LANCE OF TRUTH (3 page)

She made Alba prance slowly along the barrier and trot back down the other side, showing the doubters her sword. As she did so, she measured the distance and checked the ground. When she reached the stands again, she sliced Excalibur through the air in a pattern of sparkling light, sketching a dragon.

Sir Bors scowled at her for showing off. But it worked. The horns blew again, and the crowd cheered as another fanfare announced the start of the joust.

Sir Bors had been right. It was quite funny, watching the squires tilt. Most lost their nerve at the last moment and missed each other’s shields completely, to the sound of whistles and boos from the stands. A couple of boys fell off as their ponies started down the course, making people laugh. Those who did manage to score a hit usually dropped their spears or galloped out of control across the meadow afterwards. But apart from a few bruises, nobody got hurt.

Gareth and Cai were the last pair to tilt.

Rhianna sat up straighter in her saddle. “Watch carefully, because we’re next,” she whispered to Alba.

The mare pricked her white ears and snorted.
Stupid sort of race. They gallop in opposite directions.

The horn sounded, and the two ponies broke
into a gallop. Sandy clearly enjoyed jousting, and Cai nearly fell off over his tail as the plump horse leaped forwards. Gareth’s pony was slower to start, but the older boy had his spear lowered first. He aimed the point at the squire’s shield with a determined expression. Cai looked terrified.

Rhianna winced as the two ponies came together. She fingered Excalibur’s hilt, wondering if she could use the blade to flash sunlight into Gareth’s eyes, as she had done to confuse the dragon in the battle last year. But it seemed a bit silly to use the Sword of Light for such a trick. As Cai galloped closer, Elphin reached for his harp.

No wonder his pony runs away with him
, Alba said.
He is not looking where he is going.

Rhianna grinned, and almost missed the quick flicker of her friend’s fingers across his
harp strings. As the two boys met, the air around them sparkled. Gareth’s spear seemed to slide off Cai’s shield. At the same time, Cai’s spear slipped past Gareth’s shield and struck him squarely on the chest. The older squire fell off over his pony’s tail with a grunt of surprise. Arianrhod leaped to her feet with a cheer. Gareth’s friends groaned.

Sir Bedivere trotted his chestnut stallion to the end of the barrier. Someone passed him a light squire’s spear, which he fooled around with to make the crowd laugh. While the knights were distracted, catching the loose pony and organising the other squires to rake the course for the challenge, Rhianna eased her borrowed helm out of Elphin’s bag.

Her friend’s eyes turned violet. “You’re not still going through with this?”

“Of course,” Rhianna said, twisting her hair up under the helm and pulling down the face guard. “I have to show the knights I can look after myself in a fight, or they won’t let me ride north with them to look for my mother and the Lance of Truth.”

“Be careful, Rhia. I’m not sure Father’s smith made that armour to withstand a lance.”

“I’ve been training all winter! I’m not going to let Sir Bedivere spear me, don’t worry. Just play your harp so they don’t recognise me until it’s too late.”

Before anyone could stop her, she had snatched the spear from Cai’s hand, exchanged her Pendragon shield for his plain one, and trotted her little mist horse to the far end of the barrier.

Sir Agravaine squinted at her as she lined up.

“We have a brave squire to take up the challenge!” he announced. The crowd – in the mood now for a good laugh – cheered. “Sir Bedivere tilts against Squire, er…?”

Even as the old knight’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, Elphin’s harp tinkled from the stands. The air around Rhianna sparkled, just like it had when Cai knocked Gareth out of his saddle. Alba’s mane shimmered. Sir Agravaine’s face went blank. He lifted the horn to his lips and blew.

Excitement shivered through her as Sir Bedivere’s chestnut horse leaped forward. Rhianna crouched low over her mare’s neck, tucked the spear under her armpit, and grinned as Alba sprang eagerly into a gallop to meet him. She couldn’t see much through the helm, which had a narrow slit to protect the eyes from
splinters, but she did her best to aim at the centre of the knight’s shield.

The noise of the crowd surged around her like the sea. The Avalonian music filled her head. She felt dizzy.
Just don’t let him recognise
me
, she willed.
I only need one chance
.

Sir Bedivere obviously couldn’t see very much either. His lance stayed low as the distance between them closed. Rhianna set her jaw, kept her shield steady and refused to think about what would happen if she missed. She had to strike first. If he knocked her off, the knights would never let her ride north with them.

As she braced herself for the crash, she heard large hoof beats behind her. The crowd gasped. Sir Bedivere squinted through his helm in alarm, and his lance jerked up.

Rhianna’s heart sank. The knights must have recognised Alba. Elphin’s magic must not be strong enough to hide a mist horse. So now they were going to embarrass her by dragging her off the field in front of everyone.

She thought about taking advantage of Sir Bedivere’s hesitation to get past his guard. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. At the last moment, she jerked her spear up, too. The ribbon tied to the end slapped Sir Bedivere across the eyes as they galloped past each other, and the crowd groaned.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw a big black horse. She wondered which knight had come after her. Whoever it was couldn’t ride very well. He was jerking at the reins, flopping back and forth over his horse’s neck. People scattered from its path, screaming.

Alba flattened her ears.
Is it another race?

Rhianna thought of everyone watching the black horse chase her and Alba across the river, and sighed. Even more embarrassing. “No.” She slowed the mare and tugged off her helm, ready to fight with words rather than a spear.

But the black horse didn’t stop when she did. Foaming with sweat, it charged on past, so close that Alba misted in alarm. Rhianna grabbed the mare’s mane and drew Excalibur. Its rider jerked backwards again as the horse passed them, and she saw why. The knight had been roped into his saddle with the reins tied around his wrists. His throat had been cut.

Alba whinnied, and the runaway horse slowed to a trot. It turned and came back, carrying its grisly burden. The two horses held a short conversation, snorting into each other’s nostrils.

He says a dragon chased him
, the mare reported.
He has galloped for many days.
His legs are very tired. Bad men kill his rider.

Rhianna kept hold of Excalibur, wary. She’d seen too many of Mordred’s tricks to trust a dead knight. A slave collar had been buckled around his neck, stiff with blood and strangely marked.

By this time, Sir Bors and Sir Agravaine and several of the squires on their ponies had caught up. She saw Elphin running across the field with his harp, with Arianrhod and Cai close behind.

“Stay away from him, Damsel Rhianna!” Sir Bors warned, pushing between Alba and the black horse.

Sir Agravaine warily lifted the rider’s head and peered into his face. “One of Sir Lancelot’s
men,” he grunted. “What’s that written around his neck?”

Sir Bors used his sword to cut the collar from the dead man. He turned it over, examining the marks on it. He frowned. “It’s in the old druid language. We’ll need to get the priest to translate. But I recognise that signature…” He looked at them grimly. “It’s signed Mordred Pendragon, Emperor of Britain.”

W
ith all the excitement caused by the runaway horse, people soon forgot about Rhianna’s embarrassing tilt. Some of the
crowd even seemed to think it had been part of the show, and cheered her as she rode back across the field with her bodyguard of wary knights. A few people – those close enough to see the dead man’s blood-soaked collar – crossed themselves and muttered about witchcraft. The rest headed for the food stalls in search of lunch.

The knights remained grim. Back inside Camelot, Sir Bors ordered the gates barred and called a meeting of the Round Table for that afternoon. He scowled at Rhianna. “You’d better bring Excalibur so we can try to contact Lancelot using the spirit channel. But you can count yourself lucky you’re a damsel. If you were a boy, I’d order you whipped! What you did out there was very stupid. What if poor Bedivere had killed you?”

Rhianna lifted her chin. “He wouldn’t have killed me. Alba and I have been practising.”

“Jousting against trees?” Sir Bors grunted. “Oh yes, Damsel Rhianna. I’m not blind. And seems to me you’ve been fallin’ off quite a bit, judging by all the mud on your backside when you come back from the woods with your fairy friend! The jousting field’s no place for a damsel. It’s how we learn to kill each other. You want to end up like this poor chap of Lancelot’s?”

Rhianna flushed. She looked at the dead man, worried. If Mordred had killed Lancelot’s man, what had happened to Sir Lancelot and her mother?

“Ought’ve let Bedivere teach the girl a lesson,” Sir Agravaine growled, ordering the squires to untie the dead knight and take his
exhausted horse to the stables. “Might have knocked some sense into her.”

She eyed Sir Bedivere, braced for his anger, too.

But as they led their horses to the stables, the young knight whispered, “Cheer up, Damsel Rhianna. It was my fault as much as yours. I recognised you halfway down the course. Thought I’d scare you into pulling up, but I should have known better. King Arthur’s daughter doesn’t scare that easily! Good job Mordred’s message arrived when it did, though – for a nasty moment back there, I thought you were going to knock
me
off in front of everyone.

I’d never have lived it down.” In spite of her worry, Rhianna managed a smile. “I’m sorry, Sir Bedivere,” she said. “I didn’t mean to get you into trouble. I just
wanted to prove I can look after myself in a fight so Sir Bors will let me ride north with you, and now…” Her voice broke.

The knight patted her arm. “I know you’re worried about your mother,” he said gently. “But we’ll find out what’s happened to her, never fear. You see to your mare and have something to eat. We’ll all think better on full stomachs.”

The last thing Rhianna felt like doing was eating. She couldn’t stop thinking about that blood-soaked collar and its grisly message. What if the priest translated it wrongly? She needed to talk to Merlin. As soon as she’d settled Alba, she hurried through the tunnel to the hawk mews.

A small, grey-blue falcon dozed on a perch 
in the shadows. She plucked off its hood. It blinked a pale blue eye at her then stuck its head grumpily under its wing.

“Merlin?” she whispered, prodding it.

Her father’s druid had been ambushed by Morgan Le Fay as he brought them through the mists from Avalon last year, leaving his spirit roaming the world of men in search of another body. He’d chosen his namesake, the merlin falcon, after failing to control the dragon he’d tried to inhabit first of all. Sometimes she wished he’d stayed in the dragon.

“Merlin!” she hissed. “I know you can hear me. This is important.”

The little bird opened its beak and screeched at her.

She quickly put her hand on Excalibur’s jewel. As the magic of her sword lit up the
drifting feathers, the screech turned into words.

“—been up to, child, and I don’t want to know. But I thought you’d be back when you needed me. I gather Mordred’s causing trouble again? If you’d kept me in your room, like I suggested in the first place, this mightn’t have happened.”

“I told you, feathers make me sneeze. Why can’t you find another body? Something more useful like a dog or a horse?”

Merlin laughed. “Dogs and horses can’t fly. Being a hawk is more fun than I thought it would be. Hunting’s good around this place, plenty of fat mice. I always told Arthur he ought to do something about them before they ate all of Camelot’s grain… stop scowling, Rhianna Pendragon! It makes you look like a barbarian. So tell me what’s happened.
You obviously haven’t just come in here for a chat, all splattered in mud like you are.”

Rhianna frowned. “One of Sir Lancelot’s men came with a message from Mordred,” she said. “But he was dead when he got here, and Sir Bors says it’s in druid language so we don’t know what it says yet.”

“Ah yes, the secret ogham alphabet. The Romans never did manage to break our code. Good to see Prince Mordred remembers his lessons.” Merlin hopped to the end of his perch and cocked his head. “Well, where is it then?”

“What?”

“The message, girl! Have you grown stupid as well as foolhardy over the winter?”

Rhianna scowled again. “Sir Bors took it. It’s scratched on a slave collar… covered in blood.” She shuddered at the memory.

The merlin blinked. “Whose blood?”

“The dead knight’s, I suppose…”

“Never
suppose
,” Merlin said. “Things are not always what they seem, especially where witchcraft is concerned.”

Rhianna’s stomach fluttered. “You don’t think it was my moth—”

“No, child. If Mordred’s got hold of your mother, which I have to say is a distinct possibility by the sounds of things, the last thing he’ll do is hurt her. She’s far too valuable as a hostage.” He cocked his head and fixed her with a pale eye. “This message will be Mordred’s terms for her release. You must be prepared for that. Don’t let your emotions rule your head.”

“But what if—” She bit her lip, not wanting to voice her fears.

Merlin was pacing up and down his perch,
wings spread for balance. “Let me think. I need to get a look at that message. Don’t expect the knights know what’s happened to me yet? Good, then we just need an excuse to get me into the meeting. Best thing would be to let me loose in the courtyard. Then I can fly in through the hole in the roof above the Round Table, and you can say you’re training me to come to your wrist. We just need to make sure they hear me before they throw me out.”

“How?” Rhianna said. “I can’t hear you unless I’m touching Excalibur. Do you mean I have to give them my sword?” She tightened her hand possessively on the hilt.

“Of course not! The Round Table has magic of its own. In King Arthur’s day it would have been easy. But most of the knights are old men now, hardened in their ways and deaf to the
spirit world, so we’ll have to choose carefully. The ones who might have been some use to us died on the Grail Quest. Young Bedivere’s about the most open-minded of those who are left. Old Bors tries his best, but Agravaine would sooner fight than talk. They never much liked the idea of me taking King Arthur’s body to Avalon—” His words ended in another screech.

He had been talking so much, he’d missed the end of the perch. He hung upside-down from the jesses that tethered him in the mews, beating his wings. He looked so funny, Rhianna forgot her worry over Mordred’s message and giggled.

“Are you laughing at me, Rhianna Pendragon?” Merlin regained his balance and fluffed his feathers indignantly. “Better hurry up and free me. We’ve got company.”

Rhianna drew Excalibur and whirled to see
Arianrhod standing nervously at the door.

“My lady!” the girl gasped, staring at her blade. “This is Camelot. You don’t need to draw your sword in here.”

Rhianna frowned at her friend and slid Excalibur back into its red scabbard. “You shouldn’t creep up on people like that. What do you want?”

“I came to tell you the knights have been in the Great Hall yelling at each other since they got back from the field. Aren’t you supposed to be at the meeting? They sent me to find you, but no one knew where you were. Then Elphin said you might be in here talking to your hawk. Don’t you think finding out what’s happened to the queen is a bit more important?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

Rhianna tugged the jesses free of the perch
and hurried out into the courtyard with the merlin flapping on her wrist. His talons drew blood, but she hardly felt the pain. She released the bird and dashed back into the castle. Ignoring Arianrhod’s pleas for her to bathe first, she ran down the long corridors, her fists clenched in anger. They’d started without her again!

She pushed past the guards and barged through the double doors into the Great Hall. She’d grown strong with all her sword training and riding over the winter. The heavy doors crashed back against the wall with a satisfying clang.

The knights with their backs to the door twisted round in alarm, hands groping for sword hilts that were not there. Nobody was allowed to sit at the Round Table armed, except the Pendragon.

“Ah, Rhianna,” Sir Bors said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “There you are. Come and sit down.” He patted the chair next to him.

Rhianna narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. Why was he being so nice to her?

She felt a bit self-conscious as the knights watched her walk round to the empty seat, where Sir Bors had already hung her father’s shield with the red dragon prancing across it. Seeing it there, she remembered that she’d left it on the jousting field this morning and felt bad about that.

Then she saw the blood-soaked slave collar on the table and forgot everything else.

She sat, and the guards – after a questioning look at Sir Bors – closed the doors again to seal the hall.

Sir Agravaine cleared his throat. “Er,
Rhianna,” he said. “We asked the priest to help us out with the ogham…”

“Druid language,” Sir Bedivere explained.

“I know what the ogham is,” Rhianna said impatiently, making the knight raise an eyebrow. “What does it say?”

Sir Agravaine went on, “As far as we can make out, it says Mordred has kidnapped the queen, and he’s demanding we take him Excalibur in exchange for her life. Of course there’s no question of letting Mordred keep your father’s sword. But we’ve decided that, under the circumstances, we’d best take Excalibur to him so we can get Guinevere somewhere safe. Then, once we’ve found out what’s happened to Lancelot, maybe we can think about getting the sword back—”

“No!” Rhianna leaped to her feet. “We can’t
give Mordred the Sword of Light! I need it to find the other three Lights to heal my father, you know that.”

Without Excalibur, she didn’t see how she was going to succeed in her quest, especially not if Mordred had taken the Lance of Truth from Sir Lancelot… though that was meant to be broken, so maybe it didn’t matter?

The knights frowned at her. “The queen must be our first concern,” Sir Bors said. “Arthur’s dead and awaiting rebirth in Avalon. There’s not much we can do about that. Your mother’s alive. Let’s keep it that way.”