Before he could question her, Cerrigwen slid from the saddle and strode with purposeful steps toward the edge of the woods. She pulled a small pouch from her dress sleeve and unwound the thong that held the bundle together. Finn watched, both anxious and intrigued, as Cerrigwen knelt in the dirt to spread a piece of parchment on the ground before her. Her body blocked him from seeing the contents, but whatever it was, she was fully fixed upon it.
Pedr had absently taken the mare’s reins and stood a few paces behind her. “What are you doing?” He turned to Finn, knowing Cerrigwen would not answer. “What is she doing?”
“I do what must be done,” Cerrigwen murmured, more to herself than to them. “What others fear to do.”
“Please, Cerrigwen.” Finn dismounted and took a several steps forward, hoping to force her to acknowledge him. “You should not be outside the protection of the Fane.”
“My protection is your duty.” She was dismissive, not at all troubled. “Why else would you be here?”
“Why else, indeed,” he muttered at her back. “You might have told me as much to begin with. And if this was your purpose in posting us at the watch — to see to you while you see to your business — why not just say so?”
Cerrigwen’s tone was curt. “See to your work, then, so that I may tend to mine. Soon we will have nothing at all to fear from our enemies.”
“What enemies?” Finn was puzzled at first, and then he realized what must have brought her out here. “Is it Machreth?” he sputtered. “What’s happened? Have the others been warned?”
“You worry too much.”
Finn bristled. “You cannot deliver some dire omen as if it were an afterthought and then expect me to shrug it off with a smile and a nod. I mightn’t be privy to the workings of the Ancients, Cerrigwen, but I have wisdom enough to know when things are awry.”
“Hush now.” She had grown impatient with him. “No more of your distractions.”
“Hear me, Cerrigwen,” Finn insisted. He trusted his instincts more than he trusted her. “No more of this foolishness. Whatever it is you have to do, you can do it from a safer distance. You belong on the other side of these walls.”
Cerrigwen paused long enough to glance at him over her shoulder. She smiled and wagged her head as if to express her disdain for his limited understanding, and then returned to her work. “This is where the veil is thinnest.”
She offered the comment as if it should be explanation enough, and then returned to ignoring him. He watched from a safe distance, half-curious and half-afraid, as Cerrigwen pulled a vial of oddities from her wand bag — herbs and such, and what all else he didn’t want to know — and tapped out a small mound in each corner of the parchment. Next she pulled out a lock of hair, which she placed in the center. Last she drew her wand and passed it over the parchment, all the while muttering unintelligible words, until suddenly the whole mess disappeared in a flash of flame.
Finn took a step back, swallowing his shock. He had no more understanding of what she had done than influence to prevent it. She was, after all, a high sorceress of the Stewardry and in Madoc’s trust. Cerrigwen must have some knowledge he did not, and he had unfailing faith in who she was and what she represented.
Finn glanced at Pedr, still holding the silver mare by the bit. Pedr had begun to fidget, not from fear so much as the urgency a wise man’s instinct would naturally stir. Finn felt it, too. Something was seriously amiss.
At long last, she gathered her implements and regained her feet. Finn experienced a great rush of relief and scrambled astride his mount. “Get the gate, Pedr.”
“No.” Cerrigwen took the silver mare by the reins and led her toward the woods. “This way.”
Finn’s jaw dropped, but before he could object, the forest groaned. “What the devil was that?”
Pedr nearly leapt into his saddle. “The forest has come alive.”
Cerrigwen laughed as she walked right into the trees, laughed as though she thought them both simple and silly. Pedr hemmed and hawed, nudging the horse with his knees even as he pulled back on the bit. The horse, thank the gods, had the sense to stay where it stood.
“It’s you that’s daft, you bloody witch,” Finn snapped. “I’ll not follow you in there!”
She half turned and shrugged at him, completely unperturbed by his outburst. “Do as you will, Finn MacDonagh. I had meant that you and the boy should be spared, but it matters no more to me. Come, or stay, but I’ll not be waiting while you decide.”
As she disappeared into the shadows, Finn weighed the consequences of defying her. He had learned long ago to silence his doubts, quash them in favor of Cerrigwen’s wisdom, even when he was sure he was right. Many a time she had shown herself possessed of instinct and foresight he could not comprehend. And well he knew the awesome, unfathomable power she commanded. He’d witnessed it, witnessed her true nature as it had been revealed in her all these years. This was the time of trial they had waited a lifetime to face, and he would not abandon her now just because he was not capable of understanding her motives — even if he suspected they were evil. Only when that suspicion proved true would it be his duty to refuse her. For now, he would watch and wait.
“What now, Da?”
“Follow her in,” Finn waved Pedr ahead. “What else?”
* * *
Rhys witnessed the shattering of the predawn stillness from the barracks door, bleary-eyed and thickheaded. He blinked and strained to overcome the lingering effects of his grieving and an ale-induced haze. The soft pink glow of the sun rising through the clouds over the frosty landscape gave Rhys serious pause. Such beauty was an affront to his loss, but he could not help but acknowledge the moment.
Thinking on his woes brought a sudden bone-jarring ripple, deeper and harder to shake than the chill of the morning air. Rhys was alert now, sobered by an instinct that he didn’t fully recognize, and a generous dose of anxiety, which he knew quite well. But what could be the cause?
“My Lord.”
Rhys jumped and nearly stumbled off the barracks steps at the sound of Glain’s voice. He steadied himself and mustered the courtesy to greet her, all the while silently cursing his distraction. “What in blazes are you doing out here at this hour?”
As he spoke, Rhys actually looked at Glain, realizing with some chagrin that he hadn’t acknowledged her presence before leveling a reproach. The sight of her nearly sent him off balance all over again. The girl affected him in amazing ways. Even now, in such sad straits, he could not help noticing how the reddish cast to her hair took on a golden gleam in the light of day. He wanted to reach out and brush the wisps from her eyes.
And her eyes, well, they were the light of her, lit by a fiery nature and intelligence that he suspected most people overlooked. Their soft, dappled gray centers had a steely edge to them, he noticed. She looked tired, and distressed.
"I've come looking for you." Her head bobbled side to side in exasperation as she began to speak. “But your mother has sent me to warn you. An insurrection has begun and Emrys has sounded the call to arms. Alwen wants sentries to stand guard at the temple doors and men to prowl the catwalks and parapets. Whoever you can spare, and if there are no men to spare” — she stopped long enough to breathe — “well, then, she says you are to come yourself.”
“I see.” Rhys stepped down so as not to tower over her, though he still had to look down to see her face. Her rant had amused him and he wanted to smile, but she was clearly unhappy to have been dispatched on the errand.
“Rhys!”
Bledig appeared before them out of nowhere, nearly startling Rhys to death all over again. His father had such a look of storm and thunder in his eyes that Rhys was concerned. “What is it?”
“Finn MacDonagh is nowhere to be found, and Emrys has split the guard into two regiments. Odwain has taken command of half the Cad Nawdd upon himself.” Bledig was aggravated. “Odwain has skill and wit and he can handle himself in a skirmish, but he hasn’t any mor
e real battle experience than you. Maybe even less. And what does he know about command? Fergus would make a better captain, but he is with Madoc and your mother.”
Rhys shared Bledig’s lack of confidence. He admired Odwain, even loved him, and would be proud to fight alongside him. He was not, however, prepared to follow him.
“I would have made another choice.” Rhys eyed his father.
Bledig almost smiled. “No barbarian chieftain will ever lead the great Cad Nawdd.”
“Ah, but let them see you ride in battle. You are far more impressive on horseback.”
Bledig turned his grizzled look upon Domagoj, who had arrived astride his own battle-scarred beast and leading Bledig’s.
Domagoj greeted Bledig’s glower with his familiar jeer. “Though I’d wager if your sword arm were to fail you, that foul and sinister look of yours would be enough to scare the devils back to their den.”
Domagoj’s poor attempt at humor was enough to lift Bledig’s spirits. Or maybe it was having the company of another wellseasoned warrior. Either way, Rhys noticed at least a little softening in the rigid set to his father’s jaw.
Bledig took the reins and turned to face the gates. “They will come from the south.”
Domagoj nodded knowingly. “From where the trees are thickest, and the gate widest. This ‘they’ you speak of. Have we any idea who, or what they are?”
“Does it matter?”
Domagoj shrugged. “Not as long as they die when I run them through.”
“Odwain is intent on defending the outer walls.”
Rhys followed his father’s line of sight. What he surveyed from his position lacked martial precision, but Odwain’s deployment seemed to mirror that logic. Half of their contingent of two hundred odd men were scattered along the stone ramparts and on the catwalk between the north and south watchtowers. Only twenty or so had been assigned as cavalry, and those few looked lost and alone huddled together facing the gates.
“An Obotrite warrior would rather chase an enemy down than draw him in,” Domagoj scowled. “Besides, those walls will not hold. Nor will his men. They are too green. When the mayhem begins they will run.”
“No,” Bledig countered. “They will die where they stand, Domagoj. Every last one of them.”
“A brave death,” Domagoj conceded, “but an unnecessary one. Your Volchok would be wiser to mount his defense at the temple. He hasn’t enough men to hold all this open ground. What’s to save anyway but empty outbuildings and flower gardens?”
Bledig heaved a sigh and Rhys shared his anguish. It was precisely the gardens — or rather, the meadow beyond them — that concerned Odwain so. Eirlys was past harm, but he had not fully accepted that truth. “I’ve told Odwain as much, but he is rigid. This temple is a holy place to him. He considers the soil itself to be sacred.”
Domagoj grunted. “Odwain’s holy soil will soon be soaked with the blood of his army.”
“It is his command.”
“But you have your own ideas.” Domagoj was grinning again, expectant.
Bledig waved toward the horsemen of the Cad Nawdd, milling nervously in the courtyard. “Once it begins, they will realize their stand is hopeless. It will fall to you to herd whoever is left back to the castle. As you say, the real fight will be there. Send our warriors to hold the line between the outbuildings and the temple itself.”
“A half dozen Obotrite horsemen are worth two dozen of the Cad Nawdd. Nothing shall pass them.” Domagoj turned to Rhys. “And where will you be, Wolf Prince?”
Right beside you, Rhys meant to say, but his reply fell short of his lips. He was interrupted by an eerie, distant howl. “What the devil is that?”
“The sound of Machreth’s legions gnashing their teeth.” Bledig threw a terse nod over Rhys’s shoulder. “What is that girl doing out here?”
Blazes. Glain. “She waits for me. Mother sent her to bring sentries back to the Fane.”
“Well, take her back where she belongs,” Bledig growled. He glanced around, reconsidering his options, and then pointed at his horsemen. Bledig’s warriors had taken a loose stance between the outbuildings and the gate, behind Odwain’s pitiful cavalry. “Take them, too, and make your stand at the keep. And clear the dormitory of stragglers as you go. Best that Madoc’s followers are gathered in the temple and under your watch. That way I’ll have at least some peace knowing your mother is in good hands.”
Rhys took note of Bledig’s concern for Alwen. His father hadn’t seen Alwen since the sad business with Eirlys. “Do you think she knows? About Eirlys, I mean?”
“She knows.” Bledig’s worried scowl deepened as the wailing drew nearer, accompanied now by a rumbling not unlike the thunder of charging hooves.
Domagoj was almost unseated when his horse skittered and snorted at the sounds of unseen danger. “Not long now.”
“What of the villagers?” Rhys thought of the merchants and crafts folk in the tiny hamlet of Pwll on the other side of the forest.
Bledig threw him an exasperated look, as though he felt both helpless and angry. “Now you wonder.”
“It is already too late. Pwll is overrun.” Glain’s unexpected words unsettled them all. “What comes upon us is an army unlike any you have ever imagined. They tower over the earth, swathed in bloodred mail and armor atop monstrous beasts that trample over everything in their path. They are the Hellion — man and yet not man. Demon warriors in mortal form, but they are not mortal.”
Glain glanced at Bledig, and then looked straight at Rhys with terror in her eyes. “I have seen them in my dreams,” she whispered. “I’d rather not wait here to see them awake.”
The ground beneath them began to shake. The horses jumped and threatened to bolt, but there was nowhere to run. The quaking was all around them, the ground pitching and rolling in violent heaves that grew more violent by the moment. Across the fields, the stone and mortar of the outer walls began to crumble.
“Bledig!” Domagoj wrestled with his panicked mount as he shouted to be heard above the deafening pound of the earth. He had drawn his sword. “It rains hellfire upon us!”
Rhys glanced wildly above at the dawning sky as it darkened and then erupted in flame. It was raining hellfire. Flames streaked the heavens with deadly intent, guided by an unseen hand to strike deep into the compound and set the buildings around them ablaze.
Bledig threw himself onto his horse and yanked the heavy blade from the sheath strapped to his saddle. “Don’t just stand there gawking, boy,” he barked. “If you wait to see what it is, you’ll be dead before you know what hit you. Go. Now!”
Twenty-Eight
Alwen had not remembered the passage to the well to be so far. The long tunnels echoed with emptiness, and yet Alwen found herself anticipating Machreth’s shadow to darken every turn. No one knew where he was. More than once she mistook the distant scuttle of rats for his feral footfall. Just the thought that somewhere in the darkness Machreth could be stalking them sent her senses a-skitter, and Alwen needed them sharp. She could ill afford to let anxiety interfere with her perception of place and time.
By redoubling her focus on mapping their steps, she was able to hold a steady course and keep a clear head. It occurred to her, as yet another of the cavern creatures scurried across her path, to use the rodent. Perhaps the tiny thing could show her what she was unable to see. A spirit-faring could certainly serve them now, but Alwen had never attempted the sending while distracted by another task. Could she split her concentration between the path she needed to map and the trail the rat would wander?
“Blood and thunder,” Fergus muttered. He’d grazed his head on the low-hanging rock formations on the tunnel ceiling. “This place is not built for the likes of me.”
“The tunnels close in as you go,” Alwen observed. She had not noticed this before. “They are growing smaller, Fergus.”
Madoc chuckled. “Or Fergus is growing bigger.”
Fergus grinned, and Alwen felt a partial venti
ng of the tension she had been harboring. Madoc’s jab was as well timed as it was well intentioned. Alwen felt relaxed enough to try her hand at the spirit sending. Now to wait for a willing collaborator.
Soon enough, a small white mouse darted out from behind a pile of loose rock and scampered down the corridor toward them. Just as it sprinted toward a crevice at the base of the passageway wall, Alwen reached out with her thoughts.
Suddenly she was away with the mouse, her consciousness stowed alongside its tiny mind. It was an odd sensation to be oriented so close to the ground. Alwen, being so accustomed to wings and a slow aerial soar, found the wild jostle almost invigorating. The mouse took a haphazard course, dashing in and out of one hole after another, only occasionally traveling the corridors themselves. Her companion, she sensed, was not comfortable in the open and avoided exposing herself whenever possible. Alwen expected to catch sight of sinister boots, at least, but she saw nothing other than the blur of the barren dirt floor and hand-hewn granite walls. Perhaps Machreth had not made it into the catacombs at all.
“Alwen.” Fergus’s sharp tone cut into her daze. “Breathe, before you swoon.”
Her eyes focused on his concerned face. Fergus had her by both shoulders and was shaking her. With an ethereal thud, Alwen found herself grounded again in her own psyche. It was a sudden and almost brutal shock. “All right, Fergus. Enough.”
He released her and stepped back to allow Madoc to move closer. Madoc held Alwen’s torch in his hand. “Well?”
“Well.” Alwen blinked hard and reached for the light. She felt breathless, as if it were she who had been scurrying. “That was hardly what I had hoped.”
“A true spirit-faring is an all-consuming venture,” Madoc advised. “But you know that now.”
Alwen realized that she had held up their progress with her little sojourn. “I was wrong to think I could be in both places at once, but Machreth is not in the labyrinth, at least not that I could see,” she offered. “That’s something, I suppose.”
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