The Book of Mordred (2 page)

She found Ned's body behind the barn, and she did not need to turn him over to see that he was dead.

The body of a stranger, perhaps squire or attendant to one of the knights, lay nearby. Ned, who had taught Alayna and Galen all about riding and weaponry and survival in the forest, had been past sixty, yet she saw that it had taken a sword blow from behind to kill him.

More tears ran down her face, this time nothing to do with the smoke.

"Kiera!" she called again, her voice finally gaining strength. She gulped deep breath though it felt like nails scraping the inside of her throat. "Kiera!" she screamed.

There was no answer.

She turned at a loud cracking sound from behind and saw the house cave in. The air quivered in the heat as she watched the end of all that had remained of her life with Toland.

Alayna dug her fingers into her hair, sank to her knees. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth. "Kiera," she moaned one more time.

But, of course, there was no answer to that either.

Alayna forced herself to steadiness, for she'd be no use to herself or Kiera in this state. Toland would have been better suited to handle such a situation.

But then she thought,
Or perhaps not.
His magic had been unable to stave off the sickness that had started in chills and fever, and had ended in his death. The person she needed was Galen, who was a knight as well as being her brother. But whether he was at home with their parents or at court at Camelot, or someplace else entirely, there was no waiting for him.

She returned to the still-blazing barn, to Ned. With detached coolness that she knew could not last forever, she noted the wind and the amount of dry grass in the area and saw that the fire would consume Ned's body and that of the attackers' squire before dying out itself. Fire was the old way, frowned upon by the Church as a heathen rite, but she hoped Ned would forgive.

In any case she had no choice.

"
Pax,
" she said, holding her sleeve to her face, against the stench of burning. Remembering how Ned had agreed to leave her father's service to go with her and Toland, knowing he deserved better—she sprinkled a handful of dirt over his body. "Pray God for the dead," she said out loud, then murmured, "Dear, dear teacher."

The other corpse, the man who had come with her attackers, had nothing she could use: neither insignia, ring, or clasp from which to learn his identity, nor blade or water flask for her to take with her now. She didn't give him another thought.

Now it was time to turn her attention back to the living.

The tracks of five horses led across the field in the direction of the east-west road first cleared by the advancing Romans. Two knights she had seen, and two attendants—including the dead one. That would have required only four horses. Either there had been one more attacker she had never seen, or they had taken Alayna's own gentle mare with them. If they had taken Kiera—
They must have taken Kiera,
Alayna assured herself, unwilling, unable, to think of the alternative—if they had taken Kiera, they may well have wanted the mare for her to ride. In any case, apparently Toland's sturdy old nag had not been considered worth the taking and had been left to burn.

She knew it was useless to go running after them on foot. But still she had to fight the inclination to do so, and to head—instead—for help.

The nearest holding was old Croswell's, to the north, nearly half the morning away, for Toland had believed a wizard should live somewhat remotely, separate from the casual bickerings and rivalries of near neighbors constantly wanting to bespell each other. Alayna started down the path, but it had become overgrown since Toland's death. Hardy, clinging weeds overlapped the edges and snagged the skirt of her dress. She had to lean over to pull herself free, and she noted for the first time that her hands were still speckled with bits of dried dough.
Well,
she told herself grimly,
at least I won't starve to death.

She kept her head down to watch the path. Her feet, in light shoes never meant for outside use, quickly became bruised and sore. She tried to recapture the energy she'd had as a child, training with Galen, when physical exertion had been an enjoyable challenge. But every time she looked up to note how far she'd come since the last glance, it was always a disappointment.

Instead, her mind filled with thoughts of last spring.

She remembered Toland sitting at the table, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, unable to get warm though she and Kiera had already put aside their winter woolens. Looking back, she knew it for the first sign of his sickness, though at the time she hadn't seen that.

At the time they had been arguing.

"Oh, Toland!" she cried, coming in from airing out the bedding and finding her husband and their child with heads close together, mixing bitter-smelling herbs into a pasty green substance she couldn't begin to guess at. "I've asked you not to do that in front of Kiera."

Toland had looked up from his work, his expression guilty and defiant at the same time. "What? This smells foul, but it's only to help chickens lay. It isn't dangerous."

"That's not the point." Alayna had glanced at Kiera, who sat still on the edge of the table and said nothing. The child's face, always too pale and serious for her age, remained impassive.

Toland had sighed. "Oh, Alayna. I'm not corrupting our daughter. She has the power. Train her in magic, and she'll be able to control it. Ignore it, and she'll just be less adept."

"Kiera," Alayna had said, "tables are not for sitting on. Go get water for washing our hands before supper."

Alayna remembered how Kiera had turned to her father, as if waiting for his permission. Toland had kept his face expressionless, and Kiera had gone, sulkily, still never saying a word.

"Alayna..." Toland had started.

Alayna had put her back to him, poking at the fire, and eventually he, too, stormed out of the house without a word.

For love of him, she had left her ancestral home, left despite her father's warning to be sure this was what she wanted, for—if once she left—she would not be welcomed back. She had learned to do without servants or rich clothes.

But it was one thing to be married to a wizard; she would
not
raise one. Too often she had heard of folk suddenly blaming all their problems on magical interference. Too often suspicion would boil over into violence, sometimes directed against people who had no more magic than Alayna herself, often against old women who had lost their wits and young excitable girls. Toland was capable of taking care of himself. Twice they had packed up what little they owned and fled to avoid mounting hostility. Alayna would
not
let Kiera be subject to that.

Magic was the only thing about which she and Toland had ever argued. And, in the end, it was Alayna who had the last word. For when Toland died, she had gathered his potions and herb pots and talismans, and had burned them all.

Just as the knights today had burned all the possessions
she
treasured.

Alayna forced her mind into blankness and kept on walking.

When she finally did see Croswell's cottage, the old farmer was hitching his horse to a wagon, apparently about to leave for town. "Wait!" she called, waving to get his attention. "Please wait!" But she used all her breath running. When she finally reached him, she could do no better than to pant, "Need your help. Your horse please. No time to lose."

Croswell squinted at her. "Eh?" he said.

"Please. My daughter's life is at risk."

Croswell looked apprehensive. "What?" he asked, trying to pry her fingers loose from his arm.

Alayna forced herself to slow down and suddenly found herself trembling and crying.

Croswell peered into her face. "Eh, now," he said. "Ain't you the lady from the cottage down yonder? The wizard's woman?"

Alayna nodded.

Croswell finally gave her a steadying arm. "Why, what's happened? Why'd you come the back way, on foot?"

"Have some men been by here?" Alayna was finally able to get out.

"Who? What sort of men?"

"Two knights. Five horses."

"Five horses for two knights?"

This time Alayna pulled loose and grabbed the little man by the shirt. "They've taken my daughter!" she cried, shaking him.

"Who?"

"The two knights!" she screamed. "Did they come by here?"

"That's the road that leads to Camelot," Croswell said, nodding just beyond his front door. "Men pass all the time."

Alayna, suddenly realizing what she was doing, released his shirt. "Please, I need to use your horse."

"My horse?" He scratched his head. A dry old man who smelled of dusty earth, he had lost his entire family to a virulent winter flux the year Galen had gone off to squire. Now he seemed to be out of the habit of talking and to be having trouble concentrating. "But why didn't he help?" he asked.

"Who?" Alayna tried to keep her voice even.

Croswell gave her a look that indicated she was a simpleton. "Your husband. What's the good of having a wizard in the family—"

"He's dead," Alayna told him, though Croswell had attended the funeral mass last year.

But perhaps he had attended too many funeral masses to keep them straight. "I'm so sorry. They killed him
and
took the girl?"

Alayna refrained from shaking him again. Instead she pronounced each word slowly and distinctly. "May I take the horse?"

Croswell shook his head. "What's the world coming to?" His lusterless eyes appraised her. "Take the horse, why don't you?" he suggested.

Alayna's hands trembled as she unfastened the traces. The horse was old, incredibly old, and bony, and she hoped it wouldn't die of age before she reached the road. She swung onto its back. Her skirt was wide enough that she could ride straddled, which she hadn't done since she was twelve and her father and stepmother declared it was time for her to start behaving like a lady. But there was no way to ride sidesaddle without a saddle, and she wasn't concerned about looking like a lady. "Thank you," she told Croswell as she dug her heels into the horse's sides.

She could hear Croswell yell, "Easy, she's older than you are, you know." Then softer, once again, "What's the world coming to?" And then she was too far out of range to hear any more.

The men had probably gone east. Camelot was a half-day's journey to the west—even less with a decent horse—and it was well known that King Arthur would not tolerate murder and abduction. Alayna felt she could assume the lords of those baronies that were closest geographically would be least likely to be involved in actions sure to offend the King.

Still, she had to fight the inclination to head east after the men.

Even if she had a sword, she told herself—and she hadn't picked one up since her parents had finally put a stop to her training when she'd reached twelve—even if she
had
a weapon, and even if she was in as good form as she'd ever been—which she knew she was not—and even if she could ever hope to overtake them—which with Croswell's horse she could not—even
then;
What could she do against two knights and their man?

She hesitated on the road, looking down the way she was certain they'd gone.
And Kiera,
she prayed. Surely that was why they had taken the mare. Surely...

She turned west, toward the help she could seek from Camelot.

But soon it appeared that all the agony of making her choice had been meaningless, for Croswell's horse suddenly slowed and, after a few moments of consideration punctuated by Alayna's cursing, it slowly sank down and lay on the road.

Alayna jumped at the last moment to keep from getting her feet caught underneath. Now she started tugging and pushing.

"You
worthless
animal!" she cried. "Horses aren't supposed to lie down in the middle of the road. Come on. Up! Get up!"

She stooped down in front of the horse's face. The animal looked at her with dull, unresponsive eyes.