Men In Chains

by Virginia Reede

  Gasping for breath, she again tried to summon the rahnta but found it just beyond her reach. If only she could breathe! She struggled, but the combination of Bloduewedd’s physical weight and the smothering, crushing pressure of the dark rahnta seemed to surround her like filthy water closing over her head and threatening to drown her. Desperate, she groped for anything to use as leverage, either physical or mental. Through ringing ears, she heard Bloduewedd laugh in triumph.

  “Now, Delinda, I will kill you as I should have killed your mother before she had the chance to pass her power to you,” she said, increasing the pressure on Delinda’s neck. As the world started to go black, Delinda heard the clanging of metal and felt the pressure abruptly disappear as the weight of both the dark rahnta and the Rahntadrine ceased to crush her.

  “Not today, Mother,” said a familiar voice. As Delinda lifted her head and tried to focus on the scene in the dimness of the gallery, Beteria stepped forward out of the shadows, the jeweled hilt of the raised sword glistening in her hand. Bloduewedd sat sprawled, her hands supporting her weight from behind and her legs outstretched. Beteria must have struck her on her armored torso, knocking her off Delinda but not otherwise harming her.

  “I wondered where you were,” said Bloduewedd, raising herself to a crouch and preparing to rise. “I was afraid you had been found out and that harm had come to you.” Before she could regain her feet, Beteria moved between her and Delinda, the point of the sword aimed in the direction of her mother.

  Bloduewedd’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but she visibly controlled her fury. “Well, this is something I never expected,” she said in a cold, controlled voice. “Has my dear daughter’s head been turned by the lies and promises of this traitor?”

  Beteria laughed, and there was a tinge of hysteria to the tone. “I have come to know a great deal about lies growing up under your roof, Mother,” she said, her voice sounding a little shaky. “Delinda does not lie. And she respects me, Mother, something you have never done.”

  Bloduewedd licked her lips, watching the point of the sword. Slowly, she rose out of her crouch to face her daughter. “I have not made things easy for you,” she said, with a faint coaxing tone to her voice. “But that is because I needed you to be strong so you will be ready to receive the rahnta when your time comes.”

  Beteria laughed again, and this time it sounded sincere. “And when will that be, Mother? When you are sure you will not draw another breath? By the time you are willing to give it up, I will be too old to receive it, as we both well know.”

  “That is simply not true,” said Bloduewedd, her voice growing low and melodious. “I had planned to make it a gift to celebrate the birth of my first granddaughter, which will be soon enough. I have been seeking a suitable breeder for you for some time now, as a surprise.”

  Bloduewedd took another step closer to Beteria, who backed up warily, the point of her sword dropping a few inches. To Delinda’s eyes, Bloduewedd seemed to grow taller, and she realized the Rahntadrine was cloaking herself in a glamour for the purpose of intimidating her daughter.

  “There is no point trying to use your rahnta on me, Mother. I am of your line and can see through your deceptions.” Beteria’s confident words were belied by a tremor in her voice, and the sword dipped lower still. “You will not pass the rahnta as long as you are able to use it yourself, and after twenty years with your power entwined with the Eye of the Goddess, you probably could not survive without it in any case.”

  Bloduewedd shook her head and looked about to speak, but Beteria continued.

  “I gave up believing I would ever be more than one of your Reliants years ago. And now I realize it would be better to have no power at all than to be dependent on you for the crumbs you are willing to give, like those sniveling women who grovel at your feet and laugh at your jokes and pretend to hang on your every word.” Scorn filled Beteria’s voice and the tremor had vanished, but the sword remained lowered.

  “Ungrateful whelp,” hissed Beteria, all music gone from her voice. “I thought you would make such an excellent spy, as you have been sneaking around all your life. Cringing every time anyone raised their voice, hiding in your room with your cursed books and treating your slaves like houseguests. If you had shown one bit of spirit instead of whining and apologizing, I might have considered passing my power to you. But you were never meant to be a Rahntadrine. It isn’t in you.”

  “You were not meant to be a Rahntadrine either, Mother,” said Beteria. “You had to steal the title to get it, and use evil and manipulation to keep it. Delinda is the true Rahntadrine, and you know it.”

  This last statement was finally too much for Bloduewedd. Delinda felt the power rise in the room in a great cloud as, with an ear-piercing shriek, the furious woman launched herself at her daughter, her fingernails extended and tipped in what looked like blue flames.

  Beteria staggered back but before Bloduewedd could reach her, Delinda reached out with her own power, which had been steadily building since the moment Bloduewedd’s hands left her throat. Unaccustomed to sending her rahnta out without physically touching its object, she tried to engulf the Rahntadrine’s advancing form with power, managing to slow but not stop the enraged woman as she reached for her daughter. The moment’s hesitation was enough, however, for Beteria to bring her sword back up between herself and her attacker.

  Too late to stop her momentum, Bloduewedd threw herself forward directly onto the point, which pierced her abdomen just below the bottom edge of her armor. It slid through her until mother and daughter faced each other, separated only by Beteria’s hand and the hilt of the sword. Bloduewedd’s hands, still reaching toward Beteria’s face, fell away as she grabbed at the sword in her belly.

  Looking wordlessly at her daughter’s face, Bloduewedd slid backward, leaving the blade still in Beteria’s hand as she fell to the floor and landed on her back, staring toward the ceiling with sightless eyes.

  * * * * *

  Jeryl thundered toward the house, terrified of what he might find inside. The soldier and Delinda’s defenders looked up at the sound of pounding hooves. Seeing Jeryl, the defenders broke into delighted whoops and the soldier dropped her sword and raised her hands in surrender. Ignoring her, Jeryl spoke to one of the twins, who held a fireplace poker in one hand and what looked like a table leg in the other. “Is Delinda inside?” he asked, dismounting.

  “I think so,” she replied. “She was upstairs, but she may have come down when they broke through the window. There are about five other soldiers fighting our people inside the great hall.” She glanced at her companion, who was pointing a pair of tongs at the soldier uncertainly. “What should we do with her?” she asked Jeryl.

  “Find something to tie her up with and get back in the house,” said Jeryl. “The fighting in the fields has turned our way, I think.” So saying, he ducked into the house as the twin approached the enormous horse, eyeing the rope attached to the back of the saddle.

  Once inside, he was confused by the lack of light and the obvious sounds of close combat coming from the dimmer reaches of the hall. He felt his way along the wall to the next window, where he could feel a long piece of wood pulled through the handles of the shutters, effectively barring the window.

  Praying that Bloduewedd’s women were sufficiently occupied with the forces led by Cristof and Duwall and in no position to mount an invasion of the house, he pulled the plank free and shoved the shutters outward. More light streamed into the room, and he could now better see the source of the grunts and curses coming from the center of the room near the fireplace. He looked for Delinda and did not see her.

  He looked wildly up the staircase, and movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. Someone was on the gallery not far from the top of the staircase. He heard voices but could not tell what they were saying over the din of the fight below. He dashed toward the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. When he was halfway up, he heard a spine-rattling shriek of pain or fu
ry, he could not tell which.

  Jeryl reached the top and rounded the corner onto the gallery just in time to see a dark-haired body falling toward him. Startled, he looked down at the face that had landed at his feet. With a shock, he realized the sightless eyes into which he stared belonged to Bloduewedd. He looked up to see who had felled her, and found himself looking at a white-faced Beteria, who held a dripping sword between limp fingers. Even as he watched, the sword slipped from her hand as she stared into her mother’s lifeless face.

  “Beteria,” came a hoarse voice, and Jeryl’s head jerked to see the source of the sound. His eyes, now adjusted to the dim light, beheld a supine figure whose face was hidden from the light. At that moment, the door nearest the top of the staircase crashed open and light flooded the gallery. Jeryl saw Delinda, struggling to raise herself onto her elbows. She saw him in the same moment.

  Forgetting Beteria, forgetting everything but Delinda, Jeryl ran to her and landed on his knees, pulling her into his embrace. “Delinda, are you hurt? Have you been wounded? Please, tell me I am not too late!”

  “I am not wounded,” she managed to croak. “I am just trying to catch my breath. Can you help me up?”

  Jeryl heard a sound behind him and turned to see Ostyn, who was responsible for the sudden light pouring into the gallery from Delinda’s bedroom. He also rushed toward his employer, asking much the same questions as Jeryl had only a moment before. As Jeryl swept Delinda up and carefully placed her on her feet, her evident wellness reassured Ostyn and he switched from questions to a report.

  “The battle seems to have turned,” he said. “And most of the soldiers are running away. I opened the shutters and was coming to find you—” He stopped, suddenly realizing what Jeryl’s appearance meant. “Where is Letta? Wasn’t she with you? Is she unhurt?”

  “She was fine when I last saw her,” said Jeryl distractedly. He did not look at Ostyn, as his hands were busy touching Delinda’s face and hair, making sure she was indeed unharmed. “She was on the south side of the annex with Cristof.” Not waiting to ask about the unfamiliar name, Ostyn ran past Beteria and headed down the stairs.

  “Jeryl, I am really fine,” said Delinda, trying unsuccessfully to extricate herself from his grasp. She still sounded a little hoarse, and Jeryl frowned as he saw the finger-shaped bruises—some of which were edged by punctures from sharp fingernails—plainly visible on her creamy throat.

  “What has happened here?” he asked, tracing the wounds with one finger while his other arm remained firmly around her back, supporting most of her weight. “It looks as if someone tried to choke you.”

  “They do not hurt,” she said, truthfully. She gazed up into his green eyes and thought nothing would ever hurt again if she could remain thus. Her own amber eyes filled with tears. “You came back,” she said softly, reaching up to push the sun-burnished locks away from his forehead. “I thought I would never see you again, but you came back.”

  “I felt wrong as soon as the ship started to move,” he said. “I told myself I would feel better as I got closer to my home—my former home—but the truth is when I saw Letta standing on the beach, calling me back to shore, I knew instantly I never should have left you.” He leaned forward and kissed her very gently, but pulled back before his passion could rise and interrupt him. “And then when I found out you were under attack, I thought my heart would stop beating. Oh God, Delinda, if you had been lost…” Jeryl shuddered, and bent to kiss her again.

  “There is something I did not tell you, Jeryl,” said Delinda seriously. “When I thought I was going to die, I knew I had been wrong keeping it from you.”

  “I know, dearest, I know,” said Jeryl, placing one hand on her belly. “You are going to have my baby. I was afraid for you both, Delinda—you and the child. I could not let anything happen to either of you.” He reached his other arm around her and pulled her in for another kiss.

  Delinda felt herself melt in the tenderness of his embrace, when a sudden thought struck her and she stiffened. “Beteria!” she said, pulling back from his lips. “She saved me—Bloduewedd would have killed me if she hadn’t come.” They both turned to look at the young woman, whom they had both forgotten in their relief and agitation. She stood exactly as she had before, staring at her mother’s still form.

  “Beteria! Come away from there,” said Delinda, and Beteria wordlessly turned to face the pair. Her face was blank with shock.

  “Yes, Lora—er, I mean Beteria, come over here with us,” Jeryl coaxed. Beteria started to move toward them with a shuffling step. She had almost reached them when there was a sudden flash of movement behind her, and Bloduewedd rose like a specter, grasping the sword that Beteria had let fall. The glamour of the rahnta again surged around her and her eyes seemed to blaze with a red flame.

  As Jeryl and Delinda both gasped, the sword moved with a speed that defied the eye, and Beteria gave a start and looked down. The point of the sword protruded between her breasts, pushed through from the back.

  “Mother,” she whispered, as she sank to the floor, dead.

  Bloduewedd pulled the sword calmly from her daughter’s body and slowly raised it in front of her. “Quite a touching reunion,” she said. Her voice seemed to echo and resonate otherworldly. Her power danced around her, almost visible as it caused the air to shimmer and distort.

  “How like Morenna you are, to become overly attached to a male. It was almost impossible to talk her into giving up her boy-child, you know.” She advanced, the sword dripping blood even as it flickered as if reflecting flames. “I pretended to sympathize, and told her it would be better for the child in the long run. I kept him myself, and when he grew up I even took him into my bed. It would have been a fine piece of irony, you must agree, if he had gotten me with child.” She continued to advance. “You bought him at the auction that night. Did you bed him yourself?”

  “I’ve bedded no one but Jeryl since coming here,” said Delinda, wondering who the woman was talking about. She glanced at the bloody wound in Bloduewedd’s abdomen and wondered how the woman was able to move as if uninjured. Some trick of the dark rahnta, perhaps?

  Delinda felt Jeryl move away from her, almost imperceptibly, and felt the pressure of his arm leave her back. Now fully supporting her own weight, she was pleased she did not sway. She reached for hew own rahnta but felt only the dimmest answer. She had used the last of her strength in defense of Beteria, and now could not help herself or Jeryl—or their child inside her. At the thought of the child, her rahnta stirred, but still seemed to be just beyond her grasp.

  Jeryl watched Bloduewedd’s eyes, which were locked on Delinda’s. Without moving his head, he turned his own eyes to the floor where he had knelt to lift Delinda, verifying his sword still lay there and making careful note of the direction of the hilt and the blade. He knew he would have only one chance to grasp it and when he did, there would be nothing between Bloduewedd and Delinda for a few moments.

  He saw how the air shimmered and danced around Bloduewedd and knew what it meant. Could Delinda do this as well? At least long enough to prevent herself from being without defense while he regained his sword? He must take the chance, and try to communicate with her what he planned to do.

  Delinda felt Jeryl’s weight shift again, and felt his hand slide behind her back, where he squeezed her arm firmly before releasing his gasp. He means to attack, she realized. He wants me to be ready.

  With no way to tell Jeryl she did not think she could access her own power, she reached inward desperately for the rahnta. It felt like she was climbing a cliff and reaching for a handhold just inches beyond her fingertips. At that moment, Jeryl leaped.

  He flew diagonally across the space between Delinda and Bloduewedd, landing with his hand on the sword’s hilt and rolling to his feel like a carnival tumbler. He came up abreast with Bloduewedd, and instantly the bloody steel glinted red as it swung toward him, faster than he could duck.

  The second that Jeryl’s feet had l
eft the floor, Delinda had made a last, desperate mental leap toward her power and caught it firmly in her grasp. Without thinking, she flung it with all her strength at Bloduewedd, crying aloud, “STOP!”

  As Bloduewedd’s sword suddenly slowed as if flowing through some thick substance, Jeryl raised his own and swung it with both hands in an upward arc. It connected with the side of Bloduewedd’s neck and severed her head cleanly. It sailed over the gallery rail and toward the center of the great hall, where a few men and women still grappled, unaware of the drama above. Bloduewedd’s headless corpse toppled backward, spraying a great gush of blood. The shimmering air instantly stilled and the sounds of conflict below ceased.

  “Jeryl!” shouted Delinda, as she flung herself toward him. Dropping the sword, he turned to catch her. He felt all of her weight sink against him as her legs lost the last of their strength. “Oh, Jeryl,” she breathed as he pulled her against his chest. Together, they sank to their knees amid the blood and destruction of the fight on the gallery, and saw none of it for long moments.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “And then the Reliants just fainted and went down like felled trees, all at the same time,” said Letta, pausing to take a breath in her narrative. She was seated in one of the few chairs undamaged enough to remain upright, near a newly made fire in the great hall. Ostyn sat perched on the arm of the chair, seemingly reluctant to be more than a few feet away from her.

  Jeryl and Delinda sat opposite on a badly damaged sofa. Korin was at the other end of the room, seeing to some wounded men and women with the help of the Sheeling’s leechmaster, who had been impressed with her skills, both practical and magical, in the arts of healing. Those wounded who were well enough to make it upstairs had been sent to bed. The dead, fewer than Delinda had feared, were laid out in the stables for the time being. Tomorrow would be soon enough to see to them.

  “Yes, it is because both the Rahntadrine and the Eye of the Goddess are needed to channel the dark rahnta,” said Delinda. “When Bloduewedd died, it was pulled away from them suddenly.” She frowned. “I should have known she was not really dead, but I guess I had grown so used to always feeling the dark rahnta running through the back of my mind, like an insect humming, I did not realize it was still there—until it was gone. I might have saved Beteria.”