ACRID smoke burned the inside of my nose. Angry male voices numbed my ears. Light flashed again and again behind my closed eyelids. I lived.
Cautiously I opened my eyes. I lay on the earth beside the pole, dangerously close to the bonfire. A trickle of blood fed the beaten ground. Mine?
An ache in my side sharpened into cold agony. I couldn’t move, barely dared to breathe. My little knife pierced me between the lower two ribs. Dangerous, not lethal.
The chemical flavor of the smoke tasted of those long-ago lessons and experiments with fire. Someone had created the explosion that felled me. Someone trained by Druids who needed a diversion.
I looked around for the source of the blast.
Four armored men fought back-to-back as a team. They wielded heavy, two-handed swords against the revelers. The masked men had grabbed flaming brands from the bonfire. Nothing else stood between them and sharp iron weapons.
The center warrior ducked a thrown torch. The wood knocked his helm askew. Firelight danced upon golden hair.
Curyll! my heart gasped.
Curyll swung his sword in a wide circle, catching one of the revelers in the hamstring. The masked man collapsed screaming into a crippled heap.
I caught a glimpse of Stinger’s beautiful profile. The others beside Curyll must be Boar and Ceffyl — one broad and the other wiry. While Curyll and Stinger wielded swords low, Ceffyl kept his high and Boar covered the flank. They fought off my attackers as a team, as they had the last time I’d seen them together on the practice field. Only long years of practice could bring men into such close rapport, sharing tactics without instructions, almost thinking together.
The masked men gave ground, slunk away, cowards now that they faced armed men instead of one small unarmed woman. Curyll and his foster brothers followed them only a short distance beyond the bonfire and the center of the old fortress.
What of the tenth figure who watched from the side? I couldn’t raise my voice to alert the four to watch for another.
A log shifted in the fire, sending sparks onto my back. I crawled a few feet away from the blaze, rolling to extinguish the fire. I could light fire with my mind, but only mundane means could extinguish it.
Through a red haze I glimpsed my father battling the big man who had captured me. My father and yet not my father. Glamour shrouded him, making him appear seven feet tall and as broad as a barn. His helm gleamed blue-black. The tattoos on his arms seemingly sprang to life as true vipers. They writhed along his sword adding their venom to the sharp edged blade.
A rage had overcome my father. ’Twas the only time he shape-changed. Instinctively I jerked as far away from him as I could without disturbing my wound. The bonfire blazing at my back seemed safer than my father.
Otherworldly blue flames shot from Da’s sword into the other man’s torch. Da laughed as the natural fire wielded by my captor exploded with a whoosh and died. The hollow sounds erupting from Da’s throat echoed around the roofless building, growing and filling every space with eerie reverberations that began in the Underworld and never ended.
The one other time I’d seen him in a rage this deep, he’d battled a Saxon. With the clarity of hindsight I knew he’d been protecting me from the raider’s fierce ax. But at the age of five I hadn’t known this; I’d seen only my father’s anger and feared it. He protected me again.
My tears mingled with my blood soaking the ground.
The demon-masked man shifted his grip on the torch shaft to attack with it as a quarterstaff. He countered an overhead blow from Da’s sword and ducked to thrust the wood into Da’s exposed belly.
Da knocked the torch from his hands with a mighty blow that moved so fast I could not see it. His opponent ducked the next blow. A third mighty slash knocked the mask aside.
Instantly the tattooed man fled to the shadows. I sensed his footfalls through the earth. He fled downhill along the same route I had climbed. I saw nothing of his face.
Blue fire continued to glow in Da’s sword and eyes. He raised his weapon and dashed after his quarry with a shriek bordering on madness.
Boar, Stinger, and Ceffyl retreated from the sight of The Merlin in a rage.
Only Curyll had the courage to grab my father’s arm and wrestle the sword from his grasp. “Ho, Merlin. He’s gone. Following him would be useless.” Curyll continued to hold my father when he would have given chase with no weapon but his anger.
“Look to your daughter, Merlin,” Curyll shouted. “She needs your strength and healing now. Revenge won’t help her.”
Da bent over, hands on his knees, panting for breath and control. Slowly his natural form returned, clad in ordinary linen shirt, leather leggings, and tunic. From his belt hung his everyday dagger — not a mythical sword as tall as he. After endless moments he stood straight and looked Curyll in the eye. “You are right, my boy. When did you become so wise?” Da ground out between his teeth, fighting for calm. Madness still glowed in his eyes.
“What little common sense I have, you beat into me, Father Merlin. Now, look to Wren. My brothers and I will see to the men. Perhaps we can identify them and guess their leader from known associates.” Curyll did not flinch from Da’s otherworldly gaze. Nor did he release his tight grip on The Merlin’s still twitching sword arm.
“Da, how did you find me?” I whispered when he finally knelt at my side.
“I worried about you. I searched for you earlier. Then, when the darkness fell too quickly, too early, I knew something was amiss. Someone worked dark magic this night. Then I heard your scream in my mind. I met Curyll and his comrades on the way here. They already searched for you. It seems you left the army camp in a bit of a rush and you didn’t return to the Citadel. Hush now, Wren. Time for questions later.” Da touched my wounds with delicate fingers. Politely, he kept his eyes away from my nakedness where my ruined gown gaped open. The circle of blood around my nipple had begun to scab already. I’d not wear tight breast bands for a few weeks though.
“Did he... did they rape you, Wren?”
“No, Da. I fought him, but I couldn’t hold out much longer.” Tears of reaction choked me, but I had to know. “What strange god do these men serve?”
“Hush, Wren. Let me see what damage has been wrought this night.”
I groaned out loud when Da touched the knife wound in my side. Warm moisture signaled a new seepage of blood. Blackness filled my vision faster than the blood dripped into the ground.
When I awoke again, tight pressure around my ribs told me Da had bandaged the cut. A heavy cloak covered me. The weight of the wool helped still my shaking limbs. I continued to tremble — from cold or shock?
“Will you need to find her a husband?” Curyll asked.
My eyes refused to open yet. I lay there listening, astonished at the anger behind Curyll’s words.
“He... they... she says not, but I don’t know,” Da replied.
“I owe Wren much,” Curyll said softly. “I’ll wed her at dawn if I have to. I would spare her the condemnation that always follows rape. Some will lay the blame on her rather than those perverted — the men weak enough to be controlled by demons.”
I heard the iron return to his voice, could see him in my mind, stiff and proud and very angry.
“Bedewyr and I make the same offer if she’ll have none of Curyll,” Cai said. From our childhood, I knew he shouldered Curyll aside, asserting his superior rights as true son of their mutual foster father.
“As do I,” Lancelot added.
Anger at my childhood companions gave me the strength to open my eyes and speak. “I’ll have no man as husband who weds me only to save my reputation. The choice of husband is mine, and I’m not asking for volunteers.”
“Think, Wren, before you refuse these offers.” Da laid a gentle hand on my wound, a not-so-subtle reminder of other hurts my captor intended to inflict.
“The man did not rape me.” I leveled my gaze on my father. “I have no need for Curyll or his brothers to sacrifice their precious bachelor status on my behalf.” I struggled to sit up. Pain burned straight through to my heart and lungs. I lay back, biting my lip to keep from crying out.
I refused to appear weak and wilting before these proud men.
Da slipped a supportive arm behind my shoulders and gently lifted me to a sitting position. Black stars danced before my eyes, but I didn’t lose consciousness again.
“We will discuss this further in the privacy of my quarters, daughter. First we must get you back to the palace and properly dress this wound.”
“Excuse me, Father Merlin.” Curyll placed a polite hand beneath Da’s elbow as he stood. “The sun has fully set. Uther’s banquet begins at moonrise. You must attend. Questions will be asked if you don’t. You can make excuses for Wren’s absence, but not your own.”
“If we hurry, I can change and make an appearance by the time Uther dips his knife into the first remove.” Da brushed dust from his everyday leather tunic and leggings. “Can you carry her, Curyll? Much as I’d prefer to keep my daughter close to my heart, we will make better time if younger, broader shoulders bear her weight.” A look I couldn’t decipher passed between them.
“I know a private entrance near the bower, sir,” Curyll said. “We won’t be seen.”
Da raised one eyebrow in question. “That portal is always locked and barred.”
“A friend promised me it would be open this night.”
I knew his friend could only be Morgaine. Curyll would have made a most reluctant and unsatisfied bridegroom had I accepted his offer of marriage. I needed time to let his love for me grow beyond childhood friendship.
“I promise you, Wren, I will find the man who did this to you,” Curyll vowed as he lifted me effortlessly. “I will find him and exact the price of your honor from him.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Curyll,” I warned him. My voice echoed through the ruins. Demons caught it and echoed it back in ominous portent.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Curyll. I hadn’t asked him to seal the promise in a circle.
I shuddered, fighting the flash of vision that crossed my mind.
o0o
From the shadows I watched Uther’s banquet. A white-and-gray cat crept into my lap. She purred as I stroked her. The rhythm of her rumble calmed my whirling thoughts and kept me focused upon finding my attackers.
I watched Curyll and my father as they watched for signs of guilt among the men in attendance. They looked into the eyes of lords and servants alike. I looked at every man’s posture, how they walked, and who might favor a recently inflicted wound.
The hamstrung reveler remained in a dungeon cell. Da had told me that rough questioning of him by Cai, Bedewyr, and Lancelot had proved fruitless. The wounded man had never seen his comrades without masks or wearing identifying clothes. He didn’t know who had recruited him. We would have to use other methods to find the men who worshiped pain and degradation.
I also wanted to seek the source of the premature darkness. My wound and Da’s stern orders kept me from searching the city, sniffing for dark magic. I hadn’t the energy or will to defy him.
From the shadows I watched how conversations ebbed and flowed, how patterns of flirtation and animosity rose as the level of ale in the cask lowered.
Nimuë dominated my field of vision. She flirted outrageously with every man within her orbit. I saw more than one man brush fingers across her breasts in invitation. She batted her eyelashes, smiled her willingness, and promised nothing. Her auburn hair sparkled in the torchlight as if she wore a crown of faeries. But the colors were wrong for my woodland friends. Her father, Lord Carradoc, glowered at Nimuë. He glowered at Ardh Rhi Uther. He glowered at his dinner. The blue warrior beads in his hair looked dull beside Nimuë’s vibrant arial.
At the high table, Da sat at Uther’s right, a place of favor and prestige. The Ardh Rhi appeared more hale and energetic than I thought possible. We had routed the cancerous demon from his vital organs only three days ago. The man should not have recovered enough strength to eat as heartily as he did and sit straight for the duration of the meal without signs of failing.
The wrongness of his restored health and energy dragged my attention away from my vigil of observation. His arial, his vigor, must be false, imposed upon him by my father. They would both pay for the illusion later.
Ygraina shared a trencher and wine cup with her husband in her proper place to the king’s left. She watched his every bite and sup, making certain she tasted each remove and refill of wine before he did. Her almost greedy reaching for first tastes seemed propelled by a desperation I couldn’t understand.
Leodegran and other lords I didn’t know sat to Da’s right. They ate in silence, as suspiciously watchful of everyone in the room as Da and I were.
Blasine and Morgaine sat beside the queen. Blasine bubbled with good spirits. She laughingly filled the many gaps in the conversation at the table. Morgaine sat in sullen silence, not eating, not talking. She looked frequently to the entrance and bit her lip. Occasionally her glance lingered on Curyll, halfway down the lower table. Then she jerked her gaze back to the door.
Who did she expect to come marching into the banquet hall?
All those favored with seats at the high table wore bright colors and plaids draped Roman style over their equally vivid tunics. All except Da. He wore his white Druid robes, a startling contrast of simplicity; a not-so-subtle reminder of his authority as priest on this night of shadows and demons.
A mixture of Roman and traditional styles garbed the people at the other tables. I noticed those who favored Roman clothing also wore Christian crosses. The others boasted native charms and wards. No one dared be caught without some form of magic charm on Samhain.
The scent of sulfur and salt lingered in my nose. I couldn’t tell if it remained with me from the bonfire on South Hill or if someone else had brought the taint of the Netherworld into the banquet hall.
Each time the myriad rushlights and oil lamps threatened to burn low, or wavered in a draft, I stared at them until they flamed anew. Bright fire to ward off the darkness of the horrors I had endured. Men had done more damage to me than any demon had.
Of those at the high table, Morgaine intrigued me most. She had met Curyll and me at the door to the bower. After the first instant of disappointment and surprise, she had washed and bound my wound with quick efficiency. She had known the proper herbs to keep it clean and applied them expertly, if a little roughly. Curyll had demanded secrecy about my wound and how I received it. So far she seemed to have kept her mouth shut. Plots brewed behind her eyes. What would be her price for silence?
Morgaine’s latent power hovered near the surface, ready to lash out like a whip to any who crossed her. Did she have enough control over that power to summon demons and cause premature darkness?
I almost left then, rather than watch the man I loved carry on a clandestine affair with the Ardh Rhi’s stepdaughter. Almost. The cat dug her claws into my thigh, reminding me that my mission of observation must keep me in my secret alcove watching and waiting for one among them to betray himself.
As the servants cleared the fourth remove from the high table, Uther’s face drained of color and vitality. Ygraina and Da consulted each other with their eyes above Uther’s head. A brief nod and the High Queen gestured for the banquet to continue without the royal couple.
Visibly drooping, Uther allowed Ygraina and Da to escort him back to his chamber. Two Christian priests followed uninvited, close upon their heels.
A sigh of relief seemed to spread through the chamber. With the Ardh Rhi and Ardh Brenhines gone, the revelers need no longer keep speculation on Uther’s health to themselves. No one outside the king’s immediate circle of advisers had been told the extent or duration of his illness. Yet they all seemed to know about it.
Everyone could also see that he had beaten the disease that had nearly killed him, but he was not strong yet.
Da returned a few moments later, his harp beneath his arm. Instead of resuming his place of honor on the dais, he wandered into the open center of the horseshoe of tables. He plucked a few sweet notes from the strings, then settled into a catchy rhythm.
The tune he played was familiar to all attending the banquet, one of those simple melodies of five phrases that repeated endlessly with no conclusion. A simple song that stuck in the mind, repeating itself over and over. The kind of tune that lent itself to multiple variations of lyrics.
Da opened his mouth and sang. His words cut the air with a Glam dicin, a wicked satire. A proper Glam dicin stripped its victims of honor. Without honor, a warrior could not join a warband, could not perform brave deeds and have his name immortalized by bards in proper song.
Da glanced in my direction, nodding for me to watch and learn. The cat twitched her gray-and-white splotched tail in rhythm with the harp music.
Everyone in the room ceased talking at once, lifting eager ears to the latest juicy gossip contained within Da’s song.
Come my friends
and gather now.
Come my friends
I’ll tell you all
of hate, greed,
and burning desire.
Come my friends
we’ll share a cup
Come my friends
quiet the pup.
I’ll tell of Demon
lust setting all afire.
From the shadows I watched to see who squirmed in discomfort and who was tantalized by the idea of fornicating with denizens of the Netherworld.
Nimuë stood up. A thunderous look crossed her face, and she flounced out of the banquet hall. Righteous indignation or frustration?
Morgaine’s face took on new animation. Her eyes shone brightest of any in the room. She licked her lips in eager anticipation.