Sleepless Knights by Mark Williams Page A

knocking around! He’d sort it out.”
    â€œPerhaps, Geraint. Unfortunately, Merlin considers it more important to dote on the enchantress Viviane, allowing her to seal him under the earth.”
    â€œHe’d do one of them space-making spells, like when he conjured up that stable with all those different levels, remember?”
    â€œYes, I do. I also remember spending three days trying to return the horses to their rightful owners, after it transpired that Merlin made no provision for their identification or efficient retrieval.”
    â€œStill, it made the King laugh.”
    â€œSpeaking of the King, did he pass through the gates this morning?”
    â€œAye, he did as a matter of fact. Went out before dawn, on his own. Said something about hunting, and to tell you not to worry, he’d be back for breakfast.”
    â€œForgive me, Geraint, but that cannot be so. The King’s sword is in a state of severe disrepair.”
    â€œYes, I did wonder about that, but he took it anyway. Reckoned it was good for a few more quests yet.”
    â€œI see. Still, I suppose if there is nothing enchanted involved, it is not so bad. I will send a squire out to him with a new sword from the armoury. Did he happen to say where he would be hunting?”
    â€œHe mentioned something about the Enchanted Glade in the Enchanted Forest.”
    â€œThank you, Geraint. I will catch up with you later.”
    â€œHang on, who shall I send out with the sword?”
    â€œOnly a magic blade will suffice in the Enchanted Forest. I will go myself.”
    â€œBut where you gonna find one of those? I mean, it’s not as if they grow on trees, is it?”
    Â 
IV
    The snow-topped trees of the Enchanted Forest spread out below me as Plum trotted out of the Camelot rear gates. It had been no small task to locate my steed, pushed as he was to the back of his stall and squashed between a piebald colt and an asthmatic old mare. But, with the kind of skilful hoof-work that made me bless the day I chose him, he extricated himself from the stable and we were soon on our way.
    Once I was confident he had hit his stride on the hill, I clicked my tongue and he sped up to a medium canter. The forest path levelled out ahead of us. My limited and never pleasant experiences of the Enchanted Forest had taught me to hold Plum back for a high gallop until it was absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, time was of the essence.
    The morning mists were starting to clear, and the King had at least an hour’s head start. I was not at all confident that his sword would survive even one encounter with a magical opponent, and the very thought filled my heart with dread. This dread was useful, in that it overwhelmed my apprehension at venturing into such unpredictable territory, where even the most meticulously planned routine could be thwarted in a heartbeat. Geraint was correct in his assumption that magic swords do not grow on trees. I was instead pinning my hopes on their existence under water.No-one forged a finer magic sword than the faerie folk, and their nearest known habitat was the Enchanted Lake. I pulled my hood tighter over my head and urged Plum into the forest, steeling myself for whatever it might throw in our path.
    The griffins were hibernating, so their nesting grounds were easy to negotiate for a horse as nimble as Plum. Their deep snores were disturbed by not so much as a single twig snap, and once safely through I rewarded him with a handful of oats. The Enchanted Marsh stretching ahead of us might have posed more of an obstacle, but thanks to a particularly bitter winter, the surface was almost entirely solid. A lone Marsh Wisp poked a spectral head out of a rare patch of unfrozen ooze, made a half-hearted attempt to point me in the wrong direction, then sank shivering back to his foul bed. Our progress was slow and slippery on the icy ground, but clumps of marsh grass provided traction, and we reached the other side