Crimson Fire (51 page)

“Our plans were to—”

“Look at Tegid down there, to the south. Look how he shifts on his horse.”

Achren swiftly looked down at Tegid’s pale face, raised her brows, then departed, taking Geriant and Aidan with her. Rhoram turned back to the traitorous warriors. “Well, men and women of Prydyn? What is your answer? Will you obey your King, or will you follow the traitor, the man who deals in

secret with your worst enemy?”

“Rhoram ap Rhydderch!” Er
fi
n shouted. “Do not think to delay the battle. It will avail you nothing. Yesterday we fell upon the Gwarda of Camian, who was preparing to march to your side! He will not come to your aid today, or any day. And I have with me Druids—one of them your own!”

From within the ranks, six Druids, dressed in the custom- ary hooded brown robes, stepped out to stand behind Er
fi
n. One by one, they removed their hoods. The last one was his missing Druid, Ellywen. Her cold, gray eyes gazed up at him un
fl
inchingly.

“You cannot stand against us all, Rhoram,” Er
fi
n continued. “Cadell,” Rhoram muttered to his Dewin, “any sight of the

forces of Emlyn yet?”

“Nothing yet. I’ll keep Wind-Riding and tell Cian as soon as I spot them.”

“Cian,” Rhoram said to his Bard, “when Cadell spots them, explain the situation to their Bard. Tell them to attack the north
fl
ank.”

Rhoram turned back toward Er
fi
n, waiting down below. “Er
fi
n, I am forced to consider your offer, for the good of my people,” he said heavily. His shoulders slumped. He hoped he wasn’t overdoing it. “I will give you my answer in a few mo- ments.” Swiftly, he descended the stairs and mounted his horse. Achren was there, waiting with Aidan to lead the warriors out the east gate.

“Considering surrender?” she asked, grinning in anticipa- tion. Achren always did love a good
fi
ght.

“There’s no need to be insulting.” He grabbed the reins and galloped off through the city to the southern gate. Geriant

was at the head of the two hundred warriors gathered there. Rhoram made his way through the ranks, until he and Geriant were side by side in front of the closed gate.

His son sat upon his horse calmly, his blue eyes clear, his face set but unafraid. Rhoram’s throat tightened. He loved the boy so much. The gods grant that Geriant lived through this day. And beyond it. Far, far beyond it. He gripped Geriant’s shoulder for a moment, then ordered, “You and your warriors cut east out of the gate. I’ll make directly for Tegid. I think we have a good chance with him.”

Geriant nodded eagerly, ready for the
fi
ght. “Yes, Da. Oh,

and good luck.”

The trust in the boy’s eyes cut at Rhoram’s heart.
O gods, O gods
, he thought frantically,
let him live. I don’t care about myself. Just let my son live
.

At Rhoram’s nod, the southern gate opened. At the same time, the east gate also swung back, and his warriors poured out onto the plain, four hundred against almost a thousand, in a desperate attempt to allow the people of the city a chance to get to safety.

This
, Rhoram thought as he made his way straight toward Tegid,
has to be one of my more harebrained ideas
.

H
E RODE FEARLESSLY
through Tegid’s men. Behind him he heard the din of battle as his forces clashed with Er
fi
n’s.

Tegid ap Trephin was a young man, who had succeeded his father as the Gwarda of Mallaen just last year. The young Gwarda sat indecisively on his horse. His men were waiting for orders that Tegid had not yet given.

“Tegid ap Trephin,” Rhoram called out as he reined in his

horse beside the Gwarda. “Will you speak to me, man? Or will you kill me?”

Tegid paled. “I—”

“Yes, I know. Er
fi
n is your lord. But I am your King. In the name of your oaths to me, I call on you now to
fi
ght with me, not against me. What is your answer?”

Slowly, Tegid drew his short spear and pointed it straight at Rhoram’s chest.

Rhoram leaned forward slightly until the spear just pressed against his heart. “Will you
fi
ght beside me this day, Tegid ap Trephin? I can promise you nothing—no protection against the Coranians tomorrow, no assurances that either of us will live out this day. No hope of victory. Kill me or follow me. The choice is yours.”

A
CHREN LED HER
warriors out the gate and into the fray. Calmly she leveled her spear and began to kill. But inside, she was frantic for Rhoram. If he had been mistaken about Tegid’s true loyalties, he would die before the
fi
ght had even begun. She did not dare to even look toward the south where Rhoram had gone. There was no time; they were too hardly pressed. If only Tegid . . .

Then she heard it. The sound coming from two hundred throats burst into the battle, momentarily drowning out the clash of sword and spear, the groans of the dying.

“Tegid! Tegid for King Rhoram! Rhoram! Rhoram!”

He had done it. For the
fi
rst time, she thought they might have a chance, after all.

H
OURS LATER
, R
HORAM
,
for the hundredth time, raised his spear and killed a man he knew. He had recognized many of the men and women whom he had murdered this afternoon. The thought sickened him, but it did not stop him.

But the tide was turning in Er
fi
n’s favor, and it was the Dru- ids who were tipping the scales. Between the six of them, they were throwing
fi
reballs and levitating other missiles at a fairly steady rate. Fortunately, the Druids were forced to be careful not to decimate their own forces, and they had to take aim carefully. Rhoram had countered by turning the catapults on the cliffs, set in place to maim Coranian ships, onto the battle
fi
eld. Boulders rained from the air to places where Er
fi
n’s forces were gathered thickly, but it was tricky business, trying to kill the

right people.

If only they could get rid of at least one or two of those Druids. But they were so heavily guarded that he thought it unlikely. Still, he would do his best. Closing with Er
fi
n himself would have to wait until he had taken care of this problem.

He fought his way closer to the six brown-robed
fi
gures. He knew he would never penetrate the circle of warriors guarding them. But he did hope that an arrow or two might do some good, if only he could get close enough.

A
fi
reball, aimed right toward him, caused him to duck

abruptly. The
fi
re whizzed over his head and landed on the ground behind him, roasting two of Er
fi
n’s warriors. A bad shot for the Druid. But a good one for him.

One of the Druids—Ellywen, of course—had spotted him. She was shouting, calling out to the others that King Rhoram was within range. The six turned toward him, and he knew that his time had come. It galled him to think he would die

at the hands of his own people. He had so hoped to kill some Coranians before he was killed himself.

A short spear whizzed by his shoulder and struck one of the Druids in the chest. Swiftly, Rhoram turned and saw Achren, who was now pulling out her bow to follow up on her initial attack. Quickly he knocked his own bow, but before either of them could shoot, another Druid fell, pierced with an arrow through her throat.

Rhoram’s eye traced back the path of that arrow and saw a young warrior, stringing his bow for another shot. The war- rior wore a voluminous cloak that foiled Rhoram’s attempt to identify him. But something about the way he stood seemed familiar. Oh, no. No, absolutely not, Rhoram thought. It couldn’t possibly . . .

He wrenched his attention away from that thought. No time for it now. He let loose his arrow, and it buzzed past the guard- ing warriors, taking another Druid in the throat. Three down, three to go. Unfortunately, Ellywen still stood. His former Druid raised her arms and prepared to burn him to a crisp.

But before she could, they both heard the sound. Ellywen and the two remaining Druids started, turning swiftly to the north. Er
fi
n’s warriors, too, halted for a moment, then turned to face the new threat.

Rhoram thought that he had never heard such a beautiful sound. Horns. Horns to the north. Thank the gods, the forces of Emlyn had come.

R
HORAM SAT ALONE
on the cliff edge, his legs dangling into space. He hunched forward, looking down into the black, swirl- ing water, rushing and hissing onto the shore. Sighing, he sat

back. The full moon shone overhead, brilliant and cold. He stared out to sea, drinking in the sight, knowing that this night would be his last. At least he would not have to live long with the shame of losing the country he had been born to rule.

Wearily, he ran his hands through his sweat-stained hair. They had done well today. After the forces of Emlyn had joined the battle, Er
fi
n had been driven east. Rhoram had eventu- ally halted the pursuit, knowing that it was a waste of precious resources. Instead, he had led his remaining army to the cliffs. The cliffs of Dayved were pockmarked with caves, which had been prepared weeks ago. Blankets, foodstuffs, weapons, and other supplies had been stored there. The horses had been pick- eted at the base of the cliffs, carefully guarded.

Yes, they had won the battle today. That would have been encouraging, except for the fact that it didn’t really matter. To- morrow would see an end to it all. There was no hope at all that they could hold out against both Er
fi
n and the Coranians. It was foolish to even try, although try they would. They would not give up without a
fi
ght.

But his city had been abandoned. His beautiful city.

There had been no reason to return to it. The walls would not have kept the Coranians out for long. And all his people had escaped during the battle today. If he had brought his army back, there they would be trapped, easy prey on the morrow.

His throat tightened as he thought of his doorkeeper, Tall- wch. Tallwch had died in the battle that day. Already he missed his friend.

He heard footsteps coming down the cliff path. Though it was too dark to see, he knew who it was. She stood next to him, then put a curiously gentle hand on his shoulder.

“The others await your orders for tomorrow, my King.” Still facing out to sea, he said bitterly, “You still call me that?” “What?” she asked in surprise.

“King.”

“Why ever not?”

“I’ve lost the city,” he said, his voice toneless. “And, after to- morrow, Prydyn will be lost, too. I am not a King—I am a fool.”

“You will win it back,” she said calmly.

“You have great faith in my abilities, Achren. But I cannot agree with you.”

“Then you are indeed a fool,” she said comfortably, sitting down beside him.

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

The moon illuminated her dark eyes. Her black hair, loos- ened from her braids, hung down past her shoulders. Her wide mouth was suspiciously close to a smile.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “Achren, I want you to—” “Cadell has been Wind-Riding,” she said in a musing tone,

as though he had not spoken. “He says that he can see Er
fi
n

sitting by his camp
fi
re. He says that Er
fi
n looks like he swal- lowed a handful of nettles. I wish I were a Dewin. I’d love to see that.”

“Achren—”

“Cadell also says that the forces of Penfro should be here in the late morning.”

Rhoram waved his hand irritably. “Two hundred. A drop in the bucket against whatever Er
fi
n’s got left and against the gods know how many Coranians. Achren, I want you to take the others and go.”

“Do you?” she said coolly. “Which others?”

“Geriant, for one.”

She turned to him, her dark eyes pools of shadow. “If you want Geriant out of here, tell him to go. I stay.”

“Gwen is here somewhere.”

“I know,” she said calmly. “I recognized her this afternoon.” “We have to get her out of here!”

“Fine. If you can
fi
nd her, you can take her out.”

Rhoram jumped up. “How am I supposed to
fi
nd her?” he demanded. “She could be in any of the caves. And how could I possibly leave?”

Achren, too, leapt to her feet. “How could I?” she demanded in her turn.

“Listen to me! It’s up to you to take care of my children.” “Why don’t you do it?” she snapped. “They’re your children.” “Dead men are limited in that respect.”

She snorted. “You’re not going to die, Rhoram. Gwydion did not say so.”

“He didn’t have to. You heard Rhiannon. She asked Geri- ant to look after Gwen. Why didn’t she ask me?”

“Maybe she thought you’d be too busy,” she said mildly. “Maybe she thought I’d be dead!” He turned from Achren,

gazing out to sea, his shoulders slumped. Almost absently, he murmured, “And why not? Why shouldn’t I die? How could I bear to live knowing that I have lost Prydyn? I have failed my people. What remains for me to stay alive for?”

She reached out and turned his face toward hers. She stud- ied him for a moment, the palms of her callused hands resting against his checks, as though trying to measure his belief in his own words. Then her mouth hardened into an implacable line. “Coward,” she said clearly, her voice bitter, her dark eyes
fl
ash-

ing in the moonlight.

She turned away from him, but he grabbed her arm, pull- ing her back to him. “Coward? You dare to call me that?” he said, his voice deathly quiet.

“What else should I call you? You, who can’t bear to even think of anyone but yourself. Don’t you understand how much your people will need you in defeat? Of course, you do. But death is less demanding, isn’t it? Always the easy way out for you!”