Authors: KATHERINE ROBERTS
LANCE OF TRUTH (17 page)
Rhianna closed her hand around Excalibur’s jewel. “
Please
,” she whispered to the knights’ spirits. “
Please
,
come
.”
Sparks of colour fizzed out of the lake where the lance had sunk beneath the surface.
Evenstar and Alba pricked their ears and stared at the water, nostrils flaring. The air above the lake filled with rainbows, and a sweet scent drifted across to the shore. Elphin’s harp fell silent. His eyes lit up with the fabulous colours. Even the bloodbeards hesitated, staring at that rainbow light.
There was an eerie hush.
Then a troop of ghostly knights rode out of the rainbows and came cantering silently along the shore, led by King Arthur riding his golden mare.
“
Father
!” Rhianna’s heart leaped in hope. He looked so solid. Could two of the Lights be enough to restore his soul to his body? Maybe Merlin was wrong, and she didn’t have to take the Sword of Light back to Avalon for him, after all? Maybe throwing the lance into
the lake was enough, and he had come back to the world of men to reclaim his throne?
Mordred stared at the king and the knights in disbelief as they cantered closer. There was still no sound, just that sweet scent and the rainbow light and the glowing horses bearing down upon the dark knight. Mordred staggered to his feet and stood swaying in their path. Then his nerve broke, and he stumbled towards the trees. The bloodbeards turned tail and fled after their prince, chased by the ghostly knights.
They are stupid
, Alba snorted.
They think those knights are alive.
Rhianna shook herself. Of course, it was only her father’s ghost again. King Arthur’s body still slept in Avalon’s crystal caverns, and those knights were dead. She felt faintly
disappointed, but still warm inside. Her father hadn’t forgotten her.
Sir Lancelot was sitting up now, blinking in confusion after the ghosts. Cai ran to help him. She sheathed Excalibur with a grim smile. Keeping half an eye on that rainbow shimmer where the lance had entered the water, she vaulted back on to her mare and cantered across to Elphin’s rock.
“Ride Alba back to shore,” she said. “I’ll dive down and try to find the lance.”
Elphin shook his head at her. “You’re crazy, Rhia, taking on Mordred like that… I thought he was going to kill you! You’re not even wearing your armour.”
“Just as well. I can’t swim in my armour.” She was already tying up her skirt. “Here, hold Excalibur for me. I don’t want that
fish-lady getting hold of my sword again.”
“I’m not sure the lady of this lake likes being called a fish,” Elphin said carefully, staring past her. Rainbows reflected in his eyes and he gripped his harp tighter.
Rhianna turned, a shiver going down her spine.
The fish-lady who had given her Excalibur last year was perched on a nearby rock with her strong tail curled around it. She wore the tiara Rhianna had thrown into the lake first of all, the rubies glowing like fire in her green hair. The Lance of Truth rested across her glittering scales, gripped firmly in her webbed hands.
“You seem to have a habit of offering me gifts and then trying to take them back again, Rhianna Pendragon,” she said.
“Lady Nimue,” she breathed. “You came!”
Turquoise eyes regarded them in amusement. “Why so surprised? I heard you when you called me before. But I have no use for these trinkets.” She pulled off the tiara and cast it back to the shore, where Cai picked it up. His eyes widened as he stared at the fish-lady. “This, however…” She stroked the lance. “This is a powerful weapon, almost as powerful as Excalibur. It is a suitable offering in return for my help, I think.”
“I’m very sorry, Lady Nimue,” Rhianna said. “But Cai made a mistake.”
Nimue laughed. “Like that knight made a mistake offering Excalibur to me last year, after Mordred killed King Arthur?”
“Er… yes. But this is different. Sir Lancelot isn’t going to die.”
The fish-lady looked at the beach and
nodded. “You’re right. He won’t die now he has given up the Lance of Truth.”
What did she mean by that? Rhianna eyed the glimmering lance and looked impatiently at the trees. “Please can I have it back, Lady Nimue? Mordred’s getting away.”
Nimue shook her green hair. “Do not be too greedy, Rhianna Pendragon. You already have the Sword of Light. If you want this lance, then you must answer a riddle.”
Rhianna scowled. “I answered your riddles last time!” She kept an eye on the trees. It wouldn’t take Mordred and his bloodbeards very long to realise that they were running from ghosts, and then they’d be back.
Nimue smiled. “Not all of them, I seem to remember. I asked you, ‘Who carries the Lance of Truth?’ Last time, you said ‘a knight’,
and I let you get away with it.”
“Well, I was right, wasn’t I?” Rhianna said, growing impatient. “Sir Lancelot is a knight!”
“Before I give you the Lance of Truth, I’ll need to know a name.”
Rhianna sighed. “Sir Lancelot, of course,” she said, looking doubtfully at the wounded knight. What if he wasn’t strong enough to carry a lance any more? Was that what the fish-lady meant?
Lady Nimue shook her head. “Its magic no longer works for Sir Lancelot. He carried it once for his king, and he broke it. You need to find someone else to be your champion now.”
“Elphin mended it with his harp…”
“The Avalonian prince did his best. But this lance was made by the hands of men, and its magic will only work for one whose heart
is true. So who carries the Lance of Truth? Come on, it’s not a trick question. He’s already carried it once. When a knight cannot fight, his squire must take up his arms.”
Rhianna followed the fish-lady’s gaze to the shore, puzzled, and saw Cai standing guard over Sir Lancelot with his dagger.
Lady Nimue laughed her tinkling laugh. “I think your new champion’s going to need a better weapon than that little dagger if he’s going to defend your honour against the dark knight,” she said. “Don’t you agree, Rhianna Pendragon?”
She stared at Cai, realising at last what Nimue meant. She started to laugh, then looked at Cai’s determined jaw and smiled. It seemed the only way they would get the Lance of Truth back. “Cai?” she called. “How would you like to be my champion?”
“I already am your champion, Damsel Rhianna!” Cai called back, not understanding.
“I mean my proper champion, who answers all challenges issued against the Pendragon and fights on my behalf when I ask you to, as Sir Lancelot fought for my father and the queen.”
Elphin’s eyes whirled violet. “Merlin’s not going to like this,” he said.
Sir Lancelot frowned. “I don’t think—”
“Cai carries the Lance of Truth!” she shouted. Before the injured knight could say another word, she trotted Alba across the water, snatched the lance from Nimue’s webbed hands and carried it to the beach. “Go on, Cai,” she said, holding the lance out to the gaping squire. “Take it.”
Sir Lancelot shook his head. “Oh no, Princess… you don’t understand what you’re
asking! The boy’ll never manage a full-sized lance. For all our sakes, choose another lad. He’s not even a knight. The Pendragon can’t have a common squire as a champion.”
“Is that so?” Getting impatient, Rhianna thrust the lance point down into the sand and dismounted. “Kneel, Cai,” she ordered.
Cai cast a nervous look at Sir Lancelot, then knelt obediently before her and bowed his head. She brought Excalibur down flat on the boy’s shoulder – first the left, then the right. The white jewel blazed. Cai gasped as the light surrounded him and faded back into the blade. Rhianna’s hand tingled strangely.
“Arise, Sir Cai,” she said. “Now get back on your pony and pick up that lance!”
The boy flushed and, with a bit of a struggle,
remounted Sandy. “I’ll train every day until I’m
strong enough to carry it, Damsel Rhianna!” he promised, grasping the shaft. As he closed his hand about the lance, its shaft glittered and shortened slightly. Its head gleamed in the sun as it came free of the sand, reflecting in Cai’s eyes and turning his hair to gold. Even Sandy’s normally dull mane glowed like fire.
Cai looked a bit surprised. Then he balanced the lance one-handed, levelled the point at a tree, and set his heels to his pony’s sides. Rainbows glimmered and leaves showered around them. He trotted Sandy back with a plum proudly impaled on the end of the lance, grinned at them all and said, “It’s really light! I reckon Sir Lancelot’s been havin’ us on about it being such a heavy burden to carry all these years.” He pulled the plum off the end and ate it.
Rhianna smiled, remembering how lightly Excalibur had sat in her hand when she’d first held the sword in Nimue’s underwater cave last winter. She’d only wanted to get the Lance of Truth off the lake spirit and safely back to Camelot. But it seemed she’d done more than simply answer a riddle.
“Its magic is working again,” Elphin said. “I thought it must be, when Mordred fell off his horse earlier, but I wasn’t sure.”
Sir Lancelot looked a bit uneasy. But he couldn’t argue with the facts.
Smiling in satisfaction, the fish-lady slipped back into the water. “Good luck with the rest of your quest, Rhianna Pendragon!” she called in her musical voice, as she dived with barely a ripple. “Give my love to Merlin when you see him again.”
They watched silently until her glittering tail had vanished into the depths. Elphin sighed, slipped his harp back into its bag and went to soothe Evenstar.
“Right, Damsel Rhianna!” Cai said, holding the Lance of Truth proudly with its shining head pointing at the sky. “Who do you want me to fight?”
Rhianna started to laugh, meaning to tell him to save his energy for Gareth in the squires’ tilt. But Sir Lancelot drew his sword and scowled at the trees. “Reckon you can start with that lot,” he said quietly.
She saw shadowy figures moving through the wood and remembered Mordred.
“C
ome back, you cowards!” Mordred’s crippled leg gave out not far from the lake, and the ghostly horses passed him in a rush of light and wind. “King Arthur’s dead,” he yelled. “I killed him, remember? Those knights are not real – it’s just more fairy magic!”
The noise of his bloodbeards fleeing through the undergrowth faded into the distance. The last of the leaves settled, and silence fell. He leaned against a trunk and frowned at the trees. Every way looked
the same. He whistled hopefully for his horse. But the animal was long gone.
He scowled at his empty right gauntlet. If he still had both his hands, he would never have lost the duel or the lance. It had been that useless squire’s fault, getting in the way when he’d been just about to skewer Lancelot! And then the boy had thrown the magic lance into the lake right under the nose of his horse, spooking the stupid animal. What an idiot. But at least his cousin didn’t have the lance, either. The bottom of the lake was the best place for the useless thing.
As his heart steadied he heard men’s voices, twigs cracking underfoot, and the snort of a pony. He peered warily through the trees, worried that his cousin had come after him, and recognised the unmistakeable yellow
braids of his old ally Cynric, the Saxon chief who had fought on his side in the battle against King Arthur.
Mordred smiled and brushed himself off. This could work out better than he’d anticipated. “Cynric!” he called. “Well met.”
The Saxons stared at him silently. The big chief looked Mordred up and down, and his face broke into a grin.
“Prince Mordred,” he said. “I thought it was your men we saw running through the woods. You’re a long way from home.”
Mordred scowled. “Camelot’s my rightful home, as well you know. The Pendragon throne ought to be mine by now. You owe me a favour, Cynric.”
“What do you want?” the Saxon said, hands on his hips.
“I’ve got a small problem up at the lake. Nothing a few men can’t take care of, except my cowardly lot have run off, as you saw. Scared by ghosts, the fools.”
Cynric frowned. “Saxons have promised not to fight any more battles for you.”
“Won’t be much of a battle.” Mordred chuckled. “One knight is wounded, and the others are just half-trained youngsters. The rest of Arthur’s knights are getting ready for their midsummer feast at Camelot, probably drunk already. But we have to be quick in case help turns up.”
Cynric smiled. “Is that so?”
The Saxon was getting irritating. Mordred eyed the pony, but it was already laden with furs, and he didn’t fancy riding a scruffy Saxon pony when he met his
cousin again. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“You’re in luck. We’re going that way.” The chief nodded to his men. “Help Prince Mordred, then. He seems to be having trouble walking these days.”
Two burly Saxons gripped Mordred’s elbows. Their hands were rough, and he growled at them. But they were strong and solid, unlikely to spook at ghosts. He leaned on them in relief as they escorted him back to the lake.
