Crimson Fire (39 page)

“I can’t,” An
fl
aeth gasped. “I can’t. He’ll kill me.”

“Well, so will I, An
fl
aeth.” She slipped the knife back into her boot top. “Now. You can tell him the name that you have learned, but only after noon has come and gone. That is the

deal. Take it or leave it.”

An
fl
aeth’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you, really? I recog- nize you from when you were in here with Lord Havgan. What is your name?”

“That’s not important right now, An
fl
aeth. The important

thing is to come up with a way for me to let you live. You are one of the Wiccan, I suppose.”

An
fl
aeth laughed. “Those fools. No. I am not one of them.

I am An
fl
aeth. That is enough. People come to me from all over the Empire,” she said haughtily.

“I can’t imagine why. You barely have a glimmer of fate- telling. And nothing else. What a showman you must be!”

An
fl
aeth shrugged. “I make money.”

“And live in a dump.”

An
fl
aeth shrugged again. “Do you know what would hap- pen to one such as I if I lived in a better place? I would be en- vied for my wealth. Eventually, someone would kill me. They would say I was a witch and burn me. And take my money. It is well for witches to live quietly. If not—they die.”

“Yes, I have seen a lot of that kind of death here. Do you know what Lord Havgan did in Dere for entertainment? He hunted and killed men, women, and children of the Heiden. He rode them down, then sank a blade in their guts. And he laughed when he did it. He thought it the best sport in the world.”

An
fl
aeth shrugged. “They were fools to be caught. It is

nothing to me.”

“He had the wyrd-galdra read for him by two witches, and he killed them both.”

“He did not kill me.” “They were your people!”

“I have no people. They were fools to be caught.”

Suddenly, An
fl
aeth grabbed the edges of the painted board and
fl
ung it at Rhiannon. As she ducked, the seeress swiftly leapt up from the table and grabbed the knife from Rhiannon’s boot top, slashing upward as she did so. Rhiannon grabbed An
fl
aeth’s wrist, just before the knife would have plunged into her breast. Rhiannon turned the valla’s wrist so the knife was pointing at An
fl
aeth’s own heart, then grabbed the back of the woman’s neck and pulled, thrusting her forward, impaling her on the knife. An
fl
aeth gasped. Her eyes were wide with shock. Slowly, she sank to the
fl
oor. Rhiannon sprang back, trying to keep the blood off of her tunic.

“I would have let you live, An
fl
aeth,” Rhiannon said sadly to the dying woman, “if you had only given me a reason.” She jerked the knife from An
fl
aeth’s body, wiped it on the valla’s dress, then stuck it back into her boot top. She looked around the room, and her eyes rested thoughtfully on the trunk next to the
fi
replace. Good enough.

Mandaeg, Sol 2—dawn

R
HIANNON HAD JUST
fi
nished burning Gwydion’s old tunic when he returned to the fortress. He opened the door to their chambers, a scowl on his face. Carefully, he closed the door and barred it.

“Just what did you think you were doing last night?” he snarled.

He glanced at the
fi
replace. “And what are you burning?” “Your old tunic. There’s blood on it.”

“Whose blood?” he asked sharply. “The valla’s.”

Slowly, Gwydion sank down onto one of the chairs, never

taking his eyes off her. “The dyrne-hwata? She came up with a name?”

Rhiannon nodded. “She did. Your name. I tried to per- suade her to keep it to herself, but she was stubborn.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly.

Rhiannon shrugged. “She was an unpleasant woman, but I didn’t want to kill her just the same. It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

“It does, but not now. What did you do with her?”

“I put her in a trunk. I locked it and threw the key away on my way back here. Oh, and I took all our things to the ship. When the wedding party forms out on the street, we can slip away. The ship leaves at noon. And we’d best be on it.”

T
HE GREAT HALL
at Byrnwiga was crowded when Gwydion and Rhiannon joined the forming wedding procession. Hav- gan would be attended by his inner circle of friends and by
fi
fty warriors. Men
fi
lled the hall, talking, laughing, and drinking.

Havgan was resplendent in a tunic and trousers of pure white. Gold glittered from his belts, from the cuffs of his doe- skin boots, from the hem and neck of his tunic. The shoulder clasps of his red cloak were made of gold in the shape of two boar’s heads. His tawny hair spilled over a golden circlet that bound his brow. The Bana’s sword hung from his golden belt.

Sigerric, Penda, Baldred, Catha, and Talorcan all wore Havgan’s customary red and gold. They, too, had
fi
llets bound about their brows, but the circlets were thinner, less ornate. Sigerric looked a great deal worse for the wear this morning. He was pale and trembled visibly. Talorcan silently handed him a brimming cup of ale. Sigerric took it without a word and drained the entire contents in three swallows.

Gwydion was dressed in a tunic and trousers of dark blue, sapphires glittering from the neck and sleeves. His cloak, fas- tened with silver clasps, was white. Rhiannon was dressed in a gown of emerald green, cut—as always—embarrassingly low. Her cloak was black, clasped at the shoulders with emerald brooches. Around her unbound hair she wore a band of emer- alds stitched into a narrow strip of gold cloth.

Havgan paced impatiently. He was frowning, and did not respond to the jests that his friends were throwing back and forth. Sledda was nowhere in sight.

“The nervous groom,” Catha said, gesturing to the pacing Havgan. “Probably hoping she’ll be gentle with him tonight.”

“Probably hoping she won’t have a knife,” Baldred snorted.

There was a slight commotion at the door, and Sledda burst into the hall, making straight for Havgan.

Havgan stooped pacing. “Well?” he growled.

Sledda’s face was white. “She’s not there!” he gasped out. “Gone.”

“Gone! What do you mean?”

“The door was barred, and there was no answer to my knock. Finally, I had my escort break the door down. Every- thing appeared to be in order, but she was not there. It didn’t seem as if any belongings were missing, and there were no signs of violence. So I waited for her to return. But she has not.”

“Then go back and wait some more! Search the place. Look around, for Lytir’s sake! How could she have gotten out when the door was barred from the inside! Were the shutters closed?”

“No, they were open.”

“Do you think she decided to run an errand and slipped out the window?” Havgan asked sarcastically. “Or that she turned

herself into a mouse and scurried away?”

“Who knows what these witches can do?” Sledda asked darkly. “The dyrne-hwata is still sitting on the table. It looks to me as though she ran off. Maybe she did go out the window, to throw off pursuit.”

Havgan pushed his face just inches away from Sledda’s own. In a very steady voice, he said, “Search for her. If she’s not at her house, search the city. Find her.”

“But, Lord Havgan, the wedding! How can I miss—”

Havgan’s hand shot out, grabbing the front of Sledda’s black robe. “Find her. Or don’t bother to come back. Have you got that?”

Sledda nodded curtly. Havgan let him go, and the wyrce- jaga turned and left without another word. Havgan went back to pacing.

“What was that all about?” Penda asked curiously. Baldred shook his head. “No idea.”

“Oh!” Gwydion said. “The gift!”

Rhiannon turned to him. “You forgot it, didn’t you? After I reminded you twice!”

“I didn’t forget!” Gwydion said indignantly. “Then why didn’t you bring it?” she demanded.

“Answer that one, brother!” Catha laughed. “And to think, I almost took Rhea for myself. You can keep her!”

The men laughed and Rhiannon
fl
ushed. “You—”

Talorcan laid a hand on her arm. “Ignore him, Rhea.

That’s what I do.”

“I’ll just run upstairs and get it,” Gwydion said hastily. “You remember where it is?” Rhiannon said sharply. “Um . . . yes, right where I left it.”

“Which would be?” she prompted. When Gwydion did not answer immediately, she sighed. “Never mind. I’ll come help you look.”

“I can
fi
nd it myself,” he protested.

“To be sure. And the wedding will be over by then.” She took his arm, dragging him from the hall toward the stairs. “Oh, Talorcan,” she called over her shoulder, “if you have to, start without us. We’ll catch up.”

“Good luck, Guido,” Penda called. “You’ll need it!” “You’re telling me,” Gwydion replied. A wave of good-na-

tured laughter followed them up the stairs and as they turned down the corridor. When the hall was out of sight below, they ran.

“What a bitch you are,” Gwydion said cheerfully.

“Ha, ha,” she replied
fl
atly. “Save your breath for running.” Swiftly they descended the back stairs and ran through the kitchens, crowded with servants preparing the wedding feast, but none of them had the authority to challenge their hurried

exit, and they passed smoothly out the back door.

As quickly as they could, they made their way up Flanstrat, which ran north of the fortress, then turned north again up Lindstrat, heading toward the docks.

“This is the way to An
fl
aeth’s house,” Rhiannon panted.

“Is there another way to the docks?”

“I’m sure there is,” Gwydion said breathlessly, “but I don’t know it, and we can’t miss that ship. It would be just our luck to run into Sledda.”

Rhiannon nodded, but saved her breath for running. The streets were crowded with people streaming to the palace to watch the wedding. They wove in and out of the colorfully clad crowds, Gwydion in front, dragging her behind him by the hand.

Finally, they neared An
fl
aeth’s house. The front door was open, and they saw movement inside from across the street.

“Hurry,” Rhiannon hissed.

“We can’t run right now. That would attract too much at- tention. Just go slowly.”

They passed the house, then picked up the pace. Gwydion turned to look over his shoulder, and ran—literally—right into Sledda. The force of the impact threw Gwydion into Rhiannon, and they both almost fell. Sledda did fall, knocking his head against the pavement. Gwydion recovered, and they almost sprinted off, but he saw a contingent of Havgan’s warriors stand- ing right behind Sledda, and abruptly changed his mind. He reached down, and helped Sledda to his feet, dusting him off.

“Sorry about that, old fellow,” he said genially.

“You . . . you . . .” Sledda seemed at a loss for words. “What are you doing here?”

“Coming to relieve you. Havgan sent us to wait for An
fl
a-

eth. And look for clues,” Rhiannon said.

Sledda’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Probably because you whined so much about missing the wedding. Possibly because he has a greater faith in my abilities than in yours.” Gwydion shrugged. “He didn’t tell me why, and I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem like a wise thing to do.”

Sledda stood there, chewing his lip. Finally, Rhiannon said, “If you don’t want us to do this, just say so. We’ll go back and tell Havgan you didn’t want to see the wedding after all. That would be
fi
ne with me—I happen to hate missing it.”

Sledda made up his mind. “All right. Take the warriors and—”

“Havgan said he didn’t want a bunch of people under my feet

in that house,” Gwydion replied. “Take them back with you.”

Again, Sledda hesitated. The sound of merriment to the south apparently helped him to decide. He nodded, then hur- ried away, the warriors following.

After he was out of sight, they ran as though Sceadu himself was chasing them. They burst onto the docks, jammed with men loading and unloading the huge ships. Then she saw the ship.

They hurried up the gangplank and spotted Captain Euric on the deck. “Captain,” Rhiannon called. “We’re here! Ready to go?”

“Alas, not yet,” the Captain said, shaking his head. “But it’s noon. Right on the dot,” she protested.

“So it is, but we still have one last load to take on. Just stay out of the way, and we sail when it’s done.”

S
LEDDA HURRIED DOWN
Lindstrat. It was thoughtful of Havgan to be sure that he didn’t miss the wedding. After all he had done to get Havgan where he was today, too. All those years of schem- ing come to fruition at last. His dream was soon to come true.

He arrived at Byrnwiga, just as Havgan was starting out. With a friendly smile, he took his place just behind Sigerric—and almost ran into the man when the procession abruptly halted. Sledda looked up to see Havgan standing in front of him, his face contorted with rage. “What are you doing here? I sent you to
fi
nd An
fl
aeth!”

“Guido and Rhea found me. They said that you . . .” Sledda’s breath caught in his throat. “You didn’t . . . you didn’t send them?” “Send them? They’re upstairs, getting my gift. They . . .” Havgan’s face turned white. “Guido,” he whispered. “It was

Guido all the time.”

“And Rhea,” Sledda said grimly.

“But he saved my life. Twice. Why would he . . .?”

“Not why would he—who is he? That’s the question,” Sledda said.

“Find them,” Havgan barked. “At the docks. They must be leaving the city! Hurry, you fool. Hurry!”

R
HIANNON STOOD AT
the railing of the ship, scanning the docks. She did not even turn around when Gwydion came up behind her. “Nothing yet,” she said.

Gwydion nodded. “The Captain says we will be on our way in a few moments.”