Sword of Camelot (8 page)

T
he news of the abduction of Princess Elaine stirred the Kingdom of Camelot into fierce activity. Sir Gwin, in charge of the battle forces, summoned all his lieutenants. They, in turn, rode at once to procure their followers.

King Dion and the queen were distraught.

While they waited in their quarters for word to come from Sir Gwin, Queen Mauve went to the window and looked down on the court. She saw the stir below, knights readying their armament, stablemen grooming their horses, and everywhere people whispering and buzzing in small groups. She turned away from the scene and said, “What will come of all this? How could he
do
it?”

King Dion looked older than his years. His dark blue eyes were weary, for he had been up all night talking with his council, and his shoulders were stooped. “He did it very cleverly. Actually, we have no word from Melchior. It's his lieutenant, Sir Baloc, who's done the thing.”

A shiver went over the queen's shoulders. She clasped her hands and closed her eyes. “Baloc! I hate that man! He's so cruel.” She stood before the king, who was slumped in a chair. “But how could he hope to get away with it? He must know that it will mean war.”

“I don't know, but I suspect that he'll take refuge with Melchior. Then Melchior will expect us to come in and begin hostilities, and then he'll have his excuse to attack.”

“But he can't be that powerful, can he? I mean . . .” The queen hesitated. “He can't defeat our army, can he, dear?”

Dion sighed heavily, then got to his feet and took her hands. “I honestly don't know. A few years ago, I would have said no, but something has been happening to our kingdom. It's like a . . . a shadow is falling over it! It gets darker almost every day.”

Mauve stared up at him. “Do you think it's the Dark Lord?”

“Elendar thinks so. He tried to get me to take action years ago, but I was a fool and wouldn't listen to him. And now it's a question of whether we'll be strong enough to stand against Melchior's powers. I wish—”

A knock sounded at the door, and Queen Mauve said, “Come in.”

Sir Gwin marched in, an excited, serious look on his face. “We have a message, Your Majesty, from Sir Baloc.”

The king and queen exchanged hurried glances. Then King Dion said, “What is the message?”

Sir Gwin slapped his hands together. “So arrogant! I'd like to get that fellow between my two hands. I'd squeeze his throat until his eyeballs popped.”

“Yes, yes, but what about the message? What about Elaine?” Queen Mauve demanded. “Is she all right?”

“For now, she is.” Sir Gwin nodded. “But that fellow Baloc, he's demanding that you give your permission for him to marry Elaine.”

“What!” King Dion straightened up, and fire leaped into his eyes. His hand went to where his sword should be, but he wasn't wearing it. “Why the man's insane!”

Queen Mauve asked, “What exactly was the message, Sir Gwin?”

“Oh, it was as arrogant as the man himself. He offered himself as a husband and made it plain that he felt you couldn't get a better son-in-law.”

“What are we going to do?” Mauve asked, putting her hand on her husband's arm. “Surely he can't mean it.”

“He probably does,” Dion said grimly. “It would be like giving Melchior a key to the castle gates. His lieutenant comes in as our son-in-law, and—once he's inside—his evil influence can work throughout all our guards, all our knights. The first thing you know, he's perverted them, and they're ready to go over to Melchior's side.” He beat his hand against the wall. “Then the Dark Lord would have it all.”

Sir Gwin hesitated, then said, “He did add one more thing to his ‘offer.'”

“And what was that?”

“He said that he will not set Elaine free until a challenger comes. That's what he would like. We send a challenger over, he tricks him—whoever it is—claims the victory, and then claims Princess Elaine.”

“Just the sort of thing he would do. The trouble is,” King Dion said slowly, “I'm not sure we're strong enough to go to war.”

“You're right there, Your Majesty. It would be a close thing. We might win, but the dead would be a mighty list of our best men.”

Queen Mauve was staring at her husband. Finally she asked, “Are you thinking of sending a challenger, dear?”

King Dion's eyes were half shut. He was past his youth, but his mind was as keen as ever. “Yes,” he said suddenly “I think we must.”

“But what if the challenger is defeated?”

“If he is, then we go after her with everything we've got,” the king answered grimly. “But there's just one chance in a thousand that somehow we'll be able to do this through the quest and the challenge.”

“Let
me
go. Your Majesty,” Sir Gwin exclaimed. “I would be honored to take the task upon myself.”

With a fond glance at his lieutenant the king slowly shook his head. “Not this time, Sir Gwin. Let it be known
that the challenger who will take up Baloc's challenge will be chosen by lot. Every knight who wishes will have an opportunity.”

“Is that wise, Sire?” Sir Gwin asked, a worried frown on his face. “After all, in a situation like that, the name of one of our knights of lesser ability might be drawn.”

“I'm sure only the more able knights will volunteer. But more important—I'm not much of a believer in impulses, but this thought has come to me very strongly.” He stroked his beard and looked down at the floor for a long moment. Finally he lifted his eyes. “I believe this idea was
given
to me somehow. I certainly would never have thought of it myself.”

Queen Mauve asked, “Do you think it might be some sort of message from Goel?”

“I'm not sure, but the thought came to me so strongly that I feel we must try it.” He turned to Sir Gwin. “Call the council together. They will argue, but I will carry them. You will at once prepare to carry out the name drawing. It must be open and aboveboard—no trickery.”

“Certainly not, Your Majesty,” Sir Gwin said rather indignantly “I myself will see to the integrity of it all.”

As soon as he was gone, King Dion put his arms around his wife. “I'm not at all sure about this. Things seem so confused.”

“Yes, I know, dear.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “I wish we were back in those days when the Dark Lord had no hold on our kingdom.”

King Dion straightened himself to his full height. “We will see those days again. I feel it in my bones!”

* * *

“Well, all the knights in the kingdom who want to have put their names in the lottery,” Josh said. “Have you talked to the king about this, Elendar?”

“Yes.” The old man was staring out a window.

He had sent for Josh, and the two talked long about the significance of Elaine's abduction. Elendar had said at once, “It's the first move on Melchior's part to break the Sword of Camelot and bring the realm under his control.”

Now he turned to look Josh in the eye. “I've talked to the king about it. He's very stubborn, more stubborn than I've ever seen him. He says that this thing didn't come from his own heart, that it just—flashed into his mind. That's the way he put it.”

“What do you think, Elendar?”

“I think he may be right. Open war would be disastrous right now. Until we can build up our forces, I'm not ready to meet Melchior in all-out warfare. This scheme—if it is of Goel—will be better than that.”

“Well,” Josh said, “I think we'd better be getting over to the arena for the name drawing. It's almost noon.”

“Yes, and I don't mind admitting I'm a little bit nervous about the whole thing.”

They made their way from the upper story of the castle, down a winding set of stairs, then outside, and walked to the open field. It was filled with people.

“It looks like they're ready to draw the name,” Elendar said quietly. “Come, let's stand closer.”

Because of his authority, Elendar pressed through the crowd. People gave way before him, most of them bowing, and Josh stayed close by his side. Soon they were right below the platform where the king and queen were seated.

Sir Gwin stood before a large oak box. He looked very nervous and kept stroking his mustache with a hand that was not quite steady.

“Sound the trumpet,” the king commanded, and the brazen voice of the instrument smote the air.

“Hear ye! Hear ye! His Majesty, King Dion of Camelot, will now address his subjects.”

King Dion rose, bowed to Queen Mauve, then faced the crowd. “My loving subjects,” he said rather quietly, but his voice carried over the large field, “I need not tell you of the crisis that has come upon us. You are all aware that our daughter is being held captive. You are also aware that, unless a challenger goes forth to meet Sir Baloc, we will be forced to go to war.”

He hesitated. Then his eyes met those of Elendar, and the hoary head of the old man nodded slightly in encouragement. This seemed to help the king, and he raised his voice. “I believe I have been given direction to hold a drawing to select the knight who is to challenge Melchior. Every volunteer has put his name on a slip of paper. Those slips have been in this box and have been guarded by my chief of knights, Sir Gwin. We are now ready to draw that name.”

The king moved down to the box, stood over it, and said, “I, myself, will draw the name so that there will be no charge of favoritism or of dishonesty.”

A hush fell over the crowd, and Josh stared at the king as he bent over the box. He hesitated after reaching into the chest, as though he were sorting through the pieces of paper. Then he drew out a slip and looked at it.

What he saw seemed to turn the king to stone, for he did not move a muscle. A light wind blew his white hair about his neck beneath the crown, as every ear in the crowd strained to hear the name he would read.

King Dion looked up, his eyes searching the throng. “The knight who has been chosen is . . .”

Everyone seemed to lean forward on tiptoe, waiting.

And then King Dion turned to look straight at the Seven Sleepers. “The knight who is chosen is Sir Reb.”

A gasp went up. Several knights frowned and began to grumble, but King Dion looked at them sternly, and they grew silent. The king said, “Sir Reb, come forward.”

Reb was the most surprised person in the arena. His mind was almost a blank. He could not believe this. He had put his name on a slip of paper, but never once had it occurred to him that he might be chosen. Coming to stand before the king, he saw something in the king's expression that he could not define.

King Dion said, “Are you ready to assume this quest, Sir Reb?”

And then, Bob Lee Jackson stood straight and tall. “Yes, Your Majesty. I don't stake no claim to being the strongest or the best—but you can bet I'll do all I can to save Princess Elaine!”

T
he morning sun lighted the eastern sky as the two horsemen paused to look back down into the valley. Camelot gleamed like old gold, and Wash gave it a wistful look. “I sure wish we was taking the whole army with us,” he said.

Reb shook his head. “Aw, Wash, we don't need an army. We'll do all right.”

They had left the city just before dawn, after being roused from sleep by Elendar.

The old man took them to where their horses were saddled and said to Reb, “Every knight needs a squire, and I am sending one with you that I have great confidence in.” He smiled fondly on the small, black boy laid a hand on his shoulder, and said, “My son, you have one quality that Sir Reb lacks—and that is caution.” Then he looked intently at Reb. “You are going on a task I cannot help you with. Trust Goel. Listen to the words of wisdom that come from your squire.”

Reb paused as he was about to mount Thunder. “Are you telling me that I'm going to fail, Elendar? Is that it?”

Elendar shook his head. “I am no soothsayer. I cannot tell what will happen in the future, except at times a dark cloud seems to lie over it. When that happens I know who is at hand.”

“You mean the Dark Lord,” Wash said. He drew his cloak close around him and shivered a little. “I don't want to meet up with that cat!” He glanced at Elendar. “Are you
sure
that I'm the one you want to go with Reb?”

“Yes, I'm certain about that.” He gave Reb a worried frown. “I'm sure about little else, though. But it seems that Goel has put you in this place. Sometimes,” he said thoughtfully, “difficult circumstances test us. Princess Elaine must be rescued, the kingdom must be saved—but I think all this has happened to bring you to a place of testing—and learning.” He suddenly appeared tired, and he waved a hand. “Go now, and remember to listen for the words of Goel. They come at the most unexpected times.”

“We will, Elendar. Don't you fret.” Reb sprang into his saddle as Wash laboriously climbed onto his small pony and took the lines of the packhorse that carried Reb's armor and their camping gear. “I'll be careful,” he said cheerfully.

Now as they looked down upon Camelot, Reb mused, “Well, Wash, when you first woke up in that capsule, I bet you never thought you'd be going on an adventure like this.”

“No, I didn't,” Wash agreed. “Reminds me of what President Abraham Lincoln said once when somebody complimented him on being elected president.”

“What was that?”

“Mr. Lincoln said he felt like the man that was tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a rail. He said, ‘If it wasn't for the honor of the thing, why, I'd just as soon walk.'”

Reb laughed heartily. “Come on, let's ramble. According to the map Sir Gwin gave us, we've got a long day's ride.”

The two rode hard all morning, paused at noon for a brief meal, then for the rest of the afternoon made their way across mountain ridges, through forests, and across plains. When nightfall came, they camped beside a small stream.

Wash was the better cook. So Reb gathered firewood as Wash unpacked the supplies. Soon they were eating and watching the fire flicker in the darkness. A quietness was upon the land, but it seemed an uneasy sort of silence.

“I don't like this country,” Wash said, drawing his cloak closer about him. He bit down on a piece of roasted meat skewered on a stick, chewed thoughtfully and gazed out into the blackness. “There's something spooky about this place.”

Reb was looking at the map, planning their next day's journey. “Well, it's called ‘Darkwood.' I guess that's spooky enough. But don't worry. We'll be out of it in the morning—according to this map.”

“I wish it was now, Reb. I got a funny feeling about this place.”

Neither boy wanted to go to sleep. There
was
something sinister about Darkwood. The trees overhead seemed to be whispering. And it wasn't just noise, Wash thought; it was as if they were speaking to one another. Far off, the wind howled as it cut through a mountain pass—a lonesome, mournful, and even threatening sound.

Before long, though, they both grew sleepy. Reb was pulling out his blanket when suddenly Wash jumped up. “Reb,” he cried, “there's somebody out there!”

At once Reb drew his sword and leaped to his feet. Straining his eyes, he stared into the darkness. “Who's there?” he called loudly. “Who are you?”

A figure advanced, and as Reb and Wash stood poised, ready for anything, a voice said, “I come in peace.”

Wash stared in amazement, for he had expected to see an enemy, a man of war. Instead, the one who stepped into the list of their small campfire appeared to be a rather small girl wearing a long, dark green cloak. But when she threw back the hood, her black hair cascaded around her
shoulders and a full-grown woman was revealed. She was very beautiful.

Wash was still suspicious. “Who are you, and what are you doing coming at us in the middle of the night?”

“I don't blame you for being suspicious,” the young woman said. She appeared to be no more than seventeen or eighteen, and her eyes were as dark as her hair. “My name is Mogen, and you are Sir Reb.” She curtsied. “And this is your squire, Wash.” She fastened her eyes on the smaller boy and smiled. “I have no weapon as you see, and, as I said, I come in peace.”

Feeling a little foolish, the boys sheathed their swords.

Wash said, “How come you know all about us?”

“Why everyone knows about the quest,” the young woman said. “All of Camelot has its eyes fixed upon you, Sir Reb.”

Her words seemed to please Reb. “Well, that may just be. But I guess somebody's got to do it.” He glanced into the darkness and back at the girl. “But what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I have traveled far,” Mogen said, “and am very tired. Perhaps you will share your meal with me.”

“Why shore.” Reb nodded. “Wash, let's see if we can pull together something for this lady.”

The two busied themselves, and Mogen sat down, watching them with her dark eyes. They put food before her, and she ate and drank some of the juice they had brought in leather skins. “Thank you,” she said finally “I have come a long way.”

“A long way from where?” Wash insisted. He gave Reb a sharp look. “I don't want to seem unfriendly but we don't know you.”

Mogen looked into his face and smiled slightly. “Sir Reb has a good counselor. It is well not to put too much trust in strangers until they prove themselves.” Then she
fastened her eyes on Reb. “But I think you will welcome me when you find out my mission. Goel has sent me to you.”

“Goel!” Reb shot a sharp look at Wash, and his mouth fell open. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “I'm glad to hear that!”

“I thought you might be.” Mogen nodded. “On a dangerous mission such as yours, a man needs a word from Goel.”

Wash was looking at her carefully. He could hear, faintly the moan of the wind rising in the hills, and again the trees seemed to whisper overhead.

Wash was a cheerful, good-natured lad, and, being the smallest of the Sleepers, he usually let the others make the decisions. But before they left Camelot, Elendar had pulled him to one side.

“Wash, my son,” he said, “you must be more than a keeper of Sir Reb's armor. He is an impetuous young man, apt to be too trusting. Keep yourself alert. If you see anything that looks suspicious, be sure it's all right before you go on.”

Now, thinking of those words, Wash asked sharply, “Don't mean to be unfriendly, but how do we know that you're from Goel?”

“Wash,” Reb snapped irritably, “don't be so fussy. Why wouldn't she come from Goel?”

Wash stared at him. “I can think of several reasons. We've got lots of enemies, Reb, and we have to be careful.”

“Oh, don't be such a wet blanket! You can tell that this lady is all right.”

Mogen listened as they argued. Finally she said, “I think you have a wise counselor. This is a dangerous mission, and you do need to be careful of strangers.” She dropped her head for a moment, and when she looked up her eyes were fixed on Reb's.

Wash had never seen such dark eyes.

Her voice was soft and soothing. “I only want to be of help, and Goel sends me to be what aid I can.”

Ignoring Wash's suspicious looks, Reb said, “Do you have a message from him for us?”

“I have more than that,” Mogen said, and a mysterious smile came to her lips. “Goel is apprehensive of the quest and of the challenge you have to face, Sir Reb. He sent me to bring you something that would help.” She reached behind her neck and fumbled with something.

It was, Wash saw, a clasp, and she pulled a golden chain over her head and held it out to Reb. “This is what Goel sent me to bring to you.”

Reb took the necklace. On the fine chain was mounted a round medallion, also of heavy gold. He blinked at it and held it up to the firelight. “What is this on here?”

“That is the secret sign of Goel. Very few are privileged to know it, and even fewer are privileged to wear this amulet. It came from around the neck of Goel himself.”

Wash came forward and looked at the markings on the medallion. The design looked vaguely familiar, but he could not recognize it. He shot a glance at Mogen. “You say Goel himself wears this? I never saw it when I was with him.”

“It is unlikely that you would, Wash,” Mogen said calmly. “He keeps it beneath his clothes, and only a few know that it exists.”

Reb handled the amulet, letting its round form rest in his hand. And as it lay on his palm, something seemed to happen. “Why, this feels warm!” he exclaimed. “Almost as if it's been in the fire.”

Mogen nodded. “That is the power of Goel. And that is what I have come to tell you.” Her face grew earnest. “You must wear this amulet wherever you go, Sir Reb. It
will give you the strength and power you need to overcome the challenge of Sir Baloc.” Suddenly she rose to her feet.

Reb and Wash got up quickly too, wondering at her action.

“I must leave you, but promise me you will wear the amulet.”

“Leave?” Reb looked around the trackless forest, then back at Mogen. “But where will you go, lady? There's no place around here.”

A smile touched her lips again. “I will find my way, but promise me that you will wear the amulet.”

Reb fingered again the warm medallion that lay in his hands. He hefted it, then nodded. “Well, if Goel sent it and wants me to wear it, that's all I need to know.”

He put it around his neck and slipped it under his clothing. And as he did so, he told Wash later, a strange thing happened. At once he began to feel more powerful. The trees seemed less threatening. He looked at her with astonishment. “Why, this makes me feel like . . . like . . .”

“I know.” Mogen smiled. “That is the power of Goel.” She grew serious then. “Dangerous things lie ahead of you, Sir Reb.
Never
remove that medallion! Remember, it has the power of Goel in it.” Then she gave them one final look. “Farewell for now—but I will not be far from you.”

Without another word she walked away, fading into the darkness.

Reb stared after her, then looked at Wash. “Well, I've been to two county fairs and three snake stompin's,” he said in amazement, “but I never saw nothing like that!”

Wash's eyes were half shut. He was thinking hard. “Neither did I,” he admitted, “and I'm not sure I like it.”

“Oh, you'd be suspicious of anybody,” Reb said irritably. “Come on now. Why would she come? We've been asking for help from Goel, and now we got it.”

Wash sat down and began to poke at the glowing fire.

Reb must have seen the stubbornness on the younger boy's face. He plopped himself down. “I declare, Wash, you'd complain if they hung you with a new rope!”

Wash was more aware than ever of the moaning of the trees and of the oppressive quality of the forest that lay around them. It seemed to close in upon them, worse now than it had ever been. “I don't like it,” he said finally. “I don't like this place, and I'm not at all sure that Mogen girl came from Goel.”

Reb gave him a disgusted look. “I'm telling you she did, and I don't want to hear any more talk about it.”

Wash stared at him, astonished, and Reb tried to explain. “If you had this medallion on
your
neck, you'd know what I'm talking about. Why, it's made a whole new person out of me! I feel like I could tackle
anything!
” He was smiling, and his light blue eyes gleamed in the firelight. He seemed to have become older and taller and stronger—though Wash knew this was an illusion.

Wash saw that it was useless to argue.
He won't listen to me, and there's something about all this I don't understand. I wish Elendar were here!
He finally tossed the stick he was fidgeting with into the fire, got his blankets, and rolled into them.
I don't like any of this, and I wish that girl had never come!