Jean-Marc preferred blunt force. Kieran advised stealth. Dina didn’t want to have anything to do with the matter at all, though she bravely said she’d do as her mistress asked. Glenys refused to be swayed. She had to face Caswallan alone and use the queen piece to strike a bargain for the Greth Stone.
Kieran was equally firm in his determination that she should do no such thing, but Glenys, as he was discovering, could be remarkably stubborn.
“For I must speak to him alone, don’t you see?” she said as they ate their evening meal back at Berte’s brothel that night. “How can I make a bargain at all if any of you or Sir Anton is present? No. I will speak with Caswallan alone, and you will find the way to stop Sir Anton or anyone else from disturbing us.”
“But I have vowed not to let Caswallan have Boadicea,” Kieran told her. “Your uncle must have her back.”
“That is a fully different matter,” she said, “and one I shall leave to you, for surely you and Jean-Marc, with your many skills, can contrive to get it back. Sir Anton’s presence worries me more. I can scarce believe that he persuaded Caswallan to join with him in making use of the Greth Stone, but if ’tis what was told to you, then it must be so.”
“Your voices told you naught?” Kieran asked, refilling Glenys’s goblet with Berte’s best wine.
“Nay,” she replied stonily, looking at him with a frown. “’Tis not the first time that they have abandoned me, but ’tis surely the first and only time they’ve done so in favor of someone who is not even of my family. I find that most odd,” she said, observing him more closely. “Are there not any in your family, Kieran, who claim to be magic, or at least to have knowledge of it?”
He shook his head. “None. They are all as practical and sensible as you are, sweet. My people are conquerors of the earth—not friends of it.”
Glenys seemed unsatisfied with this, and sat back with a sigh. “Yet they spoke to you and not to me. There must be a reason for it.”
“Surely you’re not jealous, my love,” Kieran said lightly, striving to make certain that it was not so. He would not grieve her for any reason, could he avoid it. “’Twas a mistake, most like, or merely because I held the queen and the red-capped fellow wanted her. I’faith, there could be no other reason.”
Glenys fingered the rim of her goblet, gazing at Kieran thoughtfully.
“There could be one reason—but I will not speak of it now. Let us make our plans, instead, for the morrow, when we will face our foes and regain what rightfully belongs to my family.”
“There may be many of Caswallan’s followers with him,” Kieran warned. “And they may defend their master with their lives.”
“I have no fear of that,” Glenys told him. “My uncle Aonghus’s name is not unknown among those who embrace the old ways, and my family is even more greatly known. I do not think they would cause us harm for the sake of Caswallan, despite what he has accomplished with the ring—though I doubt he has done aught at all. There is more of mystery than magic to the piece. Its only power is that many believe it to have power, and such belief holds great sway over those who bear it.”
“Caswallan is not a famed sorcerer?”
She made a scoffing sound. “He is a sorcerer, if a man can be named such, but no man can make a mere ring perform tricks if it hasn’t the inclination to do so. Any magic that has come of the Greth Stone of late has come because Caswallan has conjured some illusion, not because the ring itself has done aught.”
“Is he a simple magician, then?” asked Jean-Marc, setting his own wine goblet aside. “If so, we truly have naught to fear. You deal with Sir Anton,” he said, nodding at Kieran, “and Mistress Glenys will take care of Caswallan. Dina and I,” he added, reaching out to take her hand, “will manage the rest.”
Caswallan’s encampment gave Kieran serious misgivings about his promise to let Glenys find the man and speak to him alone. ’Twas not that there were so many followers, but that the few there were seemed so strange. They dressed mainly in white and said very little, but when Kieran and Glenys rode together toward their small collection of huts and tents, they at once began to gather around her.
The moment Glenys’s feet touched the ground, she turned to the gathered and said, with urgency in her tone, “Where is he?”
Neither young nor old spoke aloud, but turned and pointed to the largest building among the group, which looked to Kieran like some kind of wooden chapel that had either fallen into disuse or been abandoned. Whoever had built it would have done better to fashion the building out of rock. Frenni Fawr was windy and cold, and the nearby villages small. Only the hardiest souls could make a life in these hills.
“And Sir Anton?” she asked next.
The hands swung in a different direction, toward where a large, very fine pavilion had been raised and now stood with its silken sides fluttering in the wind. Yes, Kieran thought, that was the sort of grand dwelling Sir Anton would choose, despite its great impracticality.
“I’m going now to speak to Caswallan,” Glenys told the onlookers, speaking slowly and in English for Kieran’s benefit. “Alone. I am Glenys Seymour, and my uncle is Aonghus Seymour. The Greth Stone belongs to my family, and though it has been in Caswallan’s care for these many months, I have been sent to return the ring to its rightful place.”
Kieran noted that Glenys said nothing of Caswallan’s stealing the ring—a wise decision, considering that these people thought so well of the man.
“This man is Kieran FitzAllen,” she said. “He is a great warrior who has been recognized by those who dwell at Pentre Ifan.” At this, a low murmuring began among those surrounding them. Glenys raised her voice to be heard. “He was sent by them to guard me in my quest and lend me his aid. However, he has a grievance against Sir Anton Lagasse—a just grievance, which he will lay before him now. Do not try to stop him or me, lest you anger those who have sent us both, and we will give word that no harm will come to any of you. Is it agreed?”
More murmuring followed this, along with both agreement and dissension. Kieran understood how difficult it was for those who’d devoted themselves to Caswallan to so readily give him up—and even more so the Greth Stone—especially at the word of a mere woman.
Glenys clearly understood the difficulty, as well, for she raised her voice even more loudly and said, “Do you require a sign?”
“Aye,” came the reply from several voices. “A sign!”
“Very well,” Glenys said calmly. She turned and began to walk toward one of the many small fires that had been set about the camp, sheltered by rocks that had been piled to keep the wind from blowing the flames out.
Kieran followed, with the small crowd at his heels, and whispered in her ear, “What are you going to do?”
She cast a grin at him. “Perform magic,” she replied.
One of her hands had already disappeared beneath her cape, and Kieran at once divined her purpose.
“Won’t they realize ’tis merely a powder?” he asked.
“They’ll see what they wish to see. If it goes wrong, then we must think of another plan. But if this isn’t very like what Caswallan has been giving them in the way of showing his powers, I’m much mistaken about the man.”
She came to a stop before the first fire, then raised her fists high in the air, lifted her face to the sky and said in commanding tones, “Spirits of the earth, give truth to all that I have said before these, your servants. Give us a sign that you have sent us to retrieve the Greth Stone and bring it to its rightful home.”
With that, she brought her hands down quickly, opening her fists and releasing the powder. It was well done, Kieran thought, watching carefully. If he’d not known that the powder existed, he’d not have realized that she’d thrown it into the fire.
As it had done before, the powder immediately quenched the flames and smoke, sending sparkling lights glittering in the air until they, too, faded, leaving naught at all.
But then, just as those behind her had gasped and Glenys was turning to face them with a satisfied smile, something else happened that had nothing to do with the powder.
Where the now cold embers lay, a new sparkling had begun, very different from that which the powder made. It was brilliantly white, like a thousand tiny stars, but as round and cold as a Gypsy’s crystal ball. It rose from the ashes, so achingly bright that all who watched had to either turn aside or shade their eyes.
The crowd stepped back, Kieran put his arm about Glenys and pulled her away, and they all stood there and stared with gaping astonishment.
The ball rose higher, like a blazing moon, and then higher still, right up into the sky. Slowly, over their heads, it began to spin, and they all stood with their eyes lifted upward, watching. Faster and faster the bright ball spun, burning so brilliantly that it appeared to be made of white fire. Of a sudden, it burst into thousands of tiny shards, falling like miniature stars to earth. The people surrounding them shouted and began to run away, fearing that the sparkling pieces would be hot, but Kieran and Glenys stood where they were, showered by the glittering sparks. They were cool to the touch, ticklish and tingling where they landed on the skin, and they brought with them a sweet perfume. Kieran held out a hand to try to capture some, but they disappeared as soon as they landed, like glittering snowflakes. He’d never experienced anything like it.
“What’s happened?” he asked Glenys as the others slowly began to rejoin them, reaching out their own hands to touch the tiny stars. “What is this?”
“Our sign,” she murmured with wonder. “But we must not linger over it long, for Caswallan and Sir Anton will hear of it almost at once. Come.” She took Kieran’s arm and tugged him away from the crowd. “They’ll not stop us now. Look at them.”
Kieran looked. Caswallan’s followers were still staring up at the sky, amazement on their faces.
“Let us hurry,” Glenys said, pulling him along. “You to Sir Anton and I to Caswallan. If Jean-Marc and Dina play their parts, we’ll be safely back at Berte’s before dark has fallen.”
The decrepit chapel was dark as Glenys stepped inside. She blinked away the brightness of the day and strove to focus on what lay within the small building. Several candles, their flames fluttering as the wind whipped through the open door, made it somewhat easier.
Caswallan was indeed there, dressed in flowing white robes, and sitting upon a ridiculous chair that was clearly meant as some kind of throne. He was a tall, thin man, of an age with her uncle Aonghus, with a tufted white beard that failed to cover his entire chin, leaving bald spots here and there.
He rose when Glenys entered the chapel, a long wooden rod clutched in one hand. She could see the Greth Stone glinting on one of his fingers, reflected by the candlelight. His other hand was shaking slightly, and as she moved closer, step by measured step, to face him, she could also see that his eyes were filled with fear.
“I knew you would come,” he told her, his voice quavering. “One of you, though I prayed it would not be Aonghus.”
“He did not know where to find you,” she replied, speaking in Welsh. “I did.”
“You’ve come to take the ring, but you cannot have it. Nor can you take it from me by force, for it cannot be removed from the hand of he who wears it, save by the wearer himself.”
Glenys stopped directly in front of the elderly man, holding his gaze. “You should never have stolen it, Caswallan. ’Twas not only wrong, but you know as well as I what the legend of the Greth Stone says. Only the legitimate heir can claim its power.”
“You mistake the matter, girl,” he said. “The ring bears no power of its own, but I need none, for I am as skilled a conjurer as your own uncle. But I must have the ring to gather my people about me. Without it, they will leave this place.”
Glenys frowned. “Why should you wish to keep them here? This is no powerful army you’ve brought, but simple people who cling to the old ways. You’ve naught here save that which strokes your own pride, foolish as that is. ’Tis all but laughable.”
“It may seem so to you now, but it will not always be thus,” he countered. “In time, word will spread throughout all of Wales that a true priest has returned to the land, and then one and all will flock to me.”
“To what purpose?” Glenys asked. “Do you imagine that you will one day gather enough of a following to make another rebellion? Is it Owain Glyndwr you wish to be? Has Wales not seen enough of blood and revenge? Is this why you’ve struck a bargain with Sir Anton? Because he has the money you need to arm yourselves and make ready for war?”
“Nay, not for that,” Caswallan replied quickly. “Sir Anton is my disciple. He desires to learn all that I know and carry on the old ways, the right ways. And unlike your treacherous family, who have taken lands and wealth for themselves throughout England, he is faithful to Wales alone.”
“But that is a lie,” Glenys said calmly. “I know Sir Anton well, and he is faithful to no country and no man—save himself. He has sworn to gain the Greth Stone for his own purposes, and this, I believe in all truth, is what he intends to do. I swear it on the name of my family. Ask what you will of me regarding Sir Anton, and I will tell you all I know. Afterward, I pray that we may bargain together regarding the Greth Stone. I have brought with me something which I believe you will gladly exchange for it.”
“What is it?”
Glenys shook her head. “First tell me that you believe what I say of Sir Anton, for when I leave this place, I want to know that you are finished with him forever.”
Caswallan was thoughtful, and Glenys patient, though she knew she must strike the bargain with him quickly. Still, it would do no good to push too hard or too fast. She wanted Caswallan to feel fearless in the coming exchange.
In Sir Anton’s tent, matters were faring in a far different manner.
Kieran had surprised Sir Anton in the midst of breaking his fast when he strode into the large pavilion with his sword drawn, shouting loudly for his foe to show himself. Sir Anton, sitting at a small trestle table and being tended by two of his servants, stood so quickly that he overturned the table and all of its contents onto the floor. Upon seeing Kieran, who was bearing down upon him in a fearful manner, he shrieked and ran for cover, while his servants—there must have been half a dozen, at least—scurried in every direction. There were half a dozen fighting men, as well, sitting about their master’s tent, eating and drinking, but these had been taken so much by surprise that they had no time to grab up their weapons and stop Kieran’s progress. Two of them made an attempt at throwing themselves in his path, but he readily dealt with them and tossed them aside. He had but a moment, he knew, before the rest gathered both their wits and their swords, but before then he’d wreak as much mayhem as possible and keep Sir Anton away from Caswallan, at least until Glenys could make the trade. After that, he simply needed confusion to break loose in every corner of Caswallan’s encampment.
“Dog!” he shouted, chasing Sir Anton from one end of the pavilion to the other. “Knave! Liar! Murderer!”
“Stop him!” Sir Anton pleaded to his fighting men and servants alike. “Kill him! Quickly!”
“What, this sorry lot?” Kieran asked, kicking one of the fighting men in the behind and sending him reeling. Another was elbowed in the shoulder and fell to his knees with a shout of pain. “Kill me? I’d sooner be eaten alive by a herd of pigs than let such wretched louts send me to God. Now come and receive what is justly yours, Anton Lagasse.” Kieran advanced upon the cowering man with his sword at the ready. Behind him he heard the remaining fighting men preparing themselves for attack. He’d not be able to hold them off for long, and prayed that Glenys was finishing her business with Caswallan rapidly.
In the darkness of the chapel, Caswallan stood in awe, staring at the queen piece, which Glenys held in her hand.
“I’ve heard rumors that she existed, but never let myself hope that I would see her.” He glanced briefly at Glenys, licking his lips. “You lie, girl. You’d never part with anything so valuable, not even for the Greth Stone. This queen piece, centuries old, possesses powers that neither you nor I can dream of.”
“I would not give her to you, nay,” Glenys admitted, “but ’tis my uncle Culain who has parted with what he holds most dear in order to regain that which belongs—rightly and fully—to my family.”
Caswallan took a step nearer, holding out a reverent hand toward the queen piece. Her eyes, Glenys saw, had gone black, as they had done only once before that she had seen. She felt it growing warm and tingling within her grip, as if the little chess piece were coming to life. Nothing could be more perfect.
“She’s so beautiful,” Caswallan murmured, his gaze riveted upon the piece. “If I possessed her my power would be endless. She would whisper all her secrets in my ear and give me guidance. There would be naught to stop me from…”
Glenys stepped back, holding the piece away.
“Do you agree?” she demanded. “I would have your promise that you will sever all ties with Sir Anton Lagasse forever, as well as return the Greth Stone.”
“Aye,” he said, his hand yet held out. “You have my vow. I will send Sir Anton away at once. Give her to me. Only let me hold her.”
“The ring,” Glenys reminded him. “Remove it first, and then you will have her.”
Back in Sir Anton’s pavilion, Kieran had been chased into a corner, but not without the satisfaction of felling two servants and another of Sir Anton’s fighting men. As to Sir Anton, Kieran had not only left him bruised and battered, but had received the knight’s promise never to show his feckless face again, lest Kieran exact a more lasting revenge for Sir Anton’s dishonorable behavior. From his corner, Kieran could see Sir Anton at the other end of the pavilion, curled up and weeping like a babe. That was enough for now, he decided. It was past time that he made certain Glenys was well.
The exchange had been made. Glenys wore the Greth Stone safely upon her finger, and Caswallan held the queen piece in his hand.
“Beautiful,” he said, as if he’d just been granted the greatest boon on earth. “Beautiful.” He looked up at Glenys. “She feels hot to the touch. Almost as if she might burn my fingers. Is this how she always is?”
“Did you not know?” Glenys asked, lifting innocent eyes to his gaze. “She burns when she is at her happiest and most pleased, as she must be now to at last be in the hands of a true believer. Howbeit, you must set her in some pocket until the moment when you wish to reveal her to your followers—then she will be ready to do your bidding. You must take her out to them now, for she would wish to be admired at once, and as I am taking the Greth Stone away, your followers will desire reassurance.”
“Oh, aye,” Caswallan agreed happily. “I will make the presentation now, and you must stay. ’Twill lend credence to have a member of the Seymour family here, and to know that this gift was made by them.”
Glenys bit her tongue to keep from telling him that the Seymours would never make a gift of anything so precious to a man who’d stoop to outright thieving. Instead, seeing that he had already carefully pocketed the queen piece within the folds of his white robes, she said with all graciousness, “I would be pleased.”
Kieran waited until the right moment to lift his sword high and slice an opening in the silken roof above his head. Just as two of Sir Anton’s fighting men charged at him, he leaped through the slit, causing them to stumble over each other rather than him. Quickly, while confusion reigned within, he circled the pavilion, bringing his sword down upon the ropes that held it in place, watching with satisfaction as the silk began to sag on those remaining within. Sir Anton’s increasing shrieks brought a smile to his face.
“Fool,” he muttered, looking about the encampment. He saw that Glenys and Caswallan had just left the chapel and that they, along with the crowd surrounding them, were gazing at Kieran and the fallen pavilion with bewilderment.
Perfect.
“They’ve gone mad!” Kieran shouted, striving to sound as frightened as he could. He began to run toward the crowd. “They’re coming to get us! They’ve all become crazed! Ahh! Get your children! Run for your lives! Ahh!”
He realized that he made a foolish—and rather bizarre—figure, but it didn’t help when Glenys covered her mouth with both hands in order to control her laughter. Jean-Marc, fortunately, played his own part to perfection. Dressed in white robes that Kieran suspected he’d stolen, and standing in the midst of the gathered, he began to shout, too. “They’ve got their swords! They’ll kill us all! Run! Run!”
They’d filled an unwitting crowd with groundless terror many a time, and Kieran never failed to be amused at how simple and helpful a thing it could be. Within moments utter confusion had taken hold, panic had filled the air, people were running in all directions and shouts had turned to deafening screams. Glenys and Caswallan stood in the midst of it, swarmed by Caswallan’s frightened minions. Caswallan turned in circles, shouting, “Calm yourselves!” while Glenys merely waited for Kieran to force his way through the crowd to her.
He took her hand and they easily slipped away, and even before Sir Anton and his men could cut themselves free of their silken confines, they’d disappeared into the trees.
Dina greeted them with obvious relief. “I thought you would never return, mistress,” she said, gladly handing the horses’ reins to Kieran. “And when all that noise began…”
“’Tis all right now, Dina,” Glenys assured her. “Look, I have the ring.” She raised her right hand to show it to her.
“Oh, mistress! Your good relatives will be so glad! May God be praised. But where is Jean-Marc? Why has he not come with you?”
“I’m here, sweeting,” came a voice from the other side of the small clearing in which they stood. Jean-Marc appeared the next moment, strolling toward them with a smile upon his handsome face. He was in the midst of removing the white covering he had worn in the encampment, and readily tossed it aside. “Here’s what you’re wanting,” he told Kieran, pulling the queen piece out of a pocket and holding it on his open palm. “She was hot as fire when I took her, but has cooled enough to hold now. Caswallan never knew a thing,” he added with a wicked grin. “He was carried off by his people much against his desire, for they wanted to keep him safe.” Jean-Marc laughed. “I wish you had stayed to see it,” he said. “I vow I’ve never seen the like, with the old man shrieking like a girl.”
They all laughed, a mixture of jollity and relief.
“Jean-Marc, I owe you every thanks,” Glenys said, looking at the queen’s eyes as Jean-Marc passed her to Kieran’s waiting hand. They were golden once more, for which she was thankful. “And my uncle Culain will as well, once he knows that you have regained what was most precious to him.”
Jean-Marc made her a sweeping bow. “I am glad to have been of service, mistress. But if you are of a mind to grant me a boon, I’d not hold back from asking it of you.”
“Anything,” she declared. “You must only tell me what it is.”
He cast a glance at Dina. “There is not time now,” he said, “but if you will allow it, Dina and I would speak with you this night, when we are safe at Berte’s.”
Glenys, knowing full well what he meant to ask of her, opened her mouth to say, “Anything but that,” but Kieran’s arm came about her waist, squeezing so hard that naught but a squeaky breath came out.
“Mistress Glenys will gladly receive you there and hear you out, Jean-Marc. For now, let us away, before Sir Anton, stupid as he is, decides that he must make the attempt of regaining either the Greth Stone or her ladyship, the queen.”