Crimson Fire (24 page)

“She’s planning to kill him? How?”

“Unfortunately, she neglected to say. Aelfwyn wanted par- ticulars, but the Empress said that the less she knew, the better.”

“I can’t believe it. She’s really going to kill him?”

“Well, I assume she’s actually going to have someone else do it.”

Gwydion sat down slowly at the edge of the pallet, stunned. “I can’t believe it. Do you realize what this means?”

“Of course, I do. No more invasion. Only Havgan could gather the might of the Empire. Without him it all falls apart.”

“Then the Empress had better succeed in her plan,” Gw- ydion said grimly.

Dondaeg, Sol 5—late evening

G
WYDION BEAT THE
drums in a savage rhythm. THUM, thum, thum. THUM, thum, thum.

Rhiannon’s slender body, lightly covered by her gossamer white gown, twisted to the beat of the drums. Gold
fl
ashed at her wrists and ankles as she dipped and swayed, her black hair fanning out behind her like a shadow.

THUM, thum, thum. THUM, thum, thum. The hall was smoky from the hearth
fi
re. The light of hundreds of torches
fl
ickered
fi
tfully off the golden and silver goblets, the platters of broken meats, the
fi
ne robes and tunics of the people who watched Rhiannon’s sensual dance.

Havgan’s hawk eyes were fastened on Rhiannon’s twisting body, and the hunger in them blazed
fi
ercely. It was a blaze that was in Gwydion’s own eyes as he, too, watched Rhiannon dance, but he did not know it. The same hunger was also in Sigerric’s eyes as he looked at Princess Aelfwyn, sitting so cool and aloof on Havgan’s left. It was a hunger she would never bother to see.

THUM, thum, thum. THUM, thum, thum. Gwydion,

tense and wary, darted anxious glances at the crowd, trying to see everyone at once.

The Emperor, seated on Havgan’s right, gazed politely but absently at Rhiannon’s dance. The Empress’s cold, green eyes were fastened on Havgan and her daughter,
fl
ickering occasion- ally to where Aelbald sat, the fury clear on his face. Aelbald had been seated far down the table away from Aelfwyn, and he, too, fastened his gaze on Havgan and the Princess. Aelfwyn herself never looked at Havgan at all but stared down at her platter, her face pale and set.

Prince Aesc watched Rhiannon closely as he drank his wine and joked with his friends. He laughed often and seemed to be enjoying himself. His sister, Princess Aesthryth, was smiling at the jests as she, too, slowly sipped her wine. Her blue eyes did not watch Rhiannon, but rather darted around the hall as though seeking something or someone.

Sledda, his weasel-like face covered with a
fi
lm of lust, licked

his lips and watched Rhiannon’s every move. Brie
fl
y Gwydion thought how terribly satisfying it would be to shove Sledda into the
fi
re and watch his
fl
esh blacken and peel.

THUM, thum, thum. THUM, thum, thum. Slowing the pace now, the dance nearly done, Rhiannon sank to her knees, her arms outstretched as though eager to caress the warm
fl
esh of every man at the feast. Then she threw her head back, her face and bare arms glistening with a
fi
ne layer of sweat, and arched her back, slowly bending backward until her spine touched the cold stone
fl
oor. One last beat from Gwydion, and the dance was done.

The guests thundered their applause, beating on the table with knife hilts, calling out ribald comments, cheering heartily.

Rhiannon rose and bowed, then took her place next to Gw- ydion on the hearth, picking up her harp. Without a pause, they began to play.

Rhiannon, still breathing heavily from her exertions, said, “Well?”

“Very nice,” he replied. “I think the Emperor almost actu- ally woke up.”

“Are you absolutely sure that a compliment would kill you?” “I thought Sledda was going to take you right on the
fl
oor.” She shuddered. “That’s a compliment?”

“Minstrels!” Havgan roared through the laughing crowd, and Gwydion and Rhiannon stood up quickly. “Come here!”

They made their way through the throng and halted before the central table. Havgan, dressed magni
fi
cently in red and gold with rubies braided through his tawny hair, smiled down at Princess Aelfwyn. It was a wol
fi
sh smile, and Aelfwyn
fl
ushed. Gwydion glanced at the Empress who sat calmly in her chair, emeralds dripping from her ears, her neck, and her hands. Her rich, elaborately braided hair was piled on top of her head, bar- ing her long, slender neck and white shoulders. She had a half smile on her face, as though Havgan amused her.

“Minstrels,” Havgan went on, “the Princess wishes to hear a song.” He grasped Aelfwyn’s cold hand and lightly kissed her
fi
ngers, one by one. “You need only command me, Princess.”

Aelfwyn snatched her hand away. Her golden hair, sprin- kled with diamonds, shimmered in the candlelight, and her green eyes were cold. Havgan laughed mockingly. “Any song you wish, it shall be yours.”

“Deor’s Song,” she replied coolly.

Gwydion nodded to Rhiannon, knowing full well that this

must be the signal for Havgan’s murder, and they began to sing.

“Ceanwalh mourned her murdered brothers, but her own plight pained her more,

her womb grew great with child.

When she knew that, she could never hold steady before her wit what was to happen. That went by; this may, too.

Ine knew the wanderer’s fate:

that single-willed Prince suffered agonies, sorrow and longing the sole companions of his exile. Anxieties bit

When Yffi threatened his life,

laid wondering doom to the better man. That went by; this may, too.

All have heard of Cyneburga’s ravishing: while her dead child lay still at her side. Sigger’s lust was ungovernable,

their bitter love banished sleep.

Long she was in the grasp of that grim Emperor. That went by; this may, too.

When each gladness is gone, gathering sorrow May cloud the brain; one cannot

See how sorrows may end—”

There. The glitter of a knife, clutched
fi
rmly in the hands of a preost in a yellow robe standing just behind Havgan. The knife rose and began its deadly descent.

The moment seemed to go on forever.

And the next thing he knew, Gwydion gave a tremendous shout and leapt across the table, grabbing the wrist of the pre- ost, and the knife clattered to the
fl
oor, unblooded.

Pandemonium broke out. Princess Aelfwyn screamed. Havgan’s guards wrestled the preost to the
fl
oor. The Emperor and Empress leapt up, the Emperor ashen with shock, the Em- press ashen with rage. Prince Aesc, too, leapt to his feet, roar- ing. Princess Aesthryth remained seated, looking at Gwydion with what he thought might be pity in her eyes.

Havgan grabbed Gwydion by the shoulders and spun him around to face him. “Minstrel,” Havgan breathed. “Guido. You saved my life.”

Rhiannon stared at Gwydion in shock, and her hands tight- ened on her harp, tightened so strongly that the strings broke, snapping with a moaning sound.

Gwydion stared at Havgan, his face white, his gray eyes dull and shocked.

“You saved my life,” Havgan repeated in a stunned voice.

Sigerric, the preost subdued, snarled at the man. “Who are you?”

The preost’s mouth tightened. “I’ll tell you nothing,” the man spat.

Two soldiers grasped the man’s arms and Sigerric grabbed the man’s hands, examining them closely. They were covered with nicks and scars. “You’re no preost. These are the hands of a warrior. Who are you?”

“Who did he come in with?” Havgan asked. But it seemed that no one could remember. Certainly no one owned up to it. “Take him to my chamber,” Havgan said. “I will question

him later.”

“No,” the Empress said sharply. “The Emperor will ques- tion him.”

“My Empress, I think—”

“I am appalled that such a thing could happen, and I intend to get to the bottom of this,” she cut in. “Guards,” she gestured to two of the Emperor’s soldiers, “take him back to the palace. I will come along shortly.”

At Havgan’s nod, his men released the preost to the care of the Emperor’s soldiers, who dragged him roughly out of the hall. The Empress turned to Havgan, “Thanks be to blessed Lytir that you are unhurt. Your minstrel was very quick.” As she said this, she glanced at Gwydion, and he saw his own death in her eyes. “Perhaps I could
fi
nd a use for such a brave man.” “I think not. It pains me to deny you, but I
fi
nd this min-

strel very useful.”

“A pity,” she replied absently. “Good night, my dear Hav- gan. Perhaps you would come to the palace in a few days and let us entertain you.”

“I regret to inform you that I will be leaving the city on an extended journey very soon. Perhaps when I return.”

“A journey,” the Empress said
fl
atly. “Where to?”

“Oh, here and there,” Havgan said carelessly. “And how long will you be gone?”

“Some months. But never fear. I will be back before the tournament.” Havgan turned to the Princess and leisurely kissed her hand, holding her eyes with his own. “Until then, Princess. I bid you good-bye. I will count the hours until I return to you.”

There was a slight commotion outside, and one of Havgan’s soldiers came running back into the hall. “My lord, the assassin

is dead! He killed himself. He had a small knife strapped to his arm, and he slit his own throat.”

“Did he now?” Havgan said with no surprise whatsoever. He glanced at the Empress. “A pity. Now we will never know who hired him.”

“A great pity, indeed,” the Empress replied.

And Gwydion, still standing frozen on the spot with the enormity of what he had done pounding in his bewildered brain, felt a touch on his sleeve, and turned then to meet Rhiannon’s blazing eyes.

M
UCH LATER
,
WHEN
all the guests were gone, they returned to their room. Gwydion slumped onto the bed while Rhian- non, tight-lipped, took a chair by the tiny window. He waited dumbly for her to tear him to shreds for what he had done. He would almost welcome it. He deserved it, and he knew he did. Why had he done it? Even now he didn’t know. It had to do with a bond between him and Havgan—a bond that Gwydion had not known existed until now. Some kind of recognition, perhaps. Some half-understood thought that he and Havgan were one and the same, two sides of the same coin, brothers in

some strange way.

All that might be true, but how could he have done what he did tonight? He had saved the life of his greatest enemy. He had saved the life of the man who would bring death and de- struction to Kymru. How? How could he have done that?

Still Rhiannon did not speak. She sat still as a statue and looked out the window at the night sky. The silence pooled be- tween them, rising like a wall, slowly thickening, crowded with unsaid words. It went on and on until Gwydion felt he could

not stand it another moment. Then, at last, she spoke.

Without turning her head, she said, “If you’re interested, I found out earlier today why Havgan is getting so many mes- sages from Cantware.”

Gwydion, who had been holding his face in his hands, lifted his head in surprise. This wasn’t what he had expected at all. “Why? What is happening there?”

“He’s building ships.” She stopped, letting this sink in. Then she went on. “He’s building great, huge ships. To sail his army to Kymru with, and kill us all.”

That was all she said. But it was enough.

Athelin, Marc of Ivelas & Camlan, Marc of Gillingas Weal of Coran, Coranian Empire

Ermonath, 496

R

Fredaeg, Sol 13—late morning

hiannon was in the garden when the call came. Gw- ydion, she knew, was in their tiny room, probably staring at the
fl
oor as he had been doing for a week

now, ever since he had saved Havgan’s life.

He had seemed to close up inside of himself since then, stricken with horror at what he had done. And Rhiannon had left him alone. She could not offer comfort because he didn’t deserve it. And she could not do anything to bring him out of his dark place because she was too angry, too bitter, to forgive. Sitting now, with her face lifted to the late morning sun, she thought that the lack of forgiveness was a grim habit of hers. Hadn’t she done that to Rhoram for years and years? Well, if it was a habit, then so be it. If hers was not a forgiving nature, didn’t she have cause? Viciously she hoped with all her heart that Gwydion’s suffering would go on and on. He could not

suffer enough for what he had done.

She heard someone making their hurried way down the path and stood quickly. The man, one of Havgan’s soldiers, caught sight of her and breathlessly told her that Lord Havgan wanted to see her in his chambers. At once. She nodded and turned to go back into the house, the soldier dogging her steps as though afraid she would run away.