Cavall in Camelot #1 Read online

  Mordred stared up at him as if he’d been slapped in the face. “But, Father . . .”

  “I’m sure you’ll be much better served taking care of the hounds, getting them settled in. You remember what a strange and scary place the castle was when you first arrived, don’t you?” He smiled kindly. At least, Cavall thought it was kindly, but Mordred just scowled again. “Will you do that?”

  Mordred stared at the ground. “Yes, Father.”

  “I’ll see you back at the castle then,” Arthur said. Then he and a few of the other men on horses rode off.

  Cavall whined as he watched them go.

  “None of that,” the man holding his leash said. “His Majesty is a busy man. Now, come along.” He gave a tug on the leash and Cavall went with him, though he really wasn’t used to being led everywhere.

  They started off down the dirt road. Mordred, still scowling, rode out front on his horse at a slow trot so that Gless and his handler could walk alongside him. Cavall’s handler tried to keep up with them, but Cavall kept getting distracted by all the interesting new smells in the air. A thousand different horses and people had walked on this road over the years. The man pulled on his leash, but Cavall wanted to stop and sniff.

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Merlin said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I can hold his leash. I’m an old man, after all, and he might find my pace preferable.”

  The man looked like he wanted to protest, but in the end, he handed the leash over. “Give me a holler if he gives you any trouble.”

  Merlin nodded and promptly undid Cavall’s leash. “You won’t run away now, will you?”

  Cavall shook his head. “No, I promise.” He didn’t want to run anyway. He wanted to see where they were going, and he wanted to see Arthur again. Besides, he couldn’t leave Gless all on his own.

  He walked by Merlin’s side, straying only to occasionally stick his nose into the grass along the side of the road. Little houses made of stone and straw dotted the countryside. Wide open fields rolled away on either side of them, full of sheep or wheat and usually a person or two who would wave as they passed by. Beyond the fields lay the forest, and it followed them all the way along the road. Cavall watched the trees carefully. He felt like something might be watching him back, but perhaps it was just a trick of his imagination.

  “Only those with quick eyes can see the fay.”

  Cavall jumped in surprise at Merlin’s voice. He’d almost forgotten the old man was there.

  “That’s who you were looking for, wasn’t it?” Merlin said. “The magical folk.”

  “Are they real?” Cavall asked.

  “Oh yes, very real.” Merlin smiled, as if appreciating a joke Cavall didn’t understand.

  “The people at the barn said they were evil.”

  “Evil?” Merlin shook his head. “No. They are like humans and dogs and any other creature that lives. Some are good. Some are bad. And some . . .” He tipped the brim of his hat up. “Want only to live peaceful lives. They have been here for some time, after all, before people, before dogs and horses, before the trees and the stones. Some can be quite dangerous when stirred to action, but they are not, all of them, evil.”

  “So . . . they don’t steal you away in the night?”

  Merlin pursed his lips, as if in thought. When he finally spoke, it was slow and deliberate as he leaned against his walking staff. He seemed immeasurably old, even by people standards, and Cavall knew that people lived to be quite old. “Do you think me evil, Cavall?”

  “You?” Cavall asked in surprise. “No, of course not.”

  “Then you know one fay who is not evil.” He tapped the end of Cavall’s nose.

  Cavall lifted his ears in surprise. “You’re a fay?”

  Merlin nodded.

  Cavall laughed. He felt so silly. From the way the stable hands had talked, the fay were hideous monsters.

  “You needn’t be afraid of what you don’t understand,” Merlin said. “You must only understand that you don’t understand it.”

  Eventually, the road curved away from the forest and into a sea of tall grass. In the distance, rising out of that sea, loomed a building bigger than anything Cavall had ever seen before. Taller than the trees, the highest spire jutted into the sky so that the flag atop its roof practically disappeared into the clouds. Blockier towers huddled around it with their own flags flapping in the wind. The breeze brought the smell of dozens—no, hundreds!—of people and horses and dogs and a number of new scents Cavall couldn’t name. Arthur lived here? Despite his nervousness, Cavall’s tail began to wag.

  “I’m glad to see you excited,” Merlin said. “It was not an accident that you two should meet, you and Arthur.”

  “Not an accident?” Cavall asked.

  “You have an important role to play, and so I will give you an important task. Stay by Arthur. Watch him. Protect him, if need be.”

  Cavall tore his eyes away from the castle. “Why would I need to protect him? Is he in danger?”

  The wizard gave a shrug, but Cavall suspected Merlin knew more than he was saying. Dogs only ever said what they meant, but people were different. “Danger and power have a way of seeking each other out,” Merlin said. “Arthur is a powerful man. If he does not seek out danger, then danger will seek him out.”

  “What sort of danger?” Cavall wagged his tail low and nervously. “Is there someone who wants to . . . to hurt him?” Who would want to hurt Arthur? And why? And what could Cavall possibly do to stop them?

  “Now, I didn’t say that,” Merlin answered. “But it is wise to keep your eyes and ears open—and, I suppose in the case of dogs, your nose as well.”

  “I have good eyes. Mother says so.”

  “Well, that is rather impressive,” Merlin chuckled. “The more eyes you keep open, the better your chances of finding danger before danger finds you.”

  “But I only have two eyes.”

  “Then perhaps you should gather more.”

  “Gather more . . . eyes?” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know what that means,” he finally admitted. “Will you help me?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I don’t live in the castle, after all. I live in the forest.” Merlin pointed with one long, crooked finger toward the trees.

  “You live there?” Cavall asked.

  “Indeed I do. Speaking of which . . .” Merlin looked up at the sky. “I should probably be heading back. Archimedes will be wondering where I am.”

  “You’re not coming into the castle with us?” Cavall asked in alarm. “But . . . but I need you to tell me what to do.”

  “Don’t worry,” Merlin said, placing a calming hand on Cavall’s head. “You will be fine. Keep your mind open and your heart pure, and you will know what to do.” He lifted his head to the sky. “Hmm, there’s a light breeze today. I think I’ll take the wind back.”

  He raised his walking staff in the air. All up and down the road, both the people and horses turned, drawn by this strange motion. A light flashed on the crystal ball at the top of Merlin’s staff, so bright that Cavall saw spots and nearly missed Merlin’s body start to change, becoming smaller. His robes began to billow out behind him like great wings.

  Wings! Cavall realized what they were when feathers started sprouting. Merlin’s long nose became a hooked beak, and his legs became talons that gripped the walking staff—though Cavall no longer thought it was merely a walking stick. Because now Merlin had become a falcon, and he soared toward the treetops, beating his new wings against the air.

  The people watched him go with their hands held to their eyes to block the sun. Mordred broke the awed silence.

  “Wizards,” he scoffed. “Always showing off.”

  Chapter 3

  CAVALL HAD NEVER BEEN IN A BUILDING MADE of stone, only timber and thatched roofing. The castle, though, must have been made from a thousand, thousand stones. The line of horses, men, and two dogs crossed a bridge made of stone that to
ok them over a river. Then they passed through an arched gate in a wall of stone, where two men dressed in armor greeted them. Beyond the guards, the path opened into an echoing courtyard, where more buildings made of stone rose up on all sides.

  The men dismounted their horses, and together they escorted the handlers, as well as Cavall and Gless, through a massive wooden door into the biggest of the buildings, where things were noisy and busy. More people than Cavall had ever seen before rushed back and forth, dressed in clothing that smelled not of fresh hay like everything did on the farm, but of dry straw and smoke. Arched pillars held up a very high ceiling that echoed with the sounds of footsteps as everyone bustled about their business. They all seemed to know exactly what to do and where to go, and nobody spared a second glance as Mordred led Cavall and Gless into the great hall.

  He untied their leashes, then gave Cavall a shove forward. “Go on now,” he instructed.

  “You’re not going to take them to the kennels?” Gless’s handler asked.

  Mordred shrugged. “They’ll figure things out for themselves.”

  That worried Cavall. His mother wasn’t here to tell him what to do, Merlin wasn’t here to tell him what to do, and now these people weren’t going to tell him what to do either. As Mordred turned to go, Cavall made to follow him. But then he noticed that Gless wasn’t by his side. His brother had instead made his way to the hearth, where a couple of children were playing with a ball near the empty fireplace. He gave them a wide berth and sank to the floor with an annoyed grunt.

  “Come on, Gless,” Cavall said, nudging his brother to get up, “let’s stay with your person.”

  Gless looked up at him. “He’s not my person. Not until he can prove he’s worthy of my time.”

  Cavall watched over his shoulder as Mordred disappeared among the other people. The young man was pretty moody, kind of like Gless himself, and Cavall had figured that if Gless could respect anyone, it would be his new person. But apparently not.

  He tried another tack. “Don’t you want to explore with me?”

  “Not particularly,” Gless huffed.

  “I’m going to go look for Arthur. You can join me if you want.”

  Gless just rolled over.

  So, he was on his own. Cavall sighed in frustration.

  The great hall was the busiest place at the moment, filled with people carrying bundles of fresh straw for the floors, brooms to sweep away the old straw, buckets of water for baths, and . . . Cavall’s nose twitched. Food! His mouth watered. One of these people had to be heading for wherever Arthur was. He’d follow one. Preferably one with food.

  He spotted a plump lady carrying a tray of what smelled like chicken, only about a hundred times tastier than the chicken bones he ate for supper at the farm. The lady’s long skirts swished across the stone floor as she walked along, humming to herself. Cavall followed behind her into a wide hallway. She stopped when she noticed the clicking of his toenails behind her. Slowly, she turned and gasped when she saw him. Her eyes went wide.

  She made some sort of hand gesture at him, so he sat, the way he’d seen the trained dogs do. This didn’t please her, because she only frowned, then turned and kept walking. Cavall continued to follow her.

  They got about ten more paces before she turned again, scowling. “Off with you, beastie. This isn’t for the likes of you.”

  The chicken smelled wonderful, just chock-full of tender meat and chewy gristle. Cavall licked his chops and stared hopefully at her. It wouldn’t hurt her to give him some of it, would it? He trotted forward, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

  She shrieked and drew her apron up around her, balancing the tray on one hand above her head. “Begone with you!” she hollered.

  A door just to the right of them slammed open, making them both jump. “What is going on out here?” A man poked his head into the hall. He had exceptionally curly hair, and he smelled like a steady rain. “Is this rascal bothering you?”

  He stepped out into the hallway, and Cavall could see that he was tall and broad-shouldered. His face wasn’t as fuzzy as Arthur’s, but fuzzier than Mordred’s. His jaw was square and his arms strong. He grabbed Cavall’s collar and pulled him away from the woman and her tray.

  “Thank you, sir knight,” the woman breathed, lowering the tray. “I know there’s nothing to be afraid of, but . . . he’s so big.”

  “Aye,” the curly-haired man said. “More like a pony than a hound. He won’t hurt you, though. See his tail wag? He’s an oversized puppy, he is.” He let go of Cavall’s collar and held out his hands. “I can take that plate in for you if you want.”

  The woman handed the plate over. Cavall watched very carefully. “Thank you,” she said to the curly-haired man, then bowed and headed back the way she’d come.

  Cavall continued to stare at the plate full of chicken. The curly-haired man looked down at him. So, they were at a standoff.

  Finally, the curly-haired man sighed and said, “All right, can’t guarantee you’ll be gettin’ any of this, but you can come in if you want. And who knows? Maybe Edelm will be able t’ teach you some manners.” He held the door open, and Cavall trotted in happily.

  At the far end of the long, high-ceilinged room, a great stained-glass window showed a woman in a blue dress, a sword held above her head. Sunlight shined through the glass, casting different shades of blue onto the big, circular table that took up most of the room.

  At least a dozen men sat at this table. They made a lot of noise, talking, laughing, and banging plates and goblets on the table. Mixed in with the heavenly aroma of grease and yeast that filled the room, Cavall recognized a few of the men’s smells from the forest, including Mordred. But one scent in particular caught his attention. He took a second sniff and . . . yes! It was Arthur!

  The curly-haired man and the plate of food were forgotten as Cavall raced around the table, following the scent of his person. He found him sitting in one of the chairs, talking to Mordred, who sat to his left. Arthur’s sword hung from its sheath over the back of his chair. Cavall was so happy to have found his person, he went right up and licked Arthur’s hand, which rested on the arm of his chair.

  Arthur looked down in surprise. “Well, hello there,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

  “I let him in.” The curly-haired man set the plate of food on the table and sat down to Arthur’s right. “I hope you don’t mind, Your Majesty.”

  “That’s fine, Lancelot,” Arthur said, looking down at Cavall. His smile sent a jolt through Cavall that made his tail thump. “As long as he behaves himself, I don’t see the harm.”

  Cavall vowed to behave himself. He remembered Merlin’s advice to stay close to Arthur. He still wasn’t sure what “gathering eyes” meant, but he knew he could at least do what Arthur wanted—behave himself.

  As he settled in happily at Arthur’s feet, Cavall noticed another dog lying under the table next to the curly-haired man’s chair. He had longish fur and a longish nose, graying around his muzzle. He smelled like the curly-haired man. He didn’t say anything, just watched Cavall.

  Cavall watched back until Arthur scratched his ear. Then his attention turned to the king as he addressed the other men at the table. “Now, Lancelot, I believe you were about to tell us what you’ve learned from your latest visit to the village.”

  “Ah, thank you.” The curly-haired man—Lancelot, apparently—stood and pushed the plate to the side, bringing it back to Cavall’s attention. “The villagers outside the castle walls have been complaining about strange sounds and lights coming from the forest at night.”

  Mordred sighed. “It’s just the fay. They blame everything they don’t understand on the fay.”

  Cavall watched the chicken.

  “Some of their animals have gone missing,” Lancelot continued. “They’re worried about their children. They say a woman in flowing robes has been seen watching them from the trees.”

  “And what are we s
upposed to do about it?” Mordred asked.

  “My brother and I could look into it,” a man across the table suggested. “Lucan and I could try to find this woman and question her about her intentions.”

  Cavall watched the chicken.

  “Maybe if the peasants are forced to handle things on their own,” Mordred said, “they’ll learn to take better care of their animals.”

  “Now, Mordred,” Arthur said, “what sort of way is that for a future king to speak about his people?”

  “I just don’t think we should be encouraging them to call for us every time they jump at their own shadows.”

  Cavall caught a big whiff of the chicken again, and now he started to drool. He could hardly hear the people over the rumbling of his stomach. As Lancelot began to talk again, Cavall decided it wouldn’t hurt to help himself to just a little bit.

  He jumped up, front paws on the table. He only meant to take a leg, but instead the whole chicken came with him, along with the plate, which shattered on the floor. Everyone stopped and stared.

  Arthur no longer smiled. He didn’t exactly scowl, not like Lancelot and Mordred did. Instead, he looked . . . sad. Disappointed.

  “That’s it, you,” Lancelot said.

  He grabbed Cavall’s collar in one hand, yanked the chicken out of Cavall’s mouth with the other, and dragged Cavall away from the table. Arthur let him. He still had that same disappointed look on his face.

  When they got to the door, Lancelot pulled it open and threw Cavall out. “You’re obviously not ready to sit in on His Majesty’s meetings,” he said. “Come back when you can behave yourself.”

  He shut the door in Cavall’s face.

  Cavall stood there, staring at the door, waiting for it to open again. A few moments later, it did. Just a crack. Before Cavall could run back in, a four-legged figure slipped through the gap. It was the dog from under the table.

  The dog regarded him for a moment, then said, “Do you know what room you were just removed from?”

  Cavall shook his head.