The Book of Mordred (28 page)

"They're going to kill you," one of the women whispered. "They're going to kill all of us."

"Nonsense," Guinevere said.

But she didn't look as though she thought it was nonsense.

Lancelot ran his fingers through his hair, which was also graying. Mordred despised Lancelot, Kiera knew that. In her loyalty to Mordred she had always felt obliged to hate Lancelot, too. But she had never been able to muster more than a vague resentment, for Mordred's sake. And now she felt a grudging respect for the old man.
Go away, Mordred and Agravaine,
she thought.
You have gone too far.

Lancelot, by the window, turned to Guinevere, by the door. "I can do nothing without a sword," he whispered.

"I know," Guinevere answered.

"If I just give myself up, once Arthur gets back to court—"

"They would never let you live that long, and you know it."

"
I can do nothing without a sword,
" he repeated, an edge to his quiet voice.

And, once again, with that stillness: "I know," Guinevere said.

"My Lady," Kiera said, "Sir Lancelot. That's Sir Mordred and Sir Agravaine out there. They would not—"

Hildy interrupted with a hiss: "
She
knew!
She
spoke in her sleep, and she knew! This is some sort of trap."

"No," Kiera said, shocked that Hildy could think that of her. She didn't know what to make of the look Guinevere gave her. "I didn't know. I only—"

Somebody shoved her from behind, pulling on her hair.

"Stop that!" Guinevere commanded.

Kiera looked from her to Lancelot, then around the room. They were all standing huddled together. Some of the ladies actually clung to each other, but even the rest stood close; the Queen and Lancelot, with the length of the room between them, still—for the moment—had each other. Only
she
suddenly stood alone, and the physical distance that separated her from them was the least of it. "I did
not
know. It was just a dream."

Lancelot accepted it, she could tell from his eyes. Perhaps it came from having known Merlin: a habit of seeing the impossible and believing without explanation. For a moment he rested his hand on her head. But he didn't muss her hair, the way Agravaine was accustomed to; instead he put finger to lips for silence and motioned Guinevere to go to the hallway door.

The Queen waited with her hand on the latch, while Lancelot yanked a blanket off one of the beds and wrapped it around his arm.

Protection, Kiera realized. He was expecting them to come at him with weapons. She still wanted to say that they all were wrong—that Mordred and Agravaine wouldn't do anything like that—but he gave a quick nod.

Guinevere yanked the door open.

The knight on the other side tumbled in. Kiera, from where she stood, could see that he was alone: The other men were still gathered at the Queen's door. The knight was, after all, not in full armor though he did have a chain-mail shirt. In the instant before Lancelot hit him in the mouth with the heel of his palm, Kiera saw that it was Agravaine. She stifled a cry of sympathetic pain.

Agravaine would have staggered backwards, out into the hallway, but Lancelot was anticipating that. He had hold of Agravaine's sword arm, and he jerked him back into the room. Immediately he let go, then drove his elbow into Agravaine's face.

Guinevere slammed the door shut behind them and secured the bolt.

Kiera backed into a wall, too shocked for tears.

Lancelot brought his knee up in Agravaine's groin. Then, before Agravaine could straighten, Lancelot jerked his knee up again, this time slamming him under the chin, snapping Agravaine's head back. Then Lancelot kicked him in the chest so that he fell. Agravaine must have been stunned, his grip on the sword loosened, for Lancelot was able to wrest the weapon away. He brought the hilt down hard at the base of Agravaine's skull, and Agravaine dropped flat onto the floor.

Unsure of her legs, Kiera slid down the length of the wall until she was sitting on her heels.

The Queen leaned against the door, her face pale. She was breathing almost as hard as Lancelot. "Is he dead?" she asked. This time her whisper seemed more shock than desire for secrecy.

"No," said Lancelot.

He should know. Surely he had enough experience and should know. Kiera prayed he was right. He knelt and began to strip off Agravaine's protective mail.

Kiera brought her knees up to her chest. She rested her forehead against them, gulping down a wave of nausea. Then she pushed her damp hair away from her face and got to her feet. If Agravaine was to get help from anybody in this room, it would have to be her.

Before she could move, the door behind Guinevere rattled with a sudden jolt. "Agravaine!" It was Mordred's voice. Kiera's teeth started to chatter.

Lancelot recognized Mordred's voice, too—Keira could tell. He finished unfastening the mail shirt and started to put it on. Guinevere went to help him.

"Agravaine!" Mordred called again, unaccustomed urgency in his voice.

Kiera used her hand to push herself away from the wall. Agravaine was breathing, but he bled from nose and mouth and—more dangerously, she knew—from the ears. She folded the blanket Lancelot had discarded and put it under Agravaine's head. Although he was sweating profusely, his skin seemed unnaturally cold.

And Mordred practically screamed: "
Lancelot, what have you done to Agravaine?
"

Kiera bit her lip. Lancelot looked across at her, then down at Agravaine. He sighed, then knelt beside her. He forced the fallen knight's eyes open. The pupil of his right eye was larger than that of his left. Lancelot swore and sat back on his heels. He looked about the room, shook his head, swore again.

Other voices joined Mordred's: "Sir Lancelot, open this door."

Lancelot looked at Guinevere, who had her own eyes closed. Agravaine was, after all, her nephew. "If there had not been so many of them..." Lancelot said. "If I had brought my own sword in with me..." Kiera saw him swallow hard. Then he wiped his hand, sweaty and bloody, on his leg and picked up Agravaine's sword.

"Keep out of the way," he told the ladies-in-waiting. "You are not in danger."

He started back toward the Queens room, but stopped when he realized Guinevere had followed him. He took her hand and kissed it. "Your ladies need you," he said.

"Yes," Guinevere said. She pressed his hand to her cheek.

After a moment he released her hand.

This tenderness wasn't what Kiera had expected, not from the whispered titters, the smirks people gave each other.

Guinevere returned, shooing the women into the corner of the room that was farthest from both doors. All except for Kiera, who stayed by Agravaine's side.

Lancelot strode into the farther room, away from the Queen, away from the women, away—Kiera realized—from Mordred, who pounded at this door, frantic to find out what had happened to his brother. Lancelot yanked open the Queen's door. Very quietly—very quietly—he said: "If you have a quarrel with me, here I am."

They must have recognized the shirt and sword. "He's murdered Agravaine!" several voices shouted.

Kiera averted her gaze. She turned her attention back to Agravaine. That was bad enough. She didn't look up at the sound of clashing swords. With every breath, blood bubbled and foamed around Agravaine's nose and at the corners of his mouth. She used her hand to wipe it away.

Someone knelt beside her: Lisette, who, until Kiera's arrival, had been the youngest of the Queens ladies. She held out a pale yellow kerchief, but kept her face tilted away so as not to see.

There was a yell from the other room. Kiera jumped and involuntarily glanced over. Through the doorway, she saw at least three men already down, but Lancelot was being forced back by the sheer number of opponents.

A loud, rattling breath seemed to catch in Agravaine's throat. It wasn't followed by another. She turned back reluctantly, knowing what to expect before she saw it: His chest no longer heaved and the blood at his nose and mouth no longer stirred with breath. Only one drop still worked its way across his cheek.

"Oh, Agravaine," she said. The ballads were always full of heroic last words, of destiny fulfilled. This was just a body that no longer moved. She stared at the crumpled bloody cloth in her hand because she couldn't look at his face any longer.

Someone must have crashed into the table where Guinevere kept her perfumes and cosmetics: Glass shattered and wood splintered. Lancelot was being forced to give way, although more of the intruders were down. Now he had been backed practically into the room of the ladies-in-waiting; he fought two knights at once.

Lisette tugged on Kiera's arm. She was suddenly joined by Guinevere, and the two of them dragged Kiera out of the fighting men's way, for she had no feeling in her body and couldn't move on her own.

The pair that fought Lancelot got in each other's way in the narrow confines of the doorway. That, and their reluctance to get in as close to him as they needed, caused Lancelot to start regaining lost ground. But suddenly both his opponents fell back entirely, making way for someone else.

Guinevere's fingers dug into her shoulder, and Kiera went cold all over.

Lancelot was fighting Mordred.

Framed by the doorway, Lancelot didn't have enough room to maneuver; he had to shorten his swings and couldn't dodge to the side. But he was the best swordsman in Camelot. And Mordred ... Despite her love for him, even Kiera knew that Mordred was no better than average.

Lancelot parried a jab, feinted to the left, then thrust right. Mordred blocked, trying to force Lancelot into a tighter angle against the wall.

Kiera didn't know much about fighting—she didn't like tournaments and had only attended a few—but it didn't take an expert to realize that Lancelot was passing up opportunities. The first time, Mordred had swung too wide, misjudging the width of the doorway. His sword grazed the stone arch, leaving him exposed a moment too long. But Lancelot didn't take advantage of the opening. Then it happened again: a clear chance to sever Mordred's hand at the wrist, but instead Lancelot pressed forward, and Mordred was able to block.

Lancelot was only trying to disarm him, Kiera realized suddenly. He was trying very hard not to kill him. The relief was almost enough to start her crying again.

Mordred made a quick move that Lancelot mistook for a feint. Almost too late, he stepped back; but now Mordred was confined by the doorway and Lancelot had the freedom of movement.

Lancelot worked to his own left, cramping Mordred's sword arm, then suddenly he aimed for the head. Mordred started to shift balance, but it was a feint after all, and Lancelot swung back, pinning Mordred's weapon against the wall.

There was no time for him to slip down through the bottom: Lancelot grabbed his hand and slammed it against the stones that formed the arch of the doorway. Mordred winced, trying to pull down, but Lancelot jerked the hand back and hit the wall with it again. Then again, and again. Mordred tried to twist around, to get at Lancelot with his left hand, but the older, bigger knight had thrown his weight against him. The back of Mordred's fist hit the wall yet again. This time he was unable to suppress a cry of pain, but Lancelot relentlessly repeated the motion. The next time, Mordred's sword dropped from his fingers.

Lancelot's grip shifted lower on his arm. He yanked Mordred into the room and threw him on the floor. Already two of the other knights had made it through the door, and Lancelot defended himself against them without a glance to see where Mordred landed.

Kiera only just kept from crying out. Mordred had instinctively put out his right hand, the injured one, to break his fall and now was on his knees bent over in pain, with his eyes closed, unaware that what he had tripped over was his dead brother.

Mordred began to get up.

And then,
then
he opened his eyes.

Guinevere suddenly jerked Kiera away. The motion snapped her head back, and she saw that while Lancelot fought two knights, two others had circled behind and were running toward the corner where the women were.

Guinevere put herself between the ladies-in-waiting and the men, before anyone had a chance to think that she was the one who most needed protecting.

Kiera knew these people. She knew the men who were fighting and dying. She wanted to scream,
Stop it, stop it! What
was the matter with them? There: That was Sir Mador de la Porte, a kindly man who had given her piggyback rides when she'd been younger. Now he grabbed Guinevere by the arm and spun her around, holding his sword near her throat. The other knight was freckle-faced Sir Lionel, and he faced the ladies as though to ensure that they wouldn't try to sneak up from behind.

"My Lady!" Hildy screamed.

Lancelot whirled around.

"Hold!" Sir Mador said.

For a moment, everyone was motionless. The Queen didn't struggle against Mador who held her. Kiera and the ladies faced Lionel silently. The two who had been fighting Lancelot had frozen midstroke, their swords still up. Mordred remained on his knees next to Agravaine.

Then Lancelot grabbed the knight nearest him and heaved him against his companion.

Sir Mador's sword came closer to the Queen's throat.

Lancelot raised his sword, but took a backwards step. He was looking not at Mador but at Guinevere. "I will come back," he promised. Again he moved backwards. Then he did look at Mador, and told him, too, "I
will
come back."

"Get him!" Mador yelled to the other two, who were still trying to disentangle themselves from each other.

Lancelot turned and fled.

The two knights followed him, and Kiera heard their footsteps running down the hall. But then that was gone also, and all that was left was the sound of Mordred, his face against Agravaines chest, crying softly.