“A knife won’t do much against an armed knight in full armor,” he poked at the fire with a nearby stick. “I don’t doubt your competency, but if we are in life-threatening situations, which we surely will be, I can’t fight at my full capacity if I have to worry about defending you as well.”
Una scowled. George wouldn’t have let that bother him. He would have tried to defend her even if she was perfectly capable of defending herself, not because he thought poorly of her skills, but because it was simply what he did.
“Why I really ask,” said Guyon, who looked like he was choosing his words carefully. “Is because of that other matter that we discussed.”
“My magic?”
He nodded. “I don’t know what you’re capable of, and from the sound of things, it would seem you don’t either. But could I count on you to use it in our defense should it come to that?”
Una hesitated, truly hesitated. She couldn’t blame Guyon for asking such a question. She would have asked the same. But it was also a question she did not have an answer to, and that frustrated her more. It was a long moment before she spoke.
“I feel I should avoid using it at all costs,” she said carefully. “But if it comes down to our lives, perhaps I will. But I do not know if the magic will help or only make things worse, even in such circumstances.” “Like when your magic couldn’t fully heal Amavia,” said Guyon.
Una nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.” Though secretly, she wondered if the consequences would not be worse the next time she tried to use her magic. She did not look forward to the possibility.
It is inevitable, you cannot avoid it forever.
That was the clever one, or perhaps the lustful one. Once again, it was hard for her to tell the difference.
Her unease only grew. It was like having several pairs of eyes staring at her in the dark, eyes that were far closer than she liked. And in this case, those eyes, those presences were inside her to begin with, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Even though only one was talking right now, she could feel the rest, all of them observing, watching her in a way, listening to her every thought.
She put the voices out of her mind and turned her attention back to Guyon, who was nodding his head. “I guess that’s about all I can ask for.”
“Hm?” asked Una. She had lost her place in the conversation.
“Using your magic in the possibility of our death,” said Guyon. “I certainly don’t want you to use magic if it is dangerous to yourself or others, but I would feel safer knowing I had something besides a knife backing me up. No offense.”
Normally she would have taken offense at that, but she waved it off. He was right after all. Her magic was dangerous, but that was no reason not to use it under the more dire circumstances. After all, it had averted a crisis at Castle Silene.
But what if, by giving into the magic, she became more dangerous alive than dead?
That thought did not sit well with her. What would she do if she lost control, if she surrendered the magic to a part of her that did not seek the betterment of others? Could she make the ultimate sacrifice to protect others from that part of her?
Guyon settled down for the night, but despite her previously restless evening and the long walk, she found herself unable to sleep. Her magic haunted her, literally.
But in the end, even sleep became so ever-present it consumed her. And all went dark.
13
Guyon woke to the sound of hooves in the distance. Someone was coming. Instantly awake, he rolled to his feet and stared in the direction of the sound. The eastern sky had just begun to light, but there was still little to see by. He peered in the direction of the noise. No, the hooves weren’t coming, they were leaving. Had someone passed them and he hadn’t known it?
He looked around to find Una was still sleeping. Best to let her stay for now. She had spent a good deal of time walking the previous day, and they were in for an equally long journey today. Perhaps she would agree to more time on the…
He twisted in place, looking from one end of their camp to the other. Where was Fairstep?
Suddenly, a thought chilled his heart in place. What if those hooves had been…
He began to run in the direction of the sound, whistling as he went. “Fairstep!”
The sound of the hooves increased in pace, which only confirmed his suspicion. He had securely tied his horse to a tree, and though the tree was small, it had not been so small that the horse could have pulled loose. And his knots were always firmly tied. That meant someone had let his horse go, and was even now leading him away.
He whistled again. “Fairstep!” Maybe the sound of his voice would bring the animal back to him.
But the hooves did not turn. They continued on down the road ahead of him, far enough that he could not see his horse or its rider in the distance. He ran as fast as he could, trying to make up the distance between them, but it was no use. The horse had long since gone.
He came to a slow, pitiful halt. That horse had carried all of his belongings on it. And many of Una’s as well. They now had only the food they carried, though Una still had a pouch of coin. Perhaps they would find a farm or small town along the way.
Cursing himself at sleeping too soundly, he retreated back to the camp. Una was awake, standing and staring as he approached.
“The horse?” she asked as he drew closer. She must have guessed by his shouting, and from the fact that the horse was gone.
He nodded, “Stolen right from under us.”
She frowned, though she did not have the same disparaging reaction that he expected, that he himself had exhibited. She stared off into the distance. “I wonder why they didn’t just kill us?” she asked to no one in particular.
“You think the thieves were working against us, specifically?”
“Would it be too much of a coincidence to assume otherwise?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I may have missed them taking my horse, but I am not defenseless while I sleep. Had they come too close I would have awoken and defended myself. Though perhaps it is that Archimago playing with us again like he did back at the Severn river.”
Una nodded thoughtfully, though he had no idea what she was thinking. The woman was a strange one, her wit like a sharp sword one moment, but in the next she was quiet and introspective. He could only hope that she would maintain control over her emotions enough to see clearly. He did not need a woman with magic to act too unpredictably. Not when there was so much at stake. “Well then,” she said, stooping low to pick up her personal sack of food. “We’d better get a move on. We have a long way to go, and we’ll need to purchase food now that we’ve lost most of what Medina gave us.”
She was taking this remarkably well, though she had insisted on walking before. Perhaps she truly didn’t mind not having a horse. Guyon didn’t know how anyone could live without such a useful creature. Not only were they a huge help in carrying belongings, or moving at great speeds, but they were friends as well.
He stared off in the direction the thief or thieves had taken Fairstep. He could only hope they would come across him again. He said a quick prayer to the Faerie Queen that she would guide their steps, but followed Una’s example and picked up his pack. She was right, they would need to move now that their stores were all but depleted.
Just as he thought, the day without his horse was miserable. They had not gone several miles before the heat of the sun caused him to drain his canteen in record time. There wasn’t much shade in these parts, since most of the land was devoted to farming and grazing. But oh what he wouldn’t give to be back at the Severn river, or any river with some lush, shady trees surrounding him on all sides.
He did what he could to hide his emotions from Una. It would not be right for a knight such as him to display such weakness, especially in front of a woman. He had trained his whole life to be the perfect knight, completely immune to the ailments of the flesh. But it seemed he still had a long way to go. Even Una seemed to be having
an easier time of traveling.
Well at least he could avoid the lure of the flesh. He knew that for sure. Oh, of course, there were women like Medina who were more than just a pretty face. There had been much more about that woman that had attracted him, but he did not let it distract him from his quest.
No other pretty face had ever become an obstacle for him. Many of his past companions had even laughed at him for it, claiming he was oblivious to beauty. That wasn’t exactly true. He knew beauty when he saw it, but that was not what interested Guyon about a woman.
Take Una for example, she was remarkably beautiful, especially for one who had stayed in a Roman cell for three years. He’d caught a local farmer or fisherman staring in her direction more than once. The only men who had not stared were Sir Kay and that Pyrochles character, though both of them had a history with Una.
But that was not what Guyon sought after. He admired a woman for her behavior and her wits, not by the beauty of her face or the shape of her figure. That was why he now felt the pull to go back to the Holy Island and visit with Medina. That woman had such control over her passions, and those of her sisters, who were far more susceptible to their emotions.
And that was also why he admired Una for nothing more than her knowledge and her experience with the Faerie Queen. The woman was dangerous, that much was plain. Anyone with access to magic deserved to be watched carefully. And if their conversation the night before had told him anything, it was that she was just as afraid of her magic as anyone else could be. That was not a good sign.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of something like a rabid dog in the distance, accompanied by someone screaming.
“What is that?” asked Una, peering forward, squinting to try and make out what was making the sound.
Guyon looked as well. It was still at least a half-mile away, but the wind carried the sound a good distance. But someone was in trouble. He had to help.
Now was the time when he could use a horse, curse whoever it was who took Fairstep from him.
Drawing his sword, he began walking at an even greater clip. He still had his plate armor with him, as he had taken that off the horse the night before to give him a rest. But he would have to be cautious. Armor could only do so much, and if he ran too fast he would exhaust himself before he could do anything to help whoever it was that was screaming.
“Be careful,” said Una from behind him. “There’s something...strange about this one.”
That did not bode well. It wasn’t the first time Una had shown some kind of intuition for the dangers they faced. Very well, he would take care.
Increasing his pace to a slow trot, he began shrinking the distance between him and the commotion ahead. Una followed close behind him, her face a mask of something like foreboding mixed with interest.
As they approached, the scene became a little more clear. There appeared to be three people, the assailant, the victim, and another figure observing from a short distance. A small tree shaded the three of them. The victim lay on the ground, curled up into a ball, trying to stop the assault with his arms. A young man by the look of him. The assailant was a wild man repeatedly beating the victim with a massive stick.
“Stop!” Guyon yelled as he drew closer. “Stop in the name of the Faerie Queen!”
The wild beast of a man kept beating the poor boy on the ground. Yes, he was practically a boy, probably a squire or a recently enlisted soldier. But the wild thing did not relent.
However, there was one figure who took notice of him, the third person on the scene, the observer. As Guyon neared, he could see that she was something of a wretched hag, like a wicked witch from children’s stories. Her mangy hair, what little she had of it, hung from a face so covered in wrinkles it was almost difficult to make out her normal facial features. But the hag had eyes, and those eyes turned on Guyon. He swallowed as he accepted the fact that this person meant to harm him.
The old woman raised her hand slowly and pointed at him as he approached. Immediately, though she had not said a word, the wild man stopped what he was doing and sped towards Guyon. The man hadn’t even looked at the old woman. How had he known what she wanted?
But the madman came sprinting at him, and Guyon raised his sword to the ready. This would be a relatively easy conquest. The man had on nothing but a loin cloth, and carried only the club in his hand. He would be nothing against Guyon’s full armor and sharpened sword.
As the man approached, Guyon feinted, then sidestepped and swiped at the man’s arm with his sword. Not enough to cause serious injury. This was a warning strike, a caution to stay away.
But it was as though his sword hit the hardest of leather. The clean cut he had been expecting did not come. Instead, the wild man rounded on him and raised his club high.
Guyon tried again, this time stabbing at the man’s shoulder, certain that the pain would be enough to get the madman to drop his weapon. But once again, his sword did not penetrate, it merely stuck into the man’s flesh but did not break skin or draw blood.
The blow did seem to enrage the man. He flew at Guyon with limbs flailing, bringing his club down on top of him. Guyon blocked it with his sword, but the force of the blow was nearly enough to send him to his knees. What manner of madman was this?
He caught sight of Una to one side, staring not at the two of them, but at the hag in the distance. She was rooted to the spot and her jaw was clenched in an expression of extreme effort, like she was fighting some kind of internal battle that Guyon could not see.
But his attention quickly went back to the fight as the wild man barreled into him, throwing him backwards onto the ground. Once down, the man brought the club down on Guyon repeatedly and with remarkable speed.
Guyon’s armor protected him from the worst of the blows, but he could already see dents forming in his breastplate. He needed to gain control of the battle fast.
“Be careful,” cried Una, in a voice that was far more anguished than he was used to hearing. “They’re from Annwyn, the Otherworld.”
Now it all began to make sense. His sword had not harmed this man because he was not of this world. And there seemed to be some connection between him and the old hag.
While the madman raised his club for another blow, Guyon kicked at his knees, which was enough to throw him off balance. Then Guyon rolled out of the way, and left his sword on the ground. If the blade wouldn’t help him in this fight, he would have to find another way.
As the crazed man turned on him, raising his club high, Guyon caught his arm as it came down, then spinning around the man, he used a technique he’d learned while abroad in the east to twist the man’s arm around and behind his back. The wild man shrieked in protest, and dropped the club, but quickly spun on Guyon before the knight could get a good hold.
Grabbing Guyon’s face, the madman brought his head down on him. Even though Guyon wore his helmet which took most of the blow, he did not wear a faceplate, and so his nose took part of the attack. Something crunched and warm liquid dripped onto his lips. Blood.
This wasn’t good. The beast of a man moved so ferociously and with incredible agility and strength that Guyon could barely catch a moment to land his own attack.
“Una!” he yelled. “Now might be a good time to use your magic.”
“N-no,” said Una through gritted teeth. Once again she looked like she was dealing with some internal problem, breathing hard and keeping her jaw tight, like she was trying to hold back a sour stomach.
Well if she wasn’t going to be any help, he would have to find another way. As the wild man brought his head down for another attack, Guyon tilted his own head down so the tip in his helmet would take the brunt of the attack.
The blow came, and the wild man temporarily lost hold of Guyon’s shoulders, letting him go. His opponent was clutching at his face, but there was no blood there, nothing to indicate Guyon’s helmet had done any damage. What kind of a man was this?
But he was temporarily di
stracted, and Guyon could use that to his advantage. Grabbing the thing’s arm again, he spun him around so the wild man’s back was facing him. Then he locked the man in a vice-like grip from behind, with his arms thrust under his assailant’s armpits and then locked behind the man’s head, a hold taught to young boys to keep your enemy immobile. Using all his strength, he struggled to hold the man in place.
14
For a moment, it seemed to work. The madman flung his arms helplessly as Guyon kept a grip on him from behind. But the man struggled further, and his strength was simply enormous, almost as though he were growing stronger in that very instant.
Knocked off balance by the man’s attempted escape, he fell backwards, but put all his effort into pulling the wild man down with him and maintaining his hold.
“Don’t resist,” he said through a clenched jaw. But it was like the man hadn’t heard him. He merely continued to try and beat at Guyon, flailing his arms and legs in any attempt to get out. And unfortunately it was working. Guyon’s grip on the man’s head was failing.
“Stop...fighting him,” shouted Una, still straining with some invisible effort. “He’s impervious to your attacks. You must go after the old woman.”
What, the hag? Guyon had all but forgotten about the woman. He twisted his head on the ground to see what had become of the old crow. She was standing several feet away, her eyes fixed on the pair of them as they fought, radiating an intensity that made Guyon squirm.
“She gives him his strength,” said Una. “As long as she lives, he will be invulnerable.”
Guyon did not ask how Una knew this, but if she was right, then he had to get to the old woman and tell her to stop her...son? Pet? Whoever the wild man was to her, he had to sever that connection.
Unfortunately, that meant letting go of his opponent.
Twisting to the side, Guyon attempted to get the man underneath him. It only half worked. He managed to get on top of the attacker, but he lost his grip in the process. In that moment, the madman lurched to his feet, and threw Guyon several feet into the air, where he landed next to his sword. Guyon grinned. A stroke of luck, for once.
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