Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword of Avalon Read Online Free PDF Page B

the baby sucked greedily, but it seemed only moments before he was crying again. The energy that had carried Anderle so far was fading as well. When she tripped for the second time, saved only by a back-wrenching twist from a fall, she knew that they must find not only food but a place of refuge, and soon. But where could they go?
    Anderle forced herself to take a deep breath, and let her exhalation carry the pain away. She was still tired, but for a moment at least she could stand in balance upon the earth and remember that she was something more than a stumbling creature of flesh and bone.
    The sky was filling with radiance. Old disciplines straightened her back, brought her arms up in salutation to the coming day.
    “Oh beautiful upon the horizon of the east,
Lift up Thy light unto day, O Eastern star,
Day Star, awaken, arise!”
    Ni-Terat, she added in silent prayer to the Goddess, You who from the darkness gives birth to day, have mercy upon this little one, hide us from our foes!
    For a moment Manoah’s golden arc burned upon the horizon. Dazzled, she shut her eyes, and with the image still imprinted upon her inner eyelids, turned and took a step away. In the moment between the lifting of her foot and its descent, she heard a bleating that did not come from the child.
    “What is it?” came Ellet’s voice from behind her.
    “The Lady’s answer . . .” Anderle fought to keep her voice from shaking. “Come—” Together they pushed upward through the tangle of hawthorn, dog rose and bramble that had grown up around the base of the old mound.
    Ellet squeaked as something moved behind an elder bush, black and then white—were there two creatures there? Carefully Anderle lifted a trail of bramble, met the baleful glare of the she-goat trapped by her horns among the branches, and stifled a laugh. Sheep, the silly creatures, were always having such mishaps, but it was unusual to find a goat in such a fix.
    “Never fear us, nanny!” she said softly as the goat wrenched at the branches and bleated again. “Have you lost your kid?” she asked, seeing the swollen udder swing as the animal moved. “Here’s a youngling that has lost his mother, perhaps we can help each other . . .” There was a small clear space beneath the ash trees that grew at the top of the mound.
    For a long moment the yellow slit-pupiled eyes held hers in an evaluating stare. Then the she-goat’s head drooped, resting in the branches rather than fighting them as the tension left her limbs. Her front half was black, the back white with black spots. No wonder she had been hard to see.
    “So . . . so. . . .” Anderle moved forward until she could stroke the goat’s ragged flank. Heavier guard hairs hid a soft undercoat. The branches of the elder were festooned with tufts of fleece where the goat had struggled to get free, and all the nearby twigs grazed bare. “Be easy, then, and we will take care of you.
    “Ellet,” she said in a low voice, “bring the baby and hold him beneath her teats.” Humming softly, she stroked down the she-goat’s flank with one hand and with the other felt down the udder. The goat stirred a little at the touch, but did not try to kick or jerk away.
    “Be still and I will ease you,” murmured the priestess, blessing the tradition that required the priestesses to learn the practical skills that maintained the community. She angled the teat toward the child’s pursed lips and squeezed. A thin stream of milk hit his mouth and dribbled down his chin. For a moment Mikantor stared in astonishment; then his mouth opened. The second squirt went in before he could decide whether or not to cry. He coughed, swallowed, and opened his mouth again.
    About the time the goat’s milk began to fail, Mikantor’s eyes closed and he subsided into peaceful sleep for the first time since their escape. Anderle sat back with a sigh and held out her arms.
    “I can take care of him now. I want you to use your belt for a tether and