The Book of Mordred (6 page)

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.

She felt her face go hot and red. To hide her embarrassment, she turned to wave to Guinevere at the top of the stairs, but the Queen had already gone.

They passed through another door and into the main courtyard of the keep. Into a crowd. Squires were brushing and exercising their knights' horses. Even this early, washerwomen carried great baskets of laundry. Pages ran messages. Servants trying to get platters of breakfast food from the kitchen to the main hall had to dodge people, barking dogs, and a flock of sheep, which had somehow worked its way up from the lower bailey. A cluster of children were trying to tag each other and bumped into everybody.

King Arthur was there, also, looking as permanently tired as his wife. He took Alayna's hand in his own. "Godspeed," he wished, and to Galen, "Our prayers go with you—a safe trip and a happy conclusion to this unfortunate matter." He gave each of their hands a squeeze. Then—and there was obviously some matter between them—"Mordred."

Mordred gave just the slightest inclination of his head.

The squire who had attached Alayna's things to her saddle stepped back, and there was nothing more to delay them.

Alayna paused before mounting and rested her hand on the sword Sir Percival had presented to her. She hoped she was not being just stubbornly prideful, that her presence wouldn't endanger Kiera. She offered up a brief prayer. Then she swung onto her horse and followed Galen and Mordred through the press of people and animals.

Knights touched sword pommels as they passed—a wish for luck—and several ladies waved and blew kisses. No wonder. Galen, his hair golden in the sunlight, looked magnificent. Mordred, darker and slighter, was a handsome youth. Together they looked like heroes from a ballad. Alayna still hoped that her pride wasn't endangering Kiera, but she spared a brief hope that, also, she wouldn't make a fool of herself.

They made their way through the lower bailey and a throng of peasants who looked at the knights with mild interest and gaped at her. By the time they got through the portcullis and over the drawbridge, Alayna was finding the crowds suffocating.

Perhaps Mordred felt the same, for he immediately set off at a gallop that they all knew couldn't be maintained for long.

It had been long years since Alayna had spent all day in a saddle. Her horse had no trouble keeping up with Mordred's and Galen's, but by the end of the day she had to concentrate to stay on her mount. Despite her anxiety to get to Kiera she was grateful when the sun finally set, giving her the chance to rest her aching body. She was not eager for their first real chance to talk, for she feared she knew what the men would have to say.

And, in fact, once they finished setting up camp and eating, Mordred asked, with a nod toward the sword she had set down beside her, "How good are you?"

She stretched out on her side, unable to sit any longer than the time necessary for the actual eating of their evening meal. She knew Mordred must have asked Galen already. He was testing her assurance. Or the level of her pride. Two different matters, requiring two different answers.

"Competent," she answered. She didn't know what to do with her hands, and plucked at the grass before her. Mordred was buffing the breastplate he had been wearing all day. Galen was poking at the fire with a stick. Alayna said, "When we were children, I could keep up with Galen."

Mordred concentrated on rubbing a section of the metal.

But something about his manner made Alayna add, "And Galen is quite good."

"Oh, yes," Mordred agreed. "He has done well in tournaments."

Alayna considered this for a moment. "Yes?"

Galen grinned. "Despite the fact that I have beaten Mordred nearly every time we've been up against each other, he insists he's the better fighter."

"That," Mordred said, "is not exactly true. What I've told him is that battle is not a joust: no points racked up for snapped lances, no one to break things up if they get too heated. Your brother is in love with the ideals of chivalry. Tournaments, of course, are a sports' event—nobody is supposed to fight all out. Galen thinks tournament rules apply even in real life."

With a grin Galen said, "Mordred has been advocating slash and maim."

Mordred looked about to protest, but in the end did not.

Alayna's thoughts went—as they did in any free moment—to Kiera. Before the men could switch from baiting each other to badgering her, she said, "So, tell me about this wizard H albert of Burrstone, that you seem so sure has Kiera."

Mordred glanced up, but said nothing.

The campfire threw dancing shadows over all their faces.

Galen stopped poking at the fire and took a drink of ale from his wineskin. "Well, for one thing, he is perhaps the strongest wizard since Merlin is gone."

"Strongest in wizardry," Alayna asked, "or strongest in men and money and holdings?"

"Good question," Galen acknowledged, and she felt a flash of irritation at the condescension, as though she were in the habit of asking foolish questions, which she didn't believe she was. The fire had grown too hot on her arms, but she didn't move back.

"Both," Mordred finally said, when it became apparent Galen wasn't going to say anything.

Their eyes danced from one to the other—Alayna's brown, Galen's blue, Mordred's gray—each eager to read the others' reactions but reluctant to be read.