The Book of Mordred Page 4

  The knight closest to her, the stout, balding man, reached over to give her hand a squeeze.

  Lambert sighed. Loudly.

  Percival asked, "How many people know of the child?"

  "Know of her?" Alayna repeated.

  Lambert sighed yet again and said, "I think what Sir Percival is trying to ask is this: How many are aware of her so-called abilities? From the way you have presented the matter, you yourself are not certain whether they truly exist or not. Does this mean you ignored these abilities, or have you worked to conceal them?"

  "I..." One made her sound a fool, the other—someone who would use people and try to manipulate them. Was that what she was?

  Quietly, evenly, Mordred said, "Anyone who knew the father was a wizard might suspect the child. Whether the child truly has power is unimportant; the fact that she might may well be the reason she was taken."

  Percival, with a glance at Lambert—who hadn't had a chance to say anything—said, "I think what Sir Lambert is trying to say is he agrees."

  "Much more reasonable," Lambert argued with a sour look for the younger man's mockery, "that some ruffians, wearing stolen or discarded armor chose a well-born lady living alone at a remote residence, and—intent on extorting a ransom—"

  "They burned her house down around her," Mordred pointed out. "Hard to collect a ransom, if you destroy all the property; harder yet if you kill the person most likely to pay the ransom."

  "Please do not interrupt," Lambert said. "That would still leave Sir Galen, who might—"

  This time it was Arthur who interrupted. "Mordred and Percival may well have a point," he said. "There seems little reason to suppose that abductors would choose the roundabout way of seeking ransom from an uncle rather than a parent. Or," he added quickly since Lambert was opening his mouth, apparently ready with a rebuttal, "if the mother did not have as much money as the abductors hoped to gain, why not hold her as hostage, too, and call on the ties of brother, as well as uncle?"

  "A child is easier to control than a grown woman," Lambert objected.

  Arthur nodded but said, "Nonetheless..." and—incredibly—Lambert finally bowed his head to acquiesce. "So," Arthur continued, "we have a child taken, apparently by knights, apparently because of her abilities—real or imagined—in the art of magic. Therefore, we will start our search by questioning the wizards of the realm."

  Mordred said, "I will call upon Halbert of Burrstone."

  Lambert said, "You always suspect Halbert of everything, ever since you lost that joust with his nephew Bayard. Lances do break, you know, without magical intervention."

  Mordred gave a tight smile and said, "Halbert is also closest, which makes him most likely to have heard of this child."

  The other young knight, Sir Percival, gave the name of another wizard, and said he would ride to that one's home. Several of the other knights called out the names of wizards they would seek out.

  They were discussing her daughter, and nobody looked ready to explain the direction the discussion had taken, so—feeling like a child unable to understand the discourse of adults—Alayna raised her hand and timidly asked, "Why wizards?"

  Arthur answered, "Ever since Merlin left Camelot to be with Nimue,"—Alayna saw a few smiles, a few smirks around the table, but Arthur never blinked—"there has been no clear leader, no master magician. Some have started actively vying for power."

  Alayna cleared her throat and asked the King in a whisper, "How do you mean 'vying'? Magical contests?"

  "Well, yes, contests," Arthur said. "Sometimes." Then he admitted, "Sometimes assassinations."

  Alayna couldn't help herself, even though this was the King of whom she was demanding answers. "What are you saying?" She was aware that several of the men around the table leaned forward to hear her better, but she couldn't get her voice above a whisper. Beside her, Galen squeezed her shoulder, which might have been a warning that she shouldn't interrupt the King. But she continued. "Do you think that Kiera was eliminated as a potential rival?"

  Arthur didn't answer. Mordred was looking steadfastly at his own hands. Galen, she saw, was chewing the inside of his cheeks—a habit she remembered from their childhood whenever their father unexpectedly summoned them before him. Kiera had picked the trait up from him.

  Alayna felt an ache in her chest—a need to be reassured that her daughter was warm and well treated whether in a wizard's captivity or elsewhere. "Kiera is still alive," she said steadily. "I am her mother; and I can feel it."

  Arthur and Mordred exchanged a glance, but had the good grace not to offer their opinions.

  CHAPTER 5

  Although Galen had not participated in the council, now he spoke. "I would like to take part in the search for my niece. I do not know any of these wizards of whom you speak, but if someone tells me the name of one who might be involved, and where he is likely to be found..."

  Arthur said, "The five who have just been spoken for are the most likely. There are, of course, always village-wizards and country witch women, but if we begin to question all of them..." He shook his head. "That would be a task for more knights than there are in all of Camelot, if we were to seek them out in a timely manner. And I think it unlikely that the wizards of other lands would concern themselves with a five-year-old girl whose abilities may or may not surpass her father's."

  He was reminding them, Alayna thought, in as gentle a way as he could in front of Toland's widow, that Toland himself had been nothing but a village-wizard, not powerful enough to attract attention, so his daughter's fame was not likely to spread far.

  The stout, bald-headed man seated beside Alayna said, "But the earlier the power manifests itself, the stronger it is likely to be."

  "So it is said," Arthur agreed. Turning back to Galen, he said, "Still, Sir Galen, if there is a wizard behind this, it is likely to be one of the five just spoken of. Leave that quest to the older knights."

  "Such as Sir Mordred?" Galen asked, for Galen was probably closer in age to Percival, with Mordred being the youngest.

  But the King did not take this boldness amiss. He smiled indulgently—again Alayna was reminded of a forbearing father. "I agree it would be an excellent arrangement for you to accompany Sir Mordred," he said, which wasn't, exactly, what Galen had asked. "And at the same time, we will see if a ransom is demanded. And the child will be remembered in our prayers." He stood to indicate the council was over. "I believe supper must be almost ready, if not already set out."

  The others stood also and began to move toward the door.

  Prayers. Was that all that was left to her now? Was praying the most she could do to help Kiera?

  Mordred said to Galen, "I would be honored to have you accompany me," in too smooth a tone for Alayna to decipher if he meant what he said or its opposite. But if, in truth, he wasn't disposed to have Galen's company thrust on him, she thought, he certainly would not be pleased to hear that she, too, wanted to face Kiera's abductor.

  Mordred was continuing, "Castle Burrstone is three days' journey to the northeast, assuming a fairly fast ride. I recommend simple breastplates—giving up some measure of protection for the extra speed that lightness will bring. How much time will you require to prepare?"

  Alayna answered before Galen could. "I lost everything in the fire, so I must depend on the charity of someone here, please." Trying to make light, as though that would prove she would not be dead weight to slow them down, she added, "Of course, I never did have a breastplate."

  It took several moments for either Mordred or Galen to grasp her meaning. In fact, she thought it was Sir Percival who understood first. She saw him stop, his expression exhilarated, unwilling to leave before this new, interesting diversion was settled.

  In the doorway, Arthur turned back to say something to Percival, saw the younger man was no longer beside him, and paused also—which left the entire i council to either push ahead of their king or remain and listen to Alayna argue with her brother.

  "You cant
come with us," Galen said, aghast.

  "Firstly," Alayna said, "that would be Sir Mordred's choice, not yours, because—after all—you are accompanying him." And then, because—judging by Mordred's face—he was no more inclined than Galen to have her, she added, "Secondly, do not forget, I saw the men. I would recognize them." Lambert, annoyingly precise, said, "You think."

  "I would come closer to it than anyone else." Alayna could hear the displeased murmur of the knights about her.

  "Don't be absurd," Galen started, sputtering a bit—more and more like their father—at the same moment Mordred said, quietly, reasonably, "Lady Alayna, surely the child's best interests—"

  "I would not slow you down," Alayna said—she honestly didn't think she would. She was certainly lighter than the men, and yet capable of riding a good horse. "Without me, you go to this wizard you suspect, you question him, you look around: What else will he say but no, he had nothing to do with stealing away Kiera? But there is a good chance I will know. I can say yae or nay. I can say: This is the man, no matter what he tells you, or We are wasting our time; he wasn't there."

  Mordred said, "The wizard was not likely one of the two knights himself."

  Alayna brushed this argument away with an impatient hand. "His men, then. If he has nothing to hide, he will have no objection to presenting his knights to me."

  The burly Gawain—who had not spoken up at the council—now said, "This is not women's work."

  Galen said, "Alayna, use some sense. I know you are distraught—"

  Someone interrupted, "If it comes to a fight, you are likely to get everybody killed, the girl included."

  Alayna couldn't let herself believe that. She said, "I was trained to fight."

  Her statement was met with looks and snorts of derision.

  "Until I was twelve."

  This was meant to show that the training was beyond a young child's playing, but obviously they were not impressed.

  "I know I am not as strong as a man," Alayna said over their upraised voices. "But neither am I a helpless maiden who can do no more than clutch her hands together and faint at the first sign of trouble."

  Unexpected ally, Mordred said, "Of which we have ample proof, by the fact of your being here."

  Alayna weighed this as likely mockery or not, decided not, and gave a terse nod of appreciation for even this much support.

  There was a murmur of comments, as the knights found themselves unable to argue Mordred's point, but unconvinced by it.

  Gawain said, "The idea is ludicrous and irrational."

  "Unworkable," Mordred modified, though it still came down to his being against her.

  Everybody was agreeing.

  Except Arthur, who seemed to be just watching, waiting to see what would happen.

  And except for Percival. He said, "As the child's mother, she has the right."

  The voices continued for a few more moments until his words sank in.

  There were a few jeers, to which Percival didn't respond. He stood, tall and commanding with his arms folded across his chest, and once the room was totally silent, he repeated, "It is her right."

  Even the balding man who had squeezed her hand in comfort was shaking his head. He said, gesturing to Percival, "Arthur, tell this young pup that he has been out too long in the sun."

  Arthur looked at Percival. "Perhaps he has," he said. "But even so he is correct: It is her right. Far be it from me to stand between a mother and her child."

  Neither Mordred nor Galen appeared pleased, but neither would they argue with the King.

  "So then," Alayna said, unsure whether Percival's support extended so far as to be an invitation, "I will accompany you?"

  "That," Percival said with a smile, "would be unseemly: a woman and a man with no bond of kinship. You should go in the party that includes your brother."

  Galen scowled.

  "We are wasting time," Alayna said frantically.

  Not even addressing her, Lambert protested, "But even if she did know how to use a sword, she does not have one, nor is there armor that would—"

  "One thing of which Camelot is not lacking," Percival said, unbuckling his sword belt, "is swords." He handed belt and sheath and sword to Alayna. She didn't trust her voice to work and only mouthed the words Thank you. Percival continued, "And surely a leather jerkin can be found to fit her, to offer some amount of protection."

  The fact that he was pointing out to all that her bosom was not especially ample did not in this circumstance bother Alayna.

  "This is preposterous," Galen complained.

  With a glance toward Arthur, Mordred said, in that annoyingly indecipherable tone, "It has been decided." He held his arm out, indicating for her to precede him out of the council room. He told Galen, "Gather what you will need as quickly as you can. We will leave at dawn tomorrow."

  Alayna bit back a plea to get started immediately, but she knew there was no time. It would do Kiera no good to have them rush out ill-prepared and stumbling in the dark. Better to start fresh in the morning.

  Though she had not eaten all day, she would forgo the meal that the servants were in all probability setting out—in favor of bed. She didn't know how much longer she could stay on her feet. She hoped that—despite the sure knowledge that the knights would be grumbling about her—they could not dissuade Percival, who had spoken up for her, and Mordred, who had, however reluctantly, eventually backed her also. In fact, Mordred said to her now, "I disagree with what you have decided. But I admire it."

  She waited to see if this would come around again to a condemnation, but it didn't. He only added, seeing her expectant look, "It is not every mother who would fight so strongly to protect her child."

  Gawain said, brusquely, "Don't go on about our mother," and brushed past her and out the door, evert ahead of the King.

  And, with that as an example, knowing she hadn't heard the last of the arguments, Alayna too walked past everyone, her brother included, and out the door. She walked down the hall with her head high, for she had gotten what she wanted, and she knew it would be best for Kiera.

  But she also knew that once she got to the end of the hall, she would have to wait for Mordred, for she had no idea where she was going.

  The next day, Alayna fidgeted in the morning sunlight, which streamed in through the open window.

  The lady-in-waiting who was arranging her hair giggled.

  "Celeste."

  In the mirror—a real glass one, not just polished metal—Alayna could see Queen Guinevere's disapproving look.

  Celeste giggled again.

  Guinevere approached and took the hairbrush, then dismissed the servant with a motion of the head.

  Alayna caught Celeste's reflection in the glass, turning back in the doorway for a final look, no doubt relishing the amusement of a lady dressed in boys' clothing, a lady who proclaimed herself ready to take on a man's task.

  Guinevere moved behind Alayna and blocked her view of the door. "Silly girl," she said, but Alayna couldn't tell, not for certain, which of them the Queen meant. She rearranged Alayna's long brown braids into a much less elaborate knot, one which would stay up without needing a good deal of attention. Guinevere's hands were very thin and very white and had a tendency to tremble with nervous energy when they weren't occupied. But now they worked quickly and deftly. "I do wish you would reconsider," she said softly. "The men are trained for just this sort of thing, you know."

  "I can ride as well as any man," Alayna told her. "I am not going to hold them back. Kiera must be so frightened. She needs me. She needs to see me as soon as possible." Her own hands were rough, and she nervously picked at a piece of skin by her thumbnail until—just as she thought, I must stop before I cause it to bleed—it began to bleed. She held on tight to stop the blood but also to hide it.

  "Still..."

  When the Queen didn't finish her thought, Alayna looked up from her hands to Guinevere's reflection in the mirror. The Queen was looking beyond
her, over the mirror, and out the window. Alayna followed her gaze to the courtyard below, striped by early-morning light and shadows. Mordred was approaching, and Galen was with him.

  The two young men wore simple breastplates, which was what Mordred had suggested the previous day—that they should give up some measure of protection for the extra speed that lightness would bring.

  "Galen!" she called, and her brother found the right window and smiled up at her, which was a relief.

  Alayna clutched Guinevere's hand, unmindful for the moment that she was probably getting blood from her thumb on the Queen. "Thank you," she said with all her heart, but she was already thinking ahead to seeing Kiera, to holding a rescued Kiera in her arms. "Thank you for all you have done."

  Guinevere rested her hand on Alayna's head. "Be assured our hopes go with you," she told Alayna. Then, with a smile that said she knew there was no use saying any more, "Go."

  Alayna ran down the stairs just as the men came in, and she threw her arms around her brother's neck. "Oh, Galen, I'm so glad to see you. I half suspected you might leave without me."

  "If I had thought of it..." Galen said. But he didn't mean it, she could tell by his eyes. Still, "Alayna," he started in a tone that warned he was intent on trying to talk her out of this.

  "Galen," she said, matching his tone, as they had done when arguing as children.

  Galen sighed, relenting. He took her by the shoulders, a demand for her attention, for seriousness. He said, "You know you can always depend on me."

  It was true. He had always taken care of her, even though he was the elder by less than a year. He had always taken her side when she had come into conflict with their father or their stepmother. And last year, when Toland had died so suddenly, Galen had arrived, without being summoned, following a premonition that something was wrong.

  Now he smiled at her, even as he shook his head at her page's leggings and leather jerkin.