Mordred glanced at his accomplices. Ragnor had refused to join them, swearing that more wealth was to be made in the slave trade than through ransoms. Mordred thought it likely Ragnor was simply too smart to deal with nobles, preferring to work with thieves and cutthroats who could be trusted to keep their end of good faith bargains.

But Dinadan had sworn to Mordred and Bors that one ransom would make the three of them rich. Mordred was tired of being a fugitive, tired of spending each moment waking or sleeping with a weapon near to hand, tired of living among men who called taverns and whorehouses home. He wanted to settle down, have a garden and a few animals, even convince Kara to join him and they could finally be together for longer than a few nights.

Kara had fared little better than he had since Aglain had been killed and their campmates scattered by Arthur's attack to "rescue" Morgana. Mordred had not found Kara again until his gang of slavers crossed paths with the group of mercenaries she had allied herself with to rob a shipment of arms heading to Camelot.

Kara had not forgiven or forgotten the raid Arthur had led on Aglain's camp, the raid that killed her father and brother and left her mother crippled. Mordred had not been able to dissuade her from attacking the arms shipment, so he had gone with her and the two of them barely made it back with their lives. Kara had been badly wounded, which left her with a scarred leg and a permanent limp. Despite her injury, she refused to give up her vendetta against Arthur, instead allying herself with a succession of mercenaries and criminals. The last he heard she ended up in Rheged.

Which was the place Mordred had suggested to Dinadan that they put the man's plan for wealth into action. Dinadan was doubtless exaggerating what they would get for a ransom, but half the amount he claimed would be enough for Mordred. Enough to make a home and possibly persuade Kara there was no point in continuing her crusade. Even Morgana herself had not made a move against Arthur since Urien's last assault on Camelot fifteen years ago.

From his position crouched behind a fallen tree at the far side of the road, Bors signalled that horses were approaching. Dinadan, hidden behind a clump of heavy brush closer to the bend in the road that would keep them from view until the horses came around it, acknowledged the signal. Once the riders came around the curve, Dinadan would be behind them and Bors in front of them, both armed with swords, short swords, and daggers. Both men were to wait for Mordred, concealed behind a tree across the road from Bors, to make the first move if the riders were wealthy and vulnerable enough to make a suitable target.

Bors glared at Mordred. The last three groups to ride through had been either nobles too well protected to attack or tradesmen whose relatives would not have sufficient funds to ransom them, and patience was not one of Bors's virtues. If he had any.

Two horses came in sight at a full gallop, hooves pounding against the hard ground, the sound echoing back from the trees. The leader was a young boy of eleven or twelve, and Mordred glimpsed a cloak made of a shiny material flying behind the boy and fine leather boots. The man behind him was clearly a servant.

"My lord," the man shouted.

The boy looked over his shoulder and laughed. Mordred heard hoofbeats further away and guessed the boy was either eluding his guards or racing them. Mordred stretched out a hand, closed his fist on empty air, and executed a grasping motion. The boy was yanked from his mount. His eyes went wide as the horse kept running while the young man found himself sprawled on the dusty ground.

The servant yanked hard on his horse's reins and the animal whinnied in protest. The man leapt from his mount to stand over the fallen boy, looking around defiantly for something to protect the child from.

Bors, who had the best view past the bend in the road, scrambled from cover shouting there were four guards headed towards them. Dinadan rushed forward as well, drawing his blade as he ran.

The servant was unarmed but he did not budge, apparently intending to defend the boy with his bare hands. Dinadan ran the man through, then tossed the body over his horse without pause. The boy screamed and leapt to his feet, his hand going to the short sword at his waist. Bors landed a blow to the boy's jaw that knocked him unconscious.

Dinadan lashed one hand and one foot of the servant's body to his horse and gave it a whack on the rump to send it galloping after the boy's vanished mount.

Bors threw the child over his shoulder and he and Dinadan bolted for cover, crouching down beside Mordred. He saw tears drying on the boy's face below the closed eyelids. The sorcerer whispered a few words and a breeze smoothed the ground where the boy had landed and fallen leaves covered the blood stains.

Four riders galloped into sight. They did not pause or look around, riding hard after the two disappeared horses.

Dinadan and Bors exchanged a triumphant look before turning to make their way quickly to their well-hidden mounts tethered deeper in the forest. Mordred stood for a moment, staring after the guards, his heart beating wildly. They had been wearing the insignia of the royal house of Rheged.

By the time they reached their camp, the boy, who had been flung over Bors' horse, was beginning to whimper and twitch. Dinadan was the first to dismount and Bors tossed him the boy's limp form. Dinadan tied the child's hands and hobbled his feet, removed the short sword and dagger he carried, and left him on the ground. Bors took the horses.

The boy's lashes fluttered, then his eyes opened wide and he screamed.

"Shut it," Dinadan said.

"You killed him!" The boy's eyes were hard despite the tears leaking out.

The bandit seemed confused for a moment as though he did not remember running the servant through and this incensed the boy further.

"You killed Cerdic!"

"The servant?" Dinadan asked.

"His name was Cerdic."

The ex-slaver ignored the boy and looked at Mordred. Then Dinadan's brow furrowed. "What's the matter? You said you covered our tracks."

"I did what I could," Mordred replied. "But they'll be coming for us anyway."

"What d'you mean?" Bors walked over to join them after having tethered the horses.

Mordred nodded toward the cloak he had not examined closely before they took the boy. "He's royalty."

Both heads snapped to the boy. His cloak was shot through with silver threads and a silver wolf crest was stitched onto the dark blue material. Despite being bound and unable to get to his feet, the boy returned their stare, his back straight and his eyes icy. The tears on his face had mixed with dust kicked up by the horses leaving grey smudges on his cheeks and his black hair was coated with grime.

A cold smile widened Dinadan's thin mouth. "Well, you'll bring a bigger ransom than I hoped."

Bors glanced sideways at him, then back at the rich cloak. "But they'll be searchin' hard for a princeling."

"That's right," the boy said. "They'll find me and you'll pay for having murdered Cerdic."

Mordred doubted anyone would be concerned about the servant's fate and he was surprised that the boy cared. A great many people, however, would be concerned about this young man. "We should leave him and ride away."

"Are you daft?" Dinadan stared at Mordred, then looked back at the prince. "This is a bigger score than we dreamed."

"With considerably more danger to us," Mordred said.

Dinadan narrowed his eyes. "Shouldn't be anything you can't handle."

"If this boy is a prince of Rheged, that makes him Morgana's son." A sliver of fear crawled down his spine at the memory of his last sight of her in Ismere when he had tried to strike her down.

"Bah." Dinadan tossed his head. "The witch is powerless, that's what they say. The king is old and his son is a fop. They'll pay whatever ransom we demand."

Bors relaxed at his partner's assertion. "Yeah, whatever we demand."

Mordred saw the greed glowing in the man's green eyes and said nothing further.

In spite of their apparent faith in Mordred's enchantments to cover their trail, the slavers-turned-kidnappers were not so careless as to start a fire. They shared coarse black bread and a few hunks of dried meat. Neither Dinadan nor Bors offered the boy so much as a drink of water.

The prince sat a short distance away from them, his back not as straight as it had been earlier. He slouched and was unable to brace himself with his hands tied. His eyes were fixed on the waterskin they passed around. After taking a deep drink himself, Mordred stood and walked over to the boy.

When he neared, the boy dragged his eyes up from the waterskin to Mordred's face. His lips set in a stubborn line. Mordred crouched down until his face was on a level with the boy. "What's your name?"

The eyes widened slightly. "Gareth."

"Gareth," Mordred said. "Are you thirsty?"

He watched the struggle on the boy's face between pride and need. Finally the child nodded. Mordred held the skin to the boy's lips and helped him take a long drink before holding out a hunk of bread. The prince would never have eaten such coarse bread, but he latched onto it with his bound hands and ate the hunk in three bites, barely chewing before he swallowed. Mordred handed Gareth the waterskin again so he could wash down his dinner.

"Who was Cerdic?"

This time there were no tears but Gareth's lower lip trembled slightly and he bit down on it. "My friend."

"You must have dozens of servants."

Gareth's lips compressed. "He wasn't just a servant, he was my friend, and he died protecting me. That man," the boy indicated Dinadan where he and Bors sat making plans to spend their anticipated wealth, "will pay for what he did."

"You should be more concerned about what they might do with you."

"You'll protect me."

The boy said it with such utter confidence that Mordred was taken aback. "Why would you think that?"

Gareth looked at him. "You're a good person."

Mordred thought about all he had done since childhood, the criminals he called friends, as much as he had friends, and the tear-filled faces of people he had helped sell as slaves. "I'm really not."

"You've been nice to me."

And yet he had been the one to capture the boy. If Mordred had not made that split-second decision the child would have ridden on and his friend would be alive. "It's my doing that they caught you."

Gareth shrugged. "But you didn't know they would kill Cerdic."

That was not entirely true, but Mordred did not say anything more. He would soon need the prince's good opinion. If, as he suspected, Morgana and the king threw all the resources of their kingdom into finding this boy, it would not be long before Mordred and his accomplices were trapped regardless of any of their defenses, magical or otherwise.

Mordred did not intend to face Morgana's wrath even if she had lost her powers. He could vividly recall her eyes the last time he had seen her; the insanity in her face as she swept aside the dishes of their meal and shouted obscenities at Arthur's escape, then her look of betrayal after Mordred stabbed her, and the murderous glint in her eyes when his blade had no power to harm her. He would be a fool to cross her again.

A plan began to form in Mordred's mind. He gave the boy a tiny smile that barely twitched one corner of his mouth before he joined his two companions. Dinadan and Bors had dug up a skin of cheap wine and continued to discuss what they would do with their share of the prince's ransom. Neither commented on Mordred's having given the boy food and water.

"What about you?" Bors asked Mordred. "What'll you do when we're rich?"

Dinadan slanted Mordred a sly look. "He'll set up house for that pretty dark-haired wench he likes."

Mordred was tempted to blast the leer from the man's face but he held his temper and reached out his hand for the wineskin. He gave it a shake when Bors passed it to him; it was two-thirds empty already. Mordred pretended to take a deep drink before he handed it back. Bors immediately took a swig.

"Hey there, pass that along," Dinadan said.

Bors took another quick drink, much to his friend's disgust, before handing it over. Dinadan gulped down what was left as soon as it was in his hands. Seeing the skin was empty, Bors got unsteadily to his feet and walked a short distance away. They heard a stream of liquid hit the rocky ground, then Bors came back, retying his pants and wobbling slightly. As soon as he plunked himself down on his blanket, Dinadan left and then came back to lie down on his own blankets.

Mordred glanced over at Gareth. The boy squirmed slightly and sent him a pleading expression. Mordred's companions seemed to be settling in even though the sun barely touched the treetops in the west and they had made no plans for getting the ransom request to Rheged. Mordred got to his feet, prepared to explain he was taking the boy to relieve himself, but neither of the other two gave him so much as a glance.

He made his way to Gareth and quietly untied the boy's feet before helping him up. Gareth opened his mouth but Mordred put a hand to his lips. Wide-eyed, Gareth nodded and allowed the curly-haired man to lead him a ways from their camp in the direction of the horses.

Mordred glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking his way as he untethered the horses. He gestured Gareth to come closer and untied his hands. Then the two of them mounted quickly and put their heels to the horses' sides. Mordred held the reins of the third horse firmly in his fist.

There was a shout from behind them but neither Dinadan nor Bors was quick enough or accurate enough to throw a dagger their way and they did not have a crossbow. Within moments, Mordred and Gareth had disappeared into the trees with only shouted curses chasing after them.

The guards at Rheged's citadel did not hesitate to admit the prince, but they cast suspicious looks at his roughly-dressed companion. The prince insisted the stranger accompany him to the throne room. As they approached the chamber, Mordred's pace slowed and the guard behind ran into him before giving him a shove. Gareth's steps, however, had quickened and he was nearly running as he burst through the heavy doors.

"Mother!"

She stood from her throne and rushed forward to meet the boy. Gareth nearly threw himself into her outstretched arms before he caught the eye of the elderly man seated in the other throne and checked his undignified headlong rush. The old king's disapproving look did not stop Morgana, who clasped the boy tightly and lifted him off his feet.

She looked much the same as the young woman who had cared for Mordred as a boy, who had been overjoyed to see him in Aglain's camp and again in her chamber when he returned with Alvarr. Her long, dark hair was artfully dressed in an elaborate plait woven with silver links and sparkling with tiny jewels. Her silver gown hugged her slim figure. There was little resemblance to the woman dressed in black rags Mordred had seen in Ismere whose eyes had flashed with madness when she confronted Arthur, intent on killing him. The gaze which was locked on her son contained a joy even beyond what Mordred remembered from his own reunions with her. Then that gaze lifted from her son to the guards who had escorted him and her eyes fell on Mordred. They widened in surprise before they narrowed on his face.

Morgana released her son to approach Mordred. "My old friend," she said.

Gareth was by her side, excitedly introducing Mordred as the one who saved the prince's life, oblivious to her cold tone.

She looked down at the boy and a warm smile touched her lips although her eyes when they glanced back at Mordred remained icy. "I'm glad you are home safely, son."

Gareth's smile faded and a serious look settled on his face. "They killed Cerdic."

"Yes, we found his body. Now I want you to speak with Sir Lionel so we can find the men who took you."

Gareth nodded solemnly, gave his father a formal bow, and left the room.

Morgana turned back to Mordred. The elderly king craned his neck and watched them narrowly beneath thick white eyebrows, thin lips pursed between his bushy white mustache and beard.

"The last time we met you tried to kill me," she said to Mordred, her voice low.

The king frowned and cocked an ear toward them, then appeared to give up any attempt to listen in.

Mordred ran his eyes around the room but the two guards by the door did not move and seemed not to have heard the queen's accusation. "You gave me no choice," he replied. "You had forgotten that the love that binds us is more important than the power we wield. Such hatred as yours could not triumph."

She tipped her head to the side. "Brave words. But the last two times we have met you were keeping company with criminals and slavers. I assume you know exactly who kidnapped my son. Perhaps you even assisted?"

Mordred nodded without speaking.

"So how is it that you have now returned the boy to us? Are you looking for a reward you do not have to share?"

"I wish to make amends," Mordred said. "But I need no reward for aiding Gareth. The boy has all the love and compassion which used to fill your heart, and I'm pleased to be of service to him."

Morgana blinked and drew away, watching him carefully. Then her brows drew together and her lip curled in exactly the expression she had worn when he had stabbed her in Ismere and she was about to strike him down in return.

A shiver of fear uncurled in his stomach despite the rumours that she had lost her power. She was queen here, and he was under no illusion the king on the throne would countermand any order given by his wife.

Mordred took a step back and his hand twitched as Morgana opened her mouth, no doubt to order the guards to seize him, when Gareth raced back into the chamber. Morgana's eyes went immediately to her son.

The boy stopped in his tracks before he walked forward to stand in front of Mordred, facing his mother. Mordred waited without moving or speaking, watching Morgana. Her gaze remained fixed on Gareth.

"Mother, I want Mordred to stay with us. He's my friend, he can protect me."

"Gareth, you don't know this man at all."

"He saved me and he brought me back here."

Gareth held Morgana's eyes without flinching and finally she turned her gaze back to Mordred.

"Then if you want him to stay, he can stay."