Crimson Fire (53 page)

“E
RFIN
!” R
HORAM CALLED
out
fi
ercely. Er
fi
n turned his head to see Rhoram’s horse bearing down on him. He tried to run faster, but Rhoram thundered down, grasping Er
fi
n by the back of his tunic and dragging him along. Then he let go, reined in his horse, and vaulted from the saddle. As Er
fi
n tried to rise, Rhoram sailed into him, knocking him
fl
at.

“You!” Rhoram panted, getting to his feet and allowing Er
fi
n to rise. “You lily-livered dog! I’ll see you dead today!”

Swiftly, Er
fi
n reached into his boot and drew his dagger.

He crouched. “I’ll see you dead,” he raged.

“You’ll try,” Rhoram said contemptuously. “Where were you when your warriors were
fi
ghting? Hiding? Afraid to face me?”

“I’ll face you now,” Er
fi
n growled. The two men circled each other. Rhoram feinted to the right, and as Er
fi
n jumped left, Rhoram’s dagger sliced against his arm.

“You’ll never make it out of here alive, Rhoram,” Er
fi
n panted. “My friends are on the way.”

“I don’t mean to make it out of here alive,” Rhoram an- swered, crouched and ready. “I never did. But I won’t die at your hands, traitor.”

A
CHREN WATCHED
R
HORAM
ride off. “Stupid, stupid man,” she raged. Geriant leapt to his horse and started after his father. With a mighty leap, Achren grasped the horse’s bridle, dug in her heels, and pulled. The horse reared, and Geriant came tumbling down to the ground. As he lay there, trying to get his breath back, Achren came up to stand over him. “Not you, idiot. You’ve got other things to do.”

She mounted her horse. Her dark eyes pinned Aidan to the spot. “Distract the Coranians. Keep them away from Rhoram and Er
fi
n until it’s settled.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’m going to make sure no one interrupts that
fi
ght.”

A
S THE
C
ORANIAN
contingent came over the hill, Penda stopped in astonishment. In the middle of the plain, two men were
fi
ghting. To the east, warriors, struggling out of a shallow valley, sat down to watch the contest.

Penda squinted, then recognized the man with the red hair. It was their erstwhile ally, Er
fi
n. Penda knew him by descrip- tion. The other man, with golden hair, had also been carefully described. It could be no other than King Rhoram himself.

He supposed he should interfere in the
fi
ght, save Er
fi
n’s life, and kill King Rhoram, but, in truth, he was not much in- clined to do so. Rhoram deserved his chance to kill the man who had betrayed him. Yet he had his orders, orders that had already made him do so many things he did not wish to do. This would be just one more of those things.

From the north, a woman came riding out of the vineyards, galloping straight toward the
fi
ghting pair. She reined in her horse between the
fi
ghters and Penda’s forces, sitting de
fi
antly in the saddle.

This was too much. Did she think to prevent them from stopping that
fi
ght? One lone woman against
fi
ve hundred war- riors? He had been told that the Kymri were crazy, but he had never really appreciated that fact before this. He sighed, then led the charge.

A hail of arrows from the vineyards to the north broke into his ranks before he had even gone a few feet. Penda gave some hasty orders and sent his troops streaming toward the vineyards. But he himself did not go. They could handle this without him. He wanted to see more of this
fi
ght.

Penda neared the two men. The woman on the horse urged her mount closer to him, barring his way. “You are forbidden to interfere, Coranian,” the woman spat.

“I am Penda, son of Peada, the Eorl of Lindisfarne, from the country of Mierce, in the Coranian Empire. I greet you in the name of our Bana, Havgan, son of Hengist, who has come

to take this land for his own.”

“I am Achren ur Canhustyr, the PenCollen of Prydyn, Captain to King Rhoram. I greet you in his name and bid you to leave this land.”

“Ah. I regret that I am unable to comply with the wishes of so fair a lady.”

“Your men
fi
ght our warriors. Shouldn’t you join them?”

“I think not. Er
fi
n is a friend of ours, and it looks like he could use some help. If you will not stand aside, then I must kill you.”

Achren laughed and dismounted. “Come then, son of Peada.

Try.”

O
UT OF THE
corner of his eye, Rhoram saw Achren begin to battle the Coranian leader. Good gods, that woman would never do as she was told. But then, what woman did? Rhoram quickly wiped away the sweat that was running into his eyes, took a fresh hold of his dagger, and leapt at Er
fi
n.

His dagger sliced across Er
fi
n’s cheek, laying open the man’s face. Er
fi
n screamed. He would, Rhoram thought contemptu- ously. Er
fi
n fell to his knees, one hand covering his face, blood seeping through his
fi
ngers.

But as Rhoram stepped forward, his dagger held high to administer the
fi
nal blow, Er
fi
n, moving swiftly as a snake, grabbed a second dagger from his boot and sprang up. His dagger slid smoothly into Rhoram’s ribs.

As Rhoram sank to the ground, he could only think that he had been taken in by one of the oldest tricks in the world. Achren would be furious.

Then the hungry darkness washed over him, and he knew

nothing more.

A
S
A
CHREN SAW
Rhoram go down, she screamed in rage. All thoughts of Penda deserted her. Turning away from his ax, she leapt toward Er
fi
n, who was raising his dagger for another blow. She knocked Er
fi
n to the ground and wrestled the knife from his hand. She drew it back for a killing blow, but her hand was caught in a vise grip, and she dropped the knife. She

whirled around, whipping her arm from Penda’s grasp.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Penda raised his ax. She faced him un
fl
inchingly, her dark eyes unafraid. But before the ax had begun to swing down, the sound of horns rang out from the north. Penda lowered his ax. Enough of this
fi
ght. From the sound of the horns, he had a bigger battle on his hands. He was needed elsewhere. He would let her live, for now. Her courage deserved some sort of reward.

Grinning, he saluted Achren, then left them to it.

E
RFIN
’
S SURVIVING WARRIORS
,
who had been watching the
fi
ght, surrounded Er
fi
n, Achren, and Rhoram’s still body. Two men lifted Er
fi
n and helped him back into the valley. Achren, kneeling down by Rhoram’s body, looked up at the circle of hard, set faces.

“He’s dead,” Achren said to them bitterly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A warrior bent over Rhoram’s still body, placing a hand against the King’s throat. Two more warriors grasped Achren’s arms and lifted her to her feet.

“I ask that you kill me now. I have no wish to be taken to Er
fi
n.”

No one answered her, and after a few more silent moments, the man bending over Rhoram straightened.

“Achren ur Canhustyr,” the warrior said quietly, “King Rhoram is dying. But not yet dead.” The man hesitated, scan- ning the faces around him. Four warriors came forward, gently lifting Rhoram. Another came up, leading Achren’s horse.

“Take him,” he said. “Take him and go. If you hurry, he may live.”

Stunned, Achren mounted her horse. They lifted Rhoram gently, then placed him across the saddle in front of her. “I will not forget this,” Achren said. “The King will not forget this, if he lives.”

The warrior smiled ruefully. “Er
fi
n will not forget, either.”

“Come with me. All of you,” she urged.

“No. If we see you again, we will kill you. You understand.” Achren nodded. She did understand.

“Go,” they said.

A
CHREN RODE AWAY
swiftly, knowing that time was of the essence. They were right—Rhoram was still alive. But for how long?

She reached the dubious cover of the vineyard. She could see
fi
ghting not far to the west. As she rode carefully through the trailing vines, Geriant came riding up. His face was pale. Carefully, they helped Rhoram down from the horse. A tiny warrior ran up and knelt by Rhoram’s body.

“Gwen,” Achren said sternly. “Fetch some water. And leave your cloak here. I need cloth for bandages.”

Gwen shed her voluminous cloak and took off her helmet. At a dead run, she made for a nearby stream and
fi
lled her helmet with water. When she returned, her face was wet with

tears. But she knelt down quietly by her father’s body. Geriant had removed Rhoram’s leather tunic, laying bare the bloody, gaping wound.

“Find Cadell,” Achren said, tearing the cloak into strips. “Rhoram needs a doctor.”

“I’ll get him,” Geriant leapt onto his horse, riding back to- ward the fray.

“He’s dying,” Gwen said, her voice muf
fl
ed with tears.

“Yes, he is,” Achren answered shortly, pressing a pad of cloth to the wound. The green cloth, instantly soaked in Rhoram’s blood, turned black.

Geriant returned with Cadell following. The men dis- mounted, Cadell grabbing his saddlebags. Swiftly Cadell laid his hands on Rhoram’s wound, his eyes closed in concentration as he Life-Read. Abruptly he opened his eyes and looked over at Achren.

“Well?” she asked with her heart in her throat.

“There is life in him yet, if we work quickly,” Cadell replied. From a large pouch, he took some crushed leaves and packed the wound, then wrapped it tightly. “That’s all I can do here,” he said. “We’ve got to get him to a quiet place where I can stitch him up. We need a litter of some kind. And we can’t go far.”

“Do you think we can get him as far as the next hill? There’s an underground cave that might do for a day or so,” Achren suggested.

“Good. We need a few more horses.”

Cian and Aidan came riding up. Cian
fl
ung himself from his horse. “The forces of Penfro are drawing them off, farther west.”

Achren looked up. “Aidan, keep them busy until nightfall.

Then pull out with anyone who is left. Make for the caves up north. The rest of us will join you there later with Rhoram.”

“If he lives,” Aidan said, swallowing hard. “He’ll live,” Achren said grimly.

Between Cian, Cadell, Geriant, Gwen, and Achren, they got Rhoram to the underground cave still alive. As they laid him down, his eyes opened. He took them in one by one, his eyes rest- ing longest on Gwen’s tear-stained face. He tried to speak.

“Shh,” Cadell said gently. “Drink this.” He held a cup to Rhoram’s lips, but Rhoram feebly batted it away.

“Let him speak,” Achren said quietly.

Rhoram’s tortured whisper resounded in the cave. “Go,” he rasped. “Leave me.”

“Fool,” Achren snorted. “Drink and pass out if that’s all you have to say.”

“Don’t . . . want . . . to live . . . defeated. Leave me.” Slowly, Cian withdrew a piece of parchment from his tunic.

The Bard hesitantly cleared his throat. “I have a letter here. From Gwydion ap Awst. He left it in my care when he came here last. He said that I would know the time to give it to you all.”

“Gwydion?” Rhoram whispered. “Read . . . it.”

Cian broke the seal and read aloud, his words echoing strangely in the cave.

To: Rhoram ap Rhydderch, Achren ur Canhastyr, Geriant ap Rhoram, Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram:

By now the battle is lost, the city overrun, and Rhoram is gravely wounded. Yet know that I believe he will not die, if he does not choose to. You must not give up. A great task awaits all of you. Gather the

survivors, and make for the caves. By stealth and by cunning you must gather a teulu that will become a thorn in the side of the enemy. From this seed will come a mighty army. For one day soon the High King will come again. And when he does, he will lead us to take back our own. I command, in the name of the High King soon to be, that you take on this task. Though you may wish to die, you are commanded to live. This is your duty to Kymru.

Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon Dreamer of Kymru

R
HORAM
’
S TORTURED BLUE
eyes began to soften.

“Well, Rhoram ap Rhydderch?” Achren said sharply. “Will you deign to live?”

“A . . . thorn . . . in their side,” he whispered. “I like the sound of that.” He drank the drugged wine and fell back into unconsciousness, a smile on his ashen lips.

A thorn in their side, Achren thought. She liked the sound of that, too.