Pointing once again to the stream, Cian urged Issylte to hurry.
“Follow the stream, Your Majesty. Go quickly, and use the dagger to defend yourself if necessary. The fairy witch’s cottage lies deep in the Hazelwood Forest. It’s sheltered in a grove of trees, hidden by branches covered with vines and briar. Go now, and may the Goddess be with you, Emerald Princess.”
Issylte stumbled away, following the stream deeper into the forest. She heard the loud slap and shout of “HAH!” as Bolduc frightened her beloved mare. Tears stung her eyes and she staggered, nearly tripping over her dress.
She would never see or ride Luna again. She would never see her father, would never have the chance to beg him to bring Gigi back. She’d never see Gigi again. Ever. Her throat was so tight she couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t go home. She’d never see the handsome Lord Liam again. Or Roisin and Aislin. Sharp branches cut her cheeks, the copper tang of blood filling her nostrils.
King Donnchadh’s gentle face floated before her, and Issylte nearly choked. He was lost to her now, just like Gigi. Her father would be heartbroken to learn of her “death”, and Issylte would long for the feel of his arms around her and the loving gaze of his twinkling, merry eyes.
Suddenly, her fingers sensed the icy pull of her stepmother’s touch. A shiver crept up her spine. Could the queen see her? Did someone follow her? She began to run. She stumbled through the forest, following the stream. The cottage was hidden in the woods. A witch fairy lived there. A kind one, Lord Cian had said.
The temperature was dropping. She had to hurry. Soon, it would be dark, and the predators would come out of the woods. There were wolves…
Hungry, frightened, and alone, Issylte sensed she was being watched and followed. She searched the forest but could see nothing in the dimming twilight. She withdrew the dagger that Cian had given her. At least she had some protection. She heard a rustling in the woods. But, with her deaf ear, she couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. Was it behind her? Ahead? She didn’t know.
She scanned the forest, sick with fear. In the dim light, she spotted a small woven basket just up ahead, alongside the stream.
She rushed forward to examine it. Inside was a large red apple, some berries, and a garland of the wild pink roses that were abundant in the forest. A feeling of peace flooded her.
“It is safe,” the forest seemed to say. “Eat.”
Issylte sniffed the apple and red berries. The fruity scent made her mouth water. She took a small bite and waited a moment to see if it had an odd taste. It tasted delicious.
She devoured half of the apple and a few of the berries, reserving the rest as a precaution in case she couldn’t find the cottage. She quenched her thirst from the stream, picked up the basket, and continued her perilous trek through the Hazelwood Forest.
Once again, she had the sensation of being followed. She heard the patter of feet, the rustling of leaves. This time, when she glanced to her right, she glimpsed some sort of small creature which scampered into the woods.
Hushed whispers—of children? —seemed to come from the forest.
Despairing that it would soon be too dark to see, Issylte spotted a trail of light pink wild roses leading from the stream into a thicket of trees.
“Follow the trail,”the forest whispered. Her veins thrummed in response.
The wild roses led to a dense wooded hamlet where several trees with low-lying branches covered in vines concealed a small cottage with a thatched roof. The smell of smoke from the chimney wafted through the air. Golden light glowed from the two shuttered windows on either side of the entrance door. Thick trails of ivy embedded with pink flowers clung to the stone walls. The floral vines covered the entire front of the cottage, concealing it from view. Wild roses led right up to the carved wooden door.
Issylte had found the witch of the Hazelwood Forest.
Chapter 6
The Knighting Ceremony
As a reward for the Tournament of Champions, King Marke presented adestrier—a warhorse—to each of ten winners from the kingdom of Cornwall. The generous king also gifted each of the champions a new suit of armor, with a surcoat bearing the knight’s coat of arms, for the journey to Camelot. The knighting ceremony had officially begun with a sumptuous feast of fresh fish, roast boar, spring vegetables and assorted fruits, followed by the ritual bathing and dressing in white for the Night Vigil in the castle chapel. This morning, Tristan and his fellow knights, traditionally attired in red cloaks and black breeches, followed Lord Gorvenal to the entrance of the Great Hall of Tintagel where the dubbing ceremony—theadoubement—would take place.
The long rectangular Great Hall of Tintagel was made of stone, with columned arches along the eastern wall, where morning sun shone through the stained glass ogival windows. Four enormous chandeliers hung from the intricately carved wooden embellishments which graced the high, curved ceiling. A large oval window stood high above the raised dais of pine-scented gleaming fruitwood where King Marke, in a splendid red velvet cape with ermine at the collar and front, a golden crown adorned with glittering gemstones atop his regal head, sat the tufted red velvet throne, flanked by four royal guards in finest livery.
The animated voices of lords and ladies, resplendent in bright satins, jewel toned velvets and rich brocades filled the vast room. Joyous music of fiddles and pear-shaped rebecs soared through the air. Lovely daughters of marriageable age, clad in softest silk, tittered with excitement at the prospect of finding a handsome husband. Wealthy nobles displayed their affluence in fur lined capes fastened with golden brooches which glinted in the morning light. The heady scents of rosewater, jasmine, and lavender perfumed the air.
The herald’s trumpet resounded through the Great Hall, announcing the arrival of Gorvenal—the First Knight of Tintagel—and the ten accolades. The jubilant throng of spectators parted to allow the procession to form a queue upon the carpeted area before the king. At once, all heads bowed before King Marke as he stood to welcome the ten champions who would journey to Camelot and become Knights of the Round Table of King Arthur Pendragon.
One by one, the accolades knelt before the dais to pledge their oath of fealty. King Marke dubbed each knight, bestowing the title of “Sir” with the officialadoubement.
As Tristan approached the dais to kneel before the king, his stomach clenched; his mouth went dry. Wavy brown locks fell forward as he bowed his head humbly before his uncle, lowering himself to his knees. In a deep voice which rang out through the Great Hall, Tristan pledged his vows as a knight of Tintagel, his right fist chested in fealty.
“I swear my allegiance to you, King Marke of Cornwall. I swear to always protect and defend a lady. To show loyalty, honesty, and integrity. To defend the weak and the poor. This I solemnly swear, my sacred oath of chivalry.”
King Marke stood before Tristan. He unsheathed his royal sword Plantamort and dubbed his nephew’s right shoulder, thenthe left. “I dub thee Sir Tristan, the Blue Knight of Cornwall. My nephew, my champion, and my heir.”
