past the guards. Now it was time to fetch Lancelot.
11
L uckily, Igraine didn’t meet Jost again. She wasn’t sure whether he might give her away out of fear. Lancelot snorted excitedly as she put the bridle over his head, but she placed a soothing hand on his nose and led him out of the stable, looking as if she had done it countless times before.
No one stopped her. No one shouted, “Halt! Who goes there?” as she swung herself up on Lancelot’s back once they were in the yard. She rode unhindered past knights and cattle dealers, farmers and blacksmiths, and made her way through the crowd of people thronging in through the gate in the thick castle walls. At last she just had to pass the guards posted on the bridge.
But as she was riding the great stallion past them, one of them roughly seized her reins.
“Stop!” cried the man. “What have we here? And where do you think you’re taking that fine horse, girl?”
Igraine clutched the bundle containing her armor and looked at him as fearlessly as possible. “To the water hole, where do you think? He won’t drink anywhere else.”
“Is that so?” The guard patted the stallion’s neck admiringly, and turned to the other men. “Ever seen this horse before? Rather too handsome to be in the care of a little girl, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s that old devil Lancelot,” one of the guards called back. “Jost looks after him. Better send for Jost.”
Jost … Igraine tore the reins out of the guard’s hand and dug her heels into Lancelot’s sides. The stallion put back his ears, reared so violently that she almost slid off his back, and galloped away. Some farmers with carts full of fruit were coming over the drawbridge toward them. The horses pulling the carts shied as Lancelot raced on. A farmer jumped into the moat as one of the carts tipped over. Mountains of fruit rolled over the bridge, but with one great leap Lancelot jumped over them and was galloping on. Igraine ducked low over his outstretched neck. His hooves thundering, the stallion stormed off the bridge and past the watchtowers that rose to the sky on both sides of it. The guards on the towers were aiming their catapults, ready to fire, but Lancelot charged on through the dealers and farmers bringing their livestock down the road to the castle, through the crowd of jugglers and beggars and soldiers. They all scattered, screaming, and made way for the snorting stallion.
“Turn west, Lancelot!” cried Igraine, swinging him around. “We have to go west!” But when she looked back she saw two horsemen in pursuit of them. One was clearing himself a path through the screaming crowd with his sword, the other was drawing his crossbow. Drat it! she thought. Today of all days I have to be wearing skirts!
But just as the first arrow flew past Igraine’s shoulder, Lancelot swerved off the road and galloped over the bleak, treeless plain surrounding the castle. None of their pursuers’ horses could match his speed, and Lancelot carried Igraine off, far, far away from the towers of Darkrock and toward the dark hills where the giant lived.
12
I graine rode until night fell and stars came out in the sky above the hilltops. Only once did she stop for a short rest, to let Lancelot drink and graze and to get into her armor. They met no one on their way, and the only sounds they heard were the voices of animals in the dark. Two little dragons barely half Lancelot’s size crossed Igraine’s path, and once she saw a herd of unicorns drinking at a river. When the moon rose, and the world was all blue and black, Igraine finally reached the hills where the giant Garleff lived.
“Just look for his footprints,” her father had said. “You can’t miss them.” And to make doubly sure, Albert had given her a small bag of silver dust. If Igraine let just a little of it fall to the ground as she rode, all the tracks there began to shine — every print left by a paw, a hoof, or a foot — and
11
L uckily, Igraine didn’t meet Jost again. She wasn’t sure whether he might give her away out of fear. Lancelot snorted excitedly as she put the bridle over his head, but she placed a soothing hand on his nose and led him out of the stable, looking as if she had done it countless times before.
No one stopped her. No one shouted, “Halt! Who goes there?” as she swung herself up on Lancelot’s back once they were in the yard. She rode unhindered past knights and cattle dealers, farmers and blacksmiths, and made her way through the crowd of people thronging in through the gate in the thick castle walls. At last she just had to pass the guards posted on the bridge.
But as she was riding the great stallion past them, one of them roughly seized her reins.
“Stop!” cried the man. “What have we here? And where do you think you’re taking that fine horse, girl?”
Igraine clutched the bundle containing her armor and looked at him as fearlessly as possible. “To the water hole, where do you think? He won’t drink anywhere else.”
“Is that so?” The guard patted the stallion’s neck admiringly, and turned to the other men. “Ever seen this horse before? Rather too handsome to be in the care of a little girl, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s that old devil Lancelot,” one of the guards called back. “Jost looks after him. Better send for Jost.”
Jost … Igraine tore the reins out of the guard’s hand and dug her heels into Lancelot’s sides. The stallion put back his ears, reared so violently that she almost slid off his back, and galloped away. Some farmers with carts full of fruit were coming over the drawbridge toward them. The horses pulling the carts shied as Lancelot raced on. A farmer jumped into the moat as one of the carts tipped over. Mountains of fruit rolled over the bridge, but with one great leap Lancelot jumped over them and was galloping on. Igraine ducked low over his outstretched neck. His hooves thundering, the stallion stormed off the bridge and past the watchtowers that rose to the sky on both sides of it. The guards on the towers were aiming their catapults, ready to fire, but Lancelot charged on through the dealers and farmers bringing their livestock down the road to the castle, through the crowd of jugglers and beggars and soldiers. They all scattered, screaming, and made way for the snorting stallion.
“Turn west, Lancelot!” cried Igraine, swinging him around. “We have to go west!” But when she looked back she saw two horsemen in pursuit of them. One was clearing himself a path through the screaming crowd with his sword, the other was drawing his crossbow. Drat it! she thought. Today of all days I have to be wearing skirts!
But just as the first arrow flew past Igraine’s shoulder, Lancelot swerved off the road and galloped over the bleak, treeless plain surrounding the castle. None of their pursuers’ horses could match his speed, and Lancelot carried Igraine off, far, far away from the towers of Darkrock and toward the dark hills where the giant lived.
12
I graine rode until night fell and stars came out in the sky above the hilltops. Only once did she stop for a short rest, to let Lancelot drink and graze and to get into her armor. They met no one on their way, and the only sounds they heard were the voices of animals in the dark. Two little dragons barely half Lancelot’s size crossed Igraine’s path, and once she saw a herd of unicorns drinking at a river. When the moon rose, and the world was all blue and black, Igraine finally reached the hills where the giant Garleff lived.
“Just look for his footprints,” her father had said. “You can’t miss them.” And to make doubly sure, Albert had given her a small bag of silver dust. If Igraine let just a little of it fall to the ground as she rode, all the tracks there began to shine — every print left by a paw, a hoof, or a foot — and
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