The cubs scurried out of the brambles and to her side, and together they lumbered into the trees.
Cavall watched them go, then ran to Arthur, who had dropped his sword to clutch his wounded shoulder. He opened his arms awkwardly when Cavall came running. “Ah, my, what a hound you are!” he said, rubbing furiously at Cavall’s ears. The good scratching sent shivers of happiness down Cavall’s back to the tip of his tail, which couldn’t stop wagging. “I’ll have to tell Mordred.”
The bushes on the other side of the clearing parted and Mordred and Gless appeared. “Tell me what, Father?” Mordred stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of Arthur’s torn and bloodied shirt. “Father, what happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Arthur laughed, “thanks to Cavall.”
“Cavall?”
“Aye. I was cornered by a bear. Thought I was done for sure. Imagine, the king of England laid to rest in the belly of a bear! But then who should burst out of the trees like an angel of protection than Cavall himself? He threw himself at the beast, at least three times his size, so viciously that it terrified that bear back into the woods.”
“That’s . . . amazing,” Mordred said flatly, and for the first time, Cavall wondered what had taken him so long to get there. He and Gless had been right behind him, after all. Before he could think on it too much, Mordred changed the subject. “You’re wounded. What were you doing out here, Father?”
Arthur picked up his sword and put it back into his belt. “Tristan returned from the hunt early, saying he’d lost our two new dogs.”
“So you went out searching for them?” Mordred lifted one dark eyebrow. “By yourself?”
Arthur’s smile seemed timid, almost like he was ashamed of himself. But that couldn’t be. Arthur was a king, and kings weren’t ashamed of anything. They certainly didn’t make mistakes or ask stupid questions. And yet here was King Arthur, giving his son an apologetic shrug that tugged on his shoulder wound and made him wince. “You must admit, it would be a terrible thing to lose such a fine hound.”
Mordred rolled his eyes. “Never mind the hound, Father. Here, let me help you back to the castle.” He took hold of Arthur’s uninjured arm and draped it over his shoulder, and together they began back toward the path.
As they made their way, with Mordred holding Arthur’s lantern and following a trail only he seemed to understand, Gless fell in beside Cavall. “Sorry it took so long to get to you,” he said, looking away. “I had to get Mordred to follow me, and it’s quite difficult when people don’t even speak our language. Just another thing that makes them unfit to lead,” he muttered.
Cavall wasn’t sure how to respond. It had been one thing when Gless had talked like that back at the farm, but now that they both had people, he didn’t like Gless speaking about them that way.
Gless finally turned to face him and looked him up and down. “How are you?” he asked. “You’re not hurt?”
“No,” Cavall said after a moment of surprise. He hadn’t been expecting Gless to ask.
He was even more surprised when Gless gave him a satisfied nod. “Good.”
They continued the rest of the way in silence. The rune stone was silent now, but the intensity of it had left a ringing in Cavall’s ears. Although Arthur had been wounded, it didn’t appear to be too bad. Arthur and Mordred chatted as if it weren’t serious, Arthur even laughing as he recounted his version of events, which made Cavall out to be much braver than he actually was. The dangers of the day were finally past. So why did it feel as if the threat still lingered?
Chapter 8
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” THE LADY SAID AS SHE BRUSHED out her pale hair. She sat at her vanity and would not look at Cavall, who was lingering in the doorway to the bed chamber. He hoped she wasn’t ignoring him for the same reason Gless had ignored him earlier today—because she was embarrassed by his presence. “I will not have that filthy beast on my bed.”
Arthur came up behind her and hugged her. She stopped brushing her hair and turned from the mirror to face him. They pressed their faces together and touched lips. Cavall didn’t know what that meant, but it seemed to be a sign of affection. She was obviously someone important to Arthur. Cavall hoped he could please her, too.
“He saved my life today,” Arthur said. “Would you have him sleep in the kennels with the other hounds?”
The lady scrunched up her nose. She had a very small, delicate nose, and a heart-shaped face. She also smelled a bit like Arthur, and he a bit like her. They were mates, it seemed, husband and wife, though she was not Mordred’s mother.
Cavall came up to her and nudged the hand holding the brush. She looked down at him, startled. He wagged his tail and licked her hand.
“See, Gwen, he promises to stay off the bed,” Arthur said. He took Cavall’s head in his hands and rubbed his ears. “Don’t you, boy?”
Cavall’s tail thumped against the bed, rustling the sheets.
“All right, all right, enough, the two of you.” The lady pursed her lips. “He can stay the night.” She sighed in defeat. “But he’ll have to sleep on the floor.”
Arthur smiled and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Thank you, Gwen. No king could ask for a finer queen.”
“Off with you,” she said with a smile. “And you.” She jabbed a finger at Cavall. “If I find you on the bed, I’ll have your flea-bitten hide, whether you saved my husband or no.” It sounded like she might be joking, but Cavall resolved not to push her to find out. She stood and ran a slender hand along the top of Cavall’s head. Even though her head pats weren’t as good as Arthur’s, they were still pleasant, and he leaned against her to show his appreciation.
Arthur laughed. “He’s a fine beast, isn’t he?”
“Aye,” the lady, Gwen, agreed. “A fine beast indeed. Though not so fine-smelling.” She patted his rump to let him know she was done petting. “I mean it. I don’t want a single strand of fur on my bed.”
There came a knock at the door. Arthur answered. A white-furred dog nosed her way in. She brushed past Arthur and went to Gwen’s side. Cavall wanted to ask her how she had been able to knock like a person, but then he realized there was actually a person there as well. A person and another dog, both of whom he recognized by scent. Mordred and Gless.
“Good evening, Father,” Mordred said. He had something in his hand. “I came to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m well,” Arthur said, nodding toward his bandaged shoulder. “All things considered.”
He’d spent all evening regaling the great hall with the story of how Cavall had fought off the bear. Greatly exaggerated, of course, and Cavall felt a bit embarrassed to have such a fuss made of him. After dinner, Arthur had patted his side, which Edelm had told him was an invitation to follow. “You are being invited to spend the night in your person’s room,” the old dog had said. “It is a great honor.” So Cavall had followed eagerly and completely forgotten about Gless and Mordred and everything that had happened in the forest before the bear.
But now, Mordred was standing there with a pitcher in his hand, smiling in a way that didn’t seem quite right. The rune stone vibrated softly. “I brought you something to help you sleep.” Mordred held the pitcher out. “For your wound.”
Arthur went to take it. Thinking of the rune, Cavall came up beside Arthur and leaned on him, hoping to distract him.
Arthur gave a surprised grunt.
“I think he’s still worried about you, Father.”
Arthur patted Cavall’s ears in that perfect way he did. “Loyal dogs are hard to come by.”
“Loyal dogs are easy to come by,” Mordred said. “That’s what they’re bred for.”
“You mean fools are easy to come by,” Gless muttered, with a pointed look in Cavall’s direction. Cavall balked. After their moment in the forest, he’d thought perhaps Gless would ease up on his biting jabs. “It seems fools who can’t keep their noses to themselves are as common as rocks.”
“Loyal s
ons on the other hand . . .” Mordred offered the pitcher again.
“Aye, loyal sons and loyal wives and loyal dogs.” Arthur took a large swig from it. “I must be the luckiest man alive to have all of them. Thank you, Mordred. I suspect I’ll sleep well tonight.”
“I hope so.” Mordred took the empty pitcher with a smile. “Good night, Father. Mother.” He nodded to Gwen, who nodded back at him, even though he’d called Morgana his mother earlier today. “Come, Gless.” He patted his side, and Gless shot Cavall one last warning look before following his person into the hallway.
Arthur shut the door, walked back to the hearth, and yawned. One by one, he blew out the row of candles on top of the fireplace. Their melted wax dripped down to join the layers and layers built up along the mantel.
As the light dimmed, Gwen shrugged off her heavy shawl and draped it over her vanity’s chair. Like Arthur, she wore a linen nightshirt underneath. Together, they pulled back the thick furs and woven sheets covering the bed. The mattress must have been very soft, because it nearly swallowed them up as they settled into it, and a few feathers poked out from the seams in the side.
“Good night, husband.”
“Good night, wife.”
They looked so cozy as they pulled up the sheets that Cavall wanted to hop up and join them, but Gwen had told him not to. Instead, he made his way to the fireplace, where the white-furred dog lay curled up on a fur carpet. She was nearly as big as him, and she smelled like perfume and pine trees and smoke from a fireplace, wild and refined at the same time. She seemed to be Gwen’s dog, so he supposed that made her a part of his ever-growing family as well.
“May I sleep here?” Cavall nodded to the spot beside her.
Her eyes popped open and rolled up to look at him. Her long, straight muzzle flashed in profile, and her eyelashes were dark against the white of her face. She stared at him for a moment, and just when Cavall was about to repeat himself, she sighed and scooted over to make room for him.
The carpet was comfortable, more comfortable than the hearth in the great hall. He turned a few circles before finding just the right position, then lay down with a soft groan. The candlelight by the bed went out, and the room fell into a comfortable, sleepy darkness.
“I’m Cavall,” Cavall said quietly to the other dog. “What’s your name?”
No answer.
“You do have a name, right?”
Again, no answer.
“Can you speak?”
“Can you not speak?” Her voice had a strange rhythm to it, not like any other dog’s he’d heard. “I am tryink to sleep.”
“Sorry,” he murmured, resting his head on the carpet. Maybe she’d be more willing to talk in the morning.
Cavall dreamed that he was chasing something that smelled like deer. He could catch glimpses of a white tail here and there as it darted between the trees, flashing brightly in the moonlight. It seemed no matter how fast he ran, he could never catch up. Just when he came within range, it would slip through the trees and disappear again.
Once, he thought he managed to grab its hind leg with his teeth, but then a scream pierced the silence of the forest and jolted him from his sleep. He bolted upright, startled, and the scream continued. It came from the bed, along with an unsteady rustling noise he’d mistaken for the fleeing deer in his dream.
“Arthur?” He could hear Gwen’s voice. “Arthur, what’s wrong?” She sat up. “Dear, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
But Arthur continued to scream and thrash about, no matter how hard Gwen shook him. Acting on instinct, Cavall leapt up onto the bed, ignoring that Gwen had told him not to. He needed to be by his person’s side. He needed to protect him. He stepped over Gwen’s body and jumped onto Arthur’s chest. Arthur was still screaming, so he did what his own mother used to do when he was upset. He began licking Arthur’s face.
Arthur’s screaming turned into sputtering, and then he sat up in bed and pushed Cavall away. “Wha—?” He looked around, first at Cavall and then at Gwen.
“You were having a nightmare,” Gwen said. Cavall worried she would push him off the bed now that Arthur was awake, but she didn’t even look at him.
Cavall smelled the salty sweat on Arthur’s skin. He felt his person trembling under the sheets. “I . . . yes, a nightmare. A terrible nightmare. I dreamed that Camelot was on fire. The stones were caving in and everyone cried out to me for help. I tried to call the knights, but they were . . . they wouldn’t come. Not one of them. Ector and Lancelot and Bedivere and . . . every one of them. They told me that I was no king of theirs. That it was my fault. I had brought ruin to Camelot. I had . . .” He buried his face in his hands.
Gwen scooted close to him and put her arms around his shoulders. “Hush,” she cooed. “It was a dream. Only a dream.”
“It felt so real.”
“It wasn’t. The castle is safe. The stones are where they should be. You have a court of knights who would follow you to their deaths if need be, as well as a son who adores you. Not to mention a wife.” She stroked small circles on his back, and that calmed him. “And a hound, who risked my wrath to get up here and wake you.”
Cavall bumped Arthur’s hands with his nose. Arthur uncurled and Cavall nuzzled against him. Arthur stroked his muzzle and laughed. “What sort of king am I, sobbing like a child afraid of his own dreams? If my knights could see me now . . .”
“Everyone has nightmares,” Gwen said. “Everyone travels to the Lands of Dreaming. Why, even hounds walk there at night. The nighttime belongs to the fay. We are but guests there, whether we choose to be or not. And sometimes we see things there that are frightening. There is no shame in being scared, dear.”
“I know,” he sighed. “A man cannot be brave without first being frightened.”
That seemed like a strange thing to say. Cavall had always thought being a leader was the way Gless said it was: never get scared, never feel nervous or uncertain about things, never show any weakness. Cavall did all of those things, which was why he had to work so hard to prove himself to Arthur. There was no way Arthur ever felt that way, though. Was there?
“But this was different,” Arthur continued. “This was . . . I was afraid of myself.”
“Afraid of yourself?”
“I knew that what the knights said was true. I brought ruin to Camelot.”
Chapter 9
CAVALL DID NOT SLEEP THE REST OF THE NIGHT. He kept awake beside the dog who refused to talk to him, listening for any sounds of distress from his person. Arthur was silent, though. He didn’t scream. He barely even moved. And when light turned the sky purple-pink, he awoke with a loud yawn and began to stretch before he remembered his wounded shoulder.
“No more nightmares?” Gwen asked, turning over.
“No dreams.”
When Gwen swung her legs over the side of the bed, the silent, white-furred dog got up and padded over to her side. “Did you sleep through all that ruckus last night, girl?” Gwen asked, running her fingers through the dog’s long coat. “I swear, you sleep so soundly, I wonder if you’ll just wander off into the Dreaming one of these nights and never come back.”
Cavall stood and stretched, bowing low with a big yawn. Then, tail wagging, he made his way over to Arthur’s side of the bed. Arthur scratched behind his ear. “Whereas my dog knew enough to wake me,” he teased Gwen. “And you didn’t want him in our room at all.”
Gwen smiled wryly, rolled her eyes, and stood, grabbing a robe from the back of an ornate chair and pulling it around herself. “Very well, he may sleep in our room from now on, if that’s what you wish. It seems even the Dreaming can’t keep you two apart. But I will not have him on the bed . . .” She shook a finger at Cavall. He tucked his tail between his legs. “Unless it’s to wake you from a bad dream,” she added with a smile.
Cavall untucked his tail and wagged it for her. So, they had come to an agreement. Now, if only he could do the same with the silent dog.
As Arthu
r and Gwen got dressed, Cavall wandered over to her. He was intent on getting her to talk today. “So . . . Gwen is your person?” he asked.
“Queen Gwenevere,” the dog corrected.
“And what’s your name?”
“Why do you ask this question all the time? I do not care to know your name. Why should you care to know mine?” the dog demanded in her unfamiliar accent.
“Because . . .” Cavall cocked his head. “Our people are married. And if they spend a lot of time together, we might be spending a lot of time together.”
“I hope we will only be spendink as much time together as our people do.”
“They don’t spend much time together?” Cavall asked in surprise.
The dog huffed. “They are much too busy for that. Don’t you even know what a king and queen do?”
“Well . . . a king takes care of the other people in the kingdom,” Cavall said. “I suppose a queen does the same thing?”
The dog did not answer.
She’s difficult to get along with, Cavall thought. But if I can get along with Gless, I can get along with her, too.
By then, Arthur had finished dressing, and he called Cavall with a sharp whistle. Together, they went down to the great hall, where breakfast had been set out on the table.
There were several people already seated, but they stood when Arthur entered the hall. “Ah, Your Majesty,” Tristan called. “The sun rose without you this morning.”
“I had a difficult night,” Arthur answered, rubbing his eyes.
“Aye, you look it, Your Majesty,” said Sir Ector. Cavall remembered he was Anwen’s person but also Arthur’s father. “Begging your pardon, but you look like you rode forty leagues of bad road through the Dreaming last night.”
Arthur sighed and took his place at the head of the table. With a half-hearted smile, he lifted his cup, which seemed to be the signal that everyone could eat. Conversation fell into more mundane people matters, and Cavall wandered away to where the other dogs were roaming around the table, waiting for scraps of food to fall. He wanted to ask Edelm about what he’d seen in the forest yesterday. The old dog seemed to know everything about the castle and its people.
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