Crimson Fire (58 page)

K
ING AND
Q
UEEN
approached the market square hand in hand, their heads high, as they came to honor the dead. Men and women who had fought to the death that day lay in long rows, pale and cold on the cobblestones. Surviving friends and fam- ily had done the best for their fallen, washing away the blood, straightening mangled limbs, placing weapons into dead hands. Around the square the people stood silently. Uthyr saw Nest, Cai’s wife, standing next to her husband, holding his hand. Cai’s other hand rested on the shoulder of his twelve-

year old son, Garanwyn.

Grif
fi
, his brown robe an inky shadow at the edge of the torchlight, stepped out from the fringes of the crowd and stood before Uthyr and Ygraine. His freckled face was sooty, and his robes were torn. But his dark brown eyes were steady.

“All is in readiness, my King,” he said, gesturing toward the

fallen warriors. “I await your command.”

Susanna bowed low, her harp clutched between her hands. At Uthyr’s gesture, she raised her clear voice in the traditional song of farewell to departing souls.

“In Gwlad Yr Haf, in the Land of Summer, Still they live, still they live.

They shall not be killed, shall not be wounded. No fire, no sun, no moon shall burn them.

No lake, no water, no sea shall drown them. They lie in peace, and laugh and sing.

The dead are gone, yet still they live.”

As the last note faded away, Uthyr stepped forth with Ygraine at his side. The King and Queen of the dying king- dom stood proudly and saluted the dead. “Farewell, brave men and women,” Uthyr called up to the sky. “Fare you well until we meet again!”

“Go now, good souls, and await rebirth,” Grif
fi
intoned.

“Go now and know you live on in our hearts. Go now to mead- ows sweet in the Land of Summer. Soon we shall meet again!” So saying Grif
fi
raised his hands. Fire sprung from his
fi
nger- tips. He gestured toward the bodies, and the
fl
ames shot forth, hungrily consuming the bodies.

Grif
fi
lowered his hands and bowed his head in grief and loss. Susanna clasped his hand, her eyes brimming as she stared at the
fl
ames. Suddenly, her head snapped up, her eyes opened wide.

“Susanna!” Ygraine exclaimed, grabbing the Bard’s arm. Susanna turned to Uthyr, her blue eyes alight. “It is the

Bards of northern Rhos! They speak to me! The Gwardas of Crueddyn and Uwch Dulas are leading them to our aid. They

are over four hundred strong, and will be at our city gates by morning!”

Uthyr gestured for Cai and Bedwyr to attend him. “With these four hundred I will see Madoc driven from the
fi
eld. Come, all of you, we have plans to make.”

“Wait,” Grif
fi
cried. “Susanna, are there any Druids in their train?”

Her face clouded. “None,” she said gently. “Their Druids have gone.”

Grif
fi
’s shoulders slumped, and he turned toward the
fi
re,

not daring to look at anyone. Uthyr put his hand on the Druid’s shoulder. “We knew this,” Uthyr said. “There could have been no other answer.”

“No one,” Grif
fi
said dully. “No one has de
fi
ed the Arch-

druid.”

“What is that to you?” Ygraine asked sharply.

Grif
fi
’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and hurt. “What is that to me? It is my honor at stake!”

“No,” Ygraine said coldly. “It is not your honor. You alone hold that. You answer only for the honor of Grif
fi
the Druid. And your honor remains. Unbroken. So you will stand, even to the last.”

For a moment Grif
fi
was silent, his head bowed. Then he slowly raised his face to the challenge in Ygraine’s eyes. “Yes, my Queen. So I will stand. Even to the last.”

Meirgdydd, Disglair Wythnos—late morning

T
WO DAYS LATER
,
Uthyr led four hundred warriors out of Tege- ingl, with the intent of
fi
nishing off Madoc’s depleted forces.

In the battle yesterday, Madoc’s army had been trapped

by Uthyr’s remaining one hundred and
fi
fty warriors and the fresh forces of northern Rhos. The two forces had closed in on Madoc like a hammer and anvil. But to Uthyr’s disappoint- ment, Madoc had not fought to the
fi
nish, but had gathered his weakened army and retreated south.

Uthyr, determined not to wait for his brother to
fi
nd rein- forcements, now led his warriors to
fi
nish off what yesterday had started. Cai was on his left and Bedwyr on his right as they rode through the countryside to come to grips with Madoc.

He turned to one of the Bards of northern Rhos who had come with him on this errand. Uthyr had left his own Bard, Susanna, back at the city to aid Ygraine, whose task it was to hold the walls. Not that Uthyr expected the city to see any ac- tion today. Their speculation on the movements of Menwaed of Arllechwedd was just that—speculation. As a precaution, Uthyr had left one of the Dewin from Rhos in the city with orders to scout the countryside for trouble. The other Dewin he had with him now, scouting for the whereabouts of Madoc’s army.

Uthyr’s warriors moved swiftly on their horses in the bright morning. They had come a good four leagues or so in the last few hours. The Dewin halted his horse and signaled to Uthyr. He pointed to the fringe of the great forest of Coed Dulas. “Here is where they shifted into the forest early this morning, as I saw in my Wind-Ride,” the Dewin reported.

“Where are they now?”

The Dewin shook his head. “I’m not sure. I have been checking through the forest, but can see no sign of them.”

Suddenly, the Bard stiffened in his saddle. Uthyr, his heart pounding, waited for him to speak. Blinking rapidly, the Bard
fi
xed his gaze on Uthyr. “Susanna calls me. The Dewin has spot-

ted the forces of Arllechwedd coming downriver from the north.” “What banner?” he asked urgently. “What banner do they

fl
y?”

“They
fl
y the banner of the golden boar. The banner of the Coranian Warleader.”

“How many?”

“Over
fi
ve hundred. And they are only an hour away by river. My King, they will reach the city before we do!”

“King Uthyr!” the Dewin shouted. “Madoc’s army, I have spotted them! They doubled back toward the city, to join with Arllechwedd and attack!”

“Then we ride,” Uthyr said, the grimness of his tone mask- ing his terror. “We ride back to Tegeingl as though the hounds of Cerronnos himself are at our heels.”

A
LL THROUGH THAT
terrible ride, the Dewin and the Bard rode next to Uthyr, each reporting what they were seeing and hearing from the city. The forces of Arllechwedd had attacked, but the city still held. The west gate had nearly been breached. Grif
fi
’s
fi
re had so far been able to keep the back the enemy, but the other Druids were seeking to batter the gate with tremen- dous boulders. The city was moments away from destruction, but Ygraine still held on. Uthyr gritted his teeth and rode.

At last the sights and sounds of battle reached them. Quick- ly, Uthyr arrayed his army. No time for
fi
ne points now. They must break the battle at the west gate immediately. But as he rode down to the gates, his army shouting de
fi
ance behind him, he saw he was already too late. The gate had been burned to the ground, and the combined forces of Madoc and Menwaed were streaming into the city.

A shout of pure rage was torn from his throat as he hurled his horse into the beleaguered city. Behind him his warriors followed and began to do battle. With Cai on one side and Bedwyr on the other, Uthyr descended upon the enemy like a whirlwind. The three men hurled their spears, then, as one, drew their swords and began to kill.

Out of the corner of his eye, Uthyr saw Ygraine near the gate, calmly ordering the noncombatants to drench the
fl
ames. A group of warriors guarded the townsfolk as they fought the
fi
re. If the
fi
re gained a greater foothold into the city, it would all burn.

With a shout, Uthyr battled toward her, followed by Cai and Bedwyr. But the line of warriors surrounding the
fi
re
fi
ghters was breached. Enemy warriors began to slaughter the towns- folk, their aim to let the
fi
re rage.

Beside him, Cai gasped, then shouted “Nest!” He called out his wife’s name, and she turned her head from
fi
ghting the
fi
re just long enough to see the sword of the enemy warrior glit- ter before her eyes in the afternoon light. Just long enough to reach out a hand toward her husband as the blade buried itself in her chest. The enemy warrior wrenched the sword from her body and raised his blade for another blow when Garanwyn, Cai’s son, leapt up and grabbed the warrior’s wrist. Swift as lightning, the warrior pulled a short knife from his belt and stabbed the boy through the heart.

“No!” Cai’s cry of despair and rage tore through the battle. “No!” He leapt from his horse, and before the enemy warrior could even turn, he grabbed the man from behind, snaked an arm across his windpipe, and in one abrupt motion broke the man’s neck.

Sobbing, Cai knelt on the ground, cradling the bloody body of his wife in his arms, rocking and moaning, begging her not to leave him. With his other hand, he reached for his son, laying still on the ground in a pool of blood.

Uthyr tried to go to Cai, but both he and Bedwyr were too hardly pressed. If Cai didn’t get to his feet and back to the
fi
ght soon, he would die.

But then Ygraine was there, pulling Nest from his arms, pushing Cai to his feet, back toward the battle. “They’re dead, Cai! You can’t help them!” she shouted. “Your place is with my husband! Kill them, Cai! Kill them all!”

Cai’s face changed. The pain
fl
ooded away and a terrible

need took its place. A need to see the blood of others run into the ground as the blood of his family had. A need to deal out death as mercilessly as it had been dealt out to his wife and son.

All this Uthyr saw in the face of his Captain, as Cai changed into someone Uthyr had never seen before, changed into some- one that Uthyr could never know.

All through that terrible day, as Uthyr’s warriors slowly re- claimed their city, Cai killed and killed, and killed again. But it was not enough. It would never be enough.

Addiendydd, Disglair Wythnos—afternoon

T
WO DAYS LATER
, Uthyr paced the north watchtower, straining his eyes for signs of his scouts returning. He had not wanted to send Cai and Bedwyr north to spy on the enemy army. But both Dewin had been killed in the battle a few days before, and there was no one left to Wind-Ride. So, Uthyr had to rely on more mundane methods to
fi
nd out the strength of the enemy.

For two days they had battled the combined forces of Madoc

and Menwaed. Finally, what was left of the enemy had again retreated—but they had gone north this time. North for what? That was the question that bothered him. And he was afraid that he knew the answer. The Coranians were coming from the north.

This morning he had called the remaining warriors together. Three hundred men and women had gathered to hear his or- ders. He had given them a choice. They could quit the city today, with honor, and escort the remaining townsfolk to safety. Or they could stay with him and face the Coranian forces he knew were coming. Though each warrior knew that this last battle was hopeless, they had all elected to stay. He wished he could give them something better than death. But he had noth- ing else to give.

Movement in the fading afternoon light caught his eye. Two warriors rode swiftly from the north. Uthyr gave a shout, alerting the guards to open the gate. He hastily descended from the tower and rushed to the north gate. Even as he got there, Cai and Bedwyr rode in, their horses lathered and trembling with fatigue. As the two men dismounted, Ygraine, Susanna, and Grif
fi
came running up.

Uthyr picked up a water bucket and handed the brimming dipper to Cai. The Captain drank noisily, while Grif
fi
picked up another bucket and helped Bedwyr to drink.

At last catching his breath, Cai panted, “They come. Over one thousand strong. Along with what is left of Madoc’s and Menwaed’s forces. In ships from the north.”

“When will they be here?” Uthyr asked quietly. “Tomorrow,” Bedwyr rasped. “Morning.”

“Ah,” Uthyr said. It was no more than he had expected.

He turned to Ygraine. In a tone that would brook no argument, he said, “You leave now.”

“Husband—”

“Now!” he shouted. “This moment. No more arguments.

No more!”

Ygraine said nothing. She bowed her head. Uthyr went to her, put his hand beneath her chin, and raised her head. The sheen of tears made her dark eyes sparkle. But she was too proud to let the tears fall.

“Morrigan,” Uthyr said, naming their daughter. “Morrigan,” she whispered.

“Yours to protect, yours to see Queen of Gwynedd. I leave her in your hands.”

She swallowed hard, her dark eyes searching his face. She straightened her slim shoulders. “I will not fail you,” she said clearly.

“No. I know you will not.” He grasped her hand, then turned to Cai. “Honor your promise to me. See her safely to the mountains.”

“My King, I cannot go.”

“Yes,” Uthyr went on implacably. “You have given me your oath.”

Cai drew himself up. “You shame me, Uthyr. I, the Cap- tain of your warriors, the PenGwernan of Gwynedd, to be sent from your side.”

“You are my daughter’s Captain now. I give to you the lives of my wife and my daughter. Remember your oath to me and have done with this argument. Bedwyr, you go with your uncle and the Queen.”