The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf Read online

  "That it would," replied Sir Gringamore. "Quite a catch, eh?"

  Lyonesse chortled and lapsed into an affected tone of voice. '"Why, hello, Guinevere! Charming to see you today. And how's Uncle Arthur today."' Why, when we're married, I'll be a crown princess!"

  "If you can catch him," Sir Gringamore said. "You'd best make sure of him before he gets away. Dwarf, where is your master now?"

  "He's not my master."

  At that very moment, as if the whole scene had been orchestrated, a soldier came down the steps to the dungeon rooms. "Sir Gringamore? Is that you?"

  "Yes, but as you can see, I'm busy," Sir Gringamore snapped.

  "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. But this knight was saying as how he'd burn the castle down, and the captain thought it best to tell—"

  "Knight? What knight?"

  The soldier sounded relieved that Sir Gringamore was interested. "I don't know him, sir, but he says that you've stolen his dwarf."

  Sir Gringamore smiled brightly. "All nonsense, of course."

  "Yes, sir. We told him that, sir, but this Sir Beaumains won't leave. Um ... what should we do?"

  With triumph in her voice, Lyonesse said, "Invite him in for dinner, of course."

  Dinner was a wretched experience for Lynet. To begin with, she arrived late. As soon as Sir Gringamore released them both, Lynet took Roger up to her bedchamber, where she had a salve to rub on the dwarf's chafed wrists. While she treated his abrasions, Roger told her what had been happening since they parted. He and Beaumains—Gareth, now—had ridden a half day into the woods, where Gareth had collapsed, weak from his battle with the Knight of the Red Lands. Roger had found a deserted cottage, where they had lived for two weeks, eating dried meat they found in the larder and whatever Roger could rustle up from the forest, while Gareth recuperated.

  He recovered quickly, and they made ready to travel, but the day before they were to leave, Roger had been captured. He had heard a hunting party in the woods, and he had crept closer to look. He had barely had time to recognize Sir Gringamore at the head of the party when a sack had been dropped over his head. "They all thought it was a great joke," he said, in conclusion. "They'd been expecting to follow our trail for weeks, before they could have a chance to capture me, and here they'd gotten me on their first day out. Luck. I've always been lucky, I guess."

  Lynet pretended not to notice the bitterness in Roger's voice and finished wrapping up his wrists. "There. Now we're late for dinner. What do you think will happen? What will Beaumains—Gareth, I mean—do? Will he be very angry about their kidnaping you?"

  Roger took a breath. "Well, if you want to know the truth, I think the Beau's probably forgotten about me. For two weeks all he's talked about is your sister." Roger's voice was gentle. "I thought it best to warn you. I imagine that he's already making puppy eyes at that cat."

  Lynet nodded. "Of course," she said quietly. "And Lyonesse will be encouraging him in every outrageous way."

  And so it was. When they arrived in the dining room, Gareth did not even look up. His eyes were fixed on Lyonesse, and Lyonesse, for her part, was seeing to it that they stayed there. Lynet sat and ate her dinner without a word, while Gareth and Lyonesse uttered fatuous compliments to each other.

  For a moment, Lynet wished that back in the cave she had chosen the cordial that would make her beautiful. Maybe that would take the wind out of Lyonesse's sails. But at heart she knew that Lyonesse had captured Gareth with more than just beauty. Watching Lyonesse titter and blush and flutter her eyelashes and fawn over Gareth, Lynet knew that she could never match such a performance. And, though she was disappointed with Gareth, that he could be won with such tactics, she couldn't say she was surprised. While Gareth's handsome face was enough to sway any female's affections—well, it had swayed hers, after all—Lynet had to admit that he really wasn't the cleverest fellow around.

  In fact, Lynet realized with faint surprise, she had fallen out of love with Gareth as quickly and as easily as she had fallen in love with him in the first place. While she still felt a certain fondness for him, as a familiar traveling companion, she no longer thought of him romantically. Maybe her change of heart had begun when Gareth declared his love for Lyonesse, or maybe it had arisen in the enchantress's cave, when Lynet had imagined a lifetime with Beaumains. Whatever the reason, she was no longer in love, and the effusive dalliance that Gareth and Lyonesse were carrying on before her was not painful, only embarrassing.

  Then, just before the third course, the flirting moved from embarrassing to shocking: Lynet overheard Lyonesse whisper, "Then it's settled. I'll come to your room tonight, at midnight."

  Lynet stood in the moonlight at the casement window of her room. The night air was heavy and fragrant, like one of Morgan's potions. Perhaps a sleeping potion: Sir Gringamore was snoring off his wine in the banquet hall, and the last of the servants had stumbled across the courtyard toward their beds over an hour before. But Lynet had never felt more awake. She gazed amiably at the half moon. What was it Robin had said? That the half moon was a night for good magic? Lynet felt a tingle of excitement and smiled. Maybe she was an enchantress at heart after all.

  Then the nighttime peace was split apart with loud, terrified female screams. Lynet leaped from her chair, threw open her door, and raced barefoot down the hall toward the source of the sound—Gareth's room. Bursting through the door, she encountered a scene of utter mayhem. Lyonesse, barely clothed, cowered in a far corner of the room, shrieking as if mad. In the center of the room, a bare-chested Gareth stood facing a fully armored and helmeted knight. Gareth was unarmed, but the other knight held a sword at Gareth's throat.

  "What's going on?" Lynet demanded.

  "Good evening, ma'am," the strange knight replied. "Sorry to disturb you, but I won't be a minute. I'm just here to kill this worthless piece of carrion."

  "Which one?" Lynet asked practically.

  "Sir Gareth, of course. Do you think you could do something with your sister? I believe she's gone quite mad."

  Moving very slowly, Lynet circled the room, staying close to the wall, until she came to Lyonesse. "Lyon, please stop screaming—Lyon, I know it's frightening, but—oh, do shut up, Lyon!"

  Lyonesse ceased screaming for a second, then burst into hysterical sobs. "I'm sorry, father! He seduced me! He forced me to come to his room! You know I would never do anything like this unless I were forced!" She sank to her knees, still sobbing.

  Lynet realized for the first time that the knight who held the sword at Gareth's throat was wearing her father's armor. "Sir knight," Lynet said slowly, a chill creeping up her back, "she fears you because you are wearing our father's armor."

  "Oh yes, well, I'm sorry about that. It was all I could find in a pinch. You don't mind, do you?"

  A wave of relief swept over Lynet. This was no ghost. "No, of course not," she answered automatically. Then, realizing how silly the whole exchange was, she giggled. The knight chuckled, and while he was distracted, Gareth leaped across the room and snatched up his own sword.

  "Now," Gareth said hoarsely, "let us see who shall kill who!"

  "Whom, you stupid sod. Who shall kill whom," the knight retorted, swinging his sword heavily at Gareth. Gareth deflected the blow easily and knocked the strange knight backwards with a mighty chop. Then Gareth lunged forward, following up his advantage, and the strange knight barely eluded a blow that would have ended the fight at once. Then the fight settled down, following a pattern that Lynet easily recognized. It was like Gareth's battle with the pink knight and the fish: Gareth attacked, but the other knight was content merely to defend himself. Gareth began to pant, and the other knight laughed softly. "Out of shape, aren't we, Gareth? It doesn't do much for your muscles, all this lying about with loose women, does it?"

  With a roar, Gareth leaped forward, shouting, "She's not a loose woman!"

  The strange knight sidestepped Gareth's reckless charge and had he been quicker, would have landed a blow on Gareth's unp
rotected shoulder. "Who, this trollope?" the strange knight taunted. "Of course she's a loose woman! She came to your room at midnight, didn't she? She's a doxy, a jade, a bit of painted muslin."

  Again Gareth attacked angrily, but more cautiously this time, and the strange knight had no chance to inflict any damage. "And for Gog's sake, Gareth, you ought to know a wanton woman. After all, your mother was one."

  With a shriek of inhuman rage, Gareth cast himself at the mocking knight, swinging his sword wildly. The strange knight took several blows, each one denting his armor, but he was able to land one blow of his own, on Gareth's thigh. It looked superficial, but the pain of it shocked Gareth back to his senses, and he backed away.

  "Had enough?" the strange knight gasped. "Wouldn't you rather be back in bed?" Gareth did not answer, circling warily, and the strange knight tried a new tack. "I wouldn't be so eager to crawl into bed with little Gareth, my lady," he called to Lyonesse. "He wets the bed."

  "What?" Gareth gasped.

  "S'truth, my lady. Always did. None of his brothers would ever double up with him, on account of the cold spots he left."

  "Who are you?" Gareth said, barely above a whisper.

  The strange knight's voice was cold and even. "I'm your worst nightmare, you foul-smelling, vomitous rat, you son of a witch!"

  Gareth launched himself at the knight, screaming insanely. It seemed to Lynet that the strange knight made no effort to defend himself but instead was focused wholly on inflicting a certain wound on Gareth. As Gareth swung his sword at the knight's neck, the knight lunged forward and cut a deep gash in Gareth's inner thigh. But Gareth's blow landed on the strange knight's neck and shoulder. He staggered back against the wall, and in the moonlight Lynet could see blood welling up over the knight's breastplate.

  Acting instinctively, Lynet dashed across to the wounded knight, almost hurdling Gareth to get to him. "Thankee, my lady, but I think you're wasting your time," the knight managed to gasp as she arrived. "He's cut my veins through."

  At once Lynet remembered her cordial, back in her room, her gift from the enchantress's cave. "I won't let you die!" she said fiercely. "Come with me!" She pulled the knight forward, tugging him after her, praying that he would be able to stay on his feet. She was only vaguely aware of Gareth, sprawled on the floor, clutching his wounded leg, and then she and the knight were in the corridor, staggering together toward Lynet's room.

  How they got there, Lynet would never know, but somehow they both stayed on their feet long enough to make it to her door, and then the knight collapsed on the floor. Lynet snatched up the cordial. "Stay alive just another moment," she begged, fumbling at the lid.

  "I can't," the knight whispered. "But it was worth it. He won't be feeling ... amorous ... for a long time now."

  "Shut up and take your helm off," Lynet said briskly. She tore at the straps and pulled the helm off. "Oh!" she cried in amazement.

  It was no stranger. It was the young man she had seen beside the stream on the night she gathered herbs with Robin, the tall man whose face had betrayed such inexpressible sadness.

  Lynet shook her head sharply, banishing her wonder, and poured the cordial over the gaping wound in the knight's neck. Where it touched the knight's skin, it sizzled as if it were liquid fire, and the knight twitched with pain, but then he blinked, raised a gauntleted hand to his neck and said, "Good Gog, lass! What have you done?"

  "I've cured you, of course."

  "It's like magic," he said.

  "It is magic, stupid," she retorted. "Now, tell me. Who are you?"

  The knight was silent. He sat up and looked around. "You've cured me! You've—" He broke off sharply as he looked out the window. Suddenly full of energy, he scrambled to his feet and leaped to the window, staring at the moon. "It's after two o'clock," he said, amazement in his voice.

  "Very likely," Lynet said patiently. "Now, who are you.'

  The knight turned back to her, his eyes warm and his lips curling in a soft smile. For some reason, Lynet had difficulty breathing. "You don't understand," the young man said. "At two o'clock, I was supposed to disappear and become someone else."

  "Well, don't do it for my sake," Lynet said, forcing herself to breathe evenly. "I still don't know who you are now."

  The young man stepped forward and took her hands. "You see, I've been rather under a spell. It's made me appear in a different shape, except for two hours, twice a month—from midnight until two when the moon is at the half-face. But you must have broken the spell. I'm still in my true form."

  "Your true form?" Lynet repeated, confused. "So what have you been?"

  "I've been a dwarf named Roger," the young man replied simply.

  Lynet stepped backwards, pulling her hands away and clutching the bedpost, sinking slowly down onto her bed. "Roger?" she said faintly.

  He smiled. "Ay, lass. S'truth."

  "You're Roger?" she repeated.

  "Not anymore," the young man said, taking her hands again.

  "Yes, of course ... but ... well, what's your real name, then?"

  "My name is Gaheris," he replied.

  XI. Gaheris's Story

  For a long time, Lynet could only stare. Then she closed her bedroom door and said, "Sit down and explain yourself, please, before I go mad."

  Gaheris nodded. He turned the chair to face the bed and sat, while Lynet made herself comfortable on the bed. "It was the way that clodpole Gareth treated you. That was what set me off," he began. "The way he ignored you at dinner this evening! And making that appointment with—"

  "No, no, I don't care about that. Tell me your story. However did you come to be changed into a dwarf?"

  "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 th
en 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."