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raising your hopes, only to fail you both.
Never think so, Dafydd, said Brian. If you cannot untie my knots, then
none of us can. Though I will try, in case my good name Saint should favor me
with a small miracle, if the two of you would wish it. Also it may be that
your bonds are less tight- Dafydd hissed suddenly for silence. Brian broke
off in mid-sentence and Jim held his breath. The shuffling noise had grown
slightly louder, but also it seemed closer. As they listened, it stopped
suddenly.
Utter soundlessness for a second.
Then, a soft, rubbing noise, very close to Jim, who was the farthest in from
the door to the tent. The noise had come from the back wall of the tent, only
feet behind him.
But before he could twist his body around and roll over so that he could at
least face in that direction-even if he could see nothing-a rough, wet tongue
licked his face; and there was a faint whimper that sounded familiar.
QB? murmured Jim. Is that you?
Another identical whimper.
If you know where to get us some help, get it, said Jim. Otherwise you d
better get out yourself-
It s all right, m Lord, said a small, breathy voice in Jim s ear. M Lord
QB s been leading me. In the dark we can walk right by these men and they
never knew we were there.
Brian and Dafydd were silent, listening.
But how- Jim broke off. What do you mean, leading you? Can he see in the
dark?
Oh no, m Lord, not in his own body or the hound body he s in now. He uses
his nose.
Oh, said Jim. Of course. Both wolves and domestic dogs-and dogs, for that
matter, were actually wolves, only socialized, as an academic friend who had
studied them had once pointed out-saw the world around them only in black and
white. But their remarkable power of scent allowed them to read the world in a
whole spectrum of odors humans missed. Of course, a hound could make his way
about a camp like this on a moonless night, with his nose giving him as good
an awareness of nearby people and tents as daylight might to humans-except for
colors, of course.
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We knew we d get a chance to speak to you, finally, Hob was going on.
There s no one else around at all now. He just dug under the cloth of the
tent. Now, we ll turn you all loose. He s chewing on the rope about your
wrists now, m Lord.
I know, said Jim, who was being jerked one way and another as the hound
alternately chewed on the ropes or set his teeth in one of them and tried to
pull it loose. How s he doing?
But at that moment, Jim felt the ropes fall away.
Good, he said, massaging his wrists and flexing his fingers. They did not
hurt, what with his earlier antipain personal magic; but they felt a little
numb. The ropes must have been tight. Where s the QB now? he asked the
darkness.
He s biting loose Sir Brian, m Lord.
Dafydd, said Jim. Say something so I can find you. I can work on your
ropes while the QB works on Brian s.
I am a little toward the tent front and ahead of you, James.
Jim tried to get to his feet, and immediately fell over.
My ankles are still tied! he announced, as much to the QB and Hob as to
Dafydd.
Do you still have your little knife with you? came the voice of Brian. Jim
was glad of the darkness that hid what he was sure was a look of
embarrassment. Outside of an eating knife, sword, and dagger, a knight was
supposed to be above needing to carry any other weapons, particularly hidden
ones. Brian, however, had disabused him of taking this commandment too
literally. What if you should encounter with some unknightly person? he had
pointed out quite reasonably.
Jim s visible weapons had, of course, been taken from him; but his little
hideout knife was still tucked into its hidden pocket on the inside of his
belt.
I ll be right with you, he said to Dafydd, sawing on the ropes around his
ankles with the small blade. The ropes parted; and he began to feel his way
toward the archer.
My thanks to you, James, said Dafydd, as his ropes were cut.
Don t thank me, said Jim. It s the QB who s turned us all loose. Brian? I
can cut your ropes now.
Needs not, said Brian with a grunt. I have my own small knife in hand,
now; and-there goes the last of my ankle bindings.
Then best we leave this place as quickly as we can, said Dafydd.
If I may say so, said the unexpected, normal voice of the QB, himself,
best that you hear what Hob and I have to tell you before we venture out. I
will be a hound again in a moment: I just turned into myself so I could speak
with you; and, I hope, lead you safely to your horses. But first you should
listen-
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The horses, yes! said Brian. Blanchard! I will not leave here without him.
But our weapons, what of our weapons? We would travel naked-without them!
We found those, too, piped up Hob. There was a dying campfire in the open
with no one around it; and I managed to get to it and ride off on a waft of
its smoke, just as though I was going from a fireplace back at Malencontri. I
went over the horse lines from end to end-Blanchard and the rest are at the
end we were all going to when the men took you prisoner.
But our weapons!
Sir Hugh kept them, Sir Brian. It was all but certain he would, broke in
the QB. Of your favor, Hob, I d like to tell the important information
first.
Important? said Brian. More important than Blanchard and our weapons... I
crave pardon, my Lord QB, you were saying?
There is no need for any to crave my pardon. But it is important you know
that after it grew to nightfall here, I stole back from where I had slipped
off to, as a hound; and found that Hob had left his hiding place under the
cloth covering the load of the sumpter horse as soon as the crowd of men who
took you prisoner had carried you off. Unobserved, for twilight had already
begun to fall, he was seeking the place where you had been taken.
Well done, Hob! said Brian.
My humble thanks, Sir Brian!
Jim could almost feel the warmth of the little creature, swelling with pride
at the compliment. What did you think of my- Hob began.
As I was about to say, interrupted the QB once more, together, we returned
to the tent of Sir Hugh de Bois; but although my hound nose told me that you
had been there recently, you were not there-though we found your weapons as I
have said. But I followed your scent moving away from his tent, to a larger
tent where you were talking to a lady and gentleman. That is the important
matter; for with my hound s nose I smelled, from beneath a back wall of the
tent, not only those two but another man hidden behind them-a man I knew.
Ah, the man I saw in the shadows, said Jim.
It may be so.
Who is he?
Someone I never expected to see again. You may remember I said that in the
past no one but our King Arthur could raise armies. I was wrong. There was one
other: he who had in truth raised armies to fight against Arthur in our great
King s old age-armies stiffened with those of Arthur s knights who fell away
from him over the sins of which Guinevere was accused. It was his unluckily
begotten son by another than Guinevere. His name is Modred.
Modred, said both Jim and Brian-thoughtfully on Jim s part, but
questioningly on the part of Brian. The QB had evidently heard the latter as
well.
Did you not know, Sir Brian, his voice said, how Gawain, driven by hate
for Lancelot, kept telling the King that Lancelot, overseas in his own domain,
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