Taliesin: Book One of the Pendragon Cycle

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Charis reflected for a long moment. The events Annubi described might have happened centuries ago, so much had changed for Charis since her mother was killed. But all at once the grief of those last days came rushing back with an intensity that blinded her. It was some time before Charis could speak. "I never knew," she said.

  "She could not have faced it if she thought anyone else knew." Annubi smiled sadly. "You reminded me of her just now."

  "You helped her then. Will you help me now?"

  "When could I ever refuse you?"

  TEN

  CHARIS CHOSE A CHARIOT FOR SPEED, IF NOT FOR COMFORT. Carriages were too heavy and too slow, and even though every jounce of the chariot's thin wheels made her wince with pain—and made the driver wince under the lash of her tongue—the road all but flew by. Even so, they did not reach Herakli until well after dark.

  The stone-paved streets of the little town were deserted, but a handful of torches still burned in their sconces outside a few of the larger houses, and raucous laughter spilled out into the street from the white stucco inn, whose upper window blazed with a red seaman's lantern, although Herakli was many miles from the sea.

  The driver stopped the chariot, and Charis, stiff from the effort of keeping upright on the tiny seat of the vehicle, turned slowly around to gaze through the narrow murky windows of the inn. "Do you think they might be in there?" she wondered aloud.

  Piros, the driver, scratched his jaw. "It would be a wager," he replied. "I will go see." He wrapped the reins around the handrail and stepped from the chariot, disappearing into the inn without another word or backward glance.

  He was gone so long that Charis thought she might have to go searching for him and had nearly made up her mind to do so when he reappeared. "They are not there, Princess Charis," he said, the smell of resinated wine emanating from him.

  "Did you bathe in the stuff or just down an amphora or two?"

  Piros blinked back at her, thunderstruck.

  "You leave me sitting out here while you drink your weight in that—" She sputtered, looking for words. "—that goat urine they serve in there."

  The stablehand went down on his knees in the street. "My life is forfeit, Princess, if you are displeased," he said.

  "Oh, get up!"

  "Information must be bought, but innkeepers will talk to those with a jar in their hand. And driving is such a dusty business…I only thought…"

  "Get up at once!" ordered Charis sternly. "And stop whining. You could have brought me one, at least."

  Piros stood, head down, hands hanging at his sides.

  "Well, as you were in there long enough to take up residence, what did you find out?"

  "Some of Kian's men were in Herakli earlier today to buy food and drink. But they left again and did not return."

  "Are they still nearby?"

  "No one knows. But one man, a vinedresser I think, said he saw a group of men on the road earlier today—near the bridge. There is a grove there on the Sarras side where people sometimes meet."

  "If they are here, that is where they will be," said Charis. "Did he say how to get there?"

  "He said he could take us."

  "Go get him then."

  Piros ducked his head and hurried away. "You have already paid your debt to social obligation, Piros," she called after him. "Leave the wine alone."

  The vinedresser was a thin, dark-skinned fellow with a long, narrow nose which even by flickering torchlight Charis could see was inflamed and red from overindulgence in the produce of his craft. Charis eyed him skeptically. "You say you know where the men I am looking for can be found?" she asked.

  "I know where they might be," he replied with a stupid shrewd smirk.

  "Are you in condition to lead us there?"

  "I might be able to find it. Then again, I might not." He jiggled an empty purse. The driver elbowed him and whispered in his ear; the smirk disappeared and the man added, "Most assured—certainly I can, Queen Charis." Piros jabbed him again.

  "Then do it," commanded Charis. "We are wasting time."

  Piros climbed into the chariot and unwound the reins, snapping them smartly. The horses' drooping heads lifted. The vinedresser climbed overcarefully into the vehicle, and they were off.

  Finding the bridge posed no difficulty, even in the dark, for the road led directly to it. The besotted vinedresser had only to indicate which branch of the road to take when it forked on two occasions. The bridge was not far from the town, and they arrived as the moon rose above the surrounding hills.

  There was no one at the bridge, but scattered through the grove a little distance away from the road Charis could see campfires winking through the trees. "There they are," she said. "Piros, give our guide the price of a jar and let him go"

  Piros dipped into his purse and flipped a coin to the vinedresser, who was wearing the expression of a man who has just been stung by a hornet. "We do you no disservice, vinedresser," said Charis. "Your help has been rewarded in kind, and the fresh air will clear your head wonderfully. Now go; if you hurry, there may still be time for another jar before the innkeeper closes the shutters."

  The vinedresser lurched from the chariot and, muttering under his breath, hurried away. Piros turned the team and started for the grove. They were soon stopped by armed sentries waiting among the trees.

  "Turn back," one of the sentries told them. "There is nothing to concern you here."

  "It is Piros," replied the driver, foregoing all protocol. "Oh, and Princess Charis," he added hastily, "to see her brother the prince and King Belyn of Tairn."

  The sentry approached, saw Charis sitting rigidly in the chariot, bowed, and came around to the back of the vehicle. "Princess, allow me to conduct you to your brother," he said, offering his arm. Piros made a move to join them. "Take the horses to the tether line," the sentry told him, pointing back through the trees. "You will find fodder and water for them there."

  Piros turned the team and drove them through the trees. The sentry said nothing as he guided her into the center of the grove. They passed along a darkened pathway with campfires on either side, around which Charis glimpsed faces whose eyes sparkled in the lambent light, watching as she passed. They approached a larger campfire and Charis saw that three huge, round tents had been set up; lampstands within the tents made them seem like great glowing mushrooms sprouting up beneath the sheltering limbs of the trees.

  "Prince Kian's is on the left, Princess Charis," said the sentry. "King Belyn's on the right, and in the center is Prince Maildun's."

  "Thank you," she said and started toward Kian's tent. The sentry hung back. "Was there something else?"

  The man lowered his eyes, and even in the moonlight Charis could see that he was embarrassed. At first she thought he would not speak, but he looked at her again and said, "I was there—at the watchtower. I saw what you did. We all saw…"

  "Anyone else would have done the same."

  The sentry nodded, as much as to say, Oh, yes, and swineherds fly.

  "It was kind of you to remember." She turned back to the tents. "The one on the left, you said?"

  He nodded again and led her to it. Two more sentries stood outside the tent and when they saw Charis they suddenly snapped to attention. "The princess to see Prince Kian," the sentry informed them, as if they had not already guessed.

  One of the sentries ducked under the tent flap and a moment later the flap was thrown wide as Kian stepped out. "Charis, what are you doing here? Come in at once."

  Once inside, in the warmth and light of the tent, Charis' fatigue, held off for so long, suddenly overwhelmed her. She sagged against a tent pole and closed her eyes.

  "—foolish thing to do," Kian was saying. "I told you at the tower that I—" He broke off when he saw her. "By Cybel's horns, Charis, you're pale as milk. Sit down. Here—" He reached for her to help her to a chair.

  "No!" Her hand came away from the tent pole and her eyes opened as she slowly straightened. "I can manage."


  Kian watched her with apprehension growing in his dark eyes. "You are in pain, Charis. I will send for a Mage—" He made a move toward the tent flap.

  "No—no, thank you, Kian. It will pass. Annubi gave me something earlier. It is leaving me now, but I will be all right."

  The prince frowned. "This is not wise at all. You should be home in bed."

  "Home? What a choice of words, Kian. And where do you suppose my home to be? The bullring?"

  "You know what I mean." He stood with his fists on his hips, then softened and stepped toward her. "Why did you come?"

  "Belyn is still awake?"

  "Yes, we were together until just a few minutes ago. Do you want me to send for him?"

  "We will go to him."

  Leaning on Kian's arm, Charis managed the few yards between tents. Kian nodded to one of the sentries and they were admitted at once. Just inside the tent stood a carved rosewood screen, candlelight shining through the innumerable perforations like starlight. A nearby censer burned sweet-smelling incense and a layer of blue-tinted smoke hung like a cloud at the top of the tent.

  Charis composed herself and straightened as she stepped from behind the screen. Belyn was standing at a small table with a carafe in his hand, pouring wine into a cup. He wore the haggard look of a man tired beyond exhaustion. He glanced up as they entered. "Ah, Kian, will you have—" His eyes went to Charis.

  "Uncle Belyn," said Charis.

  Recognition spread across the king's face like sunrise. "Charis! Charis, my soul, let me look at you. It has been a long time. When last I saw you—but look at you!" He replaced the cup and stepped around the table to take her by the arms.

  Charis winced. "Uncle Belyn," she said between clenched teeth, "it is good to see you too."

  He pulled back in alarm and cast a quick glance at Kian. "You are hurt. Sit down at once. Here—" He dragged a three-legged camp chair across the carpeted floor. "Sit."

  Charis accepted the chair and lowered herself slowly onto it. "Some wine," said Belyn. "Get more chairs, Kian." He stepped to the table to pour two more cups. Charis saw that he had a scar on his temple that ran from his hairline into his scalp; his hair had gone white along the slash mark and one eyelid drooped slightly. He returned as Kian pushed two more chairs together. Belyn handed a cup to each of them saying, "Your brother told me about what you did at the watchtower. I am much impressed—and I am not the only one."

  "I made them pay for their pleasure," acknowledged Charis. She took a sip of the wine, then several gulps.

  "Indeed," remarked Kian. "Charis, do you know that my men have talked about nothing else since? They believe you a goddess."

  "Then they should see this goddess now," scoffed Charis, raising a hand to her battered face. She took another draught of wine and cautiously leaned back in the chair. "A goddess with a broken back perhaps."

  "Say what you like, it is true," Belyn said. "Talk is spreading among my troops as well and they, as you know, were not even there." He gulped down his wine and set the cup aside. "Now then, why have you come when you should be home in bed?"

  She answered directly. "I want you to give up this stupid war."

  "Give it up?" Belyn raised his eyebrows and looked across to Kian. "But thanks to you we have just gained the first advantage we have enjoyed since Avallach—well, the first in a very long time. Why would we want to give up now?"

  "Not give up to Seithenin," said Charis. "I mean stop. Quit fighting."

  "Kian, do you know what she is talking about?"

  "I have a general idea," he admitted. "Look, Charis, do you think—"

  She ignored him, speaking only to Belyn. "The war does not matter. Something is going to happen very soon and we must be ready."

  "Ah, you speak of this prophecy—the coming catastrophe?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you are talking nonsense, Charis," he said gently. "I have heard those silly rumors for years."

  "It is no rumor, Belyn," said Charis firmly. "I cannot explain why or how I know, but I do know—I know it is going to happen. Very soon. There is little time left."

  Belyn slumped back in his chair, his expression mingling pity and regret.

  "But I did not come here to ask you to believe me," she continued. "I can offer no proof for what I believe. I came to ask for—"

  Just then there was a rustle of tent flap and into the room stumbled the tall, broad-shouldered frame of Maildun. He stopped just inside the entrance and stared, his eyes puffy from sleep. "Charis! Dear sister, it is you! I was asleep and thought I heard—"

  "Hello, Maildun," said Charis rising slowly. "It is good to see you."

  He crossed the room in a bound and swept her up. She grimaced and stifled a cry of pain.

  "She is hurt!" shouted Kian.

  Maildun released her at once. "Then what they say is true?" He looked at her wonderingly. "Kian said you had saved them. But what are you doing here? Will you stay?"

  "If you will be quiet for a moment, we will all find out why she has come. She was just about to tell us when you came crashing in."

  "Something about a request," said Belyn.

  "A request? What sort of request?" asked Maildun, settling himself on the floor.

  "Ships," said Charis simply. "We need ships."

  "We have no ships to speak of," observed Belyn.

  "Perhaps not, but Seithenin does," offered Maildun. "They are about all he has left."

  "Then take them from him."

  Belyn stared at her and laughed. "Just take them?"

  "Have you any idea how difficult that would be?" asked Kian. "We could more easily walk into his palace and take Seithenin himself."

  "Wait a moment, Kian, there is a way." Maildun leaned forward. "Charis, this is just what I have been trying to tell them."

  "Well, you have your chance," she said. "Tell us now."

  "We send a message—an urgent message from Belyn to Meirchion, saying that we believe we have Seithenin on the run—"

  "True enough," remarked Belyn slowly. "Go on."

  "We tell Meirchion we think we can defeat Seithenin once and for all, but we need more men—many more men. We must have enough men to press the fight home. Meirchion must raise them, and we will wait, meanwhile, with all our remaining forces, at—ah, somewhere just out of easy striking range—for a week, no longer, until Meirchion can send the men."

  Kian gulped down his wine and threw aside his cup with disgust. "Let Seithenin capture such a message? You can not be serious. He would never—"

  Belyn raised a hand toward him. "An attractive bait, Maildun. But where is the trap?"

  "Suppose Seithenin also received an urgent communication from Nestor?"

  "What sort of message?"

  "Something to the effect that he has detected heavy troop movement to wherever it is we are supposedly waiting, and believes he has a chance to cut us off before our attack force can be established. Let Nestor say that he has three thousand men amassed at somewhere or other and ready to fight, but—"

  "Yes?" wondered Charis, becoming caught up in the intrigue.

  "But fears he cannot reach them in time."

  "I see," said Belyn.

  "I do not," replied Kian. "What does Seithenin care—"

  Belyn waved Kian silent. "It is subtlety itself," he said. "We simply suggest the means and let Seithenin outsmart himself."

  "Would he send the ships?" wondered Charis. "Would he really send them?"

  "He might. He most certainly will consider it—it offers a most attractive way out of his dilemma," Belyn answered. "The war has taken a turn against him. He will be under pressure from Nestor to be more effective in his raiding. After his most recent beating he is sitting in his palace licking his wounds, counting his losses, wondering what Nestor will say when he learns that their best ambush troops have been beaten. And here comes his chance to win his way back into Nestor's favor, perhaps win a decisive victory—and at very low risk to himself."

  "Woul
d he do it?" asked Kian, on his feet now, gripping the back of his chair with his hands. "Would he?"

  "Would you if you were in his place?" Belyn rose and went to the table and poured more wine, which he downed in a single swallow. Both he and Kian seemed to have forgotten all about Charis and Maildun in their excitement over the plan. "If I were Seithenin I would send the ships—and pray to every god in heaven and earth that they get there in time. He will send them and sacrifice day and night for favorable winds. He knows we will wait only a week. And he knows that traveling overland Nestor can never reach us in time."

  "But by ship he would have a chance!" shouted Kian.

  "It is Seithenin's only hope."

  "He would do it."

  "He would be a fool not to."

  They fell silent and looked at one another. "How do we take the ships?" wondered Kian.

  "Yes, and what do we do with them once we have them?" asked Belyn. Both men turned their gaze on Charis.

  "Give them to me," she said.

  "So you can sail away when the catastrophe comes?" taunted Kian.

  "Catastrophe?" echoed Maildun.

  "Precisely," she agreed. "You said yourself Seithenin is losing. All he has left is his fleet. Without that, he must face the fact that he cannot win."

  "But Nestor—"

  "Without Seithenin to back up his schemes, Nestor will suddenly become far more interested in protecting his own borders than in overrunning ours."

  "He would never sue for peace," Kian said.

  "Who cares?" said Charis hotly. "It does not matter anymore what they do. Let them divide all nine kingdoms between themselves, for all the good it will do them." She glared sternly at the two men. "If I am wrong, what has been lost? A little time perhaps. But if I am right, what is gained? Either way you have Seithenin's ships, and either way you have won a great victory—perhaps ended the war."