The Book of Mordred (38 page)

When Kiera awoke, it was early morning. Her clothes were still damp from the dew, though the grass around her had dried. She got up stiffly, barely able to move.

"Tempest," she called too loudly when she didn't see the horse immediately. Panic set in at the thought of being alone.

But he had only wandered as far as the edge of the hillock where they had stopped for the night. They were in the middle of a small woods, but when she got to Tempest's side, she realized that they were high enough to be able to see over a good many of the trees. When she squinted and concentrated hard enough, she thought she could see back to the edge of the woods. Beyond that would be the gently rolling plain they had crossed, and beyond that, Mordred's camp. If he had anticipated correctly—if Arthur had attacked at dawn—both men could be dead by now.

Arthur would
not
have, she tried to convince herself. Arthur was too kind. Arthur was...

Arthur was King. And if Mordred posed a threat to his kingdom, Arthur would do whatever he had to do.

Was that smoke on the horizon? No. Only morning fog. She listened. Birds. Insects. The barest whisper of a breeze. She chided herself for finding comfort in the near silence. The sounds of battle wouldn't carry this far in any case.

Neither she nor Tempest had appetite for the food she had discovered in the saddle pack last night, gift from Mordred's men.

Tempest's leg had stiffened so that walking was even more painful for him than it had been the day before. With a mixture of reluctance and relief she led him away from the hill with its almost-view of what she had left behind. Little by little they walked, until nightfall, which was just one more rest period of many.

Late the following afternoon they were in a stretch of woods when they rounded a curve and came upon Alayna.

Would her mother be angry or relieved?—Kiera had no idea. She decided to remain aloof, just to be safe.

Alayna jumped off her horse almost before it stopped, and ran toward her.

Kiera abandoned her plan and threw herself into her mother's arms. "How did you find me?" she asked. "How did you know I was here?"

Alayna, oblivious to her own tears, wiped away Kiera's. "A dispatch came from Mordred shortly after you disappeared. As soon as I heard his name, I just knew you—"

"Oh, Mother, they're fighting: Arthur and Mordred—"

"I know."

"I mean really fighting. Yesterday. About a day in from the coast, they—"

"I know. I met a royal messenger yesterday. They're both still alive. Sir Deems was killed, and Galton. Bevis. Scores of men on both sides, but neither Mordred nor Arthur was hurt."

Deems had had a talent for making up silly songs that always made her laugh. Galton could tame wild birds to take seed from his hand. Bevis had struggled with the decision to become a knight or a priest. Kiera couldn't think of them as dead, or allow herself happiness that Arthur and Mordred were not.

Instead, seeing that her mother was wearing page's breeches and a leather jerkin—and had a sword by her side—she said, "You came to rescue me."

Her mother looked away self-consciously. "You're a terrible daughter," she said, but Kiera knew she didn't mean it.

"What else?" Kiera asked. "What else did the messenger say?"

"That Arthur won the battle..."

She felt drained, that was all. How could she feel happy or sad?

"...but that it wasn't decisive."

There had to be a clear victor. There had to be or..."They're going to fight again? That's ... that's..."

"Madness. Yes." Her mother took a deep breath. Then another. "Oh, Kiera, let's go home."

Kiera glanced at Tempest and wondered how much of this he understood. Not much, she guessed, or else he trusted her completely, because he waited patiently. She faced Alayna again. "Mordred has been talking with Nimue."

The flush left Alayna's face. She asked, very reasonably, "Can he do that?"

Was
Nimue dead? It had always seemed more believable that Nimue's dead body had somehow dissolved, rather than that she had escaped into thin air. Else, why hadn't she returned once the danger was gone?

"I ... I don't see how."

And there was also the question of why Nimue would come back now, and why she spoke only—apparently—to Mordred.

Alayna said, "Kiera, there is nothing we can do."

She had no answer for that.

"There is nothing we can do," her mother repeated.

"I know," Kiera admitted.

Her mother twisted her palfrey's reins around her hand until her fingers turned red. "What do you expect of me?" she cried. "Even if we got there in time, since when does he listen to me?"

Kiera knew that, too. "I didn't say anything."

Alayna shook the reins loose. "All right," she said. "All right, all right, all right."

Another day and a half later they caught up to the two armies. They were camped within easy march of each other on a huge plain that seemed particularly well suited for large groups of men killing each other.

"What do you think is going on?" Kiera whispered, though they were far enough away that even her mother, who had keener eyes, had trouble picking out details.

"Can't tell." Alayna also whispered.

In the fading light of evening, they lay on their stomachs at the lip of one of the hills that rimmed the field. The incline was a long slope with much rubble, impossible for fighting; but the plain was large enough to accommodate both armies, each spread out in its own corner, and an empty expanse between. It reminded Kiera of the old Roman arenas, which were no more than ruins now, where men had fought to the death for the entertainment of the crowds. But
this
battle would be fought by the crowds.

Her mother said, "A truce perhaps. A parley."

That, Kiera thought, was wishful thinking.

Alayna pointed to the right. "Arthur's personal standard is there."

Kiera had seen it all her life: a red-winged dragon—but even knowing what she was looking for didn't help; from this distance, the very colors of the banners shifted.

"And there"—Alayna pointed left—"is Mordred's."That would be the stark Latin cross, black on a field of white, that had become identified with Mordred during last summer's border wars: a symbol of hope, in
tones
of mourning. Alayna sighed.

Then gasped.

Kiera turned slowly. A knight stood next to her mother, his sword extended so that it rested easily against her shoulder.

"Sir Dodinas," Alayna said to the knight who held it, one of Mordred's men. "We mean no harm."

"Unfasten your scabbard and—very slowly—hand it to me. Now get up, quiet and easy, one at a time. You first." He tipped the point of the sword toward Kiera. "Away from the edge so that nobody down below can see you."

"Dodinas," Alayna said. "Don't you know us? Alayna De La Croix, and Kiera."

"Keep your voice down. I see who you are. Now move, very slowly. And don't try anything. Should you escape from me, the hill is covered with patrols—Arthur's and our own. You would not get as far as your horses. And they are no longer where you left them anyway."

Alayna held her hands palms up in a gesture of peace.

Kiera stood, afraid that every innocent move she made screamed of guilty intentions.

Dodinas inclined his head for her to step to the left. "Now you," he told Alayna. "Keep down till you're away from the edge." His voice, though a whisper, rasped harshly.

"Sorry," her mother said, in truth sounding more put out than sorry. "But nobody could see—"

"Move." He pushed Alayna, not roughly, not gently, into the lead. "The girl stays by me. This way. And remember: You are being watched."

Kiera followed her mother, and Dodinas followed her. And he had yet to put his sword away. As they moved downhill, the trees blocked the remaining light from the sky and the underbrush became denser and harder to make their way through.

Off to one side, there was a crackle of brittle branches, then a muffled cry, quickly followed by a low-pitched whistle something like, but not quite, a warbler. Then, once again, silence. Thinking about that, wondering who—someone she stood a good chance of knowing—had just gotten killed, Kiera slipped on a patch of leaves.

Dodinas caught her by the elbow. "Keep moving," he whispered into her ear.

They stopped at an outpost, to wait while somebody was sent for. The sentry was someone's squire, no older than Kiera, and his eyes shifted nervously from mother to daughter, until Kiera wondered what would make the strain unbearable for him, what little inadvertent thing might make him lose control. She looked away, lest staring be it, and tried not to breathe too hard. Then again, he might consider calmness suspect. She and her mother could die here tonight, and no one who cared would ever know it.

Two knights approached, and Dodinas stepped aside with them.

The longer the three knights argued, the more audible their whispers became. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to be responsible for deciding what to do with them.

"Listen—"her mother said, stepping forward.

Four swords whipped out and pointed at her.

Alayna took a step back, her hands raised before her. "Peace," she said. "All I wanted was to suggest you ask Sir Mordred what to do with us."

"Easy for you to say," one of the men muttered.

Since when were Mordred's men afraid to talk to him?

They continued their discussion in muted tones, watching Kiera and her mother warily. Whichever side won, Dodinas left abruptly—Dodinas, the only one they knew.

Kiera watched as he went back up the hill without a backwards glance for them.

"Come," one of the others said impatiently, but at least they kept their swords sheathed.

They stopped in front of Mordred's pavilion, presenting arms to the guards who stood before it. And that too was something new, that Mordred felt he needed guards.
There's always somebody listening,
he had told her. What, exactly, was he afraid of? Spies from Arthur, or something less tangible?

Once again the whispered arguments, though this time they didn't last long. One of the men who had accompanied them unceremoniously tugged Kiera and her mother, then pulled back the tent flap and pushed them forward. Kiera felt Alayna put her hand on her shoulder at the same time she heard the man say, "My Lord."

Mordred turned.

But it wasn't as in her vision: He, of all the knights in the camp, was unarmored, and his expression was only mild surprise—quickly turning to annoyance.

"My Lord," the knight repeated, stepping into the torch light, "these women..." He saw the scowl on Mordred's face and grabbed a handful of fabric by Kiera's shoulder and another by Alayna's waist, and started to pull them back. "I beg your pardon, my Lord. No doubt it can wait till—"

"They stay," Mordred said, waving the man out. He followed him to the tent flap, then stayed a moment to make sure he had truly left before turning to Kiera. "Bloody hell, I told you—"

"Mordred," a woman's voice interrupted, "that is no way to talk to a young lady."

Kiera jerked, startled. Her attention had been centered on Mordred, and she had not noticed the tall, dark-haired woman.

The woman arose from the edge of the field cot where she'd been sitting, and smiled. "You must introduce us." Her diaphanous black gown sparkled with each graceful move. She took a step forward, and Kiera found herself taking one back. "Mordred," the woman repeated, "who are these charming people?"

Kiera felt the tent's guide rope rub against her shoulder; she couldn't get any farther back without making a big step over the rope or walking around her mother.

Mordred was watching her, too. "The Lady Alayna De La Croix," he finally said, "and her daughter, Kiera. I don't believe either of you has ever met my aunt, Morgana?"

That explained it. The smile was familiar because it was Gareth's—at least, the mouth was. Kiera didn't think anything could touch those eyes. She curtsied, taking the opportunity to look away. Morgan le Fay, people called her, Morgan of the Fairies. But then, people also called Kiera a witch, and
that
wasn't true. Still, she couldn't meet those disconcerting eyes.

Morgana stepped forward; and for the first time Kiera realized that what she had thought was a loose collar around Morgans neck was actually a black and brown snake—an adder. It stuck its long forked tongue out to taste the air between them.

"Let them breathe, Morgana," Mordred said.

Mordred's aunt stepped back, her smile wry.
This is to humor Mordred,
her expression said. She never shifted her gaze from Kiera.

Mordred was looking from Alayna to Kiera. He asked one, the other, or both of them, "Did Arthur send you here?"

Her mother finally stopped graping at Morgana. "No. Mordred, of course not. I needed to talk to you."

Mordred watched her warily.

"Mordred, this is madness." Kiera guessed this was probably not the best way to begin, but her mother continued, "You cannot win this fight. If you kill Arthur, you will have started a blood feud the like of which this vengeance-hungry country has never seen. Even should you survive tomorrow, you will be poisoned or pushed down a set of stairs or stabbed in the back within the year. What can you do, kill
all
of Arthur's supporters,
and
their entire families,
everyone
you're not sure of? Who will you have left to rule? Assuming you don't get run through tomorrow."