by Holly Taylor
Without really meaning to, she shivered at the thought of Morcant again coming to her bedroom. Surely she should be used to the humiliation, the violence, the helplessness by now. After all, it happened to her almost every night. But suddenly she thought she could bear it no longer. For almost a year she had searched and searched for a way to escape. She had not found it and had contented herself with passing on whatever information she could to Menestyr, who was secretly one of the Cerddorian. It had been a way of helping the brother she had loved and so foolishly betrayed.
But she now felt she could not go on, could not face one more night.
“Lady,” Menestyr said urgently as she clutched at the counter and briefly closed her eyes against the pain. “Lady, do not give up. Not now.”
“And why not now?” she whispered bitterly as she opened her eyes. Behind her the argument was winding down. Her guards would once again be at her elbow, listening to every word, watching her every move.
“Because you have not yet met my new assistant,” Menestyr said unexpectedly.
A hand, sinewy and brown, lifted the curtain behind the stall and a figure stepped out. The man bowed to Enid before she could clearly see his face. As he straightened her guards were once again behind her, watching.
Her breath caught in her throat as the sun shone on the man’s brown hair, teasing red highlights from it. The man’s blue eyes, so like her own, met hers fearlessly. The lines of despair and grief, so prominent on his face the last time she saw him, had been smoothed away and even in her shock she was glad for him. Then he smiled at her and his smile was dazzling in its warmth, in its welcome, in its promise of a return to home and love and safety.
She nodded at the man, acutely aware of the guards behind her. She could think of nothing to say, and she gripped the counter even harder. But the guards were there, the silence would be too long, so she let go of the counter and inclined her head to the merchant’s new assistant. “I am pleased to meet you, sir,” she managed to say.
Her brother Owein, the true King of Rheged, replied, “And I am more pleased to meet you than I can say.”
One last shout from the arguing shepherd and his opponent caused the guards to briefly look away. And in that moment Owein’s lips moved, shaping two words that she had longed to hear during this last, nightmarish year.
“Be ready.”
She made her way back to Caer Erias almost in a daze. As she came to the gate she glanced up at the figure incised on it—a rearing, golden stallion with a glittering mane of opals, and fiery opals for eyes. As she passed the sun chose to flash off the opals, making it seem that the mighty horse was looking at her with a challenge in its eyes. Her heart leapt in her breast, though she would never let that show on her smooth, expressionless face. Perhaps the time had truly come. Perhaps Owein really could get her out of here. Oh, if only he could.
She wondered who else had come with him and, still wondering, walked by the stables, her guard following. Servants were cleaning out the stalls and the stable doors were open wide. Sunlight spilled into the stable a few feet, illuminating those who worked near the doors, clearing away old straw and spreading new. The sunlight flashed off the golden hair of one of the men. At that moment the man turned to face the courtyard and their eyes met. The man’s blue eyes seared her as her own widened in shock, though she knew better than to halt, even for a moment. The man gave a slight nod, then returned to his work, spreading new hay on the stable floor.
She continued on as though nothing had happened, smoothly gliding past the stables. But her pulse beat wildly in her throat. Hope at last raised its battered and bloodied head and beckoned to her. She held in her mind’s eye the memory of the man’s face. Geriant had come. He, too, had come at last to set her free.
SHE ENTERED HER chambers. Her guard halted at the bottom of the stairs as she ascended, making her way to her bedroom. The chamber was bright and airy. The furniture was carved from light oak, polished to the sheen of new honey. Thick rugs woven in cream and red were scattered on the floor. Her huge, canopied bed was covered with a cream-colored spread worked in gold thread and opals. She was glad, more than ever, that Morcant always chose to have her brought to his rooms to rape her. In this room, the room that had been her mother’s, there were no bad memories. The memories held here were of her family, of spending peaceful evenings with her brothers Elphin and Rhiwallon and Owein, with her mother and father whose love covered them and comforted them. Those days were long gone but still she held them in her heart to warm her and never so much as when in this room.
She shrugged her cloak from her shoulders and hung it from its peg in the wardrobe. As she turned she caught a glimpse of a hated face and gasped.
“You did not spend long in the marketplace,” Bledri said. His Dewin’s robe of silver and sea green strained over his powerful shoulders. His sandy brown hair glittered in the sunlight but his gray eyes were cold.
Enid haughtily eyed the man who had betrayed her parents, the man who had later betrayed her. Her glance was contemptuous and cool but inside she felt like screaming. What was he doing here? What did he want? Or, worse still, what did he suspect?
“What do you want, Bledri?” she asked, her voice bored.
“Just to talk.”
She laughed sharply. “Since when do you want to talk?”
“Why, Enid, you know how much I like spending time with you.” His gray eyes crawled over her body, gleaming with the memories of doing as he pleased with her when she was bound in her cell a year ago.
“Bledri, get to the point,” she said coldly as she went to sit before her dressing table. She unbound her hair and began to brush it slowly. She knew that Bledri would not dare to touch her, much as he might threaten to. And she wished to torment him, as she was able. It would not be much, but it would be something.
His eyes narrowed as she watched him in the glass. He was not a fool, and he did know her well. “I simply would wish to remind you that this is your prison. And one from which you will never escape.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” she asked in a bored tone. But her eyes flashed at him.
“The Master Smiths of Kymru and their families have been freed by High King Arthur and his folk,” Bledri went on as though she had not spoken.
“I know that.”
“Then know this, too. Queen Elen of Ederynion has escaped from Caer Dwyr.”
She gasped, dropping the brush and leaping to her feet, spinning around to face him. “What? She has been freed?”
“Two days ago. A messenger from Dinmael just brought us the news.”
“Rescued,” Elen breathed. “She was rescued.”
“Along with her Dewin, Regan. Prince Lludd and Angharad rescued them. Oh, and your brother, Prince Rhiwallon, was there also.”
“Oh,” she said softly, as she abruptly sat down again on the stool.
“Apparently Iago and another Druid helped to hold the pursuit off long enough for them to get away. Both the Druids died, of course, but not before the rest of them escaped. General Talorcan went with them.”
Her blue eyes filled with tears, though she was smiling. “They got away. They are free.”
“As you shall never be, Enid,” Bledri said harshly.
She stared at him and did not answer. Did he think her own brother would never come for her? But he had. And Geriant had, too. Soon, very soon, she would be free of this daily torment. Did he think to persuade her otherwise?
“I tell you this, Enid, for this is true. You will never escape here. Never.”
“You are so sure?” she asked.
“I am. And I will tell you why. I know you will never escape because I will see you dead first.”
She jumped to her feet, her hairbrush clutched in her hand. “How dare you threaten me,” she raged, but inside she was cold as death. She knew he meant what he said.
“I will do to you whatever I please.”
“I think not,” she said swiftly. “Fo
r my husband would have something to say about that.”
“You husband does not, in truth, rule here, Enid. As I think you know. It is General Baldred and myself that truly do.”
“It is General Baldred, I agree. Your word is as nothing, and I think you must surely know that. Are you not one of the hated witches? Do you think that the Coranians will ignore that forever?”
He stepped toward her, snatching the hairbrush from her hands and pinning her arms behind her. His face just inches from her own, he loomed over her, his gray eyes cold and glittering. “Rather than see you free I will see you dead.”
“Then kill me now, Bledri. Finish the work you began the night you betrayed me. You killed my heart then. Kill my body. Then shall I truly be free.”
He bent his head and kissed the side of her neck. The kiss turned into a bite as his teeth nipped at her. But he knew better than to break the skin and he lifted his head again to kiss her lips. His tongue invaded her, forcing her mouth open. She did not respond, but neither did she struggle, for she knew he would like that.
When he at last released her mouth she hissed, “Take me then, Bledri. Then will I go to Morcant and show him what you have done.”
His arms tightened around her then released her. He stepped back all at once and she clutched at the dressing table to keep from falling.
“You will never be free, Enid. Not even if both Morcant and I are dead. You will carry with you all the rest of your life the things we have done to you. You will never again taste joy, for we will be in your memories forever.”
He stormed from the room as she slowly sank down to the floor, her face in her hands, the truth of what he said lodging like an arrow in her weary heart.
OWEIN TOOK A firm hold of the slim rope that snaked down the side of the fortress wall. In the darkness he could not even see the top of the wall he scaled until he was almost upon it. As he reached the top he let go of the rope and hoisted himself up to lie flat across the parapet. He laid still for a moment, catching his breath.
Cautiously, he inched across the top of the wall until he was directly beside the watchtower. Above him the light from the narrow window flickered once, twice, three times. Owein grinned to himself. Geriant and Yrth had indeed done their task.
Loud, raucous laughter sounded from the hall in the middle of the huge courtyard. Someone opened the door of the hall and golden light spilled out and down the steps. Owein crouched, not moving, as three figures made their way down the stairs and to the ystafell. Although the light of the torches in brackets set in intervals around the fortress walls was flickering and uncertain, he knew exactly who the three men were.
Morcant, the self-styled King of Rheged wore a dark red cloak, the color of old blood. The cloak clasped at this throat with a brooch of opal and gold shaped in the figure of a rearing stallion. At the sight of the ornament, an ornament he had often seen around his father’s neck, Owein drew his dagger and almost leapt to kill Morcant. But he stopped himself in time, though rage coursed through him, leaving him shaking.
The sea green and silver robe of the man on Morcant’s left shimmered briefly in the torchlight. Around the man’s powerful neck glowed a torque of pearl set in a silvery pentagon. Again, Owein had to grit his teeth to keep from jumping down and slitting Bledri’s throat. For this was the Dewin who had betrayed his parents, ensuring their deaths. And this was the man who Enid had thrown everything away for, the man who had betrayed his sister and sold her into slavery.
The third man Owein knew by reputation. He was dressed in red and gold, the colors of his master. General Baldred’s stocky figure walked with authority, for he was the true power in Rheged, and he knew it.
The three men disappeared into the ystafell and Owein breathed a sigh. He glanced up at the window and waved briefly. The light again flickered. Owein gave out a soft hoot, so like an owl’s as to be almost indistinguishable, and saw the rope below him pulled taunt.
It took her but a few moments to scale the wall. Her golden hair was covered and muted by a dark scarf, and her dark eyes danced as she took his hand and allowed him to pull her up next to him. He snatched a kiss, because he simply couldn’t help it. Sanon smiled at him, then nodded to the window, her brows raised. He nodded back and motioned for her to pass him and stand beneath the window. As she did so he laced his fingers and lowered his arms. She delicately stepped into the palms of his hands and held onto the wall as he lifted her. Hands reached out of the window and pulled her in.
Again, the rope went taut, and he waited. One by one his companions reached the top of the wall and climbed into the watchtower window—Trystan, his captain, and Teleri his lieutenant, followed by Gwarae Golden-Hair, the Gwarda of Ystlwyf. This last gave him a grin and a jaunty salute as he made his way with Owein’s help through the watchtower’s window.
Owein coiled the rope, then went to the window. He stowed the rope in the front of his dark tunic, then spit on his hands. He scaled the wall carefully, searching for the handholds he knew were there. As his hands reached the window ledge Trystan and Gwarae reached out and hauled him up the rest of the way.
His eyes met the two men who had been waiting in the tower—Prince Geriant and Yrth, the Druid that High King Arthur had sent to aid them. At their feet sprawled the figures of three guards.
Owein nodded at the still bodies. “Any trouble?” he asked.
“None,” Geriant answered briskly.
“I still think that I should have been allowed to—” Teleri began with a frown.
“Enough, Teleri,” Owein said. “You know perfectly well why only Geriant and Yrth were allowed to go through the gate earlier today.”
“Because the two of them were not well known in Llwynarth,” Sanon finished for him. “While the rest of you certainly are. But that was no reason I could not have been allowed in. No one knows me here.”
Again, as he had through all the previous arguments, Owein could find no good reason to not have allowed Sanon to do it other than that his heart almost stopped at the thought.
“Enough, sister,” Geriant said with a smile. “Or do you truly not know why your husband did not allow you to come with us?”
“Maybe it would be best if someone told me why we are continuing to argue about this?” Gwarae asked. “It’s a little late to keep on about it.”
“True,” Owein agreed with relief. “Teleri, the signal.”
Teleri went to the window and strung her bow. Owein knew that her shot had to hit the target true or their escape would be well nigh impossible. But, even in the dark, he had no doubts about Teleri’s abilities. The arrow sang softly as it left the bow and sped through the still air. A half league away a light flared and died, then another, from further off still. The last flame flared briefly then sputtered out.
“The signal is sent,” Teleri said with satisfaction. “March will be on his way with the horses.”
“Truly, Teleri, there is no one like you with a bow and arrow,” Gwarae said jauntily. “Why, how long has it been now since you sent an arrow through my heart? I remember the moment I first saw you—”
“Oh, leave off, Gwarae,” Teleri said as she slung her bow over her shoulder. “You always do that. You always make a game of me.”
“A game of you?” Gwarae asked, his brow raised. “Now what makes you think that this is a game?”
Teleri snorted. “It’s always a game with you. Why, if I thought you were ever serious—”
“You’d do what, lieutenant?” Gwarae said swiftly, his green eyes glinting.
“Never you mind,” Teleri said sharply.
Owein decided to put a halt to this conversation. The two of them always spoke to each other this way—Gwarae paying Teleri elaborate compliments that she clearly did not take seriously. She thought he was playing an elaborate game with her. And, perhaps, he had been, at first. But lately Owein wondered if it really was a game to Gwarae at all.
But now it was time to free his sister, and he was focused on that
alone. “We are ready,” he said quietly. “Yrth, you are prepared?”
The old Druid nodded. His gray eyes glittered with anticipation in his weather-beaten face. “I am, King of Rheged.”
Once that title had made Owein wince in shame and guilt. But those days were past, smoothed over by the love of his wife. So he smiled instead and nodded at the Druid. Although he had not known Yrth long, he knew that this Druid had been one of the five that had followed Aergol to High King Arthur to offer their allegiance. Yrth had been a highly respected teacher in Caer Duir for many years and, in spite of the fact that the old man was a Druid, Owein had liked him instantly for the wisdom in his eyes and the calmness of his spirit.
At his nod Teleri and Gwarae left the room with Yrth, one in front of and one behind the old Druid.
Owein nodded to Geriant. “Let’s go,” he said to the man who had loved, who still did love, his captive sister.
Sanon kissed them both lightly then pulled her long dagger from her belt. Trystan pulled out his short sword with a steely hiss. Owein turned at the door for one last look at Sanon. She smiled at him, her heart in her dark eyes.
TELERI LED THE way, with Yrth behind her and Gwarae last. They made their way silently down the twisting stairs of the guard tower. They reached the bottom and Teleri stood to one side of the door, motioning for Yrth to stand next to her. She nodded to Gwarae and he opened the door a crack. He put his eye to the crack, then stepped back, motioning that the way was clear.
Teleri stepped out first, her bow slung across one shoulder, a long gleaming knife in her hands. The courtyard was quiet as they rushed to their left and took cover behind the silent bathhouse.
She glanced behind her and saw the shadowy forms of Geriant and Owein glide the opposite way, toward the ystafell.
“The fools are all in the hall,” Teleri whispered furiously.
Yrth’s brow rose at her tone. “I would have thought we wanted it that way,” he said quietly.
“Ah, Druid, you simply don’t understand this beautiful woman here,” Gwarae said with a grin. “If she was still lieutenant here in Caer Erias things would not be so sloppy. Guards would patrol the courtyard, not simply be limited to the towers.”