Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (66 page)

She really should try to discover Medraut's plan from the men who had remained behind. But first she would speak with Ginevra — and enlist her help in escaping Celliwig.

"You had something to tell me, Yseult?" came Ginevra's sweet voice behind her.

She turned, nodding. "I think I have finally begun to make some progress in Melou's treatment. But I need to consult with you as to what else will be needed."

Ginevra hurried forward, a bright smile on her face. "He is sleeping peacefully!"

Yseult put a finger to her lips and gestured towards the door where her guards waited outside. "For now, yes. But I do not yet know if the treatment will be effective in the long term."

Naturally, the Queen of Cerniw failed to understand the significance of Yseult's gesture, and her face fell. "How long will it be before you can judge whether it is working?"

Yseult took her elbow and led her away from the door to a bench on the opposite side of the room. "Please, Ginevra, I need your help," she whispered. "Even if Melou does continue to mend, I would be very grateful if publicly you could remain worried about his health."

Ginevra shot her a confused glance, and Yseult began to wonder how many more days she had to live. In a more normal voice she said, "I believe Melou has an inflammation of the lungs, made worse by a generally weak constitution. Was he an early baby?"

"I'm not sure. He was definitely on the small side at birth."

"Yes, that would fit. At this stage, some solid food might also help to improve his condition."

"What do you mean?"

"I suggest you instruct your cook to prepare special gruels with a few finely ground foodstuffs that are particularly nourishing to support his recovery." She hoped that her wording was vague enough that it did not imply a critique of Ginevra's nursing. She was afraid that part of Melou's ongoing complaints might be caused by Ginevra not having enough milk or not eating the right foods herself. "From my experience, I would particularly recommend salmon, carrots and spinach, but only a little at a time at first, to see if it agrees with him and if it helps."

Ginevra gripped her hands gratefully. "I will do whatever it takes. Now what is this all about, Yseult?"

"Shhh," Yseult whispered. "Don't react, please. My guards have instructions to murder me once Melou has recovered."

She should have known that hiding her reaction was too much to ask. In order to cover up Ginevra's gasp, Yseult said in a louder voice, "I'm sorry it has taken me so long to determine what ails him. I have been trying a number of different herbal infusions. With willow bark, chamomile, and summer wort, I've finally started to see some improvement."

She listened for the thoughts of the guards by the door; luckily, they had no interest in a discussion of infant ailments and were thinking of hunting and horses rather than paying any attention to her conversation with Ginevra.

"How can you claim such a thing?" Ginevra whispered angrily.

"You know that I have the powers of the Old Race?" Yseult asked.

Ginevra flinched. "I have heard the rumors, yes."

"That is how I can claim such a thing. I have picked up their thoughts, and I know that my life will not last a day past when I have cured your son. I will be released, but I will die before I reach safety — and it will be in such a way that it will look as if it were an accident."

Ginevra clapped her hands to her cheeks. "It's not true. If you truly have seen such things, then it is mere fantasy."

Yseult gave a humorless laugh. "I am not generally known for my rampant imagination."

"Then you are not interpreting the thoughts of others right!" Her voice was much too loud again, but luckily, the guards still showed no interest in their conversation.

Yseult could feel a hint of indecision creeping into Ginevra's thoughts, but it was not enough for her purpose. She briefly considered telling Ginevra about Kevern, about the beggar, about the murders Medraut had already committed, but why would she believe those tales any more than she believed what Yseult had learned from the minds of the soldiers guarding her? No, she would never be able to convince Ginevra that Medraut intended violence against her friend, the woman who had cured their son. She had given up too much, had too much invested in her new consort.

But how to flee Celliwig without help? She might be able to use her power of changing to get past the guards, but as soon as she attempted to steal a horse to take her to Dyn Tagell she would be caught.

And she would never make it to safety on foot before her disappearance was discovered.

"Perhaps you are right," Yseult said. "My mind is clouded with worry; it could be distorting what I hear."

"Yes, that must be it!" Ginevra agreed eagerly.

Yseult watched Ginevra hurry off to give instructions to the cook, wondering how she was going to survive her imprisonment.

After Ginevra was gone, a dark-haired servant entered the room and began collecting the baby's soiled linens. To Yseult's surprise, she leaned near her ear and whispered, "Lady, is there any way you can get word of my little boy?"

Yseult blinked, not understanding.

The servant knelt down on the ground nearby, and Yseult opened her mind to the other woman's thoughts.

A dark-haired boy on Cador's lap, sent away in place of Melehan
.

Of course.

Yseult bent over and picked up a towel from the floor. "Here is more that needs to be laundered." Then she whispered, "I am watched constantly; I would help you if I could, but I do not see how."

The woman lowered her head and took the towel Yseult handed her. "Thank you, Lady," she said in a normal tone of voice — filled with sadness.

"Wait," Yseult said. "There's more."

This woman could be an ally here in her prison, if she could only think of a way. Didn't Yseult have more than one ally? Taliesin had stretched the truth at least a little when he arrived in Celliwig, and she suspected it was for her benefit. Besides, what did she have to lose?

"Go to the new bard, Taliesin, and tell him of your plight," she whispered. "Perhaps with his help we can think of something."

Yseult handed the servant some clean linens. The woman added them to her bundle, rose and curtsied. "I will take care of it, Lady." This time her voice was tinged with hope.

The woman turned and left, and Yseult heaved a sigh. Of relief? Of hope?

* * * *

Cador sat up in his bed in Dyn Tagell and rubbed his eyes. Weak morning light seeped in through the high windows.
It was the dream again.
Yseult at Celliwig, but not as it was when Arthur had asked them to wed; it was a Celliwig ruled by Medraut. Was Yseult using her power of calling to contact him? No, it had to be wish fulfillment. She would not be telling him how much she longed to be with him, how much she regretted her actions and wished she had not been such a fool. That was not like Yseult; that was his own fantasies running wild.

This dream though, with the threat running through it, this dream felt more like a message: Yseult had to escape Celliwig before Arthur arrived in Britain.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to grip the edge with his left hand, forgetting once again that he was now missing three fingers. He wondered how long it would take him to become used to having only half a hand. At least he was no longer bed-ridden, nor in a fog of pain most of the time. But what he wanted to do was ride to Celliwig and rescue Yseult from Medraut, finally be a hero for once, like Gawain, like Drystan.

Instead, he was a cripple.

Summer was on the wane, and daybreak came ever later. As Cador made his way to the dining room of the lower hall, only a few servants were stirring, lighting fires in the braziers to banish the nighttime chill before the residents of Dyn Tagell came to break their fast.

Cador had been meaning to let himself out of the great double doors when he heard his name called. He turned. "Brangwyn. You are up early."

She smiled. "I could say the same of you, and with much more reason. You are still supposed to be recovering."

They both glanced at his bandaged hand, at the remaining thumb and forefinger.

Cador shrugged. "I have little pain now, thanks to your care. And I could not sleep."

Apparently he was still too seriously injured to mask all his thoughts. "Yseult will not care that you have lost a few fingers, Cador. She has been trying to reach you with her power of calling?"

"I don't know. I awaken every morning with dreams of her, but I do not know if they are messages." He had no need to tell Brangwyn how his waking thoughts were full of his wife as well — and he was just as incapable of judging what might be message and what was part of his normal obsession with the woman he'd loved off and on since youth.

Brangwyn took his arm and led him in the direction of the kitchens. "That strikes me as strange. Yseult's greatest gift was always the power of calling; how can it be that her message is so weak you cannot discern whether it is that or dream?"

Because of the strength of my own desire.

Luckily it seemed he had control of the shields in his mind again, because Brangwyn did not respond to the thought.

"Perhaps it has to do with my injuries," Cador suggested.

"That could explain it."

They arrived in the kitchens, and Brangwyn ordered a servant to prepare two mugs of warm milk and honey. Here it was much warmer than the rest of the hall, and they settled down at a small table in the corner of the room, out of the way of the servants preparing the morning meal.

"I worry too, Cador," Brangwyn said, warming her hands around the mug. "But you know Yseult can look after herself. It is one of the reasons we love her so well."

"Modrun was very good at looking after herself too."

Brangwyn had no answer for that, and she stared down at the steaming milk. After a moment, her head shot up.

Cador looked around, but noticed nothing amiss. "What is it, Brangwyn?"

"The ships have been sighted. I feel it."

Together they rose, leaving their milk and honey standing, and hurried out of the hall. Sure enough, as they took the steps cut into the rock, they heard the first horn. The sky was lighter now, although there were still remnants of night clinging to the edge of the water on the western horizon.

And there to the southwest, a fleet of ships was coming into view, the purple of the Pendragon banner barely recognizable.

Arthur had arrived.

"Thank the gods," Brangwyn said. "Finally."

Cador too felt relief — but at the same time fear. "As long as Medraut holds Yseult, Arthur cannot attack. Otherwise her life is forfeit."

Brangwyn shot him a sharp look. "She told you that?"

"Yes, I think she did," Cador said slowly.

* * * *

Yseult walked between the odd collection of rectangular and round buildings in Celliwig, her guards a few paces behind, casting her mind about for anything that might help her escape: where Medraut had gone or what his plans were, whether he might not send for more troops, a guard who planned on neglecting his duties for a tryst, any discontent she might be able to use. The serving woman had not sought her out again with a message from the bard, and as Melou's health began to visibly improve, Yseult's fears increased.

Despite the many fighting men who had left with Medraut, the sounds around her were still those of a hill-fort on the brink of war: the clash of sword and shield from the men at weapons' practice, orders barked out during sprinting and jumping exercises, the hammering of the blacksmith as he worked on a new lance or dagger. The air was full of the smell of sweat and horse and dung and hay.

The conflicting thoughts and emotions of the men and women around her were a confusing, messy jumble. It was no wonder that she did not often use her power of knowing randomly this way. Yseult tried to concentrate and filter some sense out of the scattered fragments.

Damn woman, can't she leave a man in peace — Damn woman, why does she have to lead a man on — Where is my puppy? — I will show him, he won't call me dung-eating coward again — I wish I had more garlic for the soup — There's that haughty Erainn queen. I wonder how much of her icy arrogance will be left once King Medraut has thrown her to us?

While the thoughts were not exactly something Yseult wanted to hear, she focused on the mind fantasizing about her downfall; it was the one that seemed most likely to provide the information she needed.

Won't the bitch be surprised when Medraut returns with Cerdic's army at his back! If she lives to see it, that is.

Of course. Cerdic had recently defeated Natanleod and taken Calleva. While their original plan had probably been to converge on Dumnonia, attacking from east and west, now that Arthur was returning to Britain, the usurpers would know they had to defeat the Dux Bellorum if they wanted to carve out their own kingdoms in the south. She had to get to Dyn Tagell and warn them of Medraut's plans.

And then she felt the presence of magic, the touch of another mind. A presence which immediately disappeared as soon as she became aware of it.