Crimson Fire (52 page)

“You—” he said through gritted teeth. “You dare—” He pushed her from him. She almost stumbled, then caught herself against the rocks.

“When you feel up to acting like a man, the others are wait- ing for you,” she spat. Then she was gone.

C
OWARD
,
SHE HAD
said. She had called him a coward. Some- where deep inside, coming from a place he had thought emptied by despair, a red rage began to grow.

Red-hot, the rage washed through him. Rage against Er-
fi
n, his worthless brother-in-law, who had dared to take up arms against him. Against Efa, his own wife, who had failed him for so many years. Against Ellywen, his Druid, who had chosen loyalty to Cathbad over loyalty to her King. Against himself for so many things.

And lastly, a rage against the Coranians, who would dare to invade his country, who would dare to come against him and his. And as the rage grew inside him, he straightened his shoul- ders. He raised his head. He clenched his hands into
fi
sts and smote the rock before him. He lifted his face to the sky and hurled his war cry to the stars. All across the cliffs, warriors popped their heads from their caves at his cry. As one, they

echoed him, shouting their challenge to the night.

As he strode up the path, his despair forgotten, the cries of de
fi
ance still ringing in his ears, the thought came to him that Achren had known exactly what she was doing when she dared to speak to him that way.

A
S HE ENTERED
the cave, they all looked up at him. Something in his face made them rise instantly to their feet. Achren was there, of course, and Geriant. Aidan, his lieutenant, stood next to his brother, Idwal, the Gwarda of Emlyn, whose forces had saved the day today. Cadell, his Dewin, and Cian, his Bard, stood with the Dewin and Bard the Gwarda had brought with him. Tegid was not there. He had died today.

For a moment, they stared at Rhoram. Then Geriant, his blue eyes wide, came to him. “Da?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

“Cadell,” Rhoram said crisply, ignoring his son for the mo- ment, “I want you to tell me Er
fi
n’s exact location. I want to know the number of warriors he has left, the layout of his camp, how many horses he has, everything. Most particularly I want to know where the horses are being kept. And what tent the Druids are in.” Cadell and the other Dewin nodded. Without a word, they both sat down crosslegged on the
fl
oor of the cave, their eyes taking on an abstracted look.

“Achren,” he went on, his voice cool. “How many warriors are left?”

“Three hundred and
fi
fty,” Achren replied, her tone like

ice. “And one hundred people from the city who refuse to leave the area.”

“I want the city people left here in the cliffs, armed with bows, rags, and pitch. I wish to arrange a proper greeting for

the Coranians.”

“As you command, my King,” Achren replied, her mouth twitching.

“So I am,” he agreed gravely. “Aidan, you will be in charge of the initial defense against the Coranians. Catapults and one hundred bowmen are all I can offer you. Do the best you can with what you have.”

The two Dewin stirred. Cadell raised his head. “It is done.” Rhoram handed him a piece of parchment and charcoal.

“Show me,” he said.

A
FEW HOURS
later, Rhoram rose. He stretched, trying to work the stiffness out of his legs. Sitting crosslegged on the
fl
oor of a cave was a job for a younger man. “That’s it, then. Ready, Achren?”

“Ready when you are,” she replied crisply.

“The rest of you have a few hours before you begin. Sleep if you can. Give me a few moments, Achren. Geriant, come with me.” Rhoram led the way out of the cave. He put an arm around his son’s shoulders, and the two walked together down the path.

“Da,” Geriant began. “Why can’t I go with you and Achren?

I—”

“Because I have something else for you to do.” Rhoram gestured toward a rock jutting out from the cliff face. “Sit with me here, and I’ll explain.”

Geriant sat crosslegged on the rock, and Rhoram took a place beside him. Without further preamble, Rhoram said, “Gwenhwyfar’s here. I saw her in the battle this afternoon. She saved my life by killing one of the Druids.”

“I can’t believe it! She’s supposed to be with Sanon and the

others at the caves—leagues and leagues away from here!” “Believe it,” Rhoram said grimly. “That’s why I can’t take

you to Er
fi
n’s camp tonight. You have another task. Find her,

see to it that she comes to no harm. You promised Rhiannon that you would. Tomorrow, when we are overrun by the Cora- nians—and we will be overrun—you are to take her and go north to the caves.”

“But, Da—”

“This is a direct order from your King, not your father. Your life is not your own to throw away. You must live, and you must see to it that Gwen lives also.”

Miserably, Geriant nodded, then looked away.

Rhoram’s gaze softened. “I have not forbidden you to
fi
ght tomorrow. I forbid you only to
fi
ght to the death. You may be part of our battle with Er
fi
n. But when the Coranians land, you must go. And you have yet another task to ful
fi
ll.” Slowly, Rhoram twisted the emerald ring from his
fi
nger. “Your task is to guard this ring.”

“The ring? I don’t understand.”

“This ring was given to us many, many years ago by Bran the Dreamer. It has been passed on from ruler to ruler, genera- tion by generation. It is never to fall into the hands of anyone outside our house. One day, this ring will be asked for. Listen carefully to Bran’s exact words. ‘The ring is to be given up only to one of the House of PenBlaid who asks for it using these words: “In the name of the High King to come, surrender your ring to me.”’ These words exactly will be used, and no others.”

“But, Da, why give it to me now? You are still King. Gw- ydion did not say you would die. He—”

“Ah, Geriant. Geriant. Never mind that now. Take the ring.”

Very, very slowly, Geriant reached out to take the ring. He set it on his
fi
nger, his face bowed. Gently, Rhoram touched his son’s golden hair. Geriant’s face came up, streaked with tears. Rhoram reached out and held his son close to his chest, letting Geriant’s scalding tears spill over his heart.

T
O SAY THAT
Er
fi
n was surprised when his guards were mur- dered, his horses were stolen in the middle of the night, and two of his Druids (who had emerged from their tent to see what was happening) were shot full of arrows, would have been a serious understatement.

Rhoram, who was able to catch sight of Er
fi
n in the con- fusion as his brother-in-law stamped and swore at the sight of his horses disappearing beyond the hill, was highly grati
fi
ed. Which was another understatement.

His only regret was that Ellywen had not died. She had been too canny to come out of her tent. Rhoram shrugged. He’d have another chance a few hours from now, when he brought his army back with him to
fi
nish the job.

Rhoram nodded to Achren, and the two faded silently away from Er
fi
n’s camp into the night, their work done. For now.

Llundydd, Disglair Wythnos—morning

A
PALE PINK
blush was just staining the sky when Rhoram and Achren returned to spy on Er
fi
n’s camp. Er
fi
n had chosen to camp in a slight valley, fringed with low, grassy hills. Incred- ibly, he had not replaced the watch that Rhoram and Achren had murdered just a few hours ago. Even more amazing, Er
fi
n’s troops were not yet ready for battle. Morning camp
fi
res still blazed, and warriors were just emerging from their tents and

bedrolls. He was counting, apparently, on the scheduled ar- rival of the Coranians to deter Rhoram from making another attack.

“By the gods,” Rhoram murmured in Achren’s ear. “That’s insulting.”

“You will teach him today to take you more seriously,” Achren replied. “Let us hope he won’t live long enough to pro
fi
t from the lesson.”

“He won’t,” Rhoram said shortly.

Achren lightly touched Rhoram’s arm and jerked her head. She was right. Time to go back to the horses and begin the attack. They crept away from the crown of the hill, then separated,

she to lead her quarter of their remaining army, he to lead his. On the other side of the hills that ringed the camp, Geriant held their forces in readiness.

On the ride from the cliffs, Rhoram had noticed a tiny war- rior riding behind Geriant’s horse, the warrior’s hooded cloak pulled up securely. Rhoram had caught Geriant’s eye and the boy had nodded slightly. Silently Rhoram had petitioned the gods to allow his children to live through this day. Then he had put the thought of their danger from him, locking his fears securely in his heart. He could do nothing more.

Reaching the base of the hill, Rhoram mounted his horse. Stretching in a solid ring around the hills, his army waited for his signal. He lifted his arm, made a
fi
st, then pumped it twice. His warriors urged their horses up the hill, silent as ghosts.

To Er
fi
n’s forces in the valley, Rhoram’s army seemed to rise straight up from the ground. One man, standing by his camp
fi
re, chanced to look up, and shouted.

Rhoram’s army poured down the slope, straight into the

confused camp, and the slaughter began.

C
ADELL TURNED TO
Aidan, the warrior in command of the defense against the Coranians. Cadell’s eyes were still slightly glazed from Wind-Riding, but his voice was
fi
rm as he said, “They’re coming.”

Aidan nodded and signaled the men and women at the catapults to begin loading. In shallow caves across the cliffs, both men and women readied their bows. They wrapped their arrows in rags soaked in pitch, torches at the ready.

Aidan stared out to sea, waiting calmly for the sight of the enemy ships to stain the horizon.

R
HORAM GRIMLY FOUGHT
one warrior after another, killing with calm ef
fi
ciency. His one goal, his only conscious thought, was to cut his way through the press to Er
fi
n—wherever he was. He would not be satis
fi
ed until the blood of his treacher- ous brother-in-law stained his blade.

“My King!” a voice shouted from behind him. Turning swiftly, Rhoram confronted Cian, his Bard.

“The Bard from Emlyn has just relayed to me that the Cor- anians are landing,” Cian panted. “The catapults and arrows have managed to destroy
fi
ve ships. But over two thousand men are now on shore. Cadell says that a contingent of Coranians are coming this way to rescue Er
fi
n!”

“How many?” “Five hundred.”

“Is that all?” Rhoram grinned. “Another insult.”

“Half of them are occupying the city. The others are
fl
ush- ing us out of the cliffs. Cadell and Aidan are retreating with the

people they have left.”

“Tell the Bard to have them swing around and come in from the north. Has Cadell seen anything of the forces from Penfro?” “They are on their way. They’ll be here within the half hour.” “All right. We pull out from here and make for the north.

We’ll use the cover from the vineyards. We’ll harass that Cor- anian contingent, but we won’t meet them head on. There aren’t enough of us for that.” He raised his
fi
st in the gesture for withdrawal.

Rhoram’s army fought their way out of the camp and up to the crown of the hill. What was left of Er
fi
n’s army preferred to nurse their wounds, and did not pursue.

Rhoram reached the top of the hill, and, turning west, saw the sun glinting off the armor of the approaching Coranian con- tingent. To his vast relief, he saw Geriant, bloodied but appar- ently unhurt, with a small warrior riding closely behind him.

Achren rode up beside Rhoram. She, too, was blood- stained, but unhurt. “All out. Time to go,” she said, nodding toward the sight of the advancing army.

Rhoram surveyed the men and women who were left. There were only one hundred and
fi
fty of them, but they were not done yet. He could see it in their
fi
ery, determined eyes, all
fi
xed on him.

“Well, my friends, shall we show a proper Prydyn welcome to these Coranians?”

“Rhoram! Rhoram!” they shouted, their voices clear and determined.

“Come, my children of the sword,” he called. “Let’s teach them the way we do things in Prydyn!”

They followed him, galloping north away from the plain

and into the cover of the vineyards. He stopped, turning back to the south, surveying the plain before the valley. Quickly, his warriors dismounted, taking cover at the edge of the vineyards, readying their bows and arrows.

A warrior hailed him as they waited. “My King! Aidan and his folk are here!”

“I have lost the cliffs,” Aidan said as he arrived, his blood- and soot-streaked face drawn.

“I never thought you could hold them. You know that.” He clapped Aidan on the back. “Come, man. It’s what we expected after all. Done in yet?”

“Never,” Aidan said
fi
ercely.

“Good. There’s work left to do.”

He glanced again out at the plain, judging the approach of the contingent to the valley. Something caught his eye as the sun glinted off the
fi
ery red hair of a man running across the plain, heading straight toward the advancing army. All else was forgotten in that sight. “Achren, take command,” he or- dered, as he leapt onto his horse.

“What are you doing?” Achren called after him. “You can’t—” “Oh, yes, I can!”