Lynet nodded. "Yes. Gareth's and my sister's seat. She had Mordred seduce Lyonesse so as to get rid of Gareth, then they murdered Lyonesse."
Gaheris was already rolling up his blankets and preparing for travel, but he paused and looked up. "Why not just murder Gareth?"
"There are grave dangers, based on ancient magic, that come with killing someone of your own blood," Lynet said. "Not even Morgause would do such a thing lightly."
Gaheris was silent for a moment, then said, "And yet she sent an army to kill me. Why?"
Lynet didn't know. Since receiving her gift from Hecate, her mind was nearly exploding with the new things that she knew about Morgause, but that question she couldn't answer. "I guess she thought it more dangerous to let you live," she said.
Gawain interrupted this discussion. "Do you know how heavily the castle is defended?"
Lynet nodded. "It's not defended at all. Morgause has hidden herself by such powerful charms that she believes no one can ever find her."
"Then you don't need me to go with you," Gawain said at once. "I can join Arthur."
"Gawain," Gaheris began.
"No, listen. If I go with you to Perle, all the way down in Cornwall, then I'll be going in the opposite direction from Joyous Garde. I'm no help against magic, so you don't need my help. You'll have Lyn here."
"Morgause has one knight with her always," Lynet said simply.
Gawain hesitated. "Still, if it's just one knight—"
"Sir Lamorak," Lynet said.
There was a moment of silence. At last, Gaheris looked up from saddling his horse. "That makes sense, actually. Lamorak hasn't been around the court for years, and now that I think on it, I recall Dinadan telling me once that Lamorak had taken up with some faery beauty. Well, Gawain? You've been in tournaments with Lamorak. Still think I don't need your help?"
"He'd kill you in seconds," Gawain admitted. He took a long breath, let it out with a sigh, then said, "I hate it, but you're right. This is probably the best way to help Arthur, and you need me. Let's go."
They finished saddling their horses, and Gaheris said to Lynet, "If Mother's woven so many concealment spells around herself, how is it that you know where she is?"
"I just do."
Gaheris nodded abstractedly. "Had a messenger, eh? I suppose I should have expected it. Between you and Luneta and Terence and all your Other Worldly chums, I'm surprised we're ever alone. Talked to someone with special powers?"
Lynet shrugged in the darkness. "Yes."
They rode all through the night, the next day, and into the next night, stopping only when Gawain and Gaheris were falling asleep in their saddles. Lynet felt no weariness and no need for sleep. Evidently someone who had received power from Hecate no longer required rest, which Lynet found disappointing. She had always enjoyed a good sleep. Would this mean that she would never dream again? That would be a loss indeed. Or maybe not, she thought. Maybe the dreams that came to Hecate's daughters were not the sort one wished for.
Many nights later, under a glowing half-moon, they arrived at the Castle Perle. Lynet was glad it was dark. She still hadn't slept, and since night and day no longer meant sleeping and waking, she found that she preferred night. At the edge of the forest, Gaheris dismounted and buckled on his armor. Gawain already wore his, but he tightened the straps and set his helm on his head. "You're sure you don't want to wait until day?" he asked. "I'm better in the daylight."
"No," Gaheris said. "No waiting."
Gawain shrugged. "All right. And you're sure there's only one knight there, Lyn?"
"I'm sure."
"What about the gates?"
"I'll open them," Lynet said. She had always been good at moving objects about by magic, which was among the most useless of magical skills. Good for showing off and not much else. But she had no doubt she could open any gate.
She was right. The gate nearly flew open at her command, and she led the two knights into the courtyard of her childhood home.
"Oh, blast," said Gawain.
"What is it, Gawain?" demanded Gaheris. "Oh, I see."
Lynet looked, too, and saw a long, slender form rising sinuously up from the flagstones before them. Gawain muttered, "Didn't think to mention there'd be a dragon, did you?"
"Leave her alone," Gaheris said. "You only asked if there were any other knights. I heard you."
"Oh, right. It's my fault for asking the wrong question," Gawain said. He drew his sword and stepped forward. "You go on. I'll follow."
"You're going to fight it alone?" Gaheris asked.
"Gawain's right," Lynet said. She felt no fear, only an overwhelming calm. "We need to find your mother before the fight raises the alarm. Come on. Morgause and Lamorak are in Lyonesse's old bedroom. Up those stairs and to the right when you're finished, Gawain." Then she took Gaheris by the left hand and led him into the castle.
Behind them the sounds of battle began—thuds, a clank of sword on scales, a roar, more thuds—but in no time those sounds drifted away, and the quietness that Lynet felt around her seemed to carry her, like a bubble, up the stairs to the room where her sister had slept. Lynet spoke a single word, and the door burst open, splintering against the opposite wall. There was a man's shout, and a woman's angry voice, and then she and Gaheris strode into the room.
Morgause was seated at a desk before a faint blue candle flame, where she had evidently been writing on a sheet of parchment. Sir Lamorak stood beside her, holding a sword. Judging from the rumpled bedclothes behind him and the bleary expression in his eyes, he had just been asleep, but his sword was steady.
"Who are you?" Morgause demanded with mild irritation, as if she had been distracted from her work by a fly.
From behind his visor, Gaheris clicked his tongue. "Tut, tut, Mother. How unmaternal of you."
Morgause's eyes flew open, and every trace of color drained from her face. "You're dead!" she shrieked.
"Am not, am not."
"Kill him, my love! Kill him!" Sir Lamorak sprang forward. Gaheris made no effort to attack but only raised his sword, deflected Sir Lamorak's slashing blow, then stepped aside. Sir Lamorak lunged again; Gaheris parried again and stepped away.
Lynet knew this scene. It was how Gaheris had always fought in single combats, on those few occasions when he couldn't avoid battle entirely. Knowing that he was a poor swordsman, he concentrated on defending himself, and since parrying was easier than attacking, he could hold out nearly indefinitely. It was no way to win a fight, of course, but at least, for the time being, Gaheris was safe. Perhaps he could stall Sir Lamorak until Gawain arrived—if he did. Lynet turned her attention to Morgause.
There was no mistaking the abject fear in the enchantress's eyes. For some reason, Gaheris's appearance had shaken England's most powerful sorceress right to her toes. Lynet looked deeper, feeling the new connection that she had with Morgause tighten and draw her attention closer. As had happened in Hecate's darkness, a progression of pictures began to parade before some inner eye. Lynet saw Morgause with a frightened, flaxen-haired child—it had to be Mordred. She sensed her whispering poisonous words of hatred in the child's ear. Lynet saw Morgause, still looking the same but somehow younger, glaring balefully at another child, a boy with reddish blond hair and grave, watchful eyes. Gaheris. Her Gary. Then Lynet's inner sense followed an even younger Morgause across a moor, into a familiar dark chasm, down a corridor, from darkness to deeper darkness, and she heard a chilling whisper: "Yes, Lady Morgause? I am Hecate. What do you seek?"
"Power."
"What power?"
"All power!" Morgause replied.
"You know my terms," hissed Hecate. "I can grant power, but you must tie your life to another. To what will you grant control of your life?"
Lynet sensed Morgause smiling and holding something in front of her. It had the shape of a picture frame. "Bind my life to the one who is in this glass."
Then Lynet understood. Like all the other enchantresses in Hecate's darkne
ss, Morgause had come with a plan to beat Hecate's bargain—she was holding a mirror, in which was an image of herself. She wanted her life tied forever to her own life. In essence, she could not die until she herself had died first, which would make her immortal. It was brilliant. It was as if she had made it so the sun could not set until after dark. Since it could not be dark until the sun had set, the sun would never set. But then, Lynet wondered, why is she so afraid of Gary?
"You were pregnant," Lynet said. Morgause turned her frantic eyes away from the battle and looked at her. "You didn't even know it yet, but you were with child. When you held the mirror up to Hecate, it was reflecting not just you but Gaheris as well."
Morgause blinked numbly.
"When did you realize it? When did you figure out that only one person on earth had the power to kill you, the one who was a part of you when you stood before Hecate? But then, you didn't know what to do, did you? You were afraid that killing him might kill you as well."
"Yes," hissed Morgause. "But now I know better. To make sure, I have gone deeper into the old ways than any enchantress before me. He can die." With that, she waved a hand, causing a huge limestone block to leap from the wall and throw itself at Gaheris. Lynet waved her hand and sent the block flying harmlessly away.
"What do you mean, he can die?" Lynet demanded. "He was part of you when you made the bargain."
"Not enough," Morgause replied. "I will survive his death."
"Then why are you afraid of him?"
Morgause glared at her but made no reply.
Lynet frowned. "He still has some power over you that no one else has, doesn't he?"
Morgause snarled and drew back her hand. Lynet sensed immediately what she would do—turn Gaheris's sword into brittle clay—and counteracted the spell before it had even been cast. "You can't do a thing, Lady Morgause," Lynet said. "I know your every thought. I know what you intend to do before you do. I am inside your mind. And, for what it's worth," she added, "it's a very nasty place to be inside of. I shall need a bath."
Morgause evidently saw that Lynet spoke the truth because she turned away and shouted again to Sir Lamorak, "Kill him!"
Gaheris was still performing his defensive dance, parrying without counterattacking, moving in a slow circle around the room. Lamorak's breath was labored, but at Morgause's scream he redoubled his efforts, driving Gaheris backwards, away from the door. Gaheris fended off three blows but took a fourth hit to the helm, which sent him staggering backwards in one direction and the helm flying in another. Gaheris was kept from falling only by the desk where his mother sat. Across the room, Gaheris's eyes met Lynet's.
"Goodbye, my lady," he said softly. "I love you."
"Nay, lad," Lynet replied, smiling. "I'll see you soon."
Then, in one smooth motion, Gaheris whirled to his left, his sword at waist level, and neatly severed his mother's head from her shoulders. So that was it: only Gary had the power to kill her. Sir Lamorak, given an opening, leaped forward and brought his own sword down on Gaheris, just where his neck met his shoulder, and Gaheris crashed to the ground. Then Lynet was shouldered roughly to one side as Gawain burst into the room, his sword already flickering like lightning. A clash of swords, a grunt, another clash, and then Sir Lamorak was dead, his body lying beside Gaheris's.
"Gary!" Gawain screamed.
"It's too late," Lynet murmured, leaning back against the wall and slowly sinking to the floor. "He's dead."
"Gary," Gawain whispered brokenly. He tore his helm off and leaned over his brother's body. Tears were already welling in his eyes, Lynet noticed vaguely. The room seemed to spin, then to right itself, then spin again. Gawain glanced toward her. "Lyn, can't you ... Lyn! Are you hurt?"
"No, Gawain," Lynet replied softly. "I'm dead."
"You're ... what?"
"To get the power to find your mother," Lynet explained, "I had to surrender control over my own life. I had to bind it to something else. It was the only way."
"You had to bind your life ... what did you...?"
"Queen Hecate, poor soul, will never understand. All she knows is power. She tried to talk me out of it. She told me I was a fool."
"What did you bind yourself to?" Gawain demanded, hurrying to her side.
"Not what," Lynet replied, "who. It was easy, really. My life has been bound to Gary's since I've known him. His life is my life, and my life is his. It was that way before I met Hecate; I gave up nothing." Tears streaked Gawain's face, but he said nothing. Lynet lifted one arm, which had grown very heavy, and tried to dry his cheek, but her fingers fumbled at his chin, then fell to her side.
"Queen Hecate told me I should ... should bind my life to something permanent," she whispered, "but she didn't understand. I did. Nothing is more indestructible ... than love."
Then the room grew small and very distant. Lynet felt sorry for Gawain, but she had to leave him there. Raising her inner eye, she looked ahead to see what was coming next.
8. The Titans
Terence
Terence didn't return to Camelot at once after escaping from Mordred. He had no news to report. He had already sent the hastily knighted young man Bede to tell Arthur where Mordred's armies were. Now Arthur would need to know where Mordred would move next, and when. So, mindful of Mordred's uncanny ability to sense his presence, Terence circled the army's perimeter, never staying long in one place, but never moving too far away either.
For weeks Terence played this game of hide-and-wonder-if-anyone-was-seeking while Mordred remained in the same place, obviously waiting for something, as he had said. Mordred had patrols out almost constantly, and Terence knew that if he stayed still too long, he would be discovered, so he kept on the move and never slept for more than two hours at a time. Terence grew exhausted, but he never had to worry about oversleeping on account of the hunger that gnawed at him continuously. Then one evening, Terence found a stream teeming with trout. He waded into the water, waited for the fish to grow used to him, and then, one by one, flipped four large fish onto the bank. He had always had good reflexes. Building a fire was dangerous, but so was starvation, so Terence made a tiny fire with the driest wood he could find and feasted on fish. When he was done, he moved more than a mile away before he looked for a place to sleep. The sky was clear and the night brighter than Terence could have wished—there was a luminous half-moon—but he had to rest. So, his stomach satisfied at last, he closed his eyes and fell at once into a deep sleep.
He was awakened by Mordred's voice. Not ten feet from where he lay, Mordred was talking quietly with a dark figure. Terence froze, at any second expecting the flashing blow that would end his life, but the voice went on, as if Mordred was unaware of his presence. Turning his eyes to the sky, Terence saw by the moon's position that he had slept without moving for at least six hours.
Mordred said, "She promised she'd send word soon. How much longer am I to wait?"
"Has our Good Lady ever let you down before?" wheezed a dusty voice. It was the crone who had been with Mordred before, Hag Karnis, but her voice sounded weaker and more querulous than Terence remembered.
"Let me down? You don't want to get me started," Mordred said, his voice dripping with bitterness. "Oh, I'll grant you, she's always done her part in one of her own plots, but she was a damned bad mother, you know."
"Your Highness!" gasped the hag. "Never have I heard you say such a thing about our Good Lady!"
"Yes, well, it never occurred to me until just now, but it's true. She never did one thing for me that wasn't really for her own benefit, and so I'll tell her when I see her next. I'm tired of jumping to her command."
"Sire, please! She has ways of hearing what others say! You mustn't even think such thoughts!"
"In all my years I never have," Mordred said. "And now I can hardly think of anything else."
"You are bewitched! Some evil sorcerer is ... planting these rebellious thoughts in your head by magic!"
Mordred grunted. "Hmm. I wonder. O
r, to look at it another way, maybe there was an evil sorceress using magic to keep these thoughts from my head." Hag Karnis didn't reply, but her outline against the sky shifted uncomfortably. Mordred went on. "That's it, isn't it? Mother's had me in a spell to keep me from questioning her. Well, it isn't working anymore."
"Please, Your Highness," the hag said. She definitely sounded frail now. "Do not be restless. Your mother wishes to make you king! Give her time. Wait a few more days. You'll see. There is no one who can stop our Good Lady now."
Mordred hesitated, then said, "All right. It won't hurt to let Arthur besiege Joyous Garde a few more days. I'll wait until the full moon, then march—whether Mother has contacted us or not! And, yes, my dear cringing crone, you're coming with us. Back to camp now. You go first."
The hag began to shuffle away, and as soon as her back was turned, Mordred calmly drew his long dagger and sank it into the crone's back. She shrieked with pain, and then again with what seemed like amazement. "You've ... you've killed me!"
"So?" Mordred replied indifferently. "You looked more than half dead anyway. But since I knew you were planning to send a message to Mother, yes, I've killed you."
"But ... I can't die! I've tied my life to hers ... it's impossible! She's immortal! Oh, my Lady, what has ... you said you could never die and ... oh, my Lady!"
The hag collapsed, and Mordred, having retrieved his knife from her back and wiped it on her robe, stepped over her. "It's fitting, really," he murmured, "that you should be as incoherent in death as you always were in life."
He disappeared into the bushes, and Terence slowly rose from his spot. A quick check confirmed that the hag was indeed dead, and then he took a deep breath and thought. He didn't understand all that he had just heard—the hag's last words were as incomprehensible to him as they had been to Mordred—but he had learned a few things. First, Mordred seemed to have lost his supernatural awareness of Terence's presence, which might mean that Morgause's power was cracking. Second, Arthur was at Joyous Garde—although why he should be besieging Lancelot's English home was beyond Terence's imagination. And third, Mordred would be marching on Arthur at the full moon. Terence brushed himself off, took his bearings from the stars, and headed north, toward Lancelot's castle.