Crown of Dreams (15 page)

“Something about the Grail…” Rhianna whispered.

Elphin looked sharply at her. “What makes you say that?”

She shook her head. “Just something my father’s ghost said. He couldn’t remember
what, though. If this secret’s supposed to be too dangerous for men to know, then why did he tell my mother to give the jewel to me?”

Cai grinned. “And since when are you a man, Damsel Rhianna?” he teased. “Even if you dress like one.”

Her cheeks went hot, and Elphin smiled. “Your father must have made his jewel into a pendant, something only a damsel would wear, to keep it out of Mordred’s hands,” he said gently. “If it does contain the secret of the Grail of Stars, then we have to stop Mordred getting hold of it at all costs. King Arthur told Guinevere to give it to you, but he obviously wasn’t too worried if Arianrhod saw it. I wish we knew why she was left outside Camelot as a baby.”

“I know!” Cai blurted out. “Maybe
Arianrhod’s half fairy, and that’s why Elphin likes her so much…” He flushed at the Avalonian boy’s purple look. “Sorry, Damsel Rhianna, but mothers often abandon their babies if they think a fairy fathered them – didn’t you see anything in the Crown about her?”

She tried to remember if she’d learned anything about her friend. But she’d worn the Crown for such a short time, and she’d been too busy spirit-riding the shadrake to look for any other secrets.

“What I’d really like to know is who
Mordred’s
father is,” Cai continued. “Don’t suppose you saw that when you wore the crown, Damsel Rhianna? Lady Morgan would never tell anyone.”

Elphin raised an eyebrow. “Did you see who Mordred’s father was, Rhia?”

Rhianna shook her head, distracted.

“Maybe you can find out when you wear the crown again?” Cai said cheerfully. “The squires took a bet on it, and we’d all like to know.”

“Why don’t you ask Mordred when you see him?” Rhianna said, her head spinning. “I’ve got more important things to think about now than squires’ gossip.”

The two boys glanced at each other. “We should all get some sleep if we’re planning on fighting a battle against Prince Mordred and his army of the dead of tomorrow,” Elphin said, and strummed his harp softly to make the fire burn brighter.

Rhianna rolled herself into her cloak with a sigh. Had she made a very big mistake, leaving her father’s jewel with Arianrhod?

She woke from a nightmare of being buried in the shadrake’s lair to a chill, damp dawn. Their fire had gone out. Smoke from the druid beacons hung above the trees, and she couldn’t see her friends. She snatched out Excalibur and leaped to her feet.

“Shh!” Elphin said, jumping down from one of the mossy stones. “Someone’s coming.”

Her friend’s Avalonian ears were sharper than hers. Very faintly now, she heard the drumming of horses’ hooves. But even accounting for the distance and the gloom, she could only see a small party, not the proud troop of knights who had ridden out from Camelot.

“Where’s Cai?” she said.

“Gone to meet them.” Elphin pointed to
the young knight cantering through the trees on Sandy to meet the riders, his lance glittering in the dawn light.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Rhianna said, snatching up Alba’s bridle.

“Because you needed your sleep, and they’re coming here anyway.” He put a hand over hers and stared at her with his violet eyes. “And I wanted to get you alone for a moment.”

Her skin prickled. She wondered if he was going to kiss her again, as he had at the midsummer feast.

But he touched the spiral pathfinder he wore around his neck and said, “I don’t know how Arianrhod fits in yet, but I’ve been thinking about that jewel of your father’s, and I’m wondering if it might contain directions to the Grail Castle.”

Rhianna frowned. “But my father never found the Grail of Stars!” she protested.

“So everyone thinks. The knights failed in their quest to bring it back to Camelot. According to our songs, the only ones who saw it are dead now. But we know both the Sword and the Crown can be used to contact the dead. Maybe the knights who saw the Grail told Arthur their secrets after they died? That jewel might well contain the only knowledge we have of how to find the fourth Light.”

She stared at him. “And Mordred’s going to destroy it!” she whispered. Then she remembered how she’d mentioned her father’s secrets in the shadrake’s lair. “Unless he decides to use it first…” She couldn’t decide which would be worse – her cousin wiping King Arthur’s name from history, or finding
the Grail of Stars before she did.

“We mustn’t let him get hold of it, either way.” Elphin said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll help you all I can. But I have to warn you, Rhia, my magic won’t be much good against an army of Annwn. I can help you fight Mordred and his bloodbeards, but only the Lights have any power over ghosts.”

She pulled herself together. “Then Cai and I will have to deal with them between us, won’t we? The ghosts aren’t important. It’s Mordred we have to stop… oh, why don’t they hurry
up
? What’s Cai doing now?”

She watched the knights gather around the squire, their horses snorting in the cold air. The grey mare was with them, looking exhausted, her reins broken. The boy seemed to be telling them everything that had happened
since they split up, pointing up the mountain towards the red dragons’ lair and waving his lance about excitedly. Finally, he pointed to the stone circle. The knights turned their horses and galloped towards her and Elphin.

Rhianna hurried to saddle Alba, aware that Elphin’s violet gaze still lingered on her. But she hardly had time to think about what he had said. Her head spun with images of her cousin seated on the throne of Camelot wearing the Crown… Annwn’s ghostly warriors bringing the Grail of Stars to him… Arianrhod clutching the black jewel saying, “I’ll guard it with my life”…

Alba nudged her.
Evenstar’s rider is worried,
her mare reported.

“He’s not the only one,” Rhianna muttered. “We have to get back to Camelot before
Mordred gets hold of that jewel!”

She led the mare across the circle in such a hurry, her mist horse almost trampled the merlin as it glided low across the circle to perch on the nearest stone. It had a fat mouse trapped in one claw, which it proceeded to swallow in three bites.

“That’s better,” sighed the druid’s spirit. “Can you actually hear me now, Rhianna Pendragon? Or have those dragons scrambled your brain?”

“Merlin!” she said in relief. “Where are the rest of the knights?”

“Never mind. We haven’t much time, so just shut up and listen for once. This circle has gaps in it because of the fallen stones, which makes it dangerous because you could easily lose your way in the mists. When Elphin opens the
spiral path, I’m going to have to stay on this side to make sure Morgan Le Fay doesn’t lure you all off the path into Annwn. Remember what I told you about the Crown of Dreams? If Mordred’s got into Camelot and restored Arthur’s jewel to the crown, you’ll have to be very careful. Best thing you can do is delay him until I get there, and—”

“Rhianna Pendragon!” boomed a voice. A big horse cantered across and stopped
nose-to-nose
with Alba. Sir Bors dropped out of the saddle and crushed her in one of his unexpected hugs. “Don’t you ever,
ever
go off on your own in enemy territory like that again!” He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “What happened to your boots?”

Rhianna started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. The laughing turned into tears, and she
sniffed them back hurriedly. All the knights were watching, as well as her friends and the merlin.

“Never mind my boots,” she said, raising her chin. She rested her hand on Excalibur’s hilt. “What happened to Sir Lancelot and the rest of the knights? I sent a message telling you all to come to the circle. The roads are flooded.”

Sir Bors glanced at Sir Bedivere. He coughed awkwardly. “We couldn’t read half of it,” he admitted. “Lancelot saw the druid beacons lit up last night, and all he could think of was the queen, so we said we’d stay and look for you so he could ride back to Camelot and help her. Don’t worry, Damsel Rhianna. They got across the river before it burst its banks. They’ll ride as fast as they can.”

“We’ll be faster.” She swung into Alba’s
saddle and glanced at Elphin. He clutched his spiral pathfinder and nodded.

The knights, who had all done this before, took their places behind the Avalonian boy as he led the way around the circle. The mist horses’ manes shone silver in the gloom. Cai’s lance glittered. Excalibur’s jewel glowed.

The merlin finished scraping mouse fur off its beak and called, “I’ll fly back the long way and meet you at Camelot. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there, Rhianna Pendragon!”

The little hawk spread its wings and began to fly around the circle in the opposite direction, making Rhianna dizzy every time it flashed overhead. The back of her neck prickled as the air inside the circle began to sparkle. Dragonland with its damp hills and its mossy stones disappeared.

For a few breaths, she was alone with only her mist horse’s sweet scent and the magic of the spiral path around her. She patted Alba’s neck. “Let’s hope it’s not raining at Camelot,” she whispered to the mare, and drew Excalibur in case they had to fight immediately.

Then the mists parted, and she saw her friends and Sir Bedivere and the other knights turning their horses in confusion. Alba snorted and picked up her hooves in surprise.

It is very wet!

Rhianna’s heart sank. They’d emerged in the stone circle where they’d picnicked in the summer. But instead of being on a dry hill an easy half day’s ride to Camelot, the stones were surrounded by water gleaming under a stormy green sky for as far as they could see.

“Go back, quick!” Elphin turned Evenstar,
his mist horse’s silver-shod hooves skimming the surface, while the other horses splashed and floundered behind him. But as the last knight appeared from the stones, the path closed with a final sparkle.

Elphin clutched his spiral and stared warily at the water. “I’m sorry, Rhia,” he said. “Merlin’s closed the path. We’re trapped.”

D
ARK
K
NIGHT AT THE
G
ATES

M
ordred sat his black stallion outside the gates of Camelot and gazed up at the battlements. He had dreamed of this moment all year. Admittedly, in his dreams the gates had stood open to welcome him, rather than being shut in his face. But that was a small point, easily put right now that he wore the Crown of Dreams.

He adjusted the crown on his head and threw back his cloak so that his armour shone in the dawn. He had tied the reins around
the stump of his right wrist so that he could grip his war-axe in his good hand, and before leaving the boats, he’d washed his hair in the floodwater that by now had hopefully drowned Arthur’s knights.

“How do I look?” he asked his bloodbeard captain.

“Very kinglike, Master,” the man said.

Mordred smiled. “Have you got the girl’s things?”

The bloodbeard lifted a pair of small deerskin boots and the battered Pendragon shield they’d taken from his cousin when they’d captured her in Dragonland.

“Good. Then let’s wake Camelot’s lazy squires!”

Mordred waved his axe. At his signal, one of the bloodbeards blew a loud blast on
a horn. The warriors of Annwn, surrounding the hill below the walls, howled eagerly and rattled their ghostly shields with pale swords. Those warriors that were out of reach of the Crown’s magic stayed invisible, of course. But an eerie green mist rose out of the flooded ditches, making the sound even more frightening.

At Mordred’s side, Uther Pendragon’s ghost bared his teeth at the castle and shook his rusty sword. “Guinevere!” he roared. “Where are your manners, girl? Open up! I want to see the lass my son took to his bed, the one who couldn’t give him an heir.”

“Get lost, traitor!” A lanky dark-haired squire scowled down at them from the battlements and raised his bow. The weapon trembled as he took aim, and his arrow
glanced off Mordred’s axe to fall limply on the path.

Mordred laughed. “Is that the best you can do?”

The boy yelled something else, and a line of young heads appeared along the wall beside him. More arrows rained down – mostly way off target, but one went through Uther’s ghostly body to land shivering in the grass. His green horse snorted and danced sideways.

“Not bad,” Uther commented. “If I’d still been alive, that arrow might have killed me.”

“Maybe it’d be wise to move back a bit, M-master?” said the bloodbeard captain, sheltering under the Pendragon shield.

“Oh, stop cowering like a scared damsel!” Mordred snapped. “Nothing can harm me while I wear the Crown of Dreams – watch!”
He rode his stallion forward until its nose touched the huge wooden gates, and spread his arms wide. He stared up at the young defenders. “Well, go on then!” he called. “Be heroes! Kill me… if you can.”

The dark-haired squire had a good try. His next arrow flew straight for Mordred’s exposed throat.

Mordred closed his eyes and concentrated on the jewel of Annwn. It warmed against his forehead, and there was a bright green flash on the other side of his eyelids. It made his head throb. But when he opened his eyes again, the arrow lay in two pieces in the mud, and the boy was staring at his broken bowstring in confusion. The other squires quickly ducked back behind their battlements.

Mordred laughed. “See? None of your
weapons can harm me while I wear the Pendragon crown. What’s your name, boy?”

“Gareth,” the lad said, sullen now.

“Well Gareth, as you know I’m Mordred Pendragon. King Arthur’s daughter lies dead and buried in Dragonland. That means the throne of Camelot is mine now, since I’m the only one left alive with Pendragon blood. That’s how it works, isn’t it old man?”

He glanced at Uther and smiled at his grandfather’s nod.

“Now then, Gareth. Run and fetch the queen for me, and maybe I’ll let you be my squire when I’m king. You’re not a bad shot with that bow of yours, considering. Better than that so-called champion my cousin brought with her to Dragonland. Fine lot of use he was, when we killed his princess.”

The boy’s gaze fell on the Pendragon shield in the captain’s hand. He paled. “Princess Rhianna’s dead…?”

“That’s right. And all her knights and her little friends by now, too… just as you and your friends will be before tonight, if you don’t hurry up and do what I say.”

Gareth’s head disappeared. The lad was gone such a long time, Mordred wondered if he would need to give the idiot squires another demonstration of his power. Using the crown to turn aside the arrow had already given him a splitting headache.

He closed his eyes with a scowl. But before he could call on the magic again, the gates creaked open. He tensed, half expecting more arrows. But his Aunt Guinevere had come to welcome him herself, still in her nightgown
with her copper hair loose and flaming in the rising sun. She clutched a knight’s cloak around her… one of Lancelot’s, no doubt.

She took one look at the Pendragon shield and the boots dangling from the bloodbeard’s hand, and gave a little scream of fury. A dagger flashed out from under the cloak, and she launched herself at Mordred.

“Murderer!” she shrieked.

He was so surprised, he didn’t have time to raise his axe. He might have expected such behaviour from his cousin, but not from his Aunt Guinevere, whom he’d held captive all last winter and beaten the spirit out of – or so he thought. His bloodbeard captain was caught by equal surprise, unable to draw his sword because he still held Rhianna’s boots and shield.

Uther’s hand shot out in an attempt to catch the queen’s wrist. The old man moved fast, though of course as a ghost he could not touch her, and her blade passed right through the dead warrior to strike at Mordred. But the magic of the Crown saved him again. The jewel flared green, and his aunt staggered backwards. The dagger spun from her fingers and disappeared into the nearest ditch. The queen collapsed before Mordred’s horse, her bright hair spread out around her head like a fan.

A shocked hush fell.

Everyone stared at Mordred, waiting to see what he would do.

This was going even better than he’d hoped. He smiled and dismounted. Passing his axe to his bloodbeard, he limped across
to Guinevere and knelt beside her.

He drew off his gauntlet with his teeth and laid his palm on her brow. She was still breathing – but that could be turned to his advantage.

“My poor aunt!” he said in a concerned tone. He looked around and spotted the dark-haired squire who had tried to kill him earlier hovering at the gates. “Don’t just stand there, Gareth!” he snapped. “Find someone to carry the queen up to her bedchamber. Tell her maids to make up a fire to keep her warm. Oh, and while you’re at it, send my mother’s ex-maid down to me – the dark girl with the witch-mark on her cheek. She’s still here, I understand.”

The squires glanced uneasily at one another.

“She’s in the dungeon,” Gareth said eventually. “Is the queen…?”

“Dead? No, not yet. But the maid must attend me as soon as possible so we can get the formalities over with. Once I’m king, I’ll be able to use the Crown’s magic to heal Guinevere.”

The squires whispered again. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Then two ancient knights came staggering out with a stretcher and gently lifted the queen on to it. They gave Mordred black looks as they staggered back inside with their burden.

They left the gates open. It wasn’t exactly a royal welcome, but the squires reluctantly stood aside to allow him through.

“Good!” Mordred said, taking his horse’s reins. Ordering Uther and his ghostly army to
stay outside to guard the castle, he beckoned to his bloodbeards. “Let’s go and see if Arthur’s throne fits.”