Catherine Fisher - Corbenic

As far as he could see the castle was supposed to be besieged, and he was part of the garrison, making a last-ditch defense. He had no idea whether this had ever really happened, or whether he was supposed to be cut down or not, and didn’t even care. So when the trumpets rang out and a troop of rescuing knights rode up he was as surprised and pleased as the shrieking kids on the wall.

Until he saw who their leader was.

Instantly he turned and began to struggle back through the crowd; one of the marshals yelled across at him angrily; a blow struck him on the side of the head, so that he staggered.

The knights had dismounted; now they were sweeping across the field, the weary defenders cheering, the attackers fleeing before them.

Dizzy, Cal climbed to his feet. And faced Hawk. The big man was leaning on his sword, yelling to someone.

Cal said, “Fight with me, stranger.”

Hawk turned. He looked at Cal’s eyes, muddy and dark. “We’re supposed to be on the same side,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Cal whispered.

“Do I know you?”

“Does that matter?”

Hawk hefted his sword. And swung.

The fight was a good one. The clang of their swords rang out over the remnants of the battlefield; the dead sat up to watch and the exhausted victors drank water from plastic bottles and whistled and cheered.

It was not a fight like he had fought with Kai. That had been real. This was an exhibition, a reveling in the mastery of the blades, the twists and turns, the energy, the total absorption. He knew Hawk could beat him at any moment, but it didn’t matter, it was like some dance that they could dance forever, a peace that soothed his soul. It was something like the Grail.

Until a stitch in his side made him gasp and he slid in the mud with a groan and Hawk stood over him, the point of his sword at Cal’s neck.

The crowd whooped and roared.

“Let’s see who I’ve beaten,” the big man gasped, breathless. He reached down and took the helmet off in one sweep. There was a flash of silence, even in all that racket.

“Cal!” he whispered.

There was no one else in the tower room. Cal eased his aching body onto the floor and sat cross-legged; Hawk brought the can of lager over and a bottle of water. He cracked the can open. “Still off this stuff?”

Cal nodded, drinking the water. Hawk drank too, deep. Neither of them seemed to know what to say; finally Cal asked, “How’s everyone? How’s Shadow?”

“She’s gone.”

His heart sank. “Gone? Where?”

“Home.” Hawk was eyeing him coldly. “Apparently she was on the run and someone told the police where she was. She said it was you. Was it?”

“Maybe.”

“Her parents came. One classy lady, her mother. There was one hell of a row. Arthur was furious; he insisted she went home. Hates deceit, our leader.” He drank again. “She never told me no one knew where she was.”

For a moment Cal saw his deep hurt. Then Hawk said quietly, “I was sorry to hear about your mother, Cal.”

“Forget it.” He was harsh; he couldn’t even think about that.

Hawk must have noticed. “What are you doing here, laddie?”

“Looking. For Corbenic.”

The big man came and sat down. Then he said, “Not only you. Since that night at Caerleon the whole Company have made a vow to quest for the Grail. Arthur has sent us all out; we’re looking for you, and for this Corbenic. Though when someone told the Hermit he laughed so crazily he scared us all.”

“Looking for me?”

“Yes. So is your uncle, I hear. He’s been onto the police; they found out you weren’t in Bangor.”

Cal felt cold, and furious. “He has no right!”

“He’s worried. So were we all.” Hawk drank the dregs of the can and put it carefully on the shaven boards of the floor. “Cal, I’m going to tell you about something that happened to me, years ago. I was out riding, and it was late, dark, and I got lost. I came to this place. Marshy. Birds flying out of the reeds. There was a sort of causeway, a creaky wicker track, and I rode across it. Trees met overhead. A really eerie place; I had to bend down and look ahead, and there was some sort of light at the end.”

He paused, staring at the beer can. Outside the clatter of hooves came up from the courtyard. Tense, Cal waited. “It was too dark to make the place out. The horse was nervous; I had to dismount, and I never found the light. There seemed to be some sort of great hall, and when I opened the door and went in it was full of people, and there was a feast going on. The odd thing was they were all really glad to see me; there was a fire and dry clothes all ready, but then I turned round and they saw my face. They looked devastated. “This isn’t the one,” they said. They were whispering. “ ‘ This isn’t the one .’ ” He picked the can up, drinking the last drips.

“What happened?”

“It all vanished, laddie.”

“Vanished?”

Hawk looked at him. “Lady Shadow, God bless her, never quite believed your story. But I did, son. Because I think I’ve been to that castle too, and failed, maybe worse than you. Maybe a lot of us have been there.” After a moment he said, “Come back with me, Cal. You shouldn’t be alone. Not now.”

Cal put his head in both palms. “I have to find the Grail, Hawk, I have to.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? It’ll be easier with someone else.”

That was true. For a moment he hesitated; then stood up and pulled the dented mail off, and stacked the borrowed sword on its rack. “All right. I’ll get my stuff and meet you back here. Say, an hour.”

But Hawk said softly, “Don’t lie to me, laddie.”

Halfway through the door Cal stopped. The big man was watching him. He tried to smile. “Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just . . . in the story Percival has to go back on his own. I have to do this, Hawk.”

For a moment he thought Hawk would grab him, force him to come. But the big man began unlacing his armor grimly. “I’ll wait for the hour,” he said.

The bed-and-breakfast was in a narrow street of half-timbered houses that leaned their heads together above the pavements. By the time he got to the corner it was late afternoon and the sky was heavy with sullen yellow clouds. Flakes of snow, small and hard, had begun to fall.

The osprey was perched on the railings of the churchyard.

Cal stopped dead, and it shrieked at him, one sharp screech of warning. Then it rose and flew to the top of the pinnacled tower, staring down.

Cautiously, Cal peered down the lane. There was a police car outside the bed-and-breakfast. The old couple were at the door, talking to an officer. Eagerly. Nosily.

Cal pulled his head back and swore viciously. How could they have found him? Trevor, yes, but how here?

Then he remembered taking money out of his account yesterday with the cashpoint card at the machine in the High Street. That was it. They could trace that. He felt like a criminal, like someone hunted. It infuriated him.

Quickly, barely thinking, he went back and up the alley, slipped in through the kitchen door and ran upstairs. Hurriedly he gathered his clothes, soap, maps, shoes, jamming them in the rucksack. Then he ran down and was out before the old man had finished his sentence.

All the way through the darkening streets of the town he ran, the snow falling on him and the osprey high overhead, swooping between the rooftops.

At the blacksmith’s stall he found only a small boy; pushing him aside he grabbed the sword in its plastic bag. It gave him a sly dig of pain under one nail.

The kid sputtered through a mouthful of crisps. “Hey! You can’t take that! My dad . . .”