Medieval 03 - Enchanted

make out smaller
details of armor and armament.
    “I feel I have seen this one before,”

Simon said softly.
    “Grey war stallions are as common as fleas on
a hound.”
    “I wonder where his squires are?” Simon
asked. “He looks a bit hard-used, but not poor. Surely he has
attendants.”
    “Perhaps he has a squire in Deguerre’s
entourage.”
    “A squire’s duty is to his
knight.”
    “Perhaps this knight and the missing squire
were part of Lady Ariane’s escort,” Sven said dryly.

“Not many of them survived.”
    “And the ones who did lacked manners,”
Simon said. “They dumped Ariane and her handmaiden in
Blackthorne’s bailey and galloped off without staying for so
much as a crust of bread.”
    “They must have felt unworthy to attend the
opening of the dowry chests,” Sven said blandly.
    Breath hissed between Simon’s teeth in a
Saracen curse that drew a sideways glance from Sven.
    Autumn’s long tail flicked in displeasure,
pointing out to Simon that he was failing to please the lordly
feline.
    “Aye. Perhaps they did,” Simon said.
“’Tis a pity. I would have enjoyed discussing their
lack of manners with them.”
    “Here is your chance,” Sven said,
gesturing toward the man who had reined in at the moat.
“’Tis a great strapping knight astride yonder horse.
You could question him with your sword until you tired of the
exercise.”
    “A waste of time.”
    “Swordplay?” Sven asked, shocked.
    “Nay. Questioning a lout that size.
’Tis my experience that brains and brawn rarely ride
together, with the exception of my brother.”
    “Your mind is quicker than even the Glendruid
Wolf’s.”
    “But my body isn’t as
brawny.”
    “All knights should be as delicately made as
you,” Sven agreed sardonically.
    Simon smiled. He was barely smaller than his
brother, and he well knew it.
    “Shall I greet this knight?” Sven
asked.
    “Nay. We will do it together.”
    Sven gave Simon a sideways look from eyes whose
blue was so light it appeared almost colorless. Though
Simon’s fingers petted the cat with unerring rhythm, his
clear black glance was focused entirely on the strange knight.
    “Memorize him,” Simon said so that only
Sven could hear. “Be able to recognize him at fifty yards in
the dark.”
    “Aye, sir.”
    “And Sven?”
    “Aye?”
    “If we allow this knight into the keep, be
the shadow of his shadow. Always.”
    “What is it?” Sven asked in a low
voice. “What do you see that I don’t?”
    “Nothing. Just a feeling.”
    Sven laughed softly. “A feeling, eh? I warned
you, Simon.”
    “About what?”
    “Living with witches. First you have uncanny
cats like Autumn always with you. Next you have
‘feelings.’ Soon you’ll have the fey sight
yourself.”
    “That is a pail of—”
    Abruptly Simon cut off his words, for they were the
very ones Ariane had used to describe love: A
pail of slops .
    A grim smile turned Simon’s lips down at the
corners. He doubted that Ariane had felt that way about the man to
whom she had given her maidenhead.
    Did he marry another, Ariane?
Is that how you were betrayed? Did you spread your untouched thighs
for the lie called love ?
    With an effort, Simon wrenched his thoughts back to
the knight who was growing more impatient by the moment at his lack
of hospitable greeting.
    “Don’t open the main gate until I
signal,” Simon called to Harry, who had been waiting thirty
feet away. “And then, open only one gate. There is, after
all, but one knight.”
    “In sight,” Sven muttered.
    “Aye, sir!” Harry answered.
    “If we let him in,” Sven said softly,
“he will soon learn how few true knights we have.”
    “And if we don’t let him in, we will
insult my father-in-law.”
    Sven grunted.
    “Come,” Simon said. “’Tis
easier to watch the devil you have than to go hunting in hell for a
different one.”
    Sven gave a crack of laughter and followed Simon
through the sally port, but they walked side by side when they went
across the bridge to meet the strange knight whose chain mail
hauberk gleamed beneath his heavy mantle.
    The cat on Simon’s shoulders rode easily, its
wise orange eyes opened wide. Despite the fact that Simon’s
hands were near his sword rather than petting Autumn,the feline made no protest. He simply watched the
strange knight with unblinking, oddly predatory interest.
    “How are you called, stranger?” Simon
asked from the keep side of the bridge across the moat.
    Simon’s voice