Sword of Light (7 page)

Rhianna eyed the fallen arrow. Its head looked bent. Her Avalonian armour must have saved her life. At least its magic and Elphin’s harp seemed to work in this world, even if they had lost Merlin. She breathed a bit easier. As long as their captors did not discover who she was, they might get a chance to escape.

The bloodbeard captain turned his attention
to Sir Bors. “Take them to the Saxon camp,” he ordered. “Chief Cynric will want to question this knight once I’ve loosened his tongue. We might not have smoked Arthur’s cowardly lot out of their hideout yet, but ten to one he knows where it is. We can trade the maid and the two boys for a couple of boats to dredge for the sword – Saxons are always after slaves. The plump one won’t need much feeding.” He poked Cai in the stomach with Sir Bors’ sword and the squire moaned in fear.

As the men marched them at spear point towards the Saxon camp, their leader glanced at Elphin’s horse, which had given up trying to mist for now. “See if you can find that other white pony. They don’t look up to carrying much weight, but Cynric’s men can always eat them if this siege drags on into the winter.”

Rhianna glared at the bloodbeard captain. Eat Lord Avallach’s mist horses? How dare he even suggest such a thing? “Run, Alba,” she whispered. “Stay free.”

6

Saxon Camp

S
oon I’ll wake up, Rhianna told herself, and all this will be nothing but a bad dream. Except she knew it wasn’t a dream, and her legs trembled at the thought of meeting her father’s enemies. Nobody in Avalon had ever fired an arrow at her, or jabbed her with a spear every
time she opened her mouth to talk to her friends. If the world of men was like this, no wonder the queen had sent her to live with Lord Avallach.

Their captors separated Sir Bors and dragged him off with the two horses, making her afraid they might never see him again. She wondered what the bloodbeards would do to her friends if they found out who she really was. But as the smells and noise of the Saxon camp surrounded them, her fear turned to anger. These men had been responsible for her father’s death. If they hadn’t joined forces with Mordred, her cousin would never have got close enough to kill the king.

She looked hopefully back at the hill where she’d seen her father’s ghost, but got another prod from a bloodbeard’s spear. “Don’t even think
about rescue, lassie,” he chuckled. “Your knights ran off. Cowards, the lot of ’em, now they’ve lost Arthur.”

Rhianna saw Elphin’s warning glance and bit off her angry words. Their only hope of getting out of here would be to get her friend’s harp back. Until then she had to remember to act like a meek village girl so their captors would think her no threat. Easier said than done.

That evening Rhianna stood in the Saxon chief’s tent fuming with helpless rage. The Saxons had taken her armour and replaced it with an old sack that hung raggedly around her knees. Her braid had come unravelled so that her hair frizzed to her waist. A leather
slave-collar
, which had been buckled around her neck, was rubbing her chin and making it sore.
Elphin and Cai wore similar collars, although they had at least been allowed to keep their own clothes. The Avalonian armour, her father’s dragon shield, Cai’s dagger, Sir Bors’ sword and Elphin’s harp made a glittering pile on a rug before the chieftain’s feet. It seemed neither of her friends had seen King Arthur’s ghost earlier, so she must have been dreaming after all. Either that, or it had fled when the Saxons swarmed over the hillside. The only good thing was that they hadn’t caught Alba.

Chief Cynric turned out to be a huge man with yellow braids. His battle-scarred body was draped in furs. A heavy torque of gold finished by two huge rubies clasped his thick neck. He lounged in a chair with carvings of dragons on its arms, drinking from a horn and scowling at them. Rhianna decided the chair must have
been stolen from one of her father’s halls, because it looked too good for a barbarian tent.

“And what am I supposed to do with these young ragamuffins?” Cynric said to the bloodbeard captain, who had washed the blue spirals off his face but still stank. “I ask your people to find out where Arthur’s men are hiding, and you bring me three half-grown children! I’ve got enough slaves.”

“I thought you’d like to see them before I set them to work, my lord,” said their captor in an oily tone. “The knight will be useful, won’t he?”

“Only if he talks,” Cynric pointed out. “Which he seems reluctant to do at the moment. And you say the others escaped? How many of them? The last thing we want is a troop of Arthur’s knights charging in here looking for their friend.”

“Two or three maybe,” said the Saxon who had led the chase. “It was too foggy to see. They’re just thieves and cowards, my lord, probably acting alone.”

“Probably!” Cynric slammed his big hands down on the arms of his throne. “Maybe two or three? Too foggy to see? This whole campaign so far has been a string of probablies! Arthur’s body was
probably
stolen away by that druid of his, but no one seems to know where. Several people have told me they saw Prince Mordred fall in the battle as well, yet no one seems to know where he is, either! Meanwhile, it seems these stubborn Britons are still not willing to open their gates and let me in. Do you want to know what I think? I think that snake Mordred has grown tired of his allies now we’ve helped him defeat Arthur, and is
holed up someplace waiting for us all to go home so he can keep the fabled treasure of Camelot for himself.”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” said their captor, frowning as the drunken Saxons laughed at him. He lifted Rhianna’s frizzy braid. “Look, the maid’s quite pretty under all that mud! She’ll fetch a good price in the slave markets if you don’t want her for yourself. And the dark boy is a bard with extra fingers, which some people value…” He eyed Cynric’s scowl and added, “The knight will talk, I promise you. My men will make sure of it.”

“If they don’t kill him first,” Cynric said with another glower. “I’ve heard about your methods, Bloodbeard.” He put his head on one side and frowned at Rhianna. “I don’t much care for the girl – she looks like she wants to kill me.”

Rhianna could keep silent no longer. She lifted her chin. “I’ll have a good try, Saxon thief, unless you take this collar off me and let my friends go!”

Cynric blinked at her in surprise, then threw back his head and laughed. “D’you hear that? Arthur and all his knights could not defeat me in battle, yet this freckle-faced maid dares call me a thief in my own camp! And what am I supposed to have stolen, girl?”

“Your tent is pitched outside King Arthur’s home,” Rhianna pointed out in a voice that carried easily over the laughter. “This is
his
land, not yours! But you’re right about Camelot’s treasure. Mordred wants Excalibur to give him power over men. Ask him – he’s been sent to look for it!” She pointed at their bloodbeard captor.

Silence fell in the tent as the men all looked at their chief to see what he would do. Meanwhile, their captor swung his fist at her head. She ducked and he overbalanced, making the men laugh again. Catching his balance, he grabbed a handful of Rhianna’s hair and forced her to her knees.

“Stupid girl’s lying to save her skin. I’ll soon teach her some manners, don’t you worry, my lord,” he growled.

Elphin began to hum under his breath.

But Cynric jumped to his feet. “Enough,” he said, peering down at Rhianna with more interest. “Let the maid up and leave her with me. Save your energies for loosening that big knight’s tongue. I want to know where Arthur’s men are hiding before the sun rises, or you’ll be the one kneeling before me with
a slave collar around your neck. Understood?”

Her captor reluctantly let Rhianna go. She rubbed her head and glared at him as he hurried out of the tent. Cynric was still looking thoughtfully at her, and her stomach gave an uneasy flutter. Her and her big mouth… Why had she said that about Mordred wanting Excalibur for its magic? A village girl wouldn’t have known that. They had to get out of this tent before the Saxon chief started asking awkward questions.

She glanced at Elphin, who nodded. Slowly, still humming under his breath, he walked across to the pile of their belongings and picked up his harp. Nobody stopped him. Cynric had leaned over the arm of his throne to talk in a low voice to one of his men. Rhianna felt for Cai’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Tears of
fear streaked the boy’s face. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered. “We’re going to get out of here, I promise. Block your ears when Elphin plays.”

“Why’s he going to play for them?” Cai whispered. “They’re horrible.”

But Cynric had finally noticed her friend. “Who said you could touch my things, boy?” he snapped, making his men look round.

Elphin met his glare calmly. “This harp sings only to my touch. No one else can play it like I can, my lord,” he said in his soft voice. “Listen…” He stroked the strings with his slender fingers and sweet Avalonian music filled the tent.

Cynric’s hands clenched on his throne. “I’ll be the judge of that…” Then a look of wonder came over his face, and he waved back the men who had started towards the boy. “No, let
him play. I’m in need of a new bard. Let’s see what magic he’s got in those extra fingers of his.”

The men made space for Elphin on the end of a bench. He dared not look at them as he bent his head over his harp and concentrated on the magic. By the time he reached his third tune, Cynric’s eyelids were drooping. Rhianna smiled as the sweet scent of enchantment briefly overcame the stench of the Saxon camp. Having heard the chief speak, Elphin had created the perfect lullaby for him. She nudged Cai, who – after staring in wonder at Elphin’s swiftly dancing fingers – jammed his hands over his ears.

Chief Cynric opened his mouth in a huge yawn. Yawns are catching at the best of times. His men set down their drinking horns and yawned as well. Even Rhianna, used to the
magic, had to fight to stay awake. She elbowed Cai again. The boy jumped.

“The trick is to hum different notes under your breath,” she whispered. “And don’t listen to the music. The spell isn’t directed at us, but the dream magic can’t be totally controlled.” Cai’s eyes closed again. “Never mind,” she said. “I’ll keep prodding you.”

Elphin played on. When the last man had slumped over the benches, Rhianna unbuckled her collar and threw the hateful thing down on the rug. She and Cai ran to the pile of their belongings. Cai retrieved his dagger, their cloaks and the shield, while Rhianna dragged the Avalonian armour over her sack-dress and picked up Sir Bors’ sword. She removed Elphin’s collar for him while he kept playing and they hurried out of the tent.

The magic had worked on the sentries outside as well, but judging by the noise and firelit silhouettes further across the camp, it didn’t reach very far. Rhianna hesitated at the flap. She looked back at the sleeping chieftain and his snoring warriors and smiled.

“Wait a moment,” she whispered and tiptoed back to where Cynric snored on his stolen throne. She removed the Saxon chief’s golden torque and slipped it round her own throat, then picked up the collar she’d worn and buckled it round the Saxon’s thick neck. It only just fitted. She used the other two collars to strap his wrists to the arms of his throne, then ran back to join her friends.

“We’re supposed to be thieves, aren’t we?” she said. “If he thinks we’ve robbed him, maybe he won’t realise who we really are.”

Cai grinned. Elphin shook his head, but was concentrating too hard on his magic to say anything.

They made their way to the edge of the camp where the horses were tethered, letting the music take effect on any sentries before they ventured past. Progress was slow and Rhianna’s impatience grew. She glanced over her shoulder at the chieftain’s tent, afraid one of the men might wake up and raise the alarm. She wondered how they would ever find Sir Bors among this lot.

Then they saw the winged standard planted in the mud, and heard groans coming from a hut built against the wall of the ditch.

“They’re killing him!” Cai yelled. Before they
could stop the squire, he had blundered inside. Rhianna cursed under her breath, gripped Sir Bors’ sword and hurried after him, wishing it were not so heavy. Elphin followed, still playing his harp.

Smoke and shadows filled the hut. They glimpsed a sweaty Sir Bors, stripped to the waist and roped to a metal frame. The bloodbeard captain stood over him holding what looked like a black glove clamped around a glowing poker, while another man stoked a fire where more frightening tools lay heating. There was a horrible smell of burned flesh as the poker came down, drawing another desperate groan from Sir Bors. For a heartbeat, Rhianna thought she saw a second figure, standing behind the bloodbeard, dressed in glittering black armour.

“Let him go!” she ordered, unable to believe what the men were doing.

The bloodbeard captain spun round, saw the sword in her hand and swung his poker at it… or tried to. His arm jerked, the poker clanged to the floor and the black glove, which seemed to have a life of its own, flew across the hut and gripped her wrist. Its touch was ice cold. Rhianna shook the horrid thing off and ducked as a dark shape hissed past her out of the door. She heard a rushing noise like wind in the trees and thought she heard someone whisper, “
Excalibur
”. She looked round in sudden hope for her father’s sword, but could see only shadows.