The Camelot Spell

by Laura Anne Gilman

  “We’re on the right track.”

  “What is it doing?” Ailis moved her mare closer, looking over Gerard’s arm to see what the flickering light was showing. “Oh.”

  A thin blue line, the color of the deepest summer sky, ran along the road they were traveling on, running farther into the distance. As she watched, it pulsed, beginning at one end and running all the way down the inked road.

  “So, we keep going?”

  “We keep going.” Gerard studied the map, squinting a little to make out the markings. “I think the line ends at this town. I can’t make out the name, but it’s the only one between here and there, so…”

  “So let’s go!” Ailis said, her voice rising in excitement. “Come on, I’ll race you!”

  She dug her heels into the mare’s sides, slapped the reins, and took off down the road.

  Gerard and Newt looked at each other, their eyes meeting in perfect, uncomplicated agreement, for once.

  “We cannot let her win,” Newt said, and kicked his gelding into a gallop, leaving Gerard lagging behind for half a second before, with a whoop, he was racing forward as well.

  “Next time, steal her a slower horse,” Gerard told Newt, staring sourly at Ailis, who was trotting gaily several lengths ahead of them, laughing in delight at having won their impromptu race. There was a creek in the near distance with an arched wooden bridge rising over it. Beyond that lay the village that was their goal.

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “You took it without permission.” Gerard was trying to be annoyed about losing, but the sheer joy of the race had left them all in an impossibly good mood, despite their situation and the weight of fear that still rested on their shoulders.

  “It’s not stealing if you’re taking it for payment. We didn’t get dinner or the promised sleeping quarters, so the mare was payment instead,” Newt claimed.

  “A mare isn’t the same payment as a meal.”

  “Merlin would back me up.”

  Gerard snorted. “Now you’re using the enchanter as support for your position? Considering your stance on magic, that’s not too convincing. Besides, Merlin’s as mad as those villagers, in his own way. I’ll tell you one thing—Sir Lancelot wouldn’t agree with your logic.”

  Newt shrugged, not disagreeing with either of Gerard’s statements about the two men. “Lance is a good man. Too good, maybe.”

  The squire frowned at that comment. “How can you be too good a man?”

  “Sometimes you need to be bad in order to get things done properly.”

  “That makes no sense at all.” Gerard shook his head. “Good is good and bad…isn’t. It’s that simple.”

  “Nothing’s that simple, squire. Not in the real world.”

  “You know so much about the real world, stuck in the straw mucking out horses? Don’t make me laugh.” He kicked his horse, rode up to join Ailis, and left Newt fuming behind them.

  “What was that all about?” Ailis asked, turning around in her saddle to look at Newt, who had slowed his horse even more, the better to sulk privately.

  “He’s a fool.”

  “So you’ve said before.” Her voice clearly said that she didn’t agree with him. Rather than argue, Gerard took out the map and studied it again.

  Shaking her head, Ailis nudged her mare forward. “Oh, what a pretty bridge,” she cried. “Look at the stonework—it’s prettier even than the stonework on the walls in Camelot!”

  “Pay to pass.”

  The horses started at the sudden, booming voice. Ailis and Gerard both had to haul hard on the reins in order to keep their animals from bolting when a huge form pulled itself over the bridge’s railing and dropped—surprisingly lightly for its bulk—on its feet in front of them.

  “Pay to pass,” the creature insisted. It was as wide across as it was tall, a block of grayish-white skin covering bulky muscles. Black tufts of hair stuck out from its misshapen head and ears, and its mouth was designed more for tearing than speaking, with a row of jagged teeth that made Gerard think that bolting might be a good idea.

  “A bridge troll!” Ailis was delighted. “I’ve only ever heard of them—I didn’t know there were any left!”

  Gerard had a sudden thought that his companion was passing insane.

  “What do we do?” he asked uneasily. Ailis might be unhinged with her fascination for things like this, but at least she knew what it was and what it might want.

  “Pay it, of course. They’re usually satisfied with something you’re fond of—it’s the act of paying that’s important, not how expensive it is. Don’t you know anything?”

  “I know how to fight. How to negotiate with honor. How to read and do figures. I don’t know how to bargain with creatures that shouldn’t exist.”

  Ailis sighed in exasperation. Gerard was being mulish again, his chin and mouth set in lines she knew far too well. Sometimes, only sometimes, she agreed with Newt’s opinion that Gerard really did take himself far too seriously.

  Ailis reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wooden carving of a swan in flight. She held it in her hand for a moment, feeling the smooth texture, reliving the memory of her father giving it to her just days before his death. She had carried it with her ever since. She then held it out to the troll, making sure to hold it flat on her palm so that the troll could see it clearly.

  “Here,” she said, brushing aside a sharp pang of grief. “For my passage, something dear to me.”

  The troll stepped forward, making the horses shy even more, and sniffed once as it lifted the swan with surprising delicacy, considering how gnarled its hands were and how long the claws that curved from its fingertips.

  “What about me?” Gerard asked out of the side of his mouth when the troll turned its small, shiny red eyes to him expectantly.

  “What about you?” Ailis asked, her tone of voice clearly wondering at his obtuseness. “Pay your own crossing. You must have something you can offer!”

  Gerard stared at the troll, who stared back at him with unblinking eyes. Finally Gerard sighed and dropped his hand to his saddle and untied a thick braided cord from a ring on the leather.

  “Here.” He handed it over with obvious reluctance, and the troll snatched it from him as though afraid it would be withdrawn if it didn’t act fast enough. From the expression on Gerard’s face, the troll wasn’t wrong.

  “Paid.” The creature sounded almost regretful, even as it clutched its new treasures. “Pass.”

  “Let’s go,” Ailis urged him. “I don’t know how long those things will hold him.”

  Gerard didn’t need to be told twice. The horses’ hooves made an odd echoing noise as they clattered on the stone archway, making Gerard look down nervously, afraid that the structure would give way. But the footing remained solid and they were over and back on firm ground within moments.

  “What did you give it?” Ailis asked, turning back in the saddle to look at the bridge one last time. The troll had disappeared completely and the road behind them was empty. She frowned for a moment, thinking that there was something she had forgotten, then shrugged and turned back to her companion.

  “Nothing important.”

  “It had to be to you, for the troll to have accepted it. Come on, tell me.”

  “It was a favor, all right?”

  “A favor?” Ailis almost giggled but caught herself in time. Favors were given to knights when they set out, from the lady they were paying court to—or who wanted them to pay court to them. “Who was it from?”

  “I’m not going to tell you.” Gerard’s cheeks had turned bright red and he refused to look at her.

  “All right.” She would find out eventually, once they were home. Camelot kept no secrets from her. “So what is the name of this village, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, I couldn’t read it last time.” He was clearly glad for the change of topic, but uncomfortable that he couldn’t answer her.

  “Oh, here, let me.” She put out h
er hand imperiously, expecting him to hand the map over without hesitation. Gerard was bemused to discover that, when she behaved that way, he was ready to do as she commanded.

  Only he looked down as he was handing it over to her and almost dropped the precious object into the dirt.

  “It’s stopped glowing!”

  “What?”

  “It’s stopped—” He shut his mouth and handed her the map. Let her see with her own eyes, then.

  “Why did it do that? Is there some kind of magic here that’s fighting it, maybe?” He hadn’t thought of that, being more concerned that they had gone in the wrong direction somehow, or that the magic had worn off.

  “I hope not,” he said. “We never even wondered if whoever cast the sleep spell might be watching to see if anyone left the castle, if they know that we rode out and—”

  “You think they’ve found us?” Ailis’s eyes got even wider and her face took such a pinched look that he was sorry he had said anything.

  “No.” And he didn’t. He might not have Ailis’s instinct for magic, but he trusted his own intuition that there was no one on their trail. He glanced at the map again. “Do you think Merlin’s magic has worn off?”

  “No,” Ailis said. “Even if he is trapped in an ice house, I think Merlin’s too powerful for that. Magic’s a strange thing,” she went on. “I mean, not that I know much about it, but I’ve listened. Merlin once said that you had to have the magic inside you—be born with it, I suppose—to even start learning how to use it properly. But lots of things have the magic inside them. Like that troll. It’s magic—it knows when something’s worth the toll, like your token. And it casts its own sort of spells. It makes you forget it’s there after a while, so it doesn’t get chased away. It even makes you forget if there was anyone behi—Oh no! Newt!”

  The troll’s spell broken by her words, the two of them turned their horses and raced back to the bridge. But Newt was nowhere to be seen.

  The squire had ridden ahead in a snit, Ailis with him, which was fine with Newt. Let the two of them go ahead together. He needed some time alone anyway. Much of his days had been spent alone; there were others around, but they didn’t speak to him, and he didn’t speak to them, preferring the company of the horses instead, and the dogs before them. Animals made so much more sense. They either liked you or they didn’t, but they were honest about it. None of the game-playing and currying favor and spreading gossip that seemed to occupy so much time in court.

  Ailis and Gerard made so much of Camelot, as though it were the greatest—the only—place in all England to live. It was just a place. Quality animals, decent food. But it was just a place. You didn’t get too attached to any one place.

  Newt clattered onto the stone bridge, slowing his gelding down enough to look out over the side. There was barely enough water to earn the title of creek, but he could see from the banks where flooding had cut through. He suspected that after heavy rains, the knee-deep trickle might become dangerous.

  Then something below shifted, the noise catching his attention.

  “Hello?”

  A shadow floated on the water and, reacting instinctively, Newt slipped off the horse’s back and onto his own feet. If something wanted to fight, he was going to be where he knew how to fight. Leave tossing each other off horseback for the knights.

  There was a heavy thud behind him, then: “Pay to pass.”

  Newt, like Gerard, had never heard of a bridge troll. But he knew that anything that demanded payment in that tone of voice was not something he wanted to deal with. You might pass unhurt…or you might not. Arthur could talk all he wanted about might not making right, but the king wasn’t here, and a creature that looked dangerous was.

  Backing up and turning around slowly, Newt felt the cool stone of the railing against his back. Putting one hand behind him for balance, he lifted himself over the rail slowly, letting the beast’s attention remain focused on the gelding. Newt would regret losing the animal, but not so much as he would regret losing himself.

  And if the creature intended no real harm, then no harm would be done….

  Still holding to the railing, Newt dropped over the side of the bridge. His arms straining, he hung there before seeing the ledge underneath where the creature had doubtless been hiding, waiting for unwary travelers. It was a disgusting mess, like the worst kind of magpie’s nest, filled with straw and bits of cloth and small shiny objects.

  “Ugh. That smells disgusting.” But something in the midden caught his attention, and he dropped lightly to his feet onto the ledge, intending to reach for it.

  “Pay to pass!” that voice insisted again.

  Newt heard the sound of his horse’s hooves breaking into a full gallop as it fled across the bridge. Then he felt something heavy hit him between the shoulder blades, and he knew nothing more.

  “How much trouble could he have gotten into so quickly?” Ailis wondered out loud as they started back toward the bridge. Gerard just looked at her. He’d only known the stable boy for a few days and already he knew that was a foolish question. Newt’s inability to be respectful of authority was a disaster waiting to happen, even before you began considering his attitude toward magic—which would include, no doubt, a bridge troll.

  “You know he’d refuse to pay. Let’s only hope the troll hasn’t eaten him.”

  “Oh, a troll wouldn’t do that!” Ailis said. But they were both thinking of the sharp teeth and the long claws, and neither of them were entirely certain what a bridge troll might do if a passerby did not have anything suitable to pay with…or if the troll happened to be feeling more hungry than greedy.

  They had tied their horses to a tree far enough from the bridge so as not to attract the troll’s attention, and stashed their packs under a particularly thickly branched stickerbush to keep them safe from a passing thief. Gerard kept his sword with him. It was the first time Ailis had ever seen him actually wearing it, rather than carrying it on his saddle. She wasn’t sure if it made him look brave or foolish, perhaps both.

  She wished she had some kind of weapon as well.

  “Do we call him, or…?”

  “Is the troll going to ask us for another payment? Because that cord was the only thing of value that I had, other than this sword, and the only way that troll’s taking that from me is if I leave it thrust through its chest. Just so we’re clear on that.”

  “I don’t know,” Ailis admitted. “Only one way to find out.” She took a deep breath, then shouted “Newt! Are you here?”

  The only sounds were the shiishhhing of the water below the bridge, and birds in the trees to either side.

  “No Newt.”

  “No troll, either,” Ailis pointed out.

  “Unless it’s busy—”

  “Ugh.” Ailis glared at him. “Don’t even think that.”

  “Well, he’s not here….”

  “Underneath of course,” Ailis said suddenly. “Trolls live under bridges.”

  “Oh. Of course,” Gerard muttered as Ailis started walking again, still cautiously, not toward the stone walkway that spanned the water but down the muddy banks to the left-hand side. Then, suddenly realizing that he was about to let a girl walk, unprotected, into possible danger, he followed, moving quickly enough to catch up with her. He might not like the stable boy overmuch, but Newt was a companion on this quest, and they would not abandon him.

  “Watch out for the troll.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Gerard muttered back. They both ducked to look under the bridge and gagged at the smell that hit their noses.

  “Oh, disgusting.” Gerard flinched, holding his forearm against his face, as though that would protect him. There was an alcove under the bridge made of the same stone, running the full length and half the width of the bridge. It was filled with debris, the source of the smell. Water rushed just a handspan below, doing nothing to clean the air.

  “There!” Ailis cried, pointing. In the far corner—in the da
rkest corner of the alcove—something moved.

  “Careful!” Gerard held back. “It might be the troll,” he said as Ailis splashed through the water and climbed onto the ledge. She turned her head aside slightly as the smell intensified.

  “Help me!” she cried softly over her shoulder. “It’s Newt!”

  Gerard took a deep breath, trying to suck as much air into his lungs as he could, and then waded into the stream to follow her.

  “He’s been tied up and gagged,” she told him, “and seems to be out cold. Let me…we have to move him before the troll comes back.”

  She grabbed Newt by the ankles, trying to pull his bound form out of the alcove. It must have woken him because he suddenly flailed wildly, trying to kick out at his attacker.

  “Newt!” she whispered loudly. “It’s us! You’re safe!”

  Either he heard her or he just ran out of energy, because his body went limp. She was able to move him a little bit, dragging him on the stone. He moaned so low that she could barely hear it. “I’m sorry,” she said, still tugging. “Gerard! Help me!”

  Gerard reached in and grabbed just below her hands, lending his strength in one hard pull that dragged both Newt and Ailis out of the alcove. She squeaked, Gerard stumbled, and all three of them landed in the stream, two of them soaked to the waist in cold water, Newt flat on his back in the current. The cold water started him struggling again. Gerard reached down and slung Newt over his shoulder, slogging to the bank of the stream and, leaving Ailis to follow on her own, looking around nervously for the troll.

  “What happened?” she demanded, once Gerard had cut the badly tied ropes off his legs and arms and pulled the wad of dirty rags out of Newt’s mouth. He dry-spat once, moved his mouth, and made a face at the taste, then shook his head slowly. “Something jumped me.”

  “Why didn’t you just pay the toll? We were able to pass without any problem.”

  “Not going to pay anything. It’s not the king’s toll.”

  “You should have just paid,” Ailis said.