"My lady." One of Morgana's guards rode up to her. "There is a village a short way ahead—a place called Addington. I have arranged a place for you to stay the night."
Morgana nodded. "Very well—lead on."
She had split off from Horsa's troop, disliking the noise and the carousing of the Saxons. Lack of sleep made her magic more difficult to control—and frankly, she had enough problems with sleeplessness already without noisy, drunken soldiers adding to the problem. She wished she could use her mother's healing bracelet—but Guinevere still had it from when she stole it in the Dark Tower. Morgana fought the urge to grind her teeth.
At least these villages, in the east, were more open to the idea of magic. Her fame had preceded her—many of them knew her name, and that she fought for magic against those in the west who had outlawed it. Some of them had even heard that she had been allied at one point with Queen Annis. Many of the people were tolerant of her, and some even welcoming. She had managed to recruit a few sorcerers to her cause, and they had joined the small contingent that traveled with her.
The village her guard guided her to was a small but prosperous one. A brook ran by it, and behind the village Morgana could see two ancient barrows. It was likely a good place for magic, then.
The guard directed her to one of the larger houses, where she was greeted by Gethin, a wealthy merchant, and his wife Adlais. Both of them seemed eager to welcome her into their home: they showed her to a room she might stay in, and Adlais herself brought her a luxurious dinner of chicken and fruits. They also had bread and tankards of drink carried out to Morgana's guards, who were encamped nearby.
"Thank you for the meal, Adlais—it was delicious," Morgana said politely. Adlais smiled and curtsied, leaving the door open behind her as she carried the plates back into the kitchen. Morgana set about preparing herself for bed when she saw a movement by the door. "Who's there?" she asked, a little more harshly than she intended.
A young girl whom she recognized as Gethin and Adlais's daughter stepped into the doorway, wide-eyed with apprehension. "I—I'm sorry, my lady," she said, curtsying.
Morgana let out her breath, feeling a little guilty for scaring her. "Come here, my dear," she said more gently, sitting down by the small table. The girl approached warily. She was a pretty thing—delicately formed, with large, dark eyes, curly black and and sun-browned skin. "What is your name?"
"Seren, my lady."
"Seren." Morgana smiled. "I have something for you. Árære fífaldan," she murmured, and raised her hands. Blue butterflies flew out of her wide sleeves, making a halo like a garland of flowers about Seren's head.
The girl gazed up at them in surprise and delight, raising her hand so that one might light on her fingers. "Beautiful," she murmured. The butterflies swirled about near the ceiling, then flew out the open shutters. "You are a great sorceress!" she said excitedly.
Morgana smiled. "Yes. Have you ever seen magic before?"
The girl smiled shyly and turned toward the brazier nearby. "Bærne," she whispered, stretching her hand out toward it. A small flame shot up from the wood.
Morgana's smile grew. "You have magic!" she exclaimed. "Who taught you the spell?"
"My mother," Seren said, clearly pleased. "She has a little magic—though she says I show more promise than she did at my age."
"Does anyone else know of your magic?"
Seren nodded. "I've shown my friends. And our neighbor asks me to come light her kitchen fire when it goes out."
"You're blessed," Morgana said, taking Seren's hand. "Where I grew up, people feared those who had magic. When I realized I had it, I was afraid for my life. But you have had the good luck to be born where magic is accepted and celebrated. Never forget how much you have been blessed." Seren nodded solemnly. "Good." She let go of her hand. "I am leaving in the morning to meet my army, but I will return in a few days and stay with your family. When I do, I will show you how to conjure a flower."
Seren smiled in elation. "Thank you, my lady!" She ran over to the door, then turned and dropped a curtsy. "Good night!"
"Good night, Seren," Morgana said, smiling.
She slept well that night.
000
"Where shall we strike first, my lady?" Horsa asked in his guttural Saxon accent.
Morgana examined the map he had spread out before her on the table, trying to ignore the reek of his huge body and his breath so nearby. "Nemeth is the first in our path westward. It has been weakened recently—Odin's army attacked and even drove Rodor into temporary exile. Although Odin has made peace with Nemeth and Rodor is back on the throne, his army is still in a poor state to defend the land. They should be no match for your army."
"Does our agreement still hold?" Horsa asked, the smell of onions rolling from his mouth. Morgana attempted to breathe through her mouth only. "I can take all the plunder?"
"What use have I for plunder?" Morgana asked disdainfully. "Yes, take it—just remember that we travel light. Don't let your men bring anything that would slow us in our career westward."
"Wouldn't think of it." Horsa bit noisily into an apple.
"Good." She waited a moment while he chewed with his mouth open. "Shouldn't you go tell your men?" she asked dryly.
He shrugged one shoulder and sauntered out of the tent. Morgana heaved a sigh of annoyance and leaned both hands on the table.
"Having second thoughts?"
Morgana jumped and wheeled around. "Elïavrés," she growled. "You startled me."
"Not a very biddable man, is he?" the Gaul asked, ignoring her statement.
"He wouldn't be a very good commander if he were," Morgana answered shortly, turning back toward the map.
"But you don't want a good commander—you want a good officer. Who will do as he's told."
"Good officers don't come with their own armies," she replied. "What do you want, Elïavrés?"
"Merely to see how you were holding up," he said lightly, picking up an apple from the bowl on the table. "How have you been sleeping?"
"Quite well," Morgana answered, piqued.
"Oh?"
"The nearer I come to destroying the works of Uther Pendragon and his son, to creating a world without their darkness and hatred, the better I sleep," she answered. "Speaking of which, I must go and see to the pitching of my own tent, somewhat away from Horsa's men. We ride to battle tomorrow." She brushed past the Gaul and out of the tent. He merely grinned as she strode away, and took a bite of his apple.
TBC
AN: How's everybody doing? It's weird to be only updating once a week, but I really can't do more—the first couple weeks of the semester are always crazy. But my new roommate and I are getting on like a house on fire, and both the classes I'm teaching are going well. Hope everybody else who's back to school is having a great first week!
