A Whisper of Darkness

by Troy A Hill

  5

  Dragon Fire

  The great hall in Caer Penllyn’s keep hadn’t changed in the three days I had been gone. The well-worn wooden floor and the timber walls made me feel welcome. At home. To the left of the main entrance were the kitchens. Ahead and to the right was the great hall. Beyond that, a grand—at least by rural Britain standards—staircase of thick worn planks led up to a second floor. It ran above the kitchens and across the back of the large structure.

  The floor above was where the Lord and Lady Penllyn each had their own chambers. After the raid by Fadog and his fighters the day before the Battle at the Abbey, much of Caer Penllyn burned, including many of the cottages where residents lived. Most of the displaced had moved into the keep. The concept wasn’t new. During the winter, when Britain was at its coldest, residents on the hilltop slept communally in the great hall to make best use of the heat. A few of us were given rooms upstairs.

  Emlyn had taken Cadoc’s cottage. He claimed he needed to be far away from his brother after listening to him snore for most of their childhood. That gave us the ability to meet without prying eyes after our dances on the weapons field. My love life was complicated. Gwen occupied the empty spot in my heart, and Emlyn filled the missing half of my soul. A love triangle where the three of us were all aware but neither talked much about the other side of the relationship.

  Seren had taken over her former room above the main hall. Being the daughter of the lord and lady gave her privilege. The room at the front end was for Gwen and me. It would have been for Cadoc, heir to Lord Penllyn and his wife Enid, heir to Lord Meirionnydd. Lady Enid was rather large with twins in her womb. So the storeroom on the first floor had been cleared for their use. This kept her from using the stairs any more than necessary.

  She sat now in a cushioned chair near the fire, her large belly weighing her down. Her ankles were swollen as well. The poor girl looked miserable.

  “Mair,” she said as I approached. “Please tell Seren I want to have my babies soon. She can make it happen.”

  “Hush, girl,” Lady Seren said from where she sat next to her father near the large round hearth in the middle of the great hall. “Your babies know when the time is right for them. They’ll come no sooner than that.”

  “How are the twins?” I asked as slid into my chair next to Enid. I sat right next to the fire, a spot normally reserved for Lady Penllyn. Because of my unusual diet of blood, my body warmed only after a feeding. I usually ignored the cold, but being by the fire in the hearth helped keep my body warm enough to pass as alive. I propped my feet on the stone hearth and let the fire warm my feet.

  “As good as expected,” Seren said as Enid moaned.

  “Awake and kicking. I’m not sure if it’s the boy or the girl who’s feisty right now.” She looked down at her belly. “Stop that! Both of you behave!”

  “Did you tell her?” I sent the question to Seren across the mental link we shared as disciples of the goddess.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Seren replied the same way. “Mother was most put out about it, but Enid was so dejected that she is too swollen to stand for long. She misses your sword dancing something fierce. She was starting to blame the babies, so I let her convince me to share their sexes.”

  “Has Gwen returned?” Emlyn asked from behind me.

  “Not yet,” Seren said. “She hasn’t found that dark creature Mair and Ruadh disturbed, but she said she’s found traces.”

  “Who did you send with her?” Bleddyn asked as he whittled on a block of wood. Another toy for his impending grandchildren. This one looked bovine.

  “Another chicken?” I teased him. He wasn’t the best wood carver, and he admitted he was keeping the toys simple since small children tended to not understand the difference between fine details and toys.

  “This chicken moos instead of clucks,” he said.

  “Afon went with her,” Emlyn said and dropped into a chair to enlarge our group by the fire. He still had Corff and Medwyll belted around him. He and I and the guards on duty were the only ones who wore our blades in the keep. Custom dictated that all weapons were to be hung on pegs in the walls near the entrance. Even Cadoc, son of Lord Penllyn, followed that custom after my admission into Lord Penllyn’s family.

  “Is Afon skilled enough to handle whatever that cloud is?” Bleddyn asked.

  Emlyn shrugged. “Is anyone? Until Gwen tells us what it is, I have no clue how to fight it.”

  “Ruadh, Iolo, and I couldn’t find any magic traces of it in the valley,” I volunteered. “We even checked with the farmers at the holdings in the valley. No one had noticed anything at all that evening. Whatever it was fled quickly.”

  “Still,” Bleddyn added, “you activated The Holy Lady’s magic to stop its attack?”

  I nodded.

  “What good can Afon do against that kind of being? Will steel have any effect on it?”

  “That is why I gave Afon one of the silver Witch Hunter swords,” said Emlyn.

  I jerked my head towards Emlyn. He was already looking at me.

  “If you had stayed out to meet Gwen,” he said, “I wouldn’t have had to send Afon.”

  “Silver?” I said. “I thought we agreed those blades would be destroyed.”

  “Until Guto gets the fires hot enough to melt the silver out, there’s not much we can do to them.”

  He was right. Even Ruadh and I had tried and failed with our preternatural strength to break several of the blades. I had to repress a shudder. Silver could hurt me. Badly. Even the mention of a silver blade drove my thoughts back to my time with Onion Breath and Hunchback. They had captured me in the wilds between Mercia and the Cymry lands. Onion Breath took enjoyment from carving into my undead flesh with his little silver knife. He knew my body, fuelled with undead blood magic, couldn’t heal wounds made by silver.

  Seren reached out and laid a hand on my arm. Comforting. She, Emlyn, and Bleddyn were among the few in Penllyn who knew what I was and why destruction of those accursed silver blades was so important.

  “Any luck in unlocking the enchantment they used when they made the blades?” I asked her.

  Seren shook her head, then patted me on the arm. “Not yet,” she said. “When Gwen gets back, we’ll put our heads together over that one again. I’ve been trying to learn about the necromantic spells in the staff fragments to see if they played a role in creation.”

  “I stopped by the caves on the way up here,” I said. “Guto said unless you could wake this mythical Dragon of Cymru and get it to breathe fire, he wasn’t sure if he could get a fire hot enough.”

  “That’s why we have to break the enchantment before we can destroy the blades,” Seren said.

  “We might try coal,” I said and shifted my gaze towards Bleddyn. “Do any of the Cymry lords or kings mine gagate? The black rock that burns?”

  Bleddyn paused in thought. “There might be lords to the south that have access. I can send a messenger if you like.”

  “If you would, please,” I asked. “That would save me asking Gwen to get me to Sussex so I can tell my factor there to send a messenger over to the continent.”

  Before I came to Britain, I had been wife of one of the wealthiest merchants in Francia. “You know,” I added, “I have the means to flood this cantref with wagonloads of gagate from the continent. If you want to set up forges and crucibles, we could turn Penllyn into a steel-producing commercial centre.”

  “Ah…” Bleddyn smiled but kept looking at the wooden toy he was carving. “I prefer horses to weapons. And I’ve smelled the smoke from that gagate rock when it burns. At least the by-product of our herds helps to fertilise our crops and keep the land fertile.” He looked up and winked at me. “It smells just as bad as the rock smoke, but at least it’s useful. And the monks and herb women won’t treat a wound without dried dung to help.”

  “Dragon fire,” Seren mumbled. She was tapping her steepled fingers against her lips as she gazed off into the distance. �
��I wonder…” She stood. “I need to get the silver blade again…”

  “Ouch,” Enid exclaimed and looked at her swollen belly.

  “Another kick?” Cadoc asked.

  “No… OH!”

  She tried to stand, and fluid rolled out of her skirts to make a small puddle on the floorboards.

  “Help me get her into the birthing room,” Seren commanded. She and Rhian were on their feet and slid their arms around the girl. Enid clutched at her belly and sucked in a breath.

  “Not yet,” Rhian said. “Breathe through the cramps. You can push in a few moments.”

  “Gwen,” Seren sent. “The birthing has begun.”

  “I will return,” Gwen replied.

  6

  Distractions

  Bleddyn had quite a pile of wood shavings on his lap when Gwen strode into the keep. Her steps quiet, strides normal. She always projected a presence, like a low humming of insects waking and taking flight. Everyone around her tended to sit straighter or glance up whenever she entered a room.

  I chuckled as two of the young girls setting out plates for the evening meal paused and bowed towards her. Even though few in Penllyn suspected her past—that she had been queen of most of Britain a century before—her demeanour was always that of a woman with power. Never flaunted, yet present. That was Gwen. Regal, commanding, yet still my Gwen.

  I gave her a smile as she stopped next to my chair. The green dress I was embroidering for her lay across my lap. Her hand found my shoulder and gave it a gentle caress.

  “Enid is having her babies,” Cadoc said when he turned and saw Gwen.

  “Yes, dear,” Gwen said.

  “Right now,” Cadoc said, his head tilted towards the birthing room. “She’s moaning… Can you do something?”

  “Seren and the herb women are there to help her,” Gwen said. “Babies have been coming out on their own for generations. I’m sure she will be fine.”

  “Can’t you help speed things up?”

  “Men!” Gwen’s thought came into my mind.

  “I don’t want to interfere with a natural process, milord,” she said. “Babies take time to grow, and time to birth. Your lady wife has all of the attention she needs. I will go check on them in a moment or two.”

  “Were you able to find any trace of what Mair saw?” Bleddyn interrupted. Cadoc went back to pacing around the back of the great hall.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “I could feel its passage. Traces, anyway.”

  “Any ideas on what it is?” I asked.

  “Lots of ideas, dearest,” she said. “But no certainties.”

  A loud moan, almost a wail, drifted out of the birthing chamber.

  “Lady Gwen!” Cadoc exclaimed.

  “Pish!” she said. “Why do men always worry so about babies?”

  “We don’t understand them, nor the process involved,” Bleddyn said. “Give us a chore to do, a puzzle to solve, or a war to fight, and we’ll get it done. Birthing isn’t a problem we can solve with a sword or a spear, so all we can do is worry.”

  “Perhaps a problem he can solve with a sword would be good for your son,” Gwen said and tapped my shoulder. “Sawyl was drilling the newer men on the weapons field when I came down from the grove.”

  “I could send Afon to spar with him,” I said. With the birthing, I didn’t want to leave the hall, even though Seren and Gwen could tell me when the babies had arrived.

  “Afon headed to see Llinos down at the weaver’s house,” Gwen said. “I doubt Cadoc will head to the village with his wife up here.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I folded the green dress and stowed it, then went to block Cadoc as he turned in his pacing.

  “Practice field, now,” I said.

  “But… Enid… the babies…”

  “NOW!” I dropped my chin a finger’s width and raised an eyebrow.

  He cast one last glance at the door to the birthing room before leaving.

  Emlyn was standing at the field watching Sawyl run half a dozen of our newer guards through spear and shield drills. Each of the men had on hardened leather armour or a padded jacket, with leather gloves above the wrist.

  “Wondered how long it would take before you tired of his pacing,” the penteulu said and flashed a quick grin. I liked the Emlyn that grinned.

  Cadoc carried two of the new metal practice swords Emlyn had asked the smith to make and balance for us. The men used wooden practice swords until they were skilled enough that Emlyn would consider letting them beat each other with blunt steel. Those he trusted at that level were few. Not because of the lack of skill. Penllyn had some of the best fighters in Britain. Because Emlyn trained them.

  My brother of the undead, a weapons master with no equal, Aemilianus, had trained Emlyn. And me.

  The steel swords Cadoc carried were two of the best in Emlyn’s armoury. They were matches for his blade, Corff, and my blade, Soul. Once Emlyn had returned from the continent, from training with Aemi, there was no other fighter who could match him with the blades.

  Until I came along.

  “The new blunts?” Emlyn cocked an eyebrow at Cadoc. “You might be too nervous to use those. We should get the leather-wrapped ones for you today.” Another grin flashed across his face as he teased his nephew.

  Cadoc stiffened, then laughed.

  “I am tense, aren’t I?”

  “Mair will get you to loosen up,” he said. “Gloves, and keep both those blades for yourself.”

  I thought Emlyn meant to take Cadoc on himself. He stepped onto the field and called a halt to the training.

  “I will take the field now, Third Sword.”

  “Yes, milord,” Sawyl said with a nod. The half dozen younger men stood silent. Spear butts were lowered, and they leaned on the poles, resting. Emlyn’s training methods showed, even at this early stage.

  “Off the field, water, then watch.” The penteulu waved them towards the water buckets and cups. “Lady Mair and Lord Cadoc will demonstrate for you several advanced techniques.”

  “Me? With what?” I asked. Cadoc was to wield both swords. I wasn’t going to use sharp steel against him.

  “Get Sawyl’s spear,” he said, his face stoic. “Or have you forgotten how to use one?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him with my back towards the men at the water buckets. Sawyl saw the gesture and laughed. He passed over the wooden spear with a blunt metal point. I leaned it into the crook of my arm and pulled on the leather gloves. Emlyn was the only one I trusted to not land his metal blades against my flesh. Since my body didn’t bleed unless I was freshly fed, it was best that I not risk showing injury in front of others. Even Sawyl didn’t know what I was. And Bleddyn had just approved Emlyn’s decision to promote the guard to third sword.

  “Would you like a shield, milady?”

  I waved off the suggestion.

  “So Emilius gave you training with the spear,” Emlyn said. I did like the fun Emlyn. Even when I was the target of his jest.

  “Comfortable with both blades?” I looked at Cadoc, who was pulling on his second glove. He gave a single nod.

  “You and Emlyn have both been training me,” he said. “We’ll see.”

  “Stay focussed on the field,” Emlyn said. “An enemy won’t care about where your mind is. He’ll cut your throat when you’re thinking about home. Then he’ll go back to his and leave you bleeding out in the mud.”

  Emlyn had us face off and salute with our weapons—habits instilled in him through my brother. Respect your trainer and your training partner.

  I had drilled with Cadoc enough, per Emlyn’s instruction, to know the young lord was capable with dual weapons. His right hand was still the strongest. He kept his left hand to defensive blocks.

  The well-worn, smooth wooden shaft of the spear slid through my grip. I dropped the point and thrust it towards Cadoc. He had his left-hand weapon in front and his dominant hand overhead and back, facing the blunted end of the sword forward. He blocked
and pushed my tip off line, stepped into measure, and the overhand blow slashed down.

  It’s tough to bind a slick pole. I rotated the shaft to free it from the flimsy bind his left-hand weapon had. The spear tip dropped, and I used the butt end to catch his downstroke with the dominant blade. Or so he expected. I turned out of line, flicked the spear point against his thigh, pulled it back to slash with the edge, and caught his downstroke, which was horribly out of line now as he reacted to my strike.

  I pushed his dominant blade down with the butt end, then twisted the spear and raked him across the chest with a slash of the bladed end, since both of his blades were low.

  Had this been a real fight, I would have stabbed the blade into his exposed neck. This wasn’t even a training bout. We were trying to keep Cadoc’s mind off what his wife was doing.

  “What did you learn from that?” Emlyn asked the young guards gathered at the edge of the field.

  “Stay on whatever side Lady Mair is fighting on?” one man ventured. He was one of Tomi’s friends. Tomi the braggart trainee who had been too cocksure and had died in Fadog’s raid against the caer last year.

  Emlyn must have scowled. The young man bit his lip and looked at his feet.

  Talian, my friend and another student I had taken on for our morning sword lessons, raised his hand. He was still tentative, careful not to overstep or seem the least bit dominant.

  “Milord,” he said, “a spear is not a single weapon. We only think about the sharp end. The other end is just as deadly.”

  “Good. What about the other end of a sword?”

  “Punching,” Talian added. I expected him to know that. He and Sawyl had just spent the past month practicing pommel punches from a variety of positions.

  “No part of a weapon should be ignored, even the shield.” Emlyn turned towards me. “Lady Mair will help Lord Cadoc show attack modes against a spear.”