The Legend of the King Read online

  "The queen was arrested and confined to her rooms for several days, then brought to trial."

  "Trial?" Lynet exclaimed.

  "For treason," Griflet said. "Lancelot has been proven a traitor, and she has certainly been consorting with him, betraying both the king's love and the king's rule. Sir Mador de la Porte brought charges against her, and the trial was held two days ago."

  "Mador again," murmured Gawain.

  Griflet ignored him. "The queen claimed that her relationship with Lancelot had ended long before, and it almost seemed that she would be set free, but just then Lancelot reappeared with all his knights, rode into the court, and rescued the queen."

  "Didn't anyone fight back?" demanded Gawain, his hands opening and closing spasmodically. Lynet knew he was imagining himself there, defending the court.

  Griflet hesitated, looking between Gawain and Gaheris. At last he said, "Yes. Several were killed. Sir Mador is missing and feared dead and ... your brother Gareth."

  "What about Gareth?" Gaheris asked.

  "He tried to stop them at the gates. Lancelot killed him."

  Gawain and Gaheris were struck dumb. It was Lynet who whispered, "Lancelot killed Gareth?" It made no sense. Gareth had idolized Lancelot, had even insisted that Lancelot, rather than King Arthur, knight him. Lynet could remember Gareth as a callow youth challenging strange knights to duels for speaking less respectfully of Lancelot than he thought proper.

  For several minutes no one spoke, all staring bleakly into the fire that no longer seemed cheerful. Even Griflet was subdued, his face looking very old in the moving light of the flames. At length he went on, "Arthur has gathered his armies and left Camelot, following Lancelot to Joyous Garde. I've no doubt he'll meet Mordred's armies there."

  "Then what are you doing heading north?" Gawain asked.

  Griflet flushed, and his voice took on its theatrical tones again. "I go to rally the people of my own lands in Lincolnshire. We shall join Arthur as soon as ... we must fortify ourselves against the evil..." His face sagged again, and he didn't finish.

  "You're running away, in fact," Gawain said harshly.

  Griflet's lips grew tight. "What difference can one like me make?" he asked bitterly. Lynet heard no trace of play-acting in his voice. "I'm a buffoon. An old fool, fit for nothing but decoration. I'm no more than a tapestry of a knight, and a threadbare tapestry at that. Did you know that I'm older than the king? Without ... without help, my hair would be completely white. I can't fight. I'm useless to Arthur. Why should I die if there's nothing I can do for him by staying?"

  Gawain didn't answer. He simply turned his eyes away and curled his lip scornfully. Griflet stood abruptly and began gathering his gear. "I'll leave you," Griflet said. "You'll sleep better without the smell of me among you." He threw his saddle on his horse, tightened it, then climbed up. "But I'm glad I met you today, anyway. You at least might be able to help the king, and if I've told you something useful, then I've been good for something in my life."

  Gawain didn't look up as Griflet rode away. Gaheris stirred the fire. "Poor old Griff," Gaheris said softly.

  "Poor?" snapped Gawain. "Despicable, you mean."

  Gaheris smiled softly and shook his head. "You've never had any patience with him, have you?"

  "And you have?"

  "Oh, yes," Gaheris said. "I was once just like him, you know. I'm a duffer with a sword, too. I'm no knight. The only difference between Griflet and me is that, with Lynet's help, I was able to find out what I really am. Griflet never did. All he knew was what he wanted to look like. It wasn't enough."

  Gawain shook his head. "A coward's a coward, and you were never that. But enough about Griflet. Let's go."

  "Go where?" Gaheris asked.

  "Joyous Garde," Gawain said. "The king's at war, and my place is at his side."

  Gaheris frowned. "Can we think about this for a minute?"

  "What's to think about?" Gawain snapped impatiently.

  "Do you believe that Lancelot and the queen have betrayed Arthur?" Gaheris asked.

  Gawain hesitated, and Lynet said, "No."

  "No more do I," Gaheris said. "So what really happened?"

  "I can't imagine," Lynet said.

  "Gawain?" Gaheris asked. "Why did you comment on Sir Mador? He's about the least known of all Arthur's knights."

  "Mador was involved in something just before I left Camelot," Gawain said. "Agrivaine got Gareth drunk, and Gareth began spouting all that old stuff about Lancelot and Guinevere, from all those years back."

  "And Mador was there?" Gaheris asked. Gawain nodded. Gaheris continued thoughtfully, "And Griflet said he was the one who brought charges against the queen and that he disappeared after the rescue."

  "I see what you're thinking," Lynet said. "You suspect that Mador was a spy, put at court to stir up trouble."

  Gawain shook his head. "But I don't think Mador and Mordred have even met. Mador's hardly ever at court, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't there when Mordred was around."

  "I wasn't thinking of Mordred, actually," Gaheris said. "I'd say Mordred is just a tool himself, carrying out someone else's schemes."

  "Mother," Gawain said.

  Gaheris nodded. "She's been behind every major plot against the king since he was crowned. And all the way down from Orkney, I've been wondering about something."

  "What?" Lynet asked.

  "Sir Breunis and that army that besieged Orkney Hall—they had one purpose. They were to kill me. Me. Now, why? I'm not a fighter. I'm not a leader. I'm no more a threat to Mordred than old Griflet is. It makes no sense. But there is one person who has always hated me."

  "Mother," Gawain said.

  Gaheris nodded again. "Mother. Mind you, I've no idea why. She just could never abide me. She treated the rest of you with indifference, but me—there was something else there. I never told you this, but from the time I was twelve—which was about when she started to show this, er, favoritism—I never ate or drank anything she gave me that she hadn't tasted first."

  Lynet stared at him. "You mean, you seriously believed that your mother might poison you?" Gaheris nodded, and Lynet could only stare. No wonder her Gary had such strength of mind.

  "Anyway, as soon as I discovered that the attack on Orkney was aimed at me, I figured that Mother was behind it. In fact, I believe she's behind it all. I think ... I think Arthur and Lancelot and Mordred and everyone else are dancing to Mother's tune right now. Somehow, Mother has deceived everyone, and if we go to Arthur, we just join the deception."

  "Where else should we go?"

  "To find Mother. You don't kill a weed by cutting off its leaves."

  Gawain blinked. "But Gary, Mother's a sorceress. When she wants to hide, she hides. We can't find someone who's hiding behind magic."

  "No, we can't," Gaheris said. Then he looked into Lynet's eyes. "Can you?"

  There were ways, Lynet knew, to do what Gaheris was asking. All enchantresses had a certain awareness that allowed them to sense when another one of that sisterhood was near. That instinct could be trained and magically strengthened in ways that made it possible to locate specific sorceresses no matter where they were. But each enchantress had this instinct in a different measure, and Lynet had never been particularly gifted in that way. She hadn't even realized that her own daughter had magical potential until Luneta had left home and then returned, months later, a fully trained and accomplished enchantress. For Lynet to acquire the powers that Gaheris wanted would be difficult, and costly, and Lynet didn't even know where to start.

  Lynet sat alone on the dark moor. She had moved away from the argument around the fire, where Gaheris was still trying to convince Gawain that the best thing he could do for Arthur was to help Gaheris and Lynet find Morgause. Lynet gazed at the sky, filled with stars but moonless, and sighed. She could have done with a half-moon. Moonless nights, like nights with full moons, were for dark magic, but half-moons favored enchantresses like Lynet.

  "But maybe da
rk magic is what I need," she muttered. "After all, what I'm looking for is power."

  "Are you?"

  The voice had come from her right, a little behind her. Lynet didn't jump or turn. Oddly, she didn't even feel surprised. She just waited. After a moment, a large crow hopped around and stood before her, its head turned to one side so that it could direct one dark eye on Lynet's face.

  "What sort of power?" the crow asked.

  "Who are you?"

  "I am Lenora. What power do you seek?"

  "Why should I tell you?" Lynet asked. "Do you have any power to give?"

  The bird was silent for a moment. "All right," she croaked at last. "You aren't a fool. No, I have no power to give, but I can take you to One who does."

  "Someone who has power to give?" Lynet repeated.

  "Sell, let us say," Lenora conceded. "Power is never given away."

  "Which is why power's worthless in the end," Lynet said. "Everything of real value is a gift."

  The crow cocked her head at that, then laughed. "If power's worthless, why do you seek it?"

  Lynet sighed. "Because this isn't the end. Who would you take me to, and what powers could I acquire?"

  Lenora chuckled hoarsely. "Why should I tell you? Will you come with me or no?"

  Lynet pursed her lips thoughtfully but hesitated only for a moment. "I'll come, Mistress Lenora."

  The rest of that night passed like a nightmare, in slow and endless repetition. With a leap and a surprisingly loud beating of wings, Lenora hopped on Lynet's shoulder and began guiding her across the empty moor, bearing generally to the right. Keeping her eyes on the stars, Lynet saw that they made two complete circles before at last Lenora said, "Here we are," and directed her into a black chasm that stood before them in a round hill.

  Lynet stared at the cavern mouth, knowing instinctively that it led out of England, out of the world itself. "Always before, when I traveled to another world, I had to pass through water," she commented.

  "Ah, then you've visited only living worlds," croaked Lenora. "This should be interesting for you. Straight ahead, my dear."

  Lynet went into the blackness. Her eyes were useless, but she resolutely strode forward without slackening her pace, and she kept her arms at her sides. Something told her that wherever she was going, she would not arrive there by tentatively feeling her way. The path began to slope downward, into the hill and below the moor. Lynet kept walking. She didn't slip, she didn't trip, she didn't slow down. Time passed as time passes in a dream, which is to say not at all. Past and future seemed to be figments of a weak imagination; all that existed was the now of that moment's step into blackness, each step indistinguishable from all other steps, each moment indistinguishable from all other moments.

  Lynet became aware that she was being observed—not seen, exactly, since there was no sight in the cave, but watched nonetheless. Trying to focus her instincts, she soon began to sense from which directions these attentions were aimed. Inquisitive minds lined the path, like an audience at a race or a crowd watching a condemned criminal led to the gallows.

  "Who are these who watch me?" Lynet asked.

  "I don't see anyone." Lenora wheezed.

  "Nor do I. Who are they?"

  The crow chuckled. "Why, they're your sisters, of course."

  "Enchantresses?"

  "And hags and beldames and witches."

  "They live in this darkness?"

  "No," Lenora said. "They lived before they entered the darkness. This is only where they stay."

  The farther they walked, the more sightless eyes Lynet felt directed at her. Keeping her voice matter-of-fact, she said, "There are quite a lot of them, aren't there?"

  "More all the time."

  "I didn't realize there were so many enchantresses in England."

  Lenora cawed loudly in Lynet's ear. "No, no, dear Lynet. These aren't only English Ladies. Sorceresses of all lands gather here. We've just passed the famous Medea, late of Athens. Up ahead, on the right, is the Lady of Endor. They are all here."

  Lynet felt sick but continued to speak calmly. "So all enchantresses come here after they die?"

  "Not all," Lenora admitted. "Indeed, we had nearly given up hope of seeing you here. Such an odd and disappointing Lady you've been. But when you began to wish for power, my Mistress sent me to you at once."

  "Your mistress?"

  "Ahead. You'll see. Or, rather, you won't. But you'll know her."

  Lynet mulled over this information for several steps, then said, "So this darkness is what awaits any enchantress who seeks power?"

  Lenora fluffed her feathers and shifted her feet, then said, "It's more complicated than that, but I suppose that will do."

  Lynet shook her head. "If only they knew what awaited them."

  "Oh, they all knew," Lenora said, chuckling. "Every Lady here did what you are doing, came to my Mistress to seek power. Then they left with that power, which would be theirs as long as they lived. But, in return, they had to come here after death."

  "How could anyone make such a trade?" Lynet asked, puzzled.

  "Well, you see, they all thought they had a secret plan that would keep them from dying," Lenora explained, adding with a dry cackle, "So far, they've all been wrong."

  Then Lynet knew that they had arrived. Before her, in what seemed against all possibility to be an even blacker blackness, was a Presence. Every magical sense that she had told her that she had come to the Queen of this darkness. She stopped and waited.

  "Lady Lynet," whispered a voice. Lynet said nothing, and the voice continued. "I am Hecate. Why have you sought me?"

  "I haven't sought you, exactly, my lady," Lynet said deferentially. "I just wished for the power to—"

  "I am power."

  Lynet took a long, slow breath. "Very well. I want to be able to locate the enchantress Morgause, but without her realizing that she has been found."

  "A petty wish," came the whisper. "Have you no more imagination than that?"

  "That's what I came for," Lynet said.

  "Let me show you what I could give you."

  In a moment, without the darkness lifting at all, a procession of images thrust themselves into her mind. She imagined herself casting Morgause out of England and chaining her forever to a rock. She saw herself establishing King Arthur securely on the throne, with Mordred's armies scattered and Mordred lying dead on the field. She saw herself putting all the land to rights, bringing bountiful crops and peace to all. She saw disease and famine and war driven from the land while she sat on a throne beside King Arthur, advising him and gently correcting him when he made foolish decisions—which she would recognize as foolish because of the greatness of her own mind and strength and insight and vision. She saw herself elevated to Arthur's place after his eventual death, bringing a true golden age to England.

  "No," Lynet said. "I just want to find Morgause, thank you."

  "Have you considered well?" whispered Hecate, but with an edge to her voice. "Perhaps you should see what may come without your help." And then a new procession of scenes thrust themselves into Lynet's mind, scenes of death and carnage on the battlefield, of orphaned children and grieving parents. She saw Arthur dead on the field and Morgause placing a crown on the head of a sneering Mordred. She saw the land laid waste and herself shackled to a wall. She saw Gaheris and Gawain hunted down and killed, Luneta burned at the stake, and Luneta's husband, Rhience, torn to pieces. "Again I ask," Hecate hissed, "what power do you seek?"

  Lynet's throat was dry, but she said, "You said that this is what may come. Not what will come."

  There was a long, angry silence. "Yes. That is what I said," Hecate replied at last.

  "Where there's may, there's also may not," Lynet said. "I just want to find Morgause."

  Hecate's voice was almost a growl when she replied, "Very well. Never have I bought a life so cheaply."

  Lynet's heart thumped, and she wondered if helping Gaheris find his mother was worth the price
she would have to pay. But then she remembered the intensity of her husband's face when he asked for her help. Never had he been more deadly serious. If she had been looking for power for her own sake, she would have turned around at once and left Hecate's darkness, but this was for Gary.

  "You say nothing," hissed Hecate. "Did you think I give power for aught? No, to gain power you must give your all. You must release control over your own life."

  Lynet set her lips grimly and said, "How?"

  "You must tie your life to someone or something else."

  Lynet frowned. "That's all?"

  "You don't seem to understand. Your life will henceforth be outside your control. Nothing can kill you while that other exists, but if it ceases to be, then you die. You will be vulnerable."

  Lynet was still puzzled. Vulnerable wasn't so bad. Was there some trick here?

  "You'll want to think about this carefully, to find something strong enough and durable enough to last," Hecate said.

  "What did Morgause tie her life to?"

  Hecate hissed angrily. "We do not speak of others. Do you wish the power you have named or not?"

  Lynet nodded.

  "And, to gain this power, what will you bind your life to? Have you chosen?"

  Lynet shrugged in the darkness. "Yes."

  "Gary, Gawain, wake up!" Lynet shouted, shaking first one shoulder, then the other. "I know where Morgause is."

  "Eh?" Gaheris said, rubbing his eyes. Then he sat up. "I told you she'd come through."

  Gawain was already on his feet. "We looked for you before bed, but Gary said you'd be off doing something magical and probably nasty. Were you?"

  "Nasty?"

  "You know, eye of newt and so on," Gaheris explained.

  Lynet shook her head. After Hecate's darkness, newt's eyes seemed almost jolly. "Magical, anyway," she replied.

  "I thought so," Gaheris said.

  "Have you been to the Other World?" Gawain asked.

  "Not the one you're thinking of," Lynet said. "Not the World of Faeries. And I got what we need."

  "So where's Mother?"

  "At Perle," Lynet replied.

  "The Castle Perle?" Gaheris repeated. "Your old home?"