For Camelot's Honor (8 page)

“Elen,” Yestin gripped her elbow. “This may be what he wants. He may have done this to lure Arthur into a fight. Would you be used by him?”

That gave her pause. Could Urien have designed so brutal a plan?

Oh, yes.

“Nonetheless, I will go. It is all we can do. We cannot slink into the hills and be forgotten while our peoples bones are left for the ravens.”

“She was my mother too, Elen,” said Yestin sternly. “I saw them ride Carys down as she fled. My Carys. You think I do not burn for vengeance?” Even now his hand had gone to his sword. “But we cannot abandon our people.”

“We will not. I will ride out and you will take our own to whatever safety there is, and set free the captives.” Her jaw ground back and forth. “What else can we do, Yestin? We
cannot
leave Urien unchallenged.”

Yestin sat silently for a long moment. “It will be dangerous.”

“No more so than fleeing while he follows. It is you who can make the stand while our people escape.”

She saw the lonlieness in him, saw that he was at least as tired as she was. He been living this nightmare for days now, and had no time to grieve, not for their mother, not for lost Carys. He was too young for this, and she was leaving him alone with the burden of it all.

But at last, he rallied himself. “You must at least sleep. You cannot make such a journey exhausted as you are. And,” he said stonily. “You cannot go alone.”

She did not want to agree, but she knew him to be right. She scarcely had the strength to hold her head up straight. The fire of her thwarted curse had all gone out, leaving being nothing but a weakness where heart and bone should be. Yestin touched her shoulder.

“Sleep, Elen. I will keep watch for our own.”

Elen nodded, and lay down where she was, with only her cloak for bedding. She heard the movement of the camp, heard the murmurs as the others spoke with Yestin. She heard concern in their soft words, but not doubt. He was their chief now, and she their lady. These men and women they had grown up among would do as they said.

Her last thought as sleep reached up for her was that she could not fail them.

Pain. Pain and blood and the draining weakness that came with blood's loss and someone calling his name. All these things filled Urien's mind as it rose from darkness. He was lying on his side, and his shirt had been stripped off. The air was cold against his skin and seemed to make the pain worse by its touch.

By an effort of will, he opened his eyes and saw Wyx's broad and ugly face leaning over him.

“Master Urien!”

Urien licked his dry lips. “How bad?” He'd been a fool, underestimating the blood rage in the girl, and for this he paid.

Wyx's face scrunched up, and seemed to blur as it did, which gave Urien his answer before his man could speak. “Bad. It's deep, Master, and you've lost a lot of blood. I can't stop it.”

Urien grunted. “Where's … my cloak?”

Wyx pulled back, obviously concerned his master was growing delirious. But he moved quickly out of Urien's sight and returned with his woolen cloak. The broach with the three cranes was still pinned to the cloth. Good.

Urien tried to move his hand, but the effort was too great. Gods, he was close to the night. “Take some of my blood. Smear it on the broach,” he whispered.

Again, Wyx hesitated. “Do it, curse you!” croaked Urien.
Curse you. The girl tried to lay her curse on me. Maybe she did. Maybe this is the end here.

No. Not yet. She will learn the price of her blood's treason yet.

Wyx dipped his finger in the dark earth where Urien's blood had puddled and rubbed it against the broach, smearing the crane's beaks and bodies. Good.

“Leave me,” he said. “Find Adara's cublings. Kill the boy and bring me back the girl. If you cannot bring her alive, bring her dead.”

“But …” began Wyx, but he closed his frog mouth around whatever words he thought to speak. He did not know much, but he knew enough not to question Urien on such a matter. Not even now.

Wyx left. Urien heard his boots on the hard dirt as he hurried away. He let his head drop onto the pillow of his arm. He hurt. He thought he had hurt worse in his time, but could not remember when now. His throat ached with thirst. He should have had Wyx bring him water, but he could not raise his voice to shout now. He would have to bear it. All he had to do was live, was breathe, for just a little longer.

But each breath was fire, and each was harder than the last.

The world around him was growing dark, and a cold began to creep across him. He had lost all sense of time and could not tell whether night had come or whether it was his death drawing ever closer. Fear sent a tremor through his heart, and the pain of his wound seemed to laugh in return.

“Oh, Urien.”

He had closed his eyes at some point. He opened them now. They were crusted with sand and dirt, and perhaps with the salt of his tears. Ah, gods, but he hurt. He would have given all for a drink of water, even from dead Adara's hands.

He tried to open his mouth, to make his tongue move, to ask for water, blessed water. His whole body trembled with the effort. Warm hands touched his brow.

“Lie still, my beloved.” Her very words caused the pain to ebb. Her touch was a stronger balm than a river of water could have been. It calmed all fear, brought warmth and strength where before there had been only weakness and the cold of fear. “Close your eyes.”

He obeyed willingly and let himself sink into the blessed warmth she brought him. Distantly, he felt her long fingers touch the wound on his naked belly, probing its size. Then, he felt her stretch full length beside him, felt every curve of her body pressing against him. Her mouth touched his, kissing him hungrily. His body began to respond to her, lust and need rising impossibly but irrisistably. He should have been surprised, but he was beyond surprise in this dark warmth that she brought him, and he kissed her in return, letting his body do as it would.

She wrapped her arms around him and drew him close. Her kissed grew hungry, even greedy and Urien heard himself groan. She straddled him and he welcomed her heat. He was dying. How could he feel such pleasure, even distantly?

Pain. Red and black and burning like all the fires of hell. A scream ripped itself from his throat and he arched his back, and the motion he could not control only made the pain worse. All the time, she held him, pressing herself against him. Bright stars exploded in his skull, and every fiber of his being seemed to tear itself apart.

“Yes!” She laughed. “Yes, my love!”

And it was over. Utterly spent, Urien collapsed panting onto the earthen floor. It was a long time before he realized what was missing from him. All the pain had been taken away. He was weak, but nothing more. Even his thirst had left him.

He lifted his head, and looked up into his lover's black and shining eyes.

“Morgaine.”

She only smiled and extended her hands. He took them both, and stood as she did. His body was strong and whole, as if he had just woken from a pleasant night's sleep. Now it was he who took her in his arms and kissed her long and lingeringly. His skin itched where his blood had dried, and he was no doubt filthy in other ways, but she answered his embrace without hesitation.

When at last he released her, she stepped back from him, looking him up and down.

“Admiring your handiwork, my lady?” he inquired.

“And so much more.” But her smile quickly faded. “Who did this, Urien? What happened here?” She looked down at Adara's corpse with distaste.

“I was a fool,” he admitted, and he told her what had occurred.

Morgaine frowned. “You were lucky, Urien. The girl could have laid waste to all our plans with her words.”

“Well I know it.” Urien retrieved his cloak from off the floor and slung it around his shoulders. “It is fortunate she is not so strong as she believes.”

“I think none of us know how strong she is. Her weakness is that her teaching is incomplete.”

Her words left him uneasy. He looked again at the dead woman on the floor. Perhaps he should take her head after all, keep her ghost prisoner, lest it walk to warn her child. “My men are out in the hills.” Urien refastened his broach. The blood on it had completely dried, smearing the fine silver with dark swirls. “They'll find her.”

Morgaine's eyes narrowed. “But perhaps not soon enough. No. I do not like this. She has powerful blood, this girl. I think we should not leave her to the likes of Wyx.”

Urien bowed. “I trust your judgement in these matters, my lady.”

“Good then. Leave the girl to me. I will bring her back to you before she can do any more damage. You and your men secure what you have won, and let your new neighbors know that rather than honoring their promises, Arthur's men ran away like rats when the fight came to them.”

Urien felt himself smile. “I'll take pleasure in that message, you may be sure, Morgaine.”

She too smiled, a smile for triumph and the future, love and hatred all together. It was at such times when he could see why men called her Morgaine the Goddess. Her power fairly shone from her, radiant and deadly, like a knife in the darkness.

He bowed to her then, he who bowed to no man, and when he straightened himself, she kissed him once more, and once more she stepped away, into the deepening shadows of the treacherous house they together had brought down, and she was gone.

Still smiling, Urien turned on his heels and strode out to find his men and issue them their new orders.

In the end it was decided Madyn would go with Elen. Yestin wanted two men for her escort, but only two ponies had been rescued from the sack of Pont Cymryd, and only one of those had proper harness and a blanket for a riding pad. Madyn was a grey headed, grizzled and stolid man. He'd travelled some with their father and knew the way to Caerleon.

In peaceful times, it was not a hard way. The Roman road lay just across the bridge and it could be followed all along the Usk down to the fortress that Arthur claimed for his summer court. A coracle could float down the river and be there faster than a horse could, even with the portages that had to be made.

But Urien held the bridge, and if he didn't have men on the road before, he surely had them there now. They'd have to make their way through the hills, following the meandering river valley for a day at least before it was safe to come down and seek the ferry at Llangyadyn, or someone who might trade them a boat for their ponies. Even then, if Urien got wind of what they meant to do, his men might have take the river route and be waiting in Llangydayn for them.

Everyone sacrificed something to the journey: One of the three water skins; the only whole loaf of bread; the cold, cooked remains of the quail fished from the pot and wrapped in oak leaves; a pouch to carry their meagre supplies in.

“Keep safe, sister,” said Yestin as he he handed her the pony's reins. “May all the gods watch your road.”

She nodded. Her mouth was dry. Fear made her heart beat fast and weak, but they could not linger. Dawn was brightening all around them, and they must be away. Urien's men would be on the move. If she spoke, her voice would shake, and the tears she was holding back might break forth. She could not take her leave like that. Instead, she embraced her brother, trying to draw strength from his hard arms as he returned the gesture.

Then, she turned her back on all who stood watching and nodded to Madyn. In single file, they lead their ponies up the slope into the trees.

It was hard going at first, and Elen was glad of it. Effort kept her from having to think. Madyn picked a careful way for them and their ponies up the hills, holding the branches away so they would not slap the animals' eyes and make them skittish. Although they needed to hurry, they still stopped frequently; to listen for the sounds of men, to check their directions against the sun whenever the trees cleared enough, to give their ponies a drink from a spring.

All this time, she heard nothing untoward. The birds sang undisturbed by any passage but theirs. The thousand sounds of the forest — the digging, shuffling, rustling, yipping and scuffling — were as they should be. At first, this cheered her. Then, it began to worry her. If Urien's men were not following her, what were they doing? Were they combing the hills for Yestin and the other survivors? They were barely armed. They could do nothing but flee, and even in the woods, if Urien's men were on horseback … Elen clenched her jaw and struggled up the slope, hauling the balky pony behind her. Madyn eyed her, but did not question. He just clucked more urgently to his beast, prodding its sides with the switch he'd cut.

Despite all this, they covered a good bit of ground. Once they reached the ridge, the land was fairly level, save for the sharp gullies cut by the streams that fed the Usk below. These they had to coax the balky ponies down, sometimes having to go far out of their way to find a slope that the beasts could handle. Elen more than once questioned the wisdom of bringing the creatures, and Madyn always patiently explained that they might not find a boat when they came down. If they had to take to the road, they'd need the ponies.

The day wore on. Woods gave way to meadows and back to woods again, all passing far too slow. Even when they struck an old track and were able to ride for awhile, it was too slow. Memories whirled through her mind like autumn leaves — of chasing Yestin through the village, of listening to mother lecture on the nature and property of herbs, of Yestin's face when Carys came to the house, of the first birth she ever attended, how she laid the infant on its mother's breast, and how her own mother had whispered “well done.”

After each memory came the sight of mother dead on the floor of their home. Her tears flowed repeatedly, but could not slake her grief or damp down the anger burning in her. She should not have let Yestin pull her away. She should be taking Urien's head to Caerleon to throw at Arthur's feet.

“Have to find us a place to stop soon,” said Madyn, jerking Elen out of her bloody thoughts.

She blinked and looked about her. She had been so far gone in memory and the lust for vengeance that daylight had begun to give way to twilight without her noticing. Soon, it would be too dark to see.

“I don't like the idea of spending the night in the open,” she said, surveying the deepening woods that surrounded them.

“Nor I,” replied Madyn gruffly. He sat hunched on his pony's bare back. He was almost ready to fall asleep where he was, for all he struggled to hide it. Had he stood watch last night? She tried to remember, but could not. “But there's no' much choice, if we stay up here.”

He was right. The moon might give enough light to see the way by once it rose, but even so, the ponies must have a rest. It would do no good to drive the beasts to exhaustion. Impatience and anger jabbed at her and she felt a sudden desire to curse the sun for not standing still in the sky for her need.

“We should head back down for the river,” Madyn went on. “If I'm right, we're almost to Llangyadyn. Might be some house where we can shelter, and hear the news.”

Elen nodded her agreement. Then, she heard a strange and unexpected sound. A high pitched bleating, familiar as daylight, but strange to hear in this greenwood. It was a goat. A thrashing and crackling in the underbrush told Elen where the creature was, and its voice told her it was afraid.

Madyn heard it too. “There.” He pointed toward a clutch of ferns that waved and churned in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the wind.

It didn't take long to find the creature. A raven black kid with bright yellow eyes had caught its hind leg in a snare someone set for birds. The little creature danced about comically, trying to get hold of the thong to gnaw itself free.

Elen laughed once, and knelt, catching the kid expertly around the neck. It bawled pathetically at its plight, but Elen paid no heed. There was just enough light left to see the slip knot. The kid kicked in its impatience while Madyn picked it loose. Two more kicks and the black kid was free, and pawing at Elen's lap with its cloven hooves, trying frantically to get down.

“Hold it tight, Elen,” said Madyn. “That's payment for the ferryman or a boat when we get to the river.”

But Elen shook her head. “It's a croft to spend the night in if we let him lead us to his home.”

She released the struggling animal and the kid galloped immediately for the track they'd been following. Elen scrambled to her feet. She and Madyn snatched up their ponies'reins and followed the kid as it danced down the path, kicking up its heels in its joy at being free. For a moment thoughts of the puka, the shapeshifter, flashed through Elen's mind, but pukas were always pure white, or so the stories went. This kid was black as midnight, which was coming closer which each breath. They had no choice but to follow.

An owl hooted overhead. The kid plunged off the track. Madyn swore. Elen pushed her way into the trees after it, down the steep slope heading for the river valley. She could no longer clearly see the ground beneath her feet. Roots and holes tripped her and her pony stumble. That would be the end of everything, if one of the ponies went lame, or worse, broke its ankle in some creature's burrow.

Then, over all the crashing and thrashing of their passage, Elen heard the sound of running water. The kid splashed through a narrow beck, pausing to take a drink and then shake the clear drops from its muzzle and beard. Ahead, the trees thinned, and Elen saw the unmistakable spark of a fire.

The kid saw it too. It gave a delighted hop and charged forward through the bracken, leaving the humans and lesser beasts to struggle on as best they could. But at last, they broke free of the forest into a meadow of knee-high grass. In the distance, Elen could just see the dark surface of the Usk. The nightingales and night jars sang and chugged and finally took off in an indignant huff at their clumsy approach. Ahead, Elen could just see a low house with a round roof. Madyn pointed. Beside the dwelling hunched a human figure holding a torch up high.

Elen stopped where she was. “Hail the house!” she called out. “We're two travellers seeking shelter!”

The figure raised its free hand, and beckoned, waving them forward with a sweeping gesture. Grateful, Elen went ahead as quickly as she was able. The grass was filled with brambles and nettles and it snagged her hems, dragging on her with every step. The ponies whickered and stamped as the unkind plants scrabbled at their hide.

The croft was a wattle-and-daub house with curving walls and a thatch roof. Loose wicker fences surrounded a collection of ramshackle outbuildings and lean-tos. The human figure resolved itself into an old woman, the weight of her years bending her back nearly double. Her hair was snow-white and tumbled freely across her shoulders. Beside her a black nanny goat nuzzled the kid they had rescued, which in turn was butting his head at both mother and mistress, its waving little tail waggling its whole backside, as it tried to wedge itself between the two females to reach the nanny's udder.

As Elen's lieutenant, Madyn spoke for them. “Good luck on this house, Mistress,” he said. “We were glad to be able to return your goat. We are on a long journey, my lady and myself, and need to find shelter for the night.”

The old woman nodded, her sunken lips pursed. “His mother is a wise one.” The old woman laid her hand on the head of the nanny goat. “She knew he would return, but she did not tell me he would bring guests.” She thrust her head forward, peering up, first at Elen, then at Madyn. Elen saw that the woman's eyes were so dark they were almost black, and they looked surprisingly young and sharp in such an ancient face. “See to your animals and then come inside.”

Without further ceremony, the crone turned around and hobbled toward the house.

Elen let out a long sigh of relief. That the woman spoke to her goats did not trouble her. Probably the family put her out here in the summers to look after the herd as it grazed. Ada spoke regularly to the pigs, and swore they foretold the weather.

But then, those were the white pigs, and they just might have.

“I'll see to the ponies,” said Madyn, taking the reins from Elen. His eyes were bleary and he blinked too much. “You go speak fair to our hostess.”

Elen nodded and touched his arm in thanks. Gods all grant they'd be able to get him to a bed soon.

With the night following close behind her, Elen walked into the dark, windowless house.

The torch had been extinguished. What light there was came from a low fire burning in a central hollow. A tripod had been erected over it and an iron pot hung on a chain. The scent of porridge, onions and sage filled the close and smoky air. Elen's stomach cramped and growled as she breathed it in. The old woman, stirred the kettle with a long-handled spoon. She lifted it to her mouth and slurped the porridge noisily, smacking her lips in satisfaction

The place had little in the way of furnishing. The flickering fire showed up a plank table and bench that looked hastily pegged together, and near the fire was a pallet bed that was little more than a frame of sticks and a lumpy bag for a mattress. But the place shut out the sound of wolves, and the warmth of the fire was like a blessing.

The old woman cocked her head toward Elen. “Come in! Come in!” She waved the spoon. “It's not often I have a chance to talk. Come, talk and eat!” She picked a bowl up off the earthen floor and began spooning porridge into it. She added a lump of brown bread and handed it to Elen. There was no spoon.

“I thank you, Grandmother,” said Elen, mustering her courtesies. “Could you please tell me whose hospitality I am accepting?”

“Whose?” The woman smiled, showing all the gaps in her teeth, and her bright eyes sparkled. “Well now, let's see …” she tapped her pointed chin. “You can call me Mother Morwith. And who accepts her hospitality, eh?” She said it like as if she asked a riddle, or told a joke.

All at once, Elen remembered the faces of the ones who had come to take her away, with their big eyes and their brown, pinched faces, looking up at her, impatient and frightened in the dark. Her throat was dry. Her stomach cried out for the food that steamed in the bowl in front of her, but her mind was suddenly afraid. “I am Elen,” she said.

Mother Morwith pointed the spoon at her. “Elen daughter of Adara, you mean to say.”

Elen stared, her tongue frozen to the roof of her mouth, but Mother Morwith only laughed and picked up her own bowl. “Look at the girl! She goggles like a sheep. Eat, eat! Like Mother Morwith!” She tipped the bowl up to her mouth, supping the hot porridge. She lifted her head and sighed in satisfaction. “Ah!”

But Elen could not make herself move. It seemed as if the shadows had taken on weight and held her in place.

“I … I'd best see what's taking Madyn so long.” The words sounded weak. The old woman cackled as she set the bowl down, and she cackled again as Elen hurried out into the yard, drawing in great lungfuls of the fresh, chilly air.

Maybe we should dare the wolves after all. I do not like this place.

Behind the house waited a little lean-to with some dry hay in it. Inside stood the two ponies, unsaddled and unbridled, munching the fodder. They looked up briefly at her approach, then went back to carefully grazing around Madyn, who was stretched out in the hay, fast asleep and snoring gently.

Elen covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. A bony finger tapped her shoulder. Mother Morwith had come up behind her. She grinned and clucked her tongue at the sleeping man, then jerked her thumb toward the house. Eased in her heart, although she could not truly have said why, Elen followed her back into the house.