The Shadow Companion (3 page)

As she walked, her feet pressed down on grass that hadn’t been trampled by male feet. She followed a trail that led into a narrow copse of trees. Sunlight
barely reached through the branches. For a moment, she was plunged into dusk, until the narrow path carried her to a smaller meadow on the other side.

The grass was almost knee-high here, and scattered with small yellow thistles and white bindweed. The smell of dirt and fresh air was a welcomed change from the musty, musky smell of leather and metal that filled the camp.

Satisfied that she was alone, Ailis bent down and placed the wooden box she had brought with her on the ground. She opened it up and withdrew a long, knotted piece of string.

It was a simple spell, one of the first Morgain had taught her. Merlin had said she was to practice. And she
was
far away from anyone who might notice. All the knights were being scolded by Sir Matthias, and the squires would be taking advantage of the free time to do…whatever it was boys did when their masters were busy.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong. You never knew when you might need to raise the wind—to move sails along or distract the nose of a predator.

Holding the string in both hands, she ran the fingers of her left hand up and down the knots, her lips moving in a soundless invocation.

Once…twice…the third time she repeated it, her voice was barely audible. The wind in the trees behind her rose in volume. A fourth time, and clouds began to shift across the sky. Her hand stilled on the string. There was no need to go all the way to gale force. She had told Merlin she would behave, and not draw attention to herself. Creating a storm out of nothing was not, by anyone’s rules, being proper or demure.

“Nice breeze.”

She dropped the string, and the wind died. “Newt.”

“I was taking a walk. I saw you and decided to follow.” He circled around so that they were facing each other. He had gotten taller since they left Camelot. She used to be able to look him directly in the eye. Now she had to tilt her head up slightly. Upon examination, Ailis decided that he still needed to do something with his hair other than brush it with a piece of straw when he woke up.

As though of its own accord, her hand reached out and smoothed down his rumpled black hair, trying helplessly to get it to lay flat. His hair was rougher than Gerard’s. She had known Gerard many years; they had been children together, running
through the halls of Camelot on the sort of errands they sent pages and girls on.

But Newt, for all that they had been on such adventures together, was still an unknown to her. He could be so stubborn, so dismissive of everything he didn’t approve of—like magic—and yet he was courageous, too, when he needed to be. He had even braved Morgain’s castle, despite hating magic the way he did, to rescue her.

She hadn’t actually needed rescuing, but that was beside the point.

Newt made her feel so uncertain, always wondering what he was thinking, what he was going to do. With Gerard, she knew. Newt was…different.

“You didn’t think maybe I wanted to be alone?”

“I think maybe you’re alone too much.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He gave a huge sigh. “I don’t know. But you were all alone in Morgain’s castle—yes, I know she was there, but she left you alone a lot—you said so. And now you’re here, and it’s not like you have anything to do, and I thought—”

“Do me a favor, all right? Don’t think. You’re not designed for it.” Her words were sharp, but his accusation had gotten to her. She
was
alone. She
was
useless. And she didn’t need a stable boy’s concern for her to make it even more obvious.

“Fine, then. I’ll go.”

“Yes. Do that.”

The moment he was gone, she wanted to call him back. She felt sorry for snapping at two friends in such close succession. Instead, she picked up the string, and started whispering the spell again.

“Magic. It makes you mad.” That was the only explanation Newt could conjure for the way Ailis was behaving. She had spent many days with Morgain, and with Merlin. It was driving her mad, the same way they said it had driven Nimue mad, which she must be, to play such games with Merlin and distract him from what he needed to be doing.

A sense of unease moved through Newt whenever magic came into play. It shifted under his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck and the tops of his arms. Magic. He didn’t trust it; didn’t like it. Never had.

He felt sorry for Ailis, and would keep his promise to Merlin to watch her and make sure that the hooks Morgain had set into her mind and soul didn’t do any further damage.

But if she didn’t want him around, he wasn’t going to lurk in the grass like some lovelorn courtier trying to get a glimpse of his lady-love. As the sole stable boy brought along on the Quest, he had responsibilities beyond keeping one female out of trouble.

Newt liked the feeling of being responsible. In the stable at Camelot he was one of the youngest to care for the horses, having only recently been moved up from minding the dog kennel. And on their journeys, he had been mostly deadweight. Useful occasionally, but not in charge. Never in charge. It was always Gerard’s skills in battle or Ailis’s magic that saved the day. Knights
needed
him, even if it was only to ensure that their mounts were all healthy and well cared for, and the mules content enough to carry their burdens. It was simple work, and not as time-consuming as being back in the stables. He was learning a great deal by observing the actual conditions his charges were put through daily.

Unlike Ailis, he knew where his place was, and he was satisfied.

Having abandoned the girl to her sulking, Newt walked back out into the sunshine and was immediately engulfed in the calls of several squires who
wanted to know where to water their horses now that several of the other squires had foolishly fouled the small inlet in the creek they had been using.

Yes. The things he knew—the homely, ordinary things he knew—were needed.
He
was needed.

“
W
itch-child, where are you? I can feel you, I can sense you, but I cannot see you. Who is hiding you from me? Is it Merlin? Never fear, I will find you.”

The scrying crystal shimmered slightly in response to Morgain’s words, but the haze did not clear. Whoever was protecting the girl from her—and she could only assume it was Merlin—was doing an excellent job of it.

“Arrrgh!”

Her hand swiped over the crystal and it shimmered again, then shattered in a silent explosion, disappearing as it broke apart. A waste, but she felt better for the momentary release of frustration.

A cool hand rested briefly on her bare shoulder, and she pulled the fur robe up more securely, brushing
off the contact. She wanted no comfort, not from that hand. Although the workroom was perfectly insulated and heated, she felt a shiver in her bones; a shiver she refused to let show.

“Let go of the girl, my lady. There are more important things which require your attention at this moment.”

The voice was as cool as the hand, but Morgain had spent her entire life listening to what others were
not
saying as much as what they were, and she heard the disdain in those tones. Looking over her shoulder, smoothing her plush red, fox fur robe with one hand, she merely raised an eyebrow at the speaker, half daring more to be said.

The shadow-figure was dressed today not in its usual flowing robes and billowy hood, but dark leathers more suitable for travel, with a woolen cowl that came up over its shoulders and covered the back of its head. Even when looking closely, its features were obscured from view, as though the moment a person tried to see its face, their vision would fail.

“Your goal is within sight, Morgain. You must concentrate on that. Let go of the girl. She will still be there when this is done.”

The sorceress rose from her chair and made her
way to a map on the wall. Small, glowing lights moved over the outline of an island, and in the waters just off the coastline. Pale blue, cold white, and dark red—each color indicated different factions. Blue for Arthur’s forces, white for Morgain’s. Her allies were smaller in number, but more cunningly placed, hidden in the common farms and towns throughout the land. Arthur might have mighty warriors, but she would have the element of surprise. The red dots, the allies her companion promised would rise to her aid, were invisible to all who might seek to discover them.

“I am thinking beyond…to the next day’s goals,” Morgain said. “And I’m looking to the months and years after that. Do you have the supplies you requested?”

The shadow-figure nodded in assent: A shipment from the Isle of Apples, Morgain’s magical stronghold, had arrived that morning.

“Then go work with them. When the next gift for my brother is ready, inform me.”

One delicate hand traced the cold lights on the map. Then she pulled a canvas cover over the entire map, hiding it from sight. The word “gift” was ironic—it will not be given to him; it will not give
him satisfaction or pleasure. But one could gift another with frustration as easily as joy.

She noted that the shadow-figure was still hovering nearby. She commanded, “Go!”

The ghostly creature went, with irritation clear in every line of its body.

Morgain sat back down at her worktable and called a new crystal out of storage. But she did not immediately use it.

She needed her companion’s aid and assistance. There was no way, humbling and hateful though it was to admit, that she could have gotten this far on her own, not with the level of coordination her plan required. But soon, when the time was right, when the stars were ready and the gods appeased, she would be in position to strike. One blow, sharp and hard and fast, and the island would belong to the people again.
Her
people, not the Romanized fools that ran it now, cut themselves off from the very spirit of the land.

Who did they think caused the grains to grow, the people to increase in number, the winds to rise properly for ships to reach these shores? It was not man, with his sword and shield. It was not man, with his armor and horse.

She snorted, an unkind noise. It was not man who had first tamed horses, either. But they forgot that. They forgot everything.

She would be the one to remind them.

And for that, for now, she needed her companion. But not forever.

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” Gerard repeated the word with disbelief. Sir Matthias hadn’t returned yet from his meeting with the knights, and Ailis had been gone just as long. It was already well past dusk and raining steadily. He had been sitting on the edge of Sir Matthias’s cot, sharpening the edge of his own dagger. His blade was a simple one, but it required as much care as Sir Matthias’s more elaborate, expensive one. Ailis’s return was a welcomed break from the monotony of stroke and test, stroke and test, but he couldn’t imagine what had kept her out so long, especially once the weather began to worsen.

Ailis let the pavilion’s flap fall down again behind her. “Gerard, leave me be. I’m neither your sister nor your wife, and you have no right to order
me about.” Her tone was as mild as she could make it, but warning signs were clearly placed. He ignored them, his concern overriding common sense.

“Ailis, I—the storm. Is that your doing?”

Hours ago, clouds had begun rolling down from the north. Sir Matthias had ordered everyone to move their gear under cover. The rain had started coming down soon after that, and was now pelting hard on the pavilion’s roof as though trying to imitate the onset of Noah’s flood. The grass outside was now slick with mud. Throughout the encampment, men and dogs remained under cover, while horses nickered and flicked sodden tails patiently.

Inside, Matthias’s tent was warm and dry, with expensive beeswax candles giving the space a soothing golden glow that was at odds with the gloom outside. Sir Matthias was many things, but miserly was not one of them, and he did not begrudge spending money on his people, either.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ailis took off her heavy shoes and outer jacket, shaking as much water as she could off her skirt and blouse before giving up and sitting down cross-legged on the pile of carpets with a sodden lack of grace.

She was nowhere near as wet as she should have
been, considering the downpour, but Gerard refrained from pointing that out. He merely handed her a cloth, and sat back to watch while she unbraided her plait and rubbed her hair dry.

“Magic, Ailis. I’m talking about magic. Storms like this don’t simply blow in out of clear blue skies. They have to be called.” Although to be fair, it was autumn when rain was more the norm than not. Starting the Quest now, rather than during the originally planned and much drier summer, was purely due to the delays caused by Morgain’s mischief. Still, if she had not meddled, he would not be on the Quest at all. Thoughts like that, curling around and chasing their own tails, made his head hurt.

“Because you know so almighty much about magic?” Her scorn was thick and understandable. “And did I use magic to make the monks decide not to help us? Or cause the knights to squabble? Oh, did I also use magic to make the laundry pot overturn and all the shirts being washed to fall into the mud?”

He sighed. “No, Pothwen and his idiot dog did that…. Ailis, you haven’t answered my question.”

After a while, since she showed no signs of responding and simply sat and combed out her hair, Gerard got up, threw an oiled cloth over his head to
keep away the worst of the rain, and went outside. He came back a little while later carrying the evening meal; two bowls of surprisingly good stew from the communal cook-pot, only slightly diluted by rain.

“Better than making either one of us do the cooking,” he said as he handed her a bowl, referring to their various burned or undercooked meals while on the road together in the past. Gerard was a terrible cook, Newt was even worse, and Ailis was only slightly better than the two of them.

“It’s warm. That’s what counts.” She put down her comb and found spoons.

“I don’t understand why you have to do that,” he said finally.

“Do what?” Ailis was at a loss, having forgotten where their conversation had ended.

“Use magic,” Gerard clarified.

She put down her spoon and stared at him. “Why do you use a sword?”

“That’s different,” he protested.

“You’re right. It is. A sword is just a tool. Magic is what I am.
Who
I am. If you have trouble with that, then you have trouble with me.” Her eyes glistened, but in the candlelight he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or tears.

“Ailis. Stop that. Please.”

He didn’t often say “please.” In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time he had said it.

“I just can’t understand why you don’t see how dangerous it might be,” he said, looking down into his stew.

“Dangerous for who? For me?” She really did have to laugh at that. “Ger, I’m not doing anything big. Nothing important. Just little spells to keep myself ready.”

He looked up at that. “Ready for what?”

“Anything that might need magic,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Ger, do you stop practicing your swordplay just because the king has made treaties with the countries around us?”

“Don’t be—no.” He saw the trap closing around him, but couldn’t back out of it.

“So?”

“It’s not the same,” he said again, more weakly this time. “Magic is different. It’s dangerous…. Unpredictable.”

“All the more reason for me to learn how to control it. The same way you learn how to use your sword. Or do you want me to be entirely defenseless? Is that it? Even Merlin—”

“Even Merlin what?” Gerard pounced on her words like a cat on a rat.

“Nothing.”

“Ailis, did Merlin tell you not to do magic?”

“No,” she said defiantly. “In fact, he said I
should
keep practicing. Discreetly.”

“And you call this discreet?” With a wave of his hand, he indicated the storm outside.

“You’re just upset because we’re not going to be moving out in the morning the way Sir Matthias wanted, which means that another group might find the Grail first.” She shook her head. Her hair was completely dry by now, and the long, dark red strands streamed down her back in a rumpled cascade. “I told you when the king first started this—the Grail’s not a thing to be won. It has to be earned. And if you ask me, there’s not a man on this entire Quest who’s earned it.”

“So you
did
cause this storm.” He declared, triumphant. They were back in familiar territory now. Ailis and Gerard had been squabbling like this, on different topics, since they were children.

Ailis looked as though she wanted very badly to throw her bowl of stew at him. Familiar also meant that they knew exactly where to hit to accomplish the
most damage. “Why are you so tangled up in the thought of me using magic? I could understand it from Newt, but you—you know that magic isn’t bad! It’s not evil!”

“It’s Sir Matthias. He thinks…” Gerard really didn’t want to go on, but he had started, so there was no dropping it now.

“What about him?”

“He thinks that magic profanes the Quest.”

“He what?”

Gerard looked miserable. He was not only carrying tales, but making trouble, when all he wanted to do was warn Ailis. “He thinks that magic…that it’s wrong to use on the Quest. And if he finds out that you’ve been using it, I’m worried he’ll—”

“He’ll what? Toss me out by the side of the road—to fend for myself?”

“Of course not!” That would be wrong. Unchivalrous. And it would deeply disturb both Arthur and Merlin, who had chosen to send Ailis out with the Quest.

“Good. Because Merlin sent me on this journey in order to use my skill to help find the Grail, remember?”

“When the time was right, as I recall.” Gerard
was also remembering a discussion he and Merlin and Newt had had before Ailis rejoined them. They talked over their concerns about the influence Morgain might have had on the girl; about what traps the enchantress might have set, waiting for Ailis to trigger them. Ailis was part of the Quest for many reasons, not the least of which was to see if she drew Morgain to her. But that was one secret that Gerard would rather die than divulge to her.

“All I am saying is…be careful. Don’t…don’t play around with magic. Don’t cause storms, or…or do anything. Just…”

“Just sit in a corner and do needlework and look pretty for the knights? Is that what you’re saying?” Ailis stood up, slamming her thankfully now empty bowl onto the ground.

“I am so very tired of everyone telling me to sit, and wait, and be a good girl! ‘You’ll have your time,’ Morgain says. ‘The time is coming,’ Merlin says. ‘Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself,’ you say. Why not? Why must everything be hidden under a rock? When do
I
get to stand up and take credit for helping to defeat Morgain, rather than just hiding behind you and Newt and your swords and your bashing?”

Her hands balled up at her sides as though she wanted to hit something, and the words poured out of her.

“Morgain was right about one thing—nobody takes me seriously! Not even Merlin! Everyone tells me what I can’t do, and nobody wants to see what I
can
do! Nobody—except Newt.” She saw Gerard flinch and went for the kill, not knowing why, except that it was effective and she was angry.

“Newt’s scared of magic, but he doesn’t tell me not to use it. He doesn’t tell me to sit in a corner and act like a lady, or not to speak to anyone, and not to wear pants, or—”

She knew it wasn’t fair. Gerard had never said those things to her. It wasn’t his fault Sir Matthias wanted her to be a substitute for his delicate daughter. And Newt wasn’t all that accepting of her, either. He wanted to keep an eye out for her, reminding her of how useless she was without the magic, and how, if it wasn’t for the magic, she would never have met Morgain. And then she never would have had her eyes opened to all the possibilities in the world—the possibilities that everyone kept holding out of her reach, telling her “not yet.”