The Dragon Prince

by Mary Gillgannon

  Eastra sat on a stool among the clutter. She wanted to weep, but she could not. There was too much anger mingled with her pain. “I loved him, believing he loved me back. That with every kiss and caress, I was binding him to me, making him love me.”

  “And you have. He fled Caer Louarn like a man running for his life. But it’s not Urien he fears, or even the dark, enclosing walls of his prison. It’s his feelings for you that terrify him.”

  Eastra buried her face in her hands. Morguese’s words did not console her. The ache inside her refused to ease. Finally, she raised her head. “You have spells and potions for many things. Have you any remedy for a broken heart?”

  “I cannot mend it, but I can make you forget for a time. Wait here. I’ll have Nevyn fix you something that will help you sleep.” Morguese started toward the door.

  “Nevyn,” Eastra called out, her tone bitter. “Does she know what has happened? That I have given myself to a man who cares more for his war commander than for me?”

  “Nevyn, I promise, doesn’t scorn you for falling in love. She has her own troubles.”

  “Bridei?” Eastra asked.

  Morguese nodded.

  Eastra released her breath in a sigh. “When I saw him hurrying out of here, I thought perhaps he had been to see you.”

  Morguese laughed. “Bridei has not been my lover for many a year.”

  Eastra was startled. “You mean... that once... you and he... But what about Urien?”

  “My husband is a most unusual man. I told you he wields me like a weapon. He believes if I lie with other men, I will learn their secrets and he will gain power over them.”

  “But is it true?”

  “Sometimes.” Morguese smiled sweetly.

  “And you are content with this? To let your husband use you against his enemies?”

  “I said he thinks it gives him power. In fact, I know very well what I’m doing. I obey no man, only the Lady.”

  After Morguese had left, Eastra sat on the stool, thinking hard. What would it be like to live her life like Morguese did—afraid of nothing, secure in her own authority, answering to no man?

  The draught Nevyn brought did help Eastra sleep. And in the morning, when she awoke, she didn’t feel quite as hopeless, nor experience Rhun’s betrayal so harshly. After washing, she went to the kitchen shed. She felt rather queasy, but she had eaten almost nothing the night before. The plump, cheerful cook offered her a piece of barley bread spread with butter and honey and told her to sit. Eastra obeyed willingly.

  While she was eating, Bridei came into the kitchen. He grinned at her, then gave the giggling cook a kiss on the cheek. Old Glynis produced another piece of bread for Bridei. As he started to leave, Eastra followed him out. “Bridei,” she called.

  He turned to face her, his mouth full. She took his arm and led him away from the main pathway, behind the kitchen shed. She averted her face, not wanting him to see her pain. “Do you know what Rhun’s plans are? Where he is headed?”

  “He will go to Arthur’s stronghold at Camlann.”

  “And then what? Will he come back and rescue us?”

  Bridei shrugged. “Perhaps, if he has the time. But if Cerdic has broken the truce, it’s likely Rhun will march to war with Arthur and his men.”

  The lump in her throat grew bigger. If Rhun had gone to fetch help, that would have been easier to endure. “Does Urien know Rhun is gone?”

  Bridei nodded. “He had the man who last guarded Rhun taken out and flogged.”

  Eastra felt a surge of pity for the unsuspecting man. Morguese was the one who should be flogged, not the poor guard. No, she did not really mean that. She was angry at the queen, but she didn’t want to see anyone suffer. She was so tired of intrigue and treachery. “What do you think Urien will do to us? Will he lock us away?”

  “I doubt that. If he did, his men would miss my music in the hall and my company on their hunts.” Bridei grinned broadly. “And everyone would miss being served by lovely Eastra the Saxon.”

  Ignoring his silly compliment, she said, “So what do we do? Wait here for the war to be over?”

  “You must be patient,” Bridei said, echoing Morguese. “Once I have earned Urien’s trust, it will be easy to plot our escape.”

  And what would she do then? Eastra wondered. Where would she go? Back to Cerdic’s household? If his thanes thought her defiled because she had once been a slave in a Roman British household, they would think her even more despoiled now. The pain welled up inside her. If Rhun did not care for her, she was not certain if it mattered what happened, if she lived or died. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened, then she felt Bridei touch her arm.

  “Rhun will not forget you,” he said. “Someday, when he has fulfilled his duty, he will return to you.”

  A frail hope. Yet she grasped for it greedily. What else could she do?

  “Eastra, come quickly! Urien is asking for you!” Anna, one of the serving maids who had become a friend to Eastra, pulled impatiently on her sleeve.

  Eastra rose from the bench where she sat sorting peas, and started out of the kitchen lean-to after Anna. Urien was asking for her? What did that mean?

  As they hurried along the path toward the feast hall, Eastra wracked her brain for some possible explanation for the king’s request. Nothing came to mind. Since using her as a means to incite Rhun, Urien had ignored her. But then she saw the large group of warriors in the yard near the gate. Foreign warriors, with a distinctive style of dress and a large banner in their midst. The banner immediately reminded Eastra of Rhun’s device, except it was not a red dragon on a field of white, but a gold dragon on a field of crimson.

  She could make out Urien talking to another man in the middle of the gathering. A very tall man. Then the other man turned, and Eastra knew instantly she was staring at Maelgwn the Great. He looked to be even taller than Rhun, the tallest man she had ever seen. He had dark hair and a beard, both streaked liberally with white. The stamp of his features reminded her more of Bridei than of Rhun, but his vivid blue eyes were startlingly familiar.

  All her life, she’d been around formidable men, but this warrior embodied the very essence of power. It radiated from him, making everyone around him appear inconsequential. She was reminded of Morguese dancing, the force of animal energy radiating from her voluptuous form. But that was female energy, and this man’s power was very different. Very male. Danger and cunning, a predator poised to pounce. As Eastra approached him, her throat went dry and her knees wobbled.

  Before she reached him, he bowed his head in a gesture of courtesy. “Eastra the Saxon,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice. “Your beauty is every bit as exceptional as I had heard.” He stepped toward her and clasped her hand in both of his huge callused palms. “My wife is anxious for you to come and show her the needlework skills of your people.”

  He turned toward Urien as he said this. Urien smiled like the shrewd fox he was, and responded, “My wife has been enjoying Eastra’s company and was loathe to part with such a dutiful servant. But of course she will allow her to accompany you to Gwynedd to meet her rightful mistress.”

  “What about my son Bridei?” Maelgwn asked.

  “Bridei is free to go as well.” Urien shrugged.

  “And what of Rhun, my older son?” Maelgwn’s voice grew silky and dark. “Where is he?”

  “Gone.” Urien waved his hand. “Left some days ago. Apparently, he had business with Arthur he thought more important than visiting his father and stepmother.”

  “Arthur. Of course,” Maelgwn said. “Tell me, what do you know of Arthur’s situation? Last I’d heard he had entered into a truce with Cerdic, one of the Saxon leaders. But we both know truces are often broken.”

  “I’ve heard nothing. Up here in the north, we don’t concern ourselves with the war with the Saxons.”

  “Of course not,” Maelgwn said. “Why would you?”

  Although the two men appeared to talk freely, Eastra co
uld sense the tension between them, as if they were two stags pawing the ground and shaking their massive antlered heads at each other before they engaged. Urien was very wary of Maelgwn, perhaps even afraid of him. That was why he lied. She wondered if Maelgwn believed his lies, or if he was merely pretending to accept them.

  “Come into the hall and be welcome,” Urien said.

  “Perhaps, for a time. But we will not linger here overnight,” Maelgwn answered. “As I said, my wife is anxious to meet her new Saxon servant, a gift from her son and stepson.” He looked at Eastra as he said this, and the intensity of his gaze made the breath seem to leave her body.

  The two men went into the hall, followed by their warriors. Eastra started toward the kitchen shed, but someone caught her arm. When she turned around, there was Morguese. “Come with me,” the queen said.

  “Shouldn’t I serve our guests?”

  “We’ve servants aplenty. Besides, you will be leaving soon.”

  Eastra wondered what that meant. Did Morguese want to say good-bye to her? Or was she afraid Maelgwn would be displeased if he saw his wife’s servant being treated like a common kitchen wench?

  She followed Morguese to her bedchamber, feeling more unsettled than ever. She was leaving, but the prospect offered no relief to her turmoil. For all that he reminded her of Rhun, Maelgwn the Great was a frightening man. She wondered what would happen when his wife found out she really had only average skill at weaving and sewing. Unless Maelgwn knew she was Arthur’s hostage and was simply playing games with Urien. That seemed very plausible, and it would explain the taut way the two men spoke to each other.

  When they reached the sumptuous chamber, Morguese turned and looked at Eastra, cocking her head in a thoughtful gesture. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem pleased with the path that has opened up ahead of you.”

  Eastra hesitated then said, “I’m not certain I want to leave here and go to Maelgwn the Great’s household.”

  “Why not?”

  “I... I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “Rhun will not be there, and it will seem strange to be in the household of his family without him.”

  “Maelgwn is no ogre, despite his impressive demeanor. In fact, he has a reputation for being unfailingly kind and courteous to women. And his wife...” Morguese smiled faintly. “She will not eat you either, I promise.”

  Eastra could not get rid of the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Although she had been a prisoner at Caer Louarn, the fact she had come there with Rhun had made her feel safe.

  Morguese was still looking at her. “Would you like to try the ‘Seeing’ again? Perhaps if you knew what the future held, you would be more at ease.”

  Eastra nodded. Morguese’s magic continued to intrigue her. Perhaps this time she would learn something useful, something that would help her get Rhun back.

  Morguese knelt down near the small table that held the pottery bowl of herbs. She added several handfuls of herbs from the jars on the table and a pinch of some sort of powder. Lighting a candle from the lamp burning by the door, she set the herbs to burning. They crackled and sparked, filling the air with a dense, sweet smoke.

  “Everything is ready,” Morguese said, “Sit down and let us begin.”

  “Don’t we need Nevyn to make the circle?” Eastra asked.

  “Nevyn is busy and there isn’t much time. Now, close your eyes and let your mind wander free. If the Goddess wills it, the visions will come.”

  Eastra did as she was bid. The smoke seemed to tickle her nose, then make her sleepy. She shifted restlessly. Nothing was happening. Last time, Morguese had guided her, told her what to do. She tried to recall the things that Morguese had said, urging her to feel her body, the blood flowing through her veins, the air moving in and out of her lungs as she breathed.

  Her limbs grew heavy, but at the same time, a strange lightness came over her. She was moving, floating down a corridor. She saw Rhun. He was wearing a mail shirt and sitting on his horse, as if going into battle. He looked beautiful, so strong and proud and golden, and yet his eyes were full of pain. She wanted to call out to him, to reassure him, but she could not. Her voice caught in her throat and strangled there.

  He did not see her, but looked past her. What he saw seemed to make his face contort with anguish, as if he could not endure it. Again, she tried to call his name. This time there was sound, but still he could not hear her. He was locked in some sort of terrible struggle with the thing he saw in the distance. She tried to move toward him, to find some way to make him see her, to draw his attention away from the terrible vision.

  And then she was sucked back down into darkness, swirling, dizzying darkness.

  When she opened her eyes, she was sweating, her body tense and rigid. Morguese gripped her hand tightly. “Are you all right?” she asked. Eastra nodded, although she was not at all certain it was true. She felt nauseated and weak.

  “Blessed Mother, you have dark dreams,” Morguese murmured.

  “It was Rhun.” She met Morguese’s gaze. “I saw him, and there was this terrible expression on his face... of grief...and horror...” She shuddered. “It was so awful to see his pain and not be able to help him.”

  “Very often things are darkest and most troubling right before your path straightens and the way becomes clear. That you saw something that distresses you doesn’t mean your future will be unhappy.”

  Eastra gave a shaky sigh. A plan was forming in her mind. She would speak to Maelgwn the Great, despite her fear. She would tell him what she had seen and ask him to take her to Rhun instead of back of Gwynedd. Surely if she explained that his son was in danger, he would listen to her,

  Morguese helped her up and embraced her. “Don’t look so sad my dear. I have seen glimpses of your future as well, and things are not nearly as hopeless as they appear. Now, let us pack your things, such as they are.”

  Maelgwn the Great was as good as his word. He and his men did no more than have a drink in Urien’s hall before gathering at the gate. Eastra went to join them, carrying her bag of possessions, including numerous gifts from Morguese. As she reached the throng of men and horses, she saw Bridei out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look at him and as she did so, she saw a shadowy form disengage from him and disappear among the crowd. Nevyn, she thought, saying good-bye.

  Bridei’s face wore a grim expression. Was he that distressed about leaving Nevyn? Eastra wondered. Then he came toward her and said fiercely, “I’m not going. My father didn’t come to rescue me, but his beloved Rhun. I’ll not go back to Gwynedd like this, as if I were one of his possessions he has come to claim!”

  Eastra was shocked by the vehemence of his reaction. “What will you do?” she asked. “Are you leaving now?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where will you go?”

  Bridei’s mouth twisted. “Back to Arthur, I suppose. At least he has some respect for my abilities as translator and spy.”

  “Take me with you!” she pleaded.

  Bridei looked at her. “I’ve avoided Maelgwn since he arrived, so he won’t pay any attention to whether I come or not. But there’s no way you can leave unnoticed. Besides, it would be much too dangerous for the two of us to travel alone, especially when it’s clear to anyone who sees you that you are a Saxon.”

  Eastra repressed a sigh. It seemed she’d exchanged one prison for another. “What about your father? If I asked him to take me to Rhun, will he do it?”

  “Doubtful. He knows you are Arthur’s hostage, even if he pretends not to. He also knows you were bound for Gwynedd when we were captured. He’ll worry that it would be unsafe to take you to Arthur’s camp. And he’s probably right.” Bridei gave her a thoughtful look. “There are those among Arthur’s Companions who would like to see the truce fail. What better way to ensure such an outcome than for an ‘accident’ to befall his hostage?”

  A chill ran down Eastra’s body. Without Rhun to protect her, she suddenly felt acutely vulnerable. But th
en she remembered her Seeing. She feared Rhun was not safe either. “Bridei, please find Rhun and warn him to be careful.”

  “Careful of what?”

  “Tell him...” She struggled for words. How could she make Bridei understand? “Tell him I’m afraid something’s going to happen. Something awful.”

  “Why do you think this?”

  “I had a Seeing, as Morguese calls it. I saw Rhun, dressed for battle. The expression on his face...” she shook her head. “It made my heart go cold. It was as if he had suffered some unendurable shock, or experienced something that caused him enormous pain and suffering. Not the physical kind of pain, but as if something had devastated his spirit, his very soul.”

  “Morguese has taught you to look into the future? I’m surprised. I didn’t think she would share her secrets with someone like you.”

  “Why?” Eastra asked defensively. “Because I’m a Saxon?”

  “Because you are...” Bridei squinted, as if seeing her for the first time, then shook his head. “I should have guessed, I suppose. But, like most men, I was distracted by your beauty and your youth. I didn’t see there was more to you.”

  Eastra exhaled in consternation. “You speak in riddles! Don’t you understand? I’m terrified something is going to happen to Rhun! Will you help me? Will you go to him and beg him to—” She hesitated. She wanted to ask Rhun to leave Arthur’s army and ride to Gwynedd so she could see him and hold him and touch him and assure herself he was safe. But she could not do that. “Please tell him to take care of himself, to be wary...” Her voice trailed off. How could she warn him against something she didn’t understand?

  Bridei nodded. “I will tell him. I will let him know you have seen him in your dreams and you fear for him.”

  Someone called her name. Eastra turned and saw the kitchen servants and weaving women had gathered to say good-bye to her.

  Chapter 13

  They rode out of the gates of Caer Louarn with Maelgwn at the head of the troop and Eastra in the center, surrounded by warriors. The men around Eastra talked quietly as they rode, and she was aware of a certain cadence to their speech she had not noticed in Rhun or Bridei’s. Perhaps the two of them had been away from their homeland for so many years they had lost that distinctive way of speaking.