Under Camelot's Banner (9 page)

“Be strong.” Father gasped, clutching Lynet's hand so hard she feared her bones would snap. “Do not fall to … fall to …” He shuddered, and his head dropped back. Austell caught father's head before it could thud onto the stones. A groan of pain robbed father of speech and he tried again to tear at his wounds. Two men grabbed his clawed, desperate hands. Lynet looked up to meet her sister's eyes, and saw tears streaming down Laurel's hollow cheeks.

“Is there anything …?” Laurel choked the words out.

Lynet's tongue was slow but the stillness of her hands allowed for no answer but the truth. “Nothing,” she said hoarsely. “His belly is breached. Even if I could stop the blood …”

Father screamed again. “God!” he wailed. “Oh, God! Stop this! Stop this!”

“Lynet,” Laurel said her name again, this time so softly, Lynet was not sure how she heard it.

Oh, no. She could not do this. Not this. Not this way. But father was screaming, again and again, and his face awash in fearful agony as the floor was awash in his blood. Watching her hand as if she stood outside her own body, Lynet reached out and pulled Colan's dagger from his belly. More blood, so much blood, too much blood, how much blood could one man lose and still scream for the pain of it? Voices all around her, voices behind and before, and motion she could not understand. There was only her hand and the knife as she pressed the edge against father's throat in the place where the pulse beat. Father looked at her, his brown eyes clear, his reason strong despite the pain, and he, warrior that he was, understood the only help she could give. He wrenched his great hand free of those who held him and grasped her wrist, not to hold her back, but bearing down, helping her break the skin and cut the vein even as he screamed.

More blood spilled, and the scream was cut off in a gargling, drowning sound. Lord Kenan, Steward of Cambryn, sagged onto the floor. His eyes closed for the briefest of moments, and then rolled open, seeing nothing.

Lynet stood. Her father's blood covered her dress. It smeared her cheeks. It dripped from her hands and the ends of her hair. She could taste it on her lips. She was an apparition of blood. She burned with its fire. She turned, raising the dagger she had pulled from her father's death wound and pointed it at her faithless brother.

“Murderer!” she cried. “Murderer!”

“No!” he shouted, struggling to regain that power of speech and truth that had so briefly compelled them all to listen. “It was Arthur who caused the murder here! He who betrayed …”

She would not let him finish. She would not let him pollute this blood, these stones with his lies. “False son!” she cried. “Father slayer! Your hand did this and you would fob off the blame on our liege lord! God strike me dead before I ever call you brother again!”

“You are outlaw.”

It was Laurel. Laurel, standing straight and pale as a statue of alabaster. She too had blood spattered on her dress and her on throat, but this flaw only seemed to make her shine more brightly. “Outlaw,” Laurel said again. “No law, no protection, no sanctuary.” Her words tolled relentlessly. “No man may aid you. Any man may strike you dead without penalty and claim bloodprice for the deed. Run Colan, No Man's Son. Run and hide while you can!”

Color drained from Colan's cheeks leaving them ashen grey. He looked about him, to Peran and to Mesek. Neither man moved. Captain Hale and the others stood back. Laurel had said the traitor, the murderer could run, and they would let him. But they did not relax their vigilance for a moment. Let him make any movement against his doom and he would not live another heartbeat. In the heart of her rage, Lynet prayed he would run, that he would not seek the clean, quick death that Hale and the others would give him. He deserved no such mercy.

Let you envy Cain himself as the wilderness takes you.

Then, he did run. Colan ran down the dais, fled the hall, and his motion broke the silence. A roar rose from the throats of the men gathered there, and they surged after him, suddenly a mob, crying out his name, cursing, driving him out the door as a hunting pack drives a deer. But they would not kill him. She was icily sure of that. They'd drive him out to the mile stone, turning him loose in the wilderness. God would take him there, or a man guided by God's hand.

Lynet began to tremble. Her arm dropped to her side and the cursed dagger fell clattering to the floor beside their father's bloody corpse.

Lynet looked down at the cold clay remains that had so recently held her father. It was strange, she thought, how fast the color in a person's flesh fled when life was gone. Was the soul itself red?

In the distance, Bishop Austell was saying, “Bear him to the chapel. One of you … you … send for Meg and Father Lucius. He must be washed …”

Is the soul red?

Men came forward. They hoisted the awkward weight of their steward's body onto their shoulders. Bearing it well, like the workmen they were, they carried the corpse away, with the bishop walking before them. Where all had been silence, a flood-tide of noise now rose. Voices, running feet, the commotion of bodies rushing into the hall, men and women shouting questions, screams and cries as folk saw the corpse carried past.

All Lynet could do was stand and stare at the blood that was left behind.

“Lady Laurel, what's happened?”

“God above, she's killed the steward!”

Blood. They saw the blood, on her, on her hands, on father's hands, on Mark's hands, on Iseult's livid face, on Tristan's corpse, so much blood …

“No!” declared Laurel. “This was Colan Carnbrea's work!”
Laurel will not call him brother. No more brother. Never again.
“He is murderer and outlaw, and so are any who give him aid or succor!”

Laurel was holding her. Lynet recognized her sister's touch. It was as well. Her legs had gone numb, and she did not think she could stand anymore.

There was running, and weeping, and shouts. She could not make out any of it clearly. The fog had crept in from outside, settling over her eyes and heart. Eventually, hands led her away to another place. They stripped off her bloody dress and sat her down.

After a time, Laurel crouched in front of her. Lynet could clearly see her sister's white, strained face. A clay basin rested on the floor beside her. Laurel wet a cloth in the basin's clear water and began gently to wash Lynet's face, laving their father's blood from her skin. Slowly, the touch of the water revived her, breaking open her stupor so that the grief could flow.

Lynet's will to move returned in a rush, and she clasped her sister's wrists. They said nothing, just stayed like that for a long moment, both letting their tears fall in silent rivers until the deep wells within them ran dry.

Only then did words return to Lynet. “Mary, Mother of God. Laurel, what are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” Laurel whispered, wringing the rag out into the basin. “If Peran and Mesek go to war, and I do not think they will spare Cambryn. We can only hold the house if Captain Hale has men enough, and he may not. Folk are scared, Lynet. They may run.” She ran both hands over her hair. Long locks of hair had come loose from her braid and drifted across her cheeks and brow.

Lynet struggled to clear her thoughts.
Think. Accept. Understand. You cannot weep your way out of this problem.
“We cannot hold alone.”

“No,” agree Laurel, lifted her face again, and Lynet saw how hard it had gone. “We cannot.”

“Then we must get help.” Her mind was not yet completely clear, and she could not say from where. There was one obvious place to turn, but she hesitated. Despite all he had done and all Lynet had seen, Colan's words from the day before came back, and she could not dismiss the fear of treachery they had planted. That fear kept her from forming any answer for her sister. That fear, and new guilt layering itself over the old.

If she had stood by Colan when he needed her, this would not be happening. Their father would still be alive and Colon's urge to treachery would still sleep undisturbed.

No. I cannot give way to that.
No. She made herself speak. “We must send for the queen.”

“Must we?” Laurel stood and carried the basin to the small table, setting it there. “What we know now is that Anger against Arthur is running high.” Laurel gripped either side of the basin, watching the wall but seeing memory. “Bringing Queen Guinevere back may start the war rather than end it.”

“Will Arthur abandon his queen to her fate if war does come? If she is here and in danger, his men will follow.”

Laurel stared at her in frank surprise. “That is a hard bargain.”

“What other one can we make?” asked Lynet, striving for some of Laurel's cold reason.

Laurel said nothing for a long moment. In that silence, Lynet read her sister's thought. “You cannot be considering going to Morgaine,” Lynet breathed.

Laurel's brows arched. “I cannot?”

“No,” said Lynet at once.

“Do you remember what Colan said?”

“He lied. How can you believe he did anything but lie?” Lynet's voice took on a shrill edge that resonated inside her ears, making her remember her own shouts.
Murderer! False son!
How could Laurel believe anything he had said? And yet, and yet, God help her she could not forget in those few moments before blood and insult had overwhelmed his sense, when he spoke with such compelling wisdom. Even father had listened to what he had said.

“Do we know he was mistaken about everything?” Laurel asked, her voice both steady and reasonable. “What if it is the queen who has led us to this place?”

“Queen Guinevere is not responsible for our father's death.”

“Isn't she?” Laurel's calm began to crack. Her breath grew heavier and her words took on a brittle edge. “Away in Camelot, she holds our reins, but forgets our welfare. Sir Tristan commits outrage, and where is she? Queen Iseult is dead and King Mark is weakened and where
is
she?”

Laurel wanted to give way, but she could not. They were all that was left now, the only ones who stood between their land and the ravages of war and anarchy. “No, Laurel. Morgaine is Colan's friend. Peran spoke of her as friend to him as well. She knew of his rebellion at the very least. She may have even helped. You know as well as I do she works her will by stealth and trickery.”

But Laurel would not relent. “Yes. Morgaine works by stealth, and she wins.”

“Will you seek the aid of one who supports treason?” Lynet's voice broke on the last word. “If she is willing to remove one king by stealth, what will she do to another?” Laurel remained unmoved and Lynet's jaw hardened. “Let me tell you what I know, sister. It is shadows and stealth that breed murder. It is lies and deception. You …” her voice shook. “We cannot do what Colan has done. We cannot look for somewhere else to put the blame for what has happened other than where it belongs. With our family. With Colan, and with you and me,” Laurel looked into the fire a long time, the golden light reflecting in her sea green eyes. “And with our father.”

It was the truth and Lynet knew it for the truth, and even though she spoke it herself, it was almost too much to bear. She felt her throat and jaw quiver, in anticipation of tears to come. “One of us must go to the queen. We must call on Arthur's aid. If they come to our aid, then all will be right. If they do not …”

Weariness drew Laurel's skin tight across her bones, and made each line of her face sharp and hard. “If no, we are in the right to do whatever we must to keep our folk and our land together.”

Lynet nodded. “Yes. Whatever we must.”

They met each other's eyes. Laurel's shone with the bright sea fire. Laurel would do as she must. Whatever she must, and for a terrifying moment, Lynet saw how much Laurel resembled Colan.

“We will call a council, and we will find a way to put these words into action.” Laurel reached out suddenly and gripped Lynet's hand hard. “We must stand united in this, sister. If any see us divided or indecisive everything will shatter in an instant.”

Lynet could scarce breathe for the enormity of it all. Part of her wanted to hide like a child. Part cursed and howled at her parents for abandoning her to this. Part wanted nothing more than to send Colan to hell with her bare hands for all she seemed to have taken up his cause. And some small, absurd part was wondering if there was enough beer and cider left to serve such a council as they must now convene. They would have to talk with Jorey, and soon.

“We stand together, sister, and one way or another, our enemies will learn Cambryn does not stand alone.”

And so it was done. Fires and the torches were lit in the great hall. The banners and the shields were all hung. Chairs were set around the central fire and the last of the Spanish wine was brought from the cellar to fill the silver goblets. Captain Hale was there and Lock with him. A full twenty men lined the hall under his charge. Bishop Austell, his strong hand clutching his crook as if it were a holy relic, sat at Laurel's right. Tor, who knew more of the tin and the river than any other man in Cambryn, wrapped both his battered hands around the silver goblet that looked as flimsy as an eggshell in his massive grip.

Mesek sat across the fire from Laurel and Lynet, and Peran a quarter turn of the circle from him. Lynet did not know what persuasion the captain and the bishop had used to get them to agree to the council, but it had not been enough to keep them from coming armed, or from each having his own men interspersed among Cambryn's; a thing that would never have happened had their father been alive.

Laurel stood. Both she and Lynet had dressed carefully for this meeting, and Laurel was resplendent in her gown of emerald silk embroidered about its hems and trailing sleeves with leaping dolphins. Her cloak was black as midnight, setting off the pallor of her hair and skin. Gold and carbuncles flashed at her throat and adorned her hands. Even Iseult had never looked more the queen. “It has been decided that Cambryn will send a delegation to Camelot at once,” said Laurel. “They will return with Queen Guinevere, so that she may settle the disputes between our people, and, if she will not stay, then appoint a new steward to take up the lawful rule of the land.”