For Camelot's Honor by Sarah Zettel Read Free Book Online Page B

… this could take … days.”
Don’t think of the other chance. Don’t think it.
“How can I leave you and Yestin now?”
    Don’t think how those such as stand at the door take men underhill for seven times seven years, or longer.
    Adara looked deeply into her daughters eyes. “They have come to us for help and we cannot turn such a plea away, daughter. No matter who they are.”
    Elen swallowed, and tried to pull herself together, to stand as tall and proud as her mother did. “Of course. Forgive me. Let me get my cloak.”
    This time Elen did not bother with caution as she waded through the women’s quarters. Curses rose in the darkness, as did worried queries.
    â€œBaby’s coming,” was all that Elen answered, pulling on her cloak and boots. Everyone would think it was Nia.
    Her hands shook. It took her four tries to fasten her cloak pin. It was as well it was dark. She didn’t think she could see clearly anyway.
    Once, when she was very small, Mother went to midwife a birth and she returned at twilight the next day. There was nothing strange about this, save that when mother returned she was usually full of stories; of the family, of the birth and how it went, of the child and how well it was likely to thrive. This time, she said only, “The babe lives and it is strong.”
    The next morning, there was a new sow in the pen. None of the swineherds could say how it came to be there. She was milk white and she bore litter after litter of strong, healthy piglets, all as white as their mother. She never savaged them as other sows might, and they never took sick no matter how cold the winter or how scarce the feed. Their pigs became famous throughout the cantrevs, and were much prized at markets and for any trade they might make.
    When the sow finally died, mother forbade its flesh to be eaten. Instead, she ordered it buried by the bridge.
    Everyone knew that sow had been her midwife’s fee for the birth she never spoke of. What everyone did not know was what Elen overheard Mother say to Father in the darkness and quiet.
    â€œThey wanted me to stay with them. It was only the thought of my children that brought me home.”
    It was only the thought of my children.
Elen had no such anchor. If these wanted her to stay, would she be able to say no?
    Elen grit her teeth tightly together and hurried back to the hall. The scene there was as it had been. The rain, the flickering light of lantern and fire, the small brown folk cringing beneath their sodden cloaks. The looked so miserable, Elen could not help but feel pity for them.
    Mother took Elen’s hand and held it as tightly as she was able. She looked directly into Elen’s eyes, trying, Elen thought, to impart some of her strength and calm. “Our good neighbors here promise you will be returned to your family, safe and whole when your work is finished.”
    The three little people looked up at her, blinking their sunken, over-large eyes. Elen’s throat was as dry as dust, but she managed to say. “Very well. I am ready.”
    Mother released her hand and stepped back. “You do our house proud my daughter.”
    Elen drew her hood over her head and stepped out into the rain. She did not look back as the door to her house closed behind her.
    The rain was cold as winter and relentless as fury. The little men (were they men? by the flickering lantern light she was even less sure than she had been in the hall) clustered silently around her, herding more than leading her to a little cart. It was a rickety thing with a pair of soaked and dispirited donkies in its harness. Silently, the one with the lantern held it high so she could step into the cart and find a place to sit among sodden straw that smelled strongly of donkey. All three of her … guides climbed onto the seat. One touched up the donkies and the cart lurched forward. Elen tried to wrap her cloak more closely around her