The Book of Mordred (16 page)

Affecting people's minds was the easiest—if the people weren't expecting it. She had done it a few times as a child, for childish reasons, and once shortly after meeting Merlin.

"
Never do that again" he had warned, sounding both frightened and angry "Absolutely, positively never. You go leaping into people's minds, and there's no telling what damage you can accidentally do Try to get some anonymous peasant to lower the price of his rutabagas for you, and you might end up changing his entire destiny. And suppose he was eventually going to do something important. Or to sire somebody important. Or to encourage somebody to do something important. Why, you might prevent the invention of the wheel. Think of the sociopolitical consequences on the price of rutabagas if the wheel were never invented.
"

"
But, Merlin," she had said, "the wheel has already BEEN invented. And besides, rutabagas don't grow here. You mean turnips. I hate turnips.
"

"
Don't,"he had said, "be obtuse.
"

"You be some lord's son or something?"

"What?" Wystan's question caused the wall to retreat back into the darkness, the image of Merlin overshadowed.

"You talk like gentrys, and the others—they sez they don't know you."

She had thought only a moment had passed while she'd been thinking and that he had been by her side all along. But the others were gathered closer around, and Wystan was now before her instead of beside. "My name is Nevil," she told him—told all of them.
Some
sort of explanation was definitely called for; but she couldn't trust them with the truth—or certainly not all of it. Nimue of Camelot was too valuable a hostage. To these men with whom she shared the cell, the prospect of ending up like Evan would be strong incentive to try to bargain with the wizard. "I work for Everard the fabric merchant. We had just arrived when the knights came. Now please get out of my way."

"Everard travels alone," said one from the St. George group.

"Thought so" someone behind her agreed. So far they sounded more confused than skeptical. So far they were just trying to work things out.

Nimue said, "Well, he doesn't work alone anymore. Could you stand aside please?"

"But..." said Dolph.

"Get out of my way!" she screamed at them.

Everyone backed off.

Still, it wasn't wasted time. From trying to make out their faces as they spoke, her eyes had become better adjusted. She located a spider web in the corner between the ceiling and the wooden beam that braced it. Her eyes picked out an individual strand, then a drop of moisture that hung from that strand. This was supposed to be one of the simple spells, she reminded herself. She let pinpricks of color form, focused on the blue-gold ones, and consciously raised her body temperature. A tiny puff of smoke momentarily obscured the spot she needed, but she continued to see it in her mind. Someone was shaking her shoulder, yelling directly into her ear. She successfully blocked that, along with the other background noise. Finally, the illusion took. Reality merged with thought, and the semblance of fire she had created consumed the spider web. Then the flames dropped to the floor, igniting the wood and straw bedding in the far corner of the cell.

"Nevil, Nevil! Back off! You're too close." It was Dolph who shook her while the others banged on the door and screamed, "Fire!"

For a moment she was confused, couldn't understand why Dolph looked at her and called a man's name, but then he was dragging her to her feet, away from the heat of the flames.

The three dungeon guards were just outside. "Move," the one in command called. "You're blocking the door." If they had been ordinary prisoners of an ordinary castle, the guards probably would just have let the fire burn out—taking bedding and prisoners with it, since it would be unable to burn the stone walls and go beyond this one cell. But they were valuable. The wizard wanted them, and wanted them unmarred.

The door banged open, and the fire heightened from the draft. The guards swore at the prisoners, for whatever it was they'd done, and one of them shoved Nimue and Dolph out into the hallway to have enough room to start beating at the flames with the few old blankets in the cell.

Nimue caught the eye of one of the prisoners, the cooper's nephew, and inclined her head toward the stairs. The others caught on quickly. Only Dolph hesitated with his hand on the cell's door. But whichever guard had unlocked the door had brought the key into the cell with him. And there was no time to look for something with which to block the door, thereby trapping the guards. Any moment now one of them was sure to realize the prisoners were out. Nimue shook her head at Dolph.

We'll probably regret that decision, too,
she warned herself as she and Dolph took off down the corridor at a run.

She wanted to call out,
Stay together!
But the others had too big a lead, and she couldn't shout for fear of alerting the guards. So she watched helplessly as the freed prisoners raced ahead.

With his longer legs, Dolph took the stairs two at a time. But then he turned and saw her lagging behind. He grabbed her arm and hustled her up to the outside door. From behind came the sounds of the dungeon guards, who'd finally seen what had happened. They were yelling and running up the stairs.

Outside, too, there was already a commotion. If all eight of them had stayed together and burst through the door en masse, there might have been a better chance for at least some to escape.

Dolph yanked her back inside. "They'll be searching the woods," he whispered, "figuring everybody made a run for it."

Of course they would figure that: It was the only sensible place to go.

Inside, Nimue and Dolph stood at the intersection of three doorways: the one to the outside, the one they had just come through from the dungeon stairs, and one opening on a long corridor that led to the castle proper. If going outside meant walking into the roused castle guards whom they could hear even now starting pursuit of the other prisoners, and downstairs would bring them back to the dungeon guards on their way up, that left only the corridor. But there was no way to make it down that corridor before the dungeon guards reached the head of the stairs, and the only spot that offered even a bit of cover was a small linen-draped table under which there would be room for only one, if that.

Nimue said, "One glance down that hall, and they'll have us. Better to take our chances outside."

Dolph suddenly grinned, though his face was still white with fear. "Nevil, Everard's assistant." He shook his head, put his hand squarely on her back and pushed. "Go!"

Nimue stumbled, knew she wouldn't make it to the table after all, and pressed herself against the wall.

Dolph stepped to the outside door, dropped to one knee, and rubbed the other leg, pretending pain. "Blasted knee," he said. "Hey, lads! Wait for me! Don't leave me!"

From behind, the three pursuing guards burst through the dungeon door and almost fell over him. One of them grabbed his arm, seemingly intent on twisting it out of its socket.

"Easy, easy," he told them. "I'm not going anywhere."

Stupid.
Nimue took a shaky breath in through her teeth.
I didn't need that,
she thought.
Why didn't you let me handle it my own way?

Though, fast on that, her mind asked her,
And what way would that have heen?

They hadn't yet looked in her direction. The guards dragged Dolph to his feet, still with one arm pinned behind and now a sword ready at his back. "Don't try anything," one of them warned.

"I wasn't intending to," Dolph assured him.

Nimue released the glamour that she had cast to disguise her appearance, and instantly replaced it with another. She gave herself dark hair coming loose from under a kerchief, and an apron, damp and food-stained. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her hands were red and chapped from work. The spell caused her to stagger dizzily against the wall.

The movement caught the attention of the dungeon commander, but all he saw was a scullery maid. "Hey, wench. You seen anyone?"

"What?" The confused tone came more from the change from one false shape to another than from a calculated intent to appear dim-witted.

"Any of Lord Halbert's boys go down that way?"

"Halbert?"

He looked at her blank face for only a moment, then pushed by her to check the hall himself. He stopped at the table, and jabbed under the hanging linen with his sword.

Dolph stared at her with enormous eyes.

The guard who held him twisted the arm a bit more. "Go on, then," he said. "Back down you go. And any more tricks, and you can roast yourselves." He shoved Dolph toward the stairs.

Behind her, the guard at the table hesitated as if debating whether it was worth his effort to walk all the way down the hall, seeing there was little chance that anyone could have made it that far.

The remaining guard stepped outside to join the search there, and Nimue followed him into the courtyard. Reynard's Boy, the wainwright, and Wystan were huddled into a group guarded by five knights. Griffith was lying face down in the dirt. One of the knights—m fact it was the one who had been in charge of the recent raid on St. George—used his foot to roll the youth over onto his back. He stooped for a closer look, then shook his head, looking annoyed and disgusted.

"Pardon," Nimue murmured, edging past them. The boy's slack mouth and wide-open eyes showed he was beyond magic as surely as he was beyond herbs and simples. Despite the lurch in her stomach, she tried not to seem unduly interested or concerned.

She made it around the corner, where she leaned her forehead against the wall. When she looked up, she saw the cobbler's apprentice being brought back in over the drawbridge. That left only the cooper's nephew unaccounted for. From the surrounding woods, she could hear calls and whistles and barking hounds.

Don't stop now.
She knew that was good advice to herself, even if it entailed walking directly by the knights clustered about Griffith's body, arguing over whose responsibility he was.

She resumed walking, keeping her head bent down, which, in any case, was befitting a kitchen servant.

As they passed each other, the knight who had hold of the cobbler's apprentice gave her a pat on the bottom. "Later, girl," he called out, and gave her a wink. She could guess what he had in mind, but his words were disturbingly reminiscent of what the old wizard had said.

She kept walking and didn't look back.

Nimue walked the rest of that afternoon and into the evening. If she had to walk all the way to Camelot, she would, for King Arthur had to be told what was going on at Ravens' Rock. St. George was closer, but what could they do beyond sending for help? And certainly, by now, they would have done that already. But if help came—from Camelot, by way of St. George since Arthur would not know about Ravens' Rock—that would cost an extra day, time that the young men being held prisoner could not easily afford.

On the other hand, north toward Camelot rather than east toward St. George, there were several towns and castles held by lords loyal to Arthur. She would have to decide, later, whether she would do better to stay on the direct road to Camelot, or to veer off in the direction of one of those other castles. A messenger sent by one of those lords could travel much faster than she on foot. But only if, by not going straight, she didn't miss the men Arthur would send in response to St. George's call for help.

She slept the darkest hours of the night, then started again, too tired to think properly, too tired to cry, too tired to avoid worrying that her frantic wishes for the well-being of those held captive would somehow work unsuspected harm—so that her wishes were tinged by self-doubt, which would, of course, diminish the possibility that they would work at all.

Now Merlin, she reflected, could have summoned a horse to carry him, or conjured up one of those infernal riding machines he complained that the people of the future were too fond of. But Nimue's inherent magical ability was slight. And most of it was already occupied, supporting the ongoing spell for Merlin. And most of what was left inclined itself primarily toward small healings.

So she put one foot before the other and tried not to think of where she was going or how long it would take to get there.

The third morning of walking, she heard horses.

They came from the north, the direction in which she was headed. Too early for any response from Camelot. The road was straight and wide at this point, and the riders had to have seen her, just as surely as she saw them. Two knights. Which was good. Unless, of course, they were from Ravens' Rock. But there were only the two, and they weren't dragging helpless village boys behind them. Though that certainly wasn't
proof.

She considered whether she should leave the road and try to hide in the woods. If these knights were people who could help, hiding would be the wrong decision. On the other hand, they
might
be knights of the Red Phoenix, and if they were, they might or might not decide to pursue her. But—on the other hand—if they were Red Phoenix knights, their main interest was in gathering young men for their wizard, so maybe it would be best to stay on the road and not attract their interest by fleeing. On the other hand...