Galead sat and watched her for a long time. Her face was oval and pretty. One day she would be a beauty, and boys would come from miles around to pay court at her door, especially if she kept the habit of tilting her head and smiling knowingly, as she had when he had tried to teach her the basics of his language.
His smile faded. What are you thinking of, you fool? he asked himself. The country was at war, and even if by some miracle the Goths were beaten back, the Saxons would rise, or the Jutes, or the Angles, or any of the multitude of tribesmen. What chance would Lekky have of living a gentle life?
He settled down beside her, banked up the fire, and rested his head on his arm. Sleep came swiftly, but with it came dreams …
He saw a giant figure outlined against the stars, clouds swirling around its knees. The head was terrible, with eyes of fire and teeth of sharp iron, and its hand was reaching slowly for a great sword that floated blade-downward in the sky. On the other side of the blade, turned away from it, was a beautiful woman. Then above the scene appeared a blazing, moving star like a great silver coin racing across the heavens. The giant warrior cowered from the star, and the sword seemed to shrink. The scene shifted, and he watched the Blood King, naked and alone in the courtyard at Eboracum. As the beasts issued from the yawning tunnel, he hurled his sword into the air and called out a single word.
Then Galead found himself sitting in a terraced garden, the sense of peace and tranquillity total. He knew who would be there.
“Welcome,” said Pendarric.
“I could stay here forever,” Galead said, and Pendarric smiled.
“I am glad you can feel the harmony. What have you learned, young knight?”
“Little that I did not know. What became of the old man, Caterix?”
“He found his friends and is safe.”
“And the robber?”
“Returned to the forest.”
“To kill again?”
“Perhaps, but it does not lessen the deed. You are journeying to the Isle of Crystal?”
“Yes.”
“Uther is there.”
“Alive?”
“That is yet to be established. You must find the lady Morgana and tell her to follow once more the advice of Pendarric. Do you understand your dreams?”
“No, save that the giant is Wotan and the sword is Uther’s.”
“The star is a comet that moves across the heavens once in every man’s lifetime. It is made of Sipstrassi, and when it comes close, it draws its magic back to its heart. A long time ago a piece of that comet crashed into our world, giving birth to magic. Now, as it passes once more, it will draw some of that magic away. There will be a moment, Galead—and you will know it—when the fate of the world hangs in the balance. When that moment comes, tell the sword wielder to give you his blade. Raise it high and wish for whatever you will.”
“Why is it that you never speak plainly? Is this all a game to you?”
Pendarric shook his head. “Do you not think I would gladly give you the wisdom to help the world? But that is not the way the mystery is passed on. It never was. For each man life is a journey toward knowledge and answers to the eternal questions: Who am I? Why am I here? If I tell you to go to a certain place and speak a word of power, what have you learned save that Pendarric is a sorcerer? But if I say to you to go to a certain place and say what is in your heart, and that proves to be a word of power, then you have learned something far greater. You will have stepped to the circle of mystery, and you will progress to its center. Caterix understood this when he aided the robber, though his heart urged him to let the man die. You also may come to understand.”
“And if I do not?”
“Then evil will be triumphant, and the world will remain the same.”
“Why must that responsibility be mine?”
“Because you are the one least able to cope with it. You have journeyed far, Prince Ursus, from the grasping, lecherous prince to the knight Galead who rescues a child. Continue on your journey.”
Galead awoke soon after dawn. Lekky slept on, and he prepared a bowl of hot oats mixed with honey from the food store Karyl had supplied. After breakfast he saddled the mare, and they set off toward the northwest.
In the middle of the morning, as he rode into a small wood, he found himself facing a dozen riders, all wearing the horned helms of the Goths. He drew rein and stared at the cold-eyed men while Lekky shrank against him, shivering with fear.
The leader rode forward and spoke in Saxon.
“I am from Gaul,” Ursus answered in the Sicambrian tongue.
The man looked surprised. “You are a long way from home,” he said. The other riders moved closer, swords in their hands.
Galead prepared to hurl Lekky from the saddle and fight to the last.
“Indeed I am. But then, so are you.”
“Who is the child?”
“An orphan. Her village was destroyed, and her mother slain.”
“Such is war,” said the man, shrugging. He rode still closer. Lekky’s eyes were wide with terror as he leaned in toward her, and Galead tensed, his hand edging toward his sword.
“What is your name, little one?” the rider asked in Saxon.
“Lekky.”
“Do not be frightened.”
“I am not frightened,” she said. “My father is the greatest of killers and will slay you all if you do not go away.”
“Then I think we had better go away,” he said, smiling. Straightening in the saddle, he returned his gaze to Galead.
“She is a brave girl,” he said, switching to Sicambrian. “I like her. Why does she say you are her father?”
“Because I now have that honor.”
“I am Saxon myself,” said the man, “so I know what an honor it is. Be good to her.”
Waving his arm, the man led the riders past the astonished Galead and continued on his way. The Goths rode on for several hundred yards, then the leader reined in once more and stared back at the single rider.
“Why did we not kill him?” asked his second in command. “He was not Saxon.”
The leader shrugged. “Damned if I know! I left this cursed country seven years ago and swore I would never come back. I had a pregnant wife here. And I have been thinking of finding her—and my son. I was just thinking of her when the rider appeared, and it caught me off my guard.”
“We could always ride back and kill him.”
“No, let him go. I liked the child.”
Wotan led Anduine through a maze of corridors to a small group of rooms deep in the heart of the fortress. At the center of the main room was a dark round table on which sat a skull with a circlet of what appeared to be silver embedded in the bone of the brow. He pulled a chair close to the table.
“Sit!” he commanded, and placed one hand on the skull and the other on Anduine’s head. She felt a great drowsiness seeping over her and in a moment of panic fought against it, but the need to sleep was overpowering, and she faded into it.
Wotan closed his eyes …
… and opened them in his tent outside Vindocladia, less than a day’s march from the Great Circle at Sorviodunum.
“Tsurai!” he called. At once, the tent flap opened and his aide stepped into view, his swarthy features taut with fear. Wotan smiled.
“Fetch the girl Rhiannon.”
“Yes, lord.”
Minutes later two men ushered the girl into the tent, where Wotan now sat on the wooden throne. He dismissed the guards and gazed down on her face as she knelt before him.
“You led my guards to the traitor Oleg,” he said, “but he escaped?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And his companions were slain?”
She nodded dumbly, aware of the glint in his eye and the chilling sibilance of his words.
“But you did not mention the names of his companions.”
“They were not traitors, lord, merely Britons.”
“You lie!” he hissed. “One of them wa
s the princess from Raetia.”
Rhiannon scrambled to her feet, desperate to escape the burning eyes. He lifted his hand, and as she reached the tent entrance, she felt a numbing force close around her waist, dragging her back.
“You should not have lied to me, pretty one,” he whispered as she was hurled to the ground at his feet. His hand descended to touch her brow, and her eyes closed.
He lifted the sleeping body and laid it on the silk covers of the bed beyond the throne. His hands covered her face, and his eyes closed in concentration. When he opened them and removed his hands, the features of Rhiannon had disappeared, to be replaced by the oval beauty that had been Anduine. He drew a deep breath, calming himself for the call, then placed his thumbs gently on the eyes of the sleeping woman. A shuddering breath filled her lungs, and her hands twitched.
He stood back. “Awake, Anduine,” he said.
She sat up and blinked, then rose from the bed, moving to the tent flap and staring in silent wonder at the sky. When she turned back, there were tears in her eyes.
“How did you do this?” she asked.
“I am a god,” he told her.
Deep in the abyss of the Void, Rhiannon also opened her eyes …
And her screams were pitiful.
Galead and Lekky arrived at the lake at sundown two days after the veterans of the Ninth had secured the causeway, which was now under water as the tide was at its height. As was the Roman way, a temporary fort had been established within the clearing: earth walls had been thrown up, patrolled by straight-backed warriors of the deadliest fighting force ever to march into battle.
Galead was stopped at the entrance by two sentries, one of whom fetched Severinus Albinus. The general had twice met Ursus but had never seen the blond warrior the Merovingian had become. Dismounting, Galead explained that he had been with Victorinus in Gaul. Then he was led to a timber structure and told to wait for Gwalchmai. Lekky was given some soup, and Galead settled down beside her at a rough-hewn table. After an hour Gwalchmai entered with Prasamaccus alongside him. Lekky was asleep in Galead’s lap, her head resting on his chest.
“Who is it you say you are?” asked the tall Cantii.
“I was Ursus, but the king used his power to change my face so that I would not be recognized as a Merovingian noble. My name is now Galead. I was sent with Victorinus.”
“And where is he?”
“He feared treachery and bade me make my own way. I think he is dead.”
“And how do we know you are no traitor?”
“You do not,” he said simply. “And I would not blame you for your fears. A man appeared to me and told me to come to the isle; he said I should seek the woman who ruled here. I think it is important that I at least meet her; you can have me guarded.”
“Who was this man?” Gwalchmai asked.
“He said his name was Pendarric.”
“What did he look like?” asked Prasamaccus.
“Golden hair, around thirty years old, maybe more.”
“And what were you to say to the lady?” continued the Brigante.
“I was to urge her to once more follow the advice of Pendarric.”
“Do you know what was meant?”
“No.”
Prasamaccus sat down, and both Britons questioned Galead at length about his journey and the instructions he had received from Uther. At last satisfied, they led him to a shallow-hulled boat, and with Lekky still asleep in his arms, Galead sat at the stern and felt the peace of the isle sweep over him.
They beached the boat in a tree-shadowed bay and walked up to the settlement. Galead saw that it was constructed as a great circle of twelve huts built in a ring about a round hall. The perimeter was walled with timber, though not like a fort, more like a high fence. Several women in dark robes moved across the clearing, ignoring the newcomers, who walked to a hut on the western side of the circle. Inside there were rugs and blankets, pottery jugs, and a small iron brazier glowing with coals. Galead laid Lekky down and covered her with a blanket.
“Your sword,” said Gwalchmai as Galead straightened. Pulling it clear, he handed it hilt first to the Cantii. Prasamaccus then searched Galead swiftly and expertly for any concealed weapons.
“Now you may see the king,” Prasamaccus told him.
The three men made their way to the hall, and Galead stood silently, looking down on the two bodies lying side by side on the round table.
Three women sat close by, their heads bowed in prayer. Galead turned to Prasamaccus.
“Is there nothing we can do?”
The Brigante shook his head. The far door opened, and Laitha entered. Prasamaccus and Gwalchmai both bowed, and she approached Galead.
“Yet another wanderer,” she said. “And what do you desire?”
“You are the Lady of the Isle?”
“I am Morgana.”
He gave her Pendarric’s message and saw her smile. “Well,” she said, “that is a simple matter, for he once told me to raise my hand high in the air and grasp whatever I found.” She lifted a slender arm, clenched her fist, and brought it down to hold it before Galead’s face. Her fingers opened. “There! Nothing. Do you have any other messages?”
“No, my lady.”
“Then go back to your little war,” she snapped. He watched her depart and noticed that she had not even glanced at the bodies.
“I do not understand,” he said.
Prasamaccus moved to his side. “A quarter of a century ago, in a world that was not this one, she stood on a hilltop and raised her arm. Her hand seemed to disappear, and when she withdrew it, she held the Sword of Power. With it she rescued Uther and the Ninth Legion from the Void and brought about the downfall of the Witch Queen. And Uther won back his father’s kingdom.”
“Then she is the queen?”
“She is.”
“Pendarric was wrong, it seems. Who is the young warrior beside the king?”
“His son, Cormac. Are you a man given to prayer?”
“I am beginning to learn.”
“This is a good place to practice,” said the Brigante, lowering his head.
Lekky awoke in the hut; it was dark, and wind whistled in the thatch above her.
“Vader?” Fear sprang in her heart; the last thing she remembered was eating the soup the soldier had given her. She threw back the blanket and ran outside, but there was no one in sight; she was alone. “Vader?” she called again, her voice starting to tremble. Tears flowed, and she ran into the clearing, where suddenly a tall figure in white appeared before her like a spirit of the dark.
Lekky screamed and stepped back, but the woman knelt before her. “Do not be afraid,” she said, her Saxon heavily accented but her voice warm. “No harm can come to you here. Who are you?”
“My name is Lekky. Where is my father?”
“First let us go inside, away from the cold.” She held out her hand, and Lekky took it, allowing herself to be led into a second hut, where a warm fire glowed in an iron brazier. “Would you like some milk?” Lekky nodded, and the woman poured the liquid into a pottery goblet.
“Now, who is your father?”
Lekky described him in glowing terms.
“He is with his friends and will come for you soon. How is it that a small girl like you rides with such a warrior? Where is your mother?”
Lekky turned away, her lips tightening, her eyes filling with tears. Morgana reached out and took her hand. “What happened?”
The child swallowed hard and shook her head. Morgana closed her eyes and stroked the girl’s blond hair. Drawing on the power of the mysteries, she linked with the child and saw the raiders, the slaughter, and the terror. She saw also the man Galead.
She drew the child to her, hugging her and kissing her brow. “It is all right. Nothing can harm you here, and your father will soon return.”
“We will always be together,” said Lekky, brightening. “And when I am big, I shall marry him.”
Morgana smi
led. “Little girls do not marry their fathers.”
“Why?”
“Because … by the time you grow up, he will be very old and you will desire a younger man.”
“I won’t care how old he is.”
“No,” whispered Morgana, “neither did I.”
“Do you have a husband?”
“No … yes. But I was like you, Lekky. I lived in a village, and it was … attacked. A man rescued me, too, and raised me and taught me many things. And …” Her voice faltered, her vision blurring.
“Don’t be sad, lady.”
Morgana forced a smile. “We must see about getting you settled down; otherwise your father will come back to his hut and be worried.”
“Did you marry him?”
“In a way. Just like you, I loved him as a child does. But I never grew up, and he never grew old. Now I’ll take you home.”
“Will you sit with me?”
“Yes, of course I will.”
Hand in hand they returned to the hut. The fire had almost died, and Morgana added fuel, shaking out the ash pan to allow air to get to the flames. Lekky snuggled down in her blanket.
“Do you know any stories?”
“All my stories are true ones,” said Morgana, sitting beside her, “and that means they are sad. But when I was young, I found a fawn in the forest. It had a broken leg. My … father was going to kill it, but he saw that I was very unhappy, so he set the leg and bound it with splints. Then he carried it home. For weeks I fed the fawn, and one day we took off the splints and watched it walk. For a long time the fawn lived near our cabin, until it grew into a strong stag. Then it went away into the mountains, where, I am sure, it became the prince of all stags. From that time he always called me Gian Avur, Fawn of the Forest.”
“Where is he now?”
“He … went away.”
“Will he come back?”
“No, Lekky. Go to sleep now. I will stay here until your father returns.”
Morgana sat quietly by the brazier, hugging her knees, her memory replaying the events of her youth. She had loved Culain in just the way Lekky loved Galead, with the simple all-consuming passion of a child whose knight had come for her. And now she knew it was not Culain who was wholly at fault. He had sacrificed many years to raise her and had always acted nobly. But she, from the moment he had arrived at Camulodunum, had used all her wiles to pierce his loneliness. She it was who had drawn him into betraying his friend. Yet Culain had never reproached her, accepting all the guilt.
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