. Tomorrow night."

The next morning, after finishing the venison for breakfast, Lynet and Roger set off. Lynet was somewhat self-conscious when she awoke, unsure what she would say to this abrupt little man for the next few days, but then Roger scolded her for saddling the mare wrong, and in the ensuing brangle, all restraint disappeared.

"How do you know which way to go?" Lynet asked as they began. "You can't see the North Star in the daytime."

Roger thought before answering. "There are a few tricks to use—look at the mossy sides of trees, check the direction of the sun, and so on—but that's not really what I do. When I go somewhere, I'm always putting the land in a little map in my head. I don't believe I've ever been lost in the daytime, or on a clear night."

"I suppose women are different that way." Lynet sighed.

"Don't make yourself so special," the dwarf said with a snort. "As if getting lost was some trick that only women knew. I've known men who could get lost
in their own bedrooms. The only difference is that men with no sense of direction don't brag about it, the way women do."