Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.

Author's note: I can't begin to tell everyone how much I appreciate the reviews. I'm glad that I'm keeping it interesting for you and I hope that it keeps holding your interest. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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VISIONS OF DEATH

Chapter Twelve: Bait

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Brigid watched as the horses disappeared out the gates of the fortress, a piece of her heart going with Dagonet as he thundered into the darkness. She spotted Vanora, wrapped in a heavy shawl, standing watching their retreating backs. Walking quickly, she reached the mother and touched her arm.

"Brigid, what are you doing up?" asked Vanora, somewhat surprised.

Brigid smiled. "The same as you. I was about to go to work. I believe that I have to clean up what I got distracted from last night."

Vanora shook her head, leading her cook into the tavern. "No, Brigid. Between Bors, Gawain, Tristan and Galahad, they finished off the rest of the stew. The pot is in need of scrubbing but at least your cooking did not go to waste."

Brigid grinned. She would never have to worry about what to do with the remainders of her cooking as long as the knights were around. As they entered the kitchens, they found Lucan and Three speaking softly, their heads close together.

"Lucan!" cried Brigid in surprise. The two children sprang apart, Three smoothing down her skirt and refusing the meet the women's eyes. "What were you doing?" the healer demanded of the boy, taking in the blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Talking," muttered Lucan.

Brigid crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the boy who had become a surrogate son to her. "Go play. And no more talking alone unless you have Mistress Vanora's permission," she ordered, nodding to a bemused Vanora.

The two children raced out of the kitchen and the women looked at each other.

"I shouldn't be surprised. I was twelve summers like Three when I met Bors." The tavern keeper smiled wistfully and turned to the healer.

Brigid shuddered and shook her head. "I apologize, Vanora. Dagonet and I will have a talk with Lucan."

Vanora had to smother a smile at the thought of the priestess explaining the birds and the bees to the boy rescued from Marius's dungeon. "I think he already knows what he's about."

"Not with your daughter. Not without your permission." Brigid's grey eyes were unyielding as she started to scrub the pot clean.

Vanora leaned her hip against a table and watched her cook cleaning. "So you and Dagonet are talking now?"

Brigid blushed and scrubbed harder. "I suppose that's what it could be called, Vanora." She rinsed out the pot and set it upside down to dry. She turned to find that the tavern owner was trying valiantly not to burst out laughing. "I'm sure that you did your fair share of talking with Bors last night," she grumbled.

Vanora laughed and pushed herself off the table. "That we did. 'Course that's how we ended up with Eleven," she admitted thoughtfully.

Brigid watched her employer wander back into the tavern proper and began the task of preparing the bread for the ovens. Kneading the dough, she allowed her mind to wander. It was well past dawn when Brigid put the risen dough into pans and set the bread to bake in the clay oven.

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Vanora kissed Eleven and laid him back in the cradle that had held One through Eleven. One was drawing a needle through the wool cloth and looked up at her mother.

"What is it, mama?" asked the girl, pushing back her dark hair that was a mirror of Bors's color as a young man.

Vanora stepped to her eldest child and kissed One's cheek. "Just thinking that I'm very lucky to have such a beautiful daughter."

One pressed her fingers to her cheek and looked up at her mother in surprise. "Are you alright, mama?"

Vanora nodded and watched as Eight and Nine played on the rug before the hearth. "Three has taken an interest in Brigid's boy Lucan." She fixed a careful eye on One, whose mouth had fallen open in shock. "Keep an eye on her and make sure that you don't become an aunt too soon," she warned with a smile

One nodded and set her sewing aside as she rose from her chair. "I'll keep an eye on her. And if need be I'll have a little chat with Lucan about messing around with Bors's daughter."

Vanora smiled as she saw the anger come into her daughter's eyes and knew that Three's virtue might be safe but Lucan would certainly not be if One got her hands on the boy. She shut the door behind herself as she left the cottage, smiling at having nursed Eleven to sleep and at having set One with a task worthy of the beauty. She was unaware that she was being watched from an alley.

The old woman watched the red-haired beauty leave her cottage and stride purposefully towards the tavern.

"Excuse me, daughter," called the crone, creaking towards Bors's woman on aged limbs.

Vanora turned her head and smiled warmly before heading towards the old woman. "Yes, grandmother. What can I do for you?" she asked.

She never saw the weighted leather bag that slammed into her neck and sent her pitching forward to the ground, the blackness of unconsciousness pouring over her.

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Brigid pulled the browned loaves from the oven and set them on the thick wood top of the table. The smell filled the kitchen and Brigid sliced off several thick slices of the bread for Vanora. Setting them in a piece of cloth, she stepped into the tavern to find it empty. Frowning, she stepped outside the tavern into the bright sunlight of midmorning to look for her friend.

Something red and green caught her eye and Brigid stepped closer to investigate. The green was fabric from Vanora's skirt. She recognized the cloth and knew that Vanora had in fact been wearing the skirt when they'd entered the tavern together. She picked up the fabric, her fingers sticking to the red. She sniffed and reared back, recognizing the tangy metallic smell of the blood.

She tightened her grip on the fabric and closed her eyes, willing a vision to come to her. It came in fits and starts and Brigid had to crouch low to the ground to keep from falling, one hand braced on the hard ground.

In the vision, Vanora was bound hand and foot, blood running from cuts on her arms, legs and head in the shape of ancient runes. An old woman stood before the woman, a dagger in her hand. All around them were old trees that framed the clearing they occupied.

Brigid stood on shaky legs and began to run towards the stable. Thankfully Jols had gone with the knights so he was not present to scold her for stealing a horse. She grabbed a halter and stepped into the stall of a grey mare. She clucked softly to the horse, trying to squash the fear that rose as she stood beside the huge beast, and slid the halter over the head of the horse.

She whinnied and nuzzled closer to Brigid.

Brigid took hold of the lead rope and guided the horse out of the stall. She knew from the condition she saw in her vision that Vanora would need help returning to the fortress. She laid blankets on the back of the horse and hurried from the fortress, the horse plodding along beside her.

The forests loomed closer with each step and Brigid summoned every ounce of courage in her being not to run back to the fortress. She entered the darkness of the forest, the sun blotted out by the canopy of thick leaves. The only sounds were the breathing of she and the horse and the soft jangle of the horse's halter.

They walked for ages, carefully picking their way through the undergrowth.

The clearing opened up before them with a suddenness that startled Brigid. Vanora lay on the ground, eye closed and a gag tied around her head. Her hands were tied as were her feet but Brigid could not see the cuts of the vision.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to come," admitted a strangely familiar voice.

Brigid shuddered as the old woman stepped from the shadows, teeth rotting to black and white hair hanging in stringy braids like ill-carded wool. Her skin was withered and pale and her bones showed through her thin skin. "Alaisiagae," breathed Brigid, fear filling her eyes. She had wondered why the priestess of the goddess of war had not followed her brother to Hadrian's wall. Now, it seemed that she had.

"I have missed you, sweet Brigid. You are a difficult maid to find." She cocked her head to one side and cackled. "But then you are no longer a maid. Have you told him?" she asked.

Brigid straightened and curled a lip in disgust at the hag before her. "Told him what?" she asked.

"That his child grows inside you," answered Alaisiagae, her eyes lighting up in triumph. "He doesn't know? Oh, my dear, we'll have to gift him the child."

Brigid stiffened.

"After we cut it out of you, that is."

Brigid swallowed. "Why are you here? The battle is over. Cedric fell. Cyrnic fell. That was as it was to be."

Alaisiagae shook her head. "You do not understand, my little flower. They may have been meant to fall but them--" she pointed towards the direction of the fortress, "those men that you saved were to have led the way for them to Helheim. You have cost the lives of my people and saved men who were destined to die."

Brigid backed up. "Alaisiagae, no one is destined to die. If it can be seen it can be changed."

Alaisiagae grinned, showing more blackened teeth. It was a miracle that the old woman was still alive. Perhaps the venom that filled her veins was the reason for her elder years. "You still do not understand, do you child? The fate that we see is their fate, written in stone. You have tampered in what you should not. And for what?" asked the old woman, searching her onetime student's eyes. "For a man to slide between your legs?"

Brigid stiffened. "And what of my fate?" she grated out. She had noted that Vanora had woken during Alaisiagae's speech and was trying to untie herself. If she distracted Alaisiagae long enough, perhaps the old woman would forget the bait that had led the healer there. "What do you see for me, old woman? Do you see me driving my fingers into your eyes, blinding you?"

Alaisiagae grinned, though it was more of a grimace. "You have fire. I always admired that about you." The old woman stepped closer and Brigid had to fight the urge to run. "But I wonder, how brave will you be when that one escapes and leaves you here alone with me?'

Brigid startled. So, Alaisiagae had noticed Vanora's waking. She watched as Vanora did indeed start to creep towards the woods. It wasn't until Vanora had disappeared into the darkness that she finally turned her eyes on the old woman.

"Do what you will, crone. I am not afraid of you."

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The screams echoed in Vanora's ears as she clambored atop the grey mare and rode back to the fortress. She had been bait for the old woman to capture her friend. She knew where she had to go. She tumbled off the horse and into the arms of one of the guards, asking for Gueneviere before she slumped once again into unconsciousness.

TBC….

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Alaisiagae - Norse goddess of war.

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To My Wonderful Reviewers:

homeric: Don't worry, my brain is mush. I'm glad that you're enjoying the way the couples are handling everything. I'm also glad that you enjoyed the reconciliation. And I'm glad that I've intrigued you with the strange woman. Yay! More is coming.

Samantha: I'm glad you like the entire Christian/Pagan thing. This chapter should start to clarify the hag and her relationship to Brigid. More is coming.

shariena: Glad that you enjoyed the previous chapters. And here's the next installment.

Lady Marek: So glad that you enjoyed the knights surviving and the way Dag and Brigid got back together. More is coming.

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