In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) by Sarah Zettel Page A

Beside her sat the rider who had come to her aid. He regarded her with patient courtesy, and in the firelight Risa could see that his eyes were the color of dark amber, warm and deep. His grecian nose was somewhat crooked, having been broken at least once. His chin was clean-shaven in the old Roman style but it had clearly been several days since he had seen a barber. His mouth was wide and his black locks brushed the shoulders of a plain brown tunic trimmed with simple blue embroidery.
    Risa realized that her own cloak lay beneath her, protecting her from the cold stones of the floor. It was this man’s mantle that had fallen from her shoulders.
    She tried to bring some order to her thoughts, but her mind did not seem fully hers to command yet. She swallowed to clear some of the sand that seemed to clog her throat. “God be with you, Sir.”
    She meant to add, “where am I?” but the sight of a cross over an ancient and dusty altar answered her question, at least in part. Before she could stop herself, she thought to tell her father this place was in need of repair so he could send Whitcomb to see what could be done.
    Whitcomb, helpless on the ground, the flash of a knife in the moonlight …
    For you now there is no God, no savior, no father, no mother, no protector save for me
.
    A man on a tall horse, his sword drawn …
    Whitcomb still and dead, his blood staining the snow black.
    That evil memory robbed Risa of any polite words. As if discomfited by the silence, the white war horse stamped once. The knight got to his feet and went to the charger, patting its sides.
    “Gringolet reminds me he has not yet broken his fast,” he said in that same pleasant, comfortable way. “With my lady’s permission, I will take the horses outside to see what they can make of the foraging nearby.”
    Risa nodded dumbly. The man pulled a light halter from the pile of gear. He looped it over Gringolet’s head and led the animal out into the crisp, grey morning. Thetis and the palfrey both followed, docile and comfortable, leaving the room more airy, but also much colder. Risa wrapped her own cloak more tightly around her shoulders.
    What have I done? Oh, Whitcomb, my friend. I have been the death of you
.
    Peace
, she counseled herself.
The fault was none of yours
.
    Was it not?
    No
, she told herself firmly. It was the sorcerer who held the knife. It was he who corrupted your father and broke your mother before you were even born.
    The chapel door opened again and Risa’s head jerked up, startled. The man paused in the doorway,
    “My lady.” He bowed. “Your humble servant can only hope it was not he whom you were thinking of with such fury.”
    Risa blinked and tried to smooth her features. He was tall, this man. He’d had to stoop to enter the chapel and his shoulders almost filled the doorway. His mail shirt and other arms lay beside the horses’ harness, but he still wore his sword at his narrow waist.
    And she had slept the night away beneath his cloak.
    Risa almost wanted to laugh, but she knew if she began, not only would it be hopelessly rude, but it might swiftly turn to tears. She cleared her throat, and tried to remember her manners. First of all, she stood, and picked up the cloak he had graciously loaned her.
    It was a rough wool, but well-dyed a deep green and lined entirely with fur. Not at all the garment of a poor man. “I would know, Sir, to whom it is I owe such thanks. You surely saved my life this night.”
    The knight bowed, a smooth and studied gesture. “I am Gawain, son of Lot Luwddoc of Gododdin, and companion to Arthur the King at the Round Table.”
    Surprise tightened Risa’s fingers around the cloak. This was Gawain? Nephew and heir to the High King? The acknowledged champion of all the High King’s chosen and the one who sat at his right hand when the cadre of the Table Round met together?
    “Have I said something to give offence to my lady?” inquired Gawian, as he straightened up.
    “No