Sorceress

  Breathing hard from the climb, she reached the door that led to the sentry post at the watch turret. Thankfully, the turret was also empty.

  “Now where?” she asked out loud, glancing through the crenels. From high above the bailey she could see far into the distance: the river, the bay, the ships, their sails furled and masts slicing into the air like skeletal fingers. The view extended to the ends of the earth, clear to the horizon and the sea.

  Closer in, as she turned her attention to the bailey, she looked to the spot where she’d last seen Gavyn, but she couldn’t locate him in the crowd. Nor did she see Harry. Heart in her throat, she moved to another area of the tower to stare through a different crenel that allowed a wider view of the inside of the main gate. Surely Gavyn hadn’t taken the horse far from where he’d met the merchant. . . .

  The dagger in her hand seemed to hum.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin and glanced down at the odd weapon with its two jewels and two dark holes in the hilt.

  What the devil? Had it been her imagination?

  She took a step to one side.

  Nothing happened.

  No hum.

  She stepped back to the spot where she’d been standing. Again she felt the tiniest of vibrations.

  Her throat went dry and she doubted herself. But sure enough, with one more try, the bejeweled knife actually trembled in her hand.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she whispered. This area made the dagger sizzle—the gem had to be nearby.

  Keeping her feet in place, she studied the inside of the tower. Her gaze swept the masonry, but there was nothing unusual about it. Pointing her dagger, she walked around the rim but saw nothing. “Please,” she whispered, and then remembered the prayer to Morrigu. Wasn’t that what Isa had said? Returning to the spot where she’d felt the knife vibrate, she closed her eyes and started whispering a low chant to the Great Mother.

  “Morrigu, help me in my quest. . . .”

  As she spoke, she felt the dagger heat and hum in her hands, the vibrations moving from her fingers to her soul. In her mind’s eye she saw again the great crevice and snowy ridge as her horse galloped wildly. She caught a flash of the rosary and felt a ring of stones cutting into her own throat.

  When she opened her eyes, the day had become night, with stars abounding and a moon riding high. The noises of the keep had disappeared. As she stared at the interior of the tower, one stone near the floor seemed a different color from the rest. Pointing the sacred knife at the square-shaped stone, she fell to her knees. A square stone! New energy sizzled through her as she used the dagger, cutting through the mortar as easily as if it had been soft cheese. How easily it crumbled away.

  “ ’Tis here!” Forcing her fingers into the spot where the mortar had given way, she tried to move the stone. The rock wouldn’t budge, not the barest of spaces. “Oh, rats and riddles, come on,” she whispered, but still it didn’t move.

  “Use the dagger.”

  Isa’s voice was with her again.

  In the darkness the knife slid easily through the remaining mortar. With little effort, she pried the stone free. It tumbled onto the floor, exposing a tiny niche that held a flap of leather rolled and tied. “Sweet Rhiannon,” Bryanna whispered as she extracted the deerskin from its hiding spot and untied the leather lace surrounding it.

  In an instant, a blaze of light flared bright, its yellow warmth radiating from Bryanna’s palms.

  Snuggled in the deer hide was a brilliant yellow stone, a gem as bright as the sun.

  “Waylynn? The apothecary?” the merchant repeated, as if he hadn’t heard Gavyn’s question. “Aye, I knew him. He was from somewhere up on the Isle of Anglesey. No, wait. . . . I think he was from Holyhead, which is really on a smaller island, if I hear right, from the sailors, you know. He’s the man you’re asking about?” The heavy man glanced back at Gavyn as he tucked the furs he’d purchased into a box on his cart.

  “He seems to be the one.”

  “Of course I remember him. An odd man, always talking of magick and spells and the like. Bah!” The merchant waved the thought away as if it were a bothersome insect. “He was a fine man, but just a little different from the rest. I’ll swear to it on the lives of my sons, Waylynn of Holyhead, he was the best there was with medicine.” He closed the lid of the box with a clunk.

  Harry, who had been dozing, started.

  “A shame about Waylynn, it was.” Glancing out at the River Towy, the merchant shook his head. “Got caught in the tides at the mouth of the river, he did.” He pulled at his beard as a woman carrying a basket of herbs hurried past. “Some people say that he was fleeing for his life. Got into some trouble with a lord . . . or was it a priest? Funny, I can’t remember, but someone powerful from the north.”

  Hallyd, Gavyn thought, and his heart turned to stone. The same murderer who had killed Kambria. A priest-turned-lord who dealt in evil. The noise of the castle turned into an echoing rush in his ears. Bryanna wasn’t safe. Nor was his child. His lips compressed with the knowledge that he had so much to protect now.

  “I think a mercenary tracked him down, and the poor man drowned trying to swim across the river.” The merchant scratched his beard thoughtfully. “As I said, ’twas a long time ago and hard to remember. But whatever those soldiers were searching for was never found. Whatever secret Waylynn knew, he took it with him to the bottom of the river.” The heavy man glanced again to the water and sighed. “No one knows what really happened. Old Waylynn, he might have been caught in his own magick, but I do know this: those soldiers, from the ruler in the north, they never go away, not completely. They’ve been here off and on ever since.” Again, he nodded to himself as he adjusted the straps of his mule’s harness. “In fact, I saw a small band of them just the other day, on the road to Kidwelly.”

  Gavyn felt his blood turn to ice. “And how did you recognize them?”

  “By their colors, of course. Black and silver, the colors of Chwarel! That’s it. The baron, he was once a priest, that’s it. An oddity that. I think his name is Hayden or Harwood or . . .”

  “Hallyd?”

  “Aye!” The merchant snapped his fingers and grinned, showing off a mouthful of big teeth. “Hallyd, that’s the scourge’s name.”

  “The soldiers, they were heading away from Llansteffan on their way to Kidwelly?”

  “Nay, they were riding west along the road. I passed them only because one of their horses had pulled up lame and they were working on his hoof. ’Twas two, three days ago. About a day’s ride from here.”

  Gavyn couldn’t help himself. He looked up and searched the bailey, his gaze scraping over men on horseback and foot soldiers.

  “Thank you,” he said, his mind spinning ahead. What if Hallyd’s men were already here? What if they were nearing the gates? What if they’d found the two horses hidden in the forest?

  Heart pounding with dread, he slapped Harry’s reins into the fleshy palm of the surprised merchant. “Would you mind? I will be not a minute. I just need to find my wife.”

  “What . . . wait . . . no!”

  But Gavyn was already running up the hill toward the upper bailey and the tower where he’d seen Bryanna disappear. They had to leave. Now. Hallyd’s soldiers could arrive at any moment. The dark lord would surely think that Bryanna would follow the same path as her grandfather.

  Suddenly he didn’t care about the damned stone, the Sacred Dagger, or anything other than the safety of Bryanna and the babe. He flew into the tower, desperately wanting to yell for her, but holding his tongue. ’Twould be foolish to announce his presence, dangerous to reveal that she was searching the keep. He raced down the stairs, grabbed a rushlight, and found himself in a decrepit dungeon smelling of rot and filth. Surely she wasn’t here. Heart pounding, dread screaming through his veins, he scanned the dark corners and saw only the remains of corpses and the smell of despair.

  Mayhap she’d left this dungeon and walked to another tower. Oh, God, please that she
was safe! Quickly he retraced his steps. At the door to the bailey he thought he heard her voice, a low familiar chant raining on him from above.

  By the Gods, was she practicing her sorcery?

  Here?

  Now?

  Attracting attention to herself when even now Hallyd’s soldiers might be searching for her? What was she thinking? He took the circular stairs two at a time, his heart pumping in fear. Dread sank upon him as he heard soldiers enter the tower below while Bryanna’s soft voice chanted above.

  No!

  They were certain to be found out.

  Upward, faster and faster, he raced, until he emerged at the top of the highest watchtower.

  His heart tightened when he saw her there on her knees, holding a gem and leather map in her hands.

  “Come!” he said in a sharp whisper.

  “But I found it!” Her sea blue eyes shone with pride, her smile nearly angelic.

  “Good, now, let us go.”

  “But, ’tis the stone. Are you not—”

  “We’ll speak of this later, Bryanna!” Panic swarmed through him. “Soldiers are returning to their posts, and I heard that Hallyd’s men are on their way.”

  “Then they must already know I’m here,” she whispered, fear rounding her eyes as she quickly wrapped the stone in its leather map and tucked it into her pouch.

  “Why?” He was pulling on her arm, leading her along the wall walk, intent on reaching the next tower.

  “Because of the darkness.”

  “What darkness?”

  “When I began to chant, day turned to night.”

  “What?” He spun so swiftly she nearly slammed into him. “What are you talking about? ’Tis almost twilight, yes, but there is no darkness, not yet.”

  “Did you not see it?”

  “No, I was in the dungeons,” he said, nearly dragging her to the next tower, trying to make sense of her words. “If this is true, why is there not panic in the keep?” he asked, motioning over the crenels to the bailey below, where everyone was going about their tasks as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Carpenters and masons were working on the buildings, the potter was turning his wheel, and laundresses were busy taking down sheets.

  “I—I know not.” She followed his gaze to the inner court-yardas they hurried across the wide curtain wall. “The woman is at her loom and the horses are not spooked. Even the dogs are calm.” Her usually smooth brow was furrowed with vexation as she eyed the bailey, where the long shadows of evening were stretching, but there was still daylight. “I swear to you, Gavyn, that bright sun turned to blackness.”

  “Swear later. Now we must flee.” They had no time to tarry or talk. They had to get out of the castle before Hallyd’s soldiers arrived.

  He held fast to her hand as they reached the tower. Together, they hurried down the stone steps until they were once again outside on the matted grass of the upper bailey. “Come.” He led her down winding paths between the huts and stables. Within seconds, they had reached the packhorse. Gavyn thanked the man as he retrieved Harry’s reins.

  “Glad to do it.” He looked at Bryanna. “Your husband, he sold me some fine pelts.”

  “Good,” she uttered as they briskly strode off.

  They were already heading to the main gate when the merchant’s voice stopped him cold. “Oh, those soldiers you were asking about,” the merchant called as Gavyn turned to face him again. “The ones wearing the colors of Chwarel?” He motioned with a finger toward the farrier’s hut. “They’re here. And they’re not alone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Panic seized Bryanna.

  Hallyd’s men had tracked them down? Within an hour of their arrival at Llansteffan? How? Turning her head, she saw the soldiers in the farrier’s hut—three of them, it seemed, as she didn’t dare let her eyes linger on them. As calmly as possible, she and Gavyn joined the throng edging toward the main gate with its soaring twin towers. Gavyn led Harry while she walked on the far side of the packhorse, her hair tucked into the hood of her mantle. Though the topaz and Sacred Dagger were tucked safely in her pouch, she felt as if she were wearing a sign, a mark that she was the daughter of Kambria, the sorceress Hallyd’s men were searching for.

  They were nearly at the gate when she heard a shout. “Hey!”

  Her heart dropped like a rock.

  “There she is!”

  A glance back confirmed her worst suspicions: the soldiers were hurrying toward them.

  There were three men, two in the colors of Chwarel, one dressed as a soldier from Agendor. “Halt!” one cried.

  Oh, God! Bryanna and Gavyn swept through the gate, beneath the portcullis, and ran down the road. The soldiers shouted behind them, the pounding of horses’ hooves joining the fray. Bryanna chanced another look, only to see a merchant’s cart squarely blocking the gate. He stood beside the cart, pointing to a wheel that appeared stuck. The soldiers and their horses could not get by.

  Gavyn helped her onto Harry’s back, then ran beside them down the hillside, where they ducked into the woods and the gloom of the coming night. It was now too dark to see what was happening in front of the castle gate, but Bryanna suspected the soldiers had gotten past the cart. On their faster steeds, they would be upon them soon.

  To think that they’d come this far only to be captured.

  Hurry, she silently urged Harry. The instant they reached the fresh horses, she slid off the packhorse’s back over the clamor of shouts and pounding hooves.

  The darkness was so thick she could barely make out the trees now, and she prayed Hallyd’s men would be equally hindered.

  “They went this way.”

  “Nay . . . are you sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “By the Christ, it’s so bloody dark!”

  Beside her, she felt rather than heard Gavyn slide his bow over his shoulder, then noiselessly withdraw an arrow from his quiver.

  Was he out of his mind? Was he going to shoot in the darkness, through the forest?

  “Can you see the trail?” one of the soldiers said.

  His voice was so close that Bryanna nearly jumped. Holding her breath, not daring to move a muscle, she silently prayed that none of the horses would nicker or move so that a bridle would jingle. Her heart pounded crazily in her ears and she held her dagger in a death grip.

  Morrigu, be with us.

  She heard a rustle in the trees beside her.

  She nearly fainted.

  “What was that?” one of the soldiers said, his voice not ten feet away. “God’s teeth, Afal, is that you?”

  She sensed Gavyn turn and train his arrow in the direction of the sound.

  No one answered.

  Bryanna concentrated, every muscle tense, her ears and eyes straining.

  “Afal?” the soldier said again.

  So close.

  Nervous sweat beaded on her forehead.

  Harry snorted.

  Bryanna wanted to scream.

  “What the hell was that? They’re over here!” the soldier said.

  Gavyn released his bowstring and an arrow sizzled through the air.

  “Son of a cur.”

  Another arrow zipped through the night, this one from the darkness off to Bryanna’s right.

  “Holy Mother Mary!” the soldier said. “Where the hell are they?”

  She saw him then in a bit of moonlight. A dark predator upon a huge steed, another arrow trained upon the soldiers.

  Near enough that he frightened the horses. Harry pulled on his reins. ’Twas a miracle his bridle did not jangle.

  “Gavyn of Agendor, show yourself,” a second voice boomed from the other side of the copse.

  They were surrounded! Dark rider on one side, soldiers on the other.

  Gritting her teeth, she held fast to her dagger. If there was any magick in the blade, now was the time for it to perform.

  A twig snapped and a soldier’s horse snorted. She felt Gavyn move around her, closing in on the ho
rse and rider.

  “There, I see them,” the deeper voice said. “Here, they’re over—Bloody Christ!”

  Suddenly, a wolf howled, so close that the hairs on the back of Bryanna’s neck prickled in fear.

  One of the soldiers’ horses squealed in fear, the noise piercing the forest. “Whoa, there . . . whoa!” Hooves crashed and branches broke as the horse took off through the woods.

  “What the hell?” another soldier said as Harry, spooked, tried to bolt. Bryanna held tight to his reins, but the fool horse pulled so hard he wrested free of her grip.

  “No . . .” Bryanna gasped as Harry ran into the darkness.

  Panicked hooves crashed and thundered through the woods. Another horse neighed wildly and nearly knocked Bryanna over as it tore through the undergrowth, his rider swearing angrily.

  And above the noise of a scuffle Bryanna heard the deep, ferocious growl of a wolf.

  Bane! She knew it. The fool wolf had returned. And now, from the sounds of it, the creature was in for the fight of her life.

  “Now!” Gavyn whispered, helping her onto Alabaster’s back. The clamor in the forest was deafening. Swords rang from unsheathing and the wolf snarled and growled while men bellowed that they were being attacked. The soldiers’ horses were obviously in a panic, rearing and whinnying in sheer terror.

  Alabaster minced nervously, tossing her head, her muscles quivering. Rhi, too, shifted, backing into her, snorting and pawing the ground.

  “Damn!” Gavyn mounted his nervous horse and pulled on the reins of the white mare . . . and at last they were off, racing through the forest, leaving the sounds of snarling, swearing men and screaming horses behind. Gavyn guided them until they reached the road, where he handed over Alabaster’s reins.

  The night was blessedly silent as they headed north, the River Towy flowing darkly beside them, the moon as their guide. Bryanna’s heart was heavy as a stone. They had lost Harry and the supplies of grain and dried meat he carried. Though someone would surely find him and see to his care, she’d miss Gleda’s lame packhorse.