Igraine the Brave Read Free Page A

that. Call your parents, Igraine, even if it does mean that your birthday present has to wait.”

4

     
    “W hat is it, Bertram?” asked the Fair Melisande as she and Sir Lamorak entered the Great Hall. Of course Albert had come with them, even though Igraine had sent Sisyphus to tell him that he at least was to continue working on her present. His hair was covered with silvery powder, and Igraine’s parents didn’t look much tidier, but all the same the Master of Horse bowed deeply to the Fair Melisande.
    “Distressing news, Your Loveliness,” he said.
    Igraine’s father raised his eyebrows. “Oh, no! Don’t say the old Baroness has …”
    “No, no.” Bertram looked all around, as if the paintings on the walls might hear him. “No, she’s all right, but a few days ago she had an unwelcome visit from her nephew Osmund, the one who turned out so badly. Osmund the Greedy, everyone calls him. And he came with his castellan, who never opens his visor except to eat.”
    “Oh, a knight?” Igraine was sitting on the long table where her great-grandfather Pelleas had carved his initials. “What sort of armor does he wear?”
    “It has spikes all over it, from his helmet to the greaves on his legs,” said Bertram. “A nasty piece of work, just like the man inside it. Yesterday morning,” he went on, lowering his voice, “just when I was getting the horses fed, Osmund suddenly announces at the crack of dawn that the Baroness has gone on pilgrimage and won’t be back for a year at the earliest. And guess what: He claims she’s left him in charge of Darkrock and all her lands while she’s away.”
    “The Baroness on pilgrimage?” Sir Lamorak frowned. “But she never leaves her room except to see that her horses are all right.”
    “Or to drink spicy mead,” said Igraine.
    “Exactly!” Bertram nodded. “No one saw her leave, and she didn’t go to the stables, either. Do you think she’d have gone away without saying good-bye to her favorite horse, Lancelot? Ask your daughter! She’s visited the Baroness often enough.”
    Igraine wiped some dove droppings off her mail shirt. “Impossible,” she said. “The Baroness never even went to bed without visiting Lancelot first. And she poured a little spicy mead in his water before breakfast every morning — even though I kept telling her that spicy mead would do him no good at all.”
    Albert frowned, which he could do quite impressively, and Igraine’s parents exchanged anxious glances.
    “That certainly does sound peculiar, Bertram,” said Melisande. “What do you suggest we should do? Shall we go back to Darkrock with you? Shall we ask this Osmund to tell us exactly where his aunt went?”
    But Darkrock’s Master of Horse firmly shook his head. “No, no, Your Loveliness! I haven’t come to ask you for help. I’m here to warn you. I think Osmund is a threat to your castle and your family.”
    “A threat to us? How?” asked Albert, removing a mouse from his hair.
    “It’s my belief …” Bertram looked around him again, as if fearing he’d be overheard. “It’s my belief this man Osmund came to Darkrock only to mount an attack on Pimpernel.”

    “Indeed?” Sir Lamorak raised his eyebrows. “Well, well. I expect you have some reason for that suspicion?”
    “He wants your Books of Magic, sir! His servants talk of nothing else. He’s planning to use your books to make himself the greatest magician in the world. And I assure you, when Osmund wants something he takes it. Not for nothing is he known as Osmund the Greedy.”
    “Yes, I think I’ve heard a few stories about him and his castellan with the spiky armor,” murmured Sir Lamorak. “Not very nice stories. But his aunt the Baroness is such a charming old lady. Even if she does like spicy mead a little too much.”
    “Osmund is stirring up feeling against you, sir!” Bertram went on. “He’s spreading word that you don’t deserve to own such powerful books if all you do with