by Kris Kramer
“Rhodric will leave us be?” Ruark asked.
“For a while. Delivering Cullach will buy us at least a year or two. More than enough time to finish your army.”
Cullach would protect me. If I can find him, and explain what I saw, he’ll save me from Lorcan and Ruark. He would slay Lorcan for betraying him, and I’d be free of the miserable little sorcerer. Lorcan’s plan would fail, and Cullach would save us. But not if he’s dead. Not if his men are slaughtered.
Not if I followed these traitors meekly.
“I look forward to seeing you come through on your promises,” Ruark said.
Lorcan smiled back at him, but he sensed the undercurrent of doubt, just as we all did. Lorcan’s men glanced at each other, sharing their own looks of contempt for their new chieftain, and I used that moment of distraction to its fullest. I threw my hand out sideways, striking Boric in the center of his throat. His eyes bulged and he gagged, but more importantly, he let go of my reins. I steered the horse around, away from Boric, and rode as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
“Get them!” I heard Lorcan's shrill voice behind me. “Get the woman!”
I urged the horse ahead, willing it to run faster as we galloped through the dense forest. A glance over my shoulder showed that several of Ruark’s men were already behind me, much closer than I’d hoped, but the trees and brush were keeping them at bay. We emerged from the forest onto a narrow path that led south, back toward Towyn, and I veered left to take it. These men would go nowhere near Towyn after what they’d done, but I had to get closer to be safe. The path was narrow enough still that Ruark’s men couldn’t easily catch up to me, but that changed once we reached the forest’s edge and galloped into the open field.
Ruark’s men were much better horsemen than I, and one of them almost immediately pulled alongside and reached out, trying to grab my arm. I leaned away, just out of reach, but he countered by grabbing Avaline instead, and she cried out in surprise and tried to pull free. He yanked her toward him, and would have pulled her off the horse had I not reached back and wrapped my arm around her waist. The Irishman let go of her, but that was only so he could punch me in the side of my head, hard enough to rattle my sense of balance. I felt myself leaning too far to one side, so I let go of Avaline and grabbed the saddle to steady myself. The Irishman used the distraction to grab her again, and this time pulled her completely off the horse.
“No!” I yelled as she fell to the ground. The Irishman slowed to stay near her while my horse continued galloping forward, unaware that I wanted to stop. I grabbed the reins, and was about to pull up when I saw that all the raiders were now circling her. One leaned over and lifted her up onto his horse, and they all turned back. Other than a few angry glances, none of them made any move to come after me.
I watched Avaline’s prone body lying over the Irishman’s lap, and I wanted nothing more than to chase after them, but what could I do? I couldn’t fight them. If I even tried they would just beat or kill me. I was nothing more than a convenience to Lorcan. Nothing forced him to keep me alive other than his own curiosity.
I had only one option. I had to go to the town, and warn Cullach about what happened. He wouldn’t allow his sorcerer to so blatantly turn on him. I had to leave Avaline behind, but only for now. I would return, with help, and I would save her.
No matter the cost.
Chapter 28
An orange haze covered Towyn, lit by the voracious fires spreading through buildings made of wood and thatch. Lorcan claimed his fire would stop at the wall, but instead the town was being eaten alive by his treachery. Worse, the fires were a beacon to anyone nearby who could help defend, as would the smoke be in the fast-approaching morning hours. Everyone in southern Gwynedd would see the signal, and they would come.
The sounds of battle rumbled from within as I approached. Men roared in the distance, swords clanged off shields, and every so often a terrible scream of anguish echoed through the streets. I found myself wishing with no small amount of guilt that the screams came from Welshmen and not Irishmen. Cullach’s men were my captors as well as the aggressors here, but I needed them alive. They were my only hope to free Avaline.
I reached the earthwork and dismounted, grabbing my satchel in case the horse decided to run away with it. The horse was skittish, and wouldn’t stand still, and when I let go of his reigns, he galloped away, to the east. I let him go and slid through the sharpened pikes jutting out from the trench and then darted up the short hill and through the scorched hole in the wall.
This part of town was deserted. A few bodies lay on the street, but they were Cullach’s men, along with two of the town’s defenders. But I saw no one else. No women hiding in houses, or children peering out windows or doors, like I’d seen in Eoferwic. If I hadn’t heard the commotion coming from deeper in the city, I’d have thought the place abandoned. I followed the sounds of battle, though, knowing they would lead me to Cullach. I could tell by the outer wall that the town was deliberately circular, which meant all of the important buildings, the ones the Irish would try to take, and the ones the defenders would want to keep, would be in the center. Like the church. The narrow road in front of me twisted to the left, then cut hard to the right. It was crowded with buildings, most of them creeping into the road itself, making it hard to know where it led. But it was the only path available to me, so I hurried along, hoping to find Cullach quickly.
I'd barely made it ten paces before a group of four men ran across the road in front of me, wearing chain armor, their swords and axes drawn. Blood spatters covered their hands and chest, although I couldn’t tell at first whether the blood came from their enemies, or from the gashes on their arms and legs. But I knew right away that these were Rhodric’s men, and they were looking for a fight.
One of them saw me, stopped, and pointed. “Who’re you?” he shouted angrily.
“I’m a priest,” I said, holding my hands up to show that I was unarmed, “I’m only trying to get to the church.”
“I don’t know you.”
“It’s a trick,” another said. “He’s wearing the robes to fool us.”
They took a few determined steps toward me, and I backed away. These were men under attack. They were confused and angry, and they would take no chances with anyone they didn’t know. If they didn’t believe me, they’d just as soon kill me to keep me from stabbing them in the back.
They already doubted me. So I ran. And they chased.
I doubled back the way I came until I saw a narrow alley between two buildings, about as wide as my foot was long, but I could still squeeze through it. I shuffled between the walls sideways, keeping my head turned behind me so I could see the Welshman who tried to follow me. He was too thick, though, and he got himself stuck at the entrance. He struggled, and then angrily abandoned the chase once something else grabbed his attention back on the street. I emerged on the other side, alone, and grateful for my thin frame.
Just as I started running toward the middle of town again, the backdoor of the building next to me opened, and one of the Welshmen burst through. He lunged at me, very nearly grabbing my robe before I ducked out of the way. I ran to my left, through the open door of a tavern, and the Welshman chased me between the overturned tables and chairs. I reached the kitchen, his heavy footsteps pounding on the wooden floor behind me, and darted around a giant cauldron sitting empty in the middle of the floor. That’s when he grabbed me, or more specifically, the strap of my satchel. I felt it yank against my shoulder, pulling me back and down, but I deftly slipped out of the strap, leaving it behind, and dove for the backdoor only a few paces ahead.
I burst through the door, only to trip on an overturned trough, and fell hard on my face and hands, right in the middle of a small, empty pen. The smell of pig dung assaulted me, but I ignored it and scurried forward out of instinct, trying to crawl and stand at the same time. I grabbed the waist-high fence enclosing the pen and fell over into the alley behind the houses.
As I stumbled along the road, my pursuer hopped over the trough at the door and stepped over the fence. He had me now, and we both knew it.
He swung at me, wildly, and I flailed backward to avoid it, causing me to lose my already delicate balance and fall onto my backside. I scooted away as fast as I could, fearing for my life, but he merely walked toward me, holding his weapon in both hands, savoring his imminent kill.
The cavalier attitude I'd had for my own life these last few days disappeared, replaced with a numbing sensation that froze my body in fear. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’d come here to find Cullach. To find help. Not to be cut down by an ignorant Welshman. I’d only meant to save her.
But I was saved, instead.
It came out of nowhere, a giant black-haired wolf, all fur and teeth, leaping from some spot out of my vision. It crashed bodily into my attacker, and he fell to the ground, the wolf nimbly landing on top of him. Its jaws clamped down on his wrist, and the man screamed. He grabbed at the wolf's fur and then its head with his free hand, trying to pull his other hand loose, but the wolf wouldn't let go. Not until he dropped his sword. When the blade finally hit the ground, the wolf loosened its grip and backed away, growling. The Welshman sat there, watching the wolf warily, and holding his injured hand. He finally worked up enough courage to stand, slowly, and once he got to his feet, he bolted down the road in the opposite direction. The wolf didn't follow.
I sat there, dumbly, unmoving during the entire exchange. In fact, when the man ran away and the wolf turned to me, I fully expected it to attack me next, as reward for my stupidity in not running away as well. But it didn't. It looked at me, then sat on its haunches and licked its lips. I was too stunned to move, and I had no words to express what I'd just seen.
Then I remembered the dream. The wolf in that dream looked exactly like this one. How was that possible? Was this some new message from God? Had He sent the wolf to save me? Images flashed through my mind of everything I saw that night. The wolf. The dwarf. The man with the sword. The Viking with eyes like Caenwyld.
The woman.
I looked around, suddenly expecting to see all of them nearby. But the road was empty. All except for me and the wolf, who was panting now, and looking at me as if expecting a thank you.
“What are you?” I asked, almost desperate enough to expect an answer. It looked at me, cocked its head in that way that makes you think it’s listening, then licked its snout. We continued to stare at each other, both of us waiting for the other to do something meaningful. Eventually, the wolf gave up and stood, looking up and down the road for any sign of danger. Then it jogged away, disappearing down a narrow alley to my left, leaving me sitting on the ground like a fool.
I looked down at my hands to see them trembling. This was another dream. Every strange, mystical, dreadful, horrible thing that had happened to me since Rogwallow had been nothing more than a dream. Or a nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting the world to be different when I opened them, but it wasn’t. I still sat amongst the dead in Towyn, a terrible battle raging somewhere nearby.
This wasn’t a nightmare, I reminded myself. The only nightmare was the one Avaline would suffer once Lorcan returned her to that dungeon, and the one Ewen already suffered because of me. I made a promise to both of them, and I couldn’t sit here questioning my good fortune, no matter how it came. I stood, my body aching, as it always seemed to do, and continued my dangerous, lonely trek to the center of town.
No one accosted me the rest of the way, neither man nor beast, but bodies littered the road. Mostly defenders, since the men all appeared to be Welsh, and some even wore the standard of a boar on their chest or shields, the same one worn by the soldiers at Caernarvon. A few Irishmen lay dead as well, and I checked their faces to make sure none of them were Cullach. I could hear yelling now, but this was men shouting in celebration, not the painful cries of death. Had the battle been won? I walked around the corner, and that’s when I saw the church, sitting in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by homes and an abandoned market area. And when I saw the host of Cullach’s men surrounding it, for the first time in what felt like forever, my hopes rose.
I ran to them, and as I pushed my way through the back of the crowd, they all turned to look at me, most of them in surprise, but none stopped me. They recognized me as Lorcan’s pet, the same Lorcan who they may not yet know had betrayed them, although that’s not why I worried. I worried that they would see a priest trying to defend a church, and they would stop me, or worse. But I didn’t care about the building, or its treasures. The church was a sanctuary for people, not for silver.
Once I got inside, though, everything changed. The Irishmen weren’t clamoring to get in the church so they could ransack it. They wanted to see a spectacle, something that very nearly made me forget why I’d come when I saw it myself. A half circle of Irishmen lined the near end of the church, packed against the walls, with Cullach standing in front of them. He held his sword ready, and his eyes were locked on the man waiting at the other end of the church.
“Dear God,” I whispered.
He stood across from me, in front of the altar at the far end of the church, the bodies of several Irishmen dead on the ground around him.
After all this time, I’d finally found him.
Arkael.
Chapter 29
He saw me right away, and from the glare in his eyes I knew he recognized me, but he said nothing. He looked exactly the same as when I first saw him – brown coat, linen shirt, brown trousers and leather boots, his black hair hanging straight and long and the gleaming, blood-streaked, silver blade in his hand.
“This church is protected," he said, nearly as emotionless as the last time I'd heard him say it. "You will leave now, or you will spend eternity in Hell regretting your actions.”
“I did not come all this way for nothing!” Cullach roared. He stepped forward and several of his men cheered. Arkael raised his own sword, and I saw the inevitable clash coming that would lead to Cullach’s death.
"Stop!" I shouted, and everyone in the room turned their gaze to me. I stepped forward, into the circle that held only Cullach and Arkael. "This is madness!”
Cullach waved me off. “Get out of here before you catch a knife in your belly, priest.”
"Cullach. Sire. You must listen to me.” I approached him carefully. “Ruark betrayed you. He allied with Lorcan, and they've left. They're going back to Ynys Mon, to the fort. To the dungeon. He's giving his army to Ruark, and then they're going to kill you."
"I know this," Cullach snarled.
"You… do?” I blinked, stunned. “Then do something about it. Leave and go after him. You have to stop them before Lorcan lets his army loose."
Cullach pushed me away. "Ruark will not have my army. Not while I live!"
"You don't understand. No one will have Lorcan's army. It's bred for chaos. No one can control it. Lorcan has lied to you all this time."
"Then I will have my revenge on him. Now stand aside!"
"Sire, you won't get that chance," Cullach glared at me dangerously, "because Arkael will kill you if you don't leave this place right now."
I felt an undercurrent of anger ripple throughout the room. These men, who'd just survived a hard-fought battle, did not take well to having their leader insulted. Cullach turned on me. "I will strike you down if you do not watch your tongue and obey me. I have claimed this place. It is my right! And I will not be forced out by one man, no matter who he is!"
“You’ve already seen what he can do,” I motioned to the dead bodies on the floor, each lying in puddles of crimson, “and I’ve seen it, too. First hand. Don’t be his next victim. Please."
Cullach pushed his lips together, fighting the urge to attack blindly. He saw the bodies, and I was certain he'd seen how they died. I didn’t know if he remembered my story about seeing the Hand of God, but I realized then that even if he did, even if he knew that he would be walking into his death, he couldn't back
off. Not in front of his men. No amount of pleading would make that happen. So instead of making him see reason, I switched tactics and turned to Arkael.
“You," I said, and then paused while deciding what I should say to him. I was still trying to grasp the fact that he stood before me, after all this time, though he regarded me coolly. "You're fighting the wrong men. Yes, they’re here to take the city, and to steal its treasures, but they are not the real enemy.”
“Anyone who comes into this church with sinister intent-"
"I know," I held up my hands. "But there are more important things to take care of this day. Let them have the church. There's no one here to defend."
"I am here to defend."
"You have an oath-"
"Don't speak to me of my oath," he snapped. It was the first sign he'd given that he was still angry with me. And I still didn't know why. "Do not claim to know who I am."
"Listen to me," I said. "Lorcan is the one you want, but he's left. He's gone back to the island, to Ynys Mon. He's going to release an army of monsters on us. Madmen with no souls to guide them. He's the one you have to kill, not these men."
"This church is a sanctuary,” he said, as if reciting the words. “I will not see it defiled."
"It's just a building!" I shouted. "It means nothing compared to what's about to happen. You have to go to Ynys Mon and stop Lorcan." I turned to Cullach. "You both do! He’s the enemy! He’s the one who must die!"
Cullach raised his sword again, having found his anger, or his bravado, once more. “Lorcan and Ruark will die. After I’ve claimed this city.”
“You can't do this!"
"I'm tired of your prattling!" Cullach said, raising his voice. He turned to one of his men. "Get him out of here, before I gut him myself!"
