Passions of the Ghost (20 page)

Her black eyes closed, and she dozed. Gathering strength for the confrontation with her enemy and dreaming of the past.

It was Jez who found them. They’d returned
to Amy’s room so that Rey could put on his armor and other paraphernalia, while Amy dressed warmly for the freezing night ahead.

Although, if the dragon comes, I’ll be warm,
she told herself.
Warmer than I’d like.

She opened her mouth to share her black humor with Rey, but one glance at his serious face and grim mouth changed her mind. He might die tonight; they might all die. It wasn’t really something to joke about.

That was when Jez arrived at the door.

He was wired, his eyes bright and his smile brighter, and he couldn’t seem to stay still. Amy knew then that he had it. He met her gaze and, with a grin, held out his hand and wriggled his fingers.

“You’re wearing it!” she gasped. “Jez, for God’s sake…”

He laughed. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Rey gave him a stern look. “You have risked your soul for a bauble.”

“Yeah, well, my soul is pretty much a dead loss anyway, and the ring will get me out of trouble. Who knows, maybe I’ll make a clean start. Get a proper job, like Amy.”

“I wish you would. You could do anything you liked, Jez.”

He calmed, and now his smile was rueful. “I heard that O’Neill was on the phone talking to Coster about me.”

“He knows you’re here?” Amy’s eyes widened. “When he hears about the ring, he’ll come after you. Jez, you know he’ll see it as his chance to put you away!”

“He can try. I intend to be long gone by then.”

But although he dismissed it so easily, Amy knew he was worried; otherwise, he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

“So.” Jez was rubbing his hands together. “What’s the agenda?”

“Rey is going to be the bait this time,” Amy replied evenly, pretending she wasn’t petrified at the thought of it. “He’s going up to the north tower, so we need you to rig up some sort of spotlight. Then, when the dragon comes, it’ll see him and…”

She closed her eyes. “Isn’t there another way?” she whispered. “Isn’t there someone else?”

“No.” It was Rey. “There is no one else.”

She looked at him, seeing him as he was, and was overwhelmed with love for him. She’d never love another man like this. He was her soul mate, the husband of her heart.

“I can’t bear it,” she said, her voice trembling.

He reached for her and held her fast, despite his armor and padding, and all the things that made him a warrior lord in the thirteenth century. This, she thought, was what it must be like for those wives and lovers, when their men went off to battle. This was what it meant to send your man off, not knowing whether or not you’d ever see him again.

After a moment, she took a steadying breath, then another, and finally pulled away from him and stood alone. “I’m all right,” she said.

He cupped her chin, lifting her face, and scrutinizing it with those quicksilver eyes. “You are brave,” he told her. “Good. I need you to be brave, Amy, so that I, too, can be brave.”

“You’re always brave,” she whispered.

“No. Not always. With you at my side, though, I know I can do this. I can defeat my enemy.”

“So that you can go back to the past, and I’ll never see you again.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t let him.

“No, Rey. It’s true. We must accept it. I don’t believe in miracles. These will be our final few hours together, and apart from dreams, what we say and do and feel now will have to last us for the rest of our lives.”

After a moment, embarrassed at being a spectator to so much raw emotion, Jez cleared his throat. “Okay. Maybe we should get going. It’s eight o’clock, and the dragon-calling is supposed to start at nine…”

Amy nodded and turned away. “Come on, then,” she said, putting on her new brave face. “Let’s show that dragon what we’re made of!”

Jez caught up with her at the elevator.

“Amy, isn’t there another way to do this?”

“No.”

“I hate to think…”

“Yes, well, better if you don’t. Can you do the spotlight?”

“Yes. You know I can. I used to be a lighting director at Drury Lane—in another life.”

“You were good at it. Why didn’t you—”

“I don’t know. Saw a quick chance and took it, I suppose.”

“You don’t want to end up like Dad, Jez. You don’t want to be a sad old man who’s spent his best years locked away.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You know what I mean. You can’t go on like this forever. I don’t want my only brother to be someone I visit in prison every month.”

“He really has got to you, hasn’t he?” he said sarcastically, jerking his head back to Rey.

Amy frowned. “This has nothing to do with Rey. I’ve felt like this for ages. I just haven’t had the guts to say it.”

Rey joined them, eyeing the elevator uneasily. Ironic, Amy thought, that he was afraid of this convenience of the modern age, yet was ready and willing to face a fire-breathing dragon.

In the reception area, where the guests were already gathering, the drinks were flowing very freely, and they were in a boisterous mood.

As soon as they saw Rey step out of the elevator in his coat of armor, they gave a rousing cheer.

Coster, seeing them, hurried up. “What are you doing?” he demanded in a low voice, giving Rey and his longbow an uneasy look. “I don’t think you should take part. You’ve already made it plain what you think of the dragon-calling. I don’t want anyone upset.”

“He’s here to save us from the dragon,” Amy retorted. “This is your fault. If anyone gets killed, it will be on your head.”

Coster laughed nervously. “Yes, well, I hardly think—”

“Do you know what a dragon can do?” Amy shouted.

Someone in the crowd overheard and, thinking it was a joke, called back, “Make a fantastic barbecue!”

More laughter. They were in a festive mood, and not taking anything seriously. Frustrating as it was, Amy knew that a few days ago she would have been exactly the same.

“I’ve called the police,” Coster said, cold now, more sure of himself. “They’ll be here very soon.”

Jez shuffled closer to Amy. “You know what this means?” he muttered.

“How can the police get into the castle,” Amy retorted, “when no one here can get out!”

“With a helicopter.” Coster smirked. “Yes, they believe it’s
that
serious. So, I repeat, no more trouble, please. I’m aware that you’ve been deceiving me and my staff. This man,” he nodded at Rey, “is no more a Hollywood actor than I am. Steven Spielberg, indeed! The police will sort it out. In the meantime, the dragon-calling will be starting soon, and I want it to go off smoothly.”

“I hope the dragon knows that,” Amy said, getting in the last word.

But Rey was tired of their talk. He set off with his long, no-nonsense stride toward the north tower, and Amy and Jez followed.

Reynald was feeling dizzy. His head was
spinning like that of a dog chasing its own tail, and his legs were heavy, growing heavier with each step. At first he thought that it was because of the tension of his predicament, then it dawned on him that this was part of the dragon’s plot to best him. The apparition with the light, the fainting…they were all connected.

“Amy,” he said, and his voice sounded dry and husky. Suddenly she was by his side, or perhaps she had been there all along. “Amy…”

She seemed to know what was wrong, because she slipped beneath his arm to prop him up, at the same time calling frantically for Jez. Then he felt Jez on his other side, supporting him, complaining about his size.

“You need to lie down.” Amy was urging him to turn back.

“No,” he shouted, or thought he did. It was probably little more than a whisper. “This is the dragon’s doing. Just as before. Trying to stop me. I must go on. You have the longbow…?”

“I have it,” Jez assured him. “And the arrows.”

“Keep going,” Reynald panted. “Whatever happens. We must reach the north tower in time.”

His head was spinning worse than ever, and he was spinning with it, around and around, back through the years. Back to that day in 1299, when all seemed possible.

“This is Angharad, Your Grace. My interpreter.” He heard his own voice, as he introduced Angharad to his guests.

Angharad curtsied to the bishop, but he barely glanced at her. Important men like him didn’t notice old women with gray hair and sunken faces, especially when they were peasants. No doubt Angharad had seen it all before. No one paid her much heed.

He was the only one who had ever troubled to listen to her and take her seriously. He was fond of her, too, a fact that amused her, although he didn’t understand why. There were many things about Angharad that he did not understand.

“Great men,” she said, when the bishop had moved on, “how can they understand the suffering of ordinary folk? How do they know how it feels to lose the one dearest to you, or comprehend the suffering of having one’s heart cleaved in two?”

“You have suffered such a loss?”

“My daughter,” she said quietly.

“I am sorry for it, Angharad. But today you should put away your memories and celebrate. This is a great day for us all, a great triumph.”

She said nothing.

“No more talk of dragons among the Welsh?”

“No more talk of dragons, my lord.”

He nodded, and stared off into the distance.

“Do you know what they say, the Welsh? How to kill a dragon?” Her own words seemed to startle her, and she looked up into his eyes, her own dark and empty. Secretive.

Puzzled, he shook his head.

“An arrow, my lord, to that spot just below the breastbone. That is the only way to kill a dragon.”

“I will remember it, Angharad.” He smiled.

“The Welsh are expert longbowmen,” she added. “Only a Welshman can kill a dragon.”

He felt crestfallen, then he shrugged. “I am improving,” he offered.

“Aye,” she allowed him.

But the seed had been sown. He would fail when the time came. Her words would come back to him and his hand would tremble and his eyesight would blur. Angharad had poisoned him just as surely as if she’d offered him a cup of hemlock.

Reynald came to himself, and he knew. The doubts, the confusion, were gone, and the truth was as clear and remarkable as Amy’s green eyes. He looked about him and realized he was leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell, and Amy was touching his face as she spoke to him in a soft, worried tone.

When he blinked and shook himself, like a dog who’s been swimming in a cold river, she gave a cry of relief. “Rey, what happened? We couldn’t hold you up any longer, and Jez needed to get the spotlight fixed up. You’ve been out of it for so long!”

“How long?” He wiped a hand over his eyes, feeling the sweat on his brow. His body was weak and tired, but he refused to give in to it and let
her
win. Not now he knew she was responsible. Not again.

“It’s five minutes to nine,” Amy told him quietly.

So near to the dragon-calling!

“It was Angharad,” he said grimly. “This is all her perfidy.” He began climbing the stairs as fast as he could manage, with Amy at his back.

“Angharad? What do you mean? What just happened?” she said.

“I was…remembering, or maybe it was a dream. It was the day of the peace, and I was speaking with Angharad. She said things…I didn’t realize then what she meant, but it was as if she wanted me to know.”

“Know what?” Amy didn’t sound as if she thought what he was saying was the most interesting thing she’d ever heard.

“Angharad was my enemy, damsel,” he said grimly, and turned his head to giving her a piercing look over his shoulder. “She plotted to kill me. Revenge for some wrong I had wrought upon her. Her heart had been cleaved in two when someone she loved was taken from her.”

“Do you mean she plotted with the dragon?”

“No. I think that she
is
the dragon.”

“Oh God, you mean…?”

“Aye, Angharad and the dragon are one and the same.”

It made an awful sense. Angharad had pretended to work with him, when in reality she was working against him and seeking to take his land back. What better way for his enemy to triumph, than for her to enter his camp and pretend to be his friend?

Just like Morwenna with her dagger.

Morwenna and Angharad. Both his enemies. Both wanting him dead. In his head he heard Amy’s voice,
Do dragons have children?

“It is Morwenna the dragon is avenging,” he said with absolute certainty. “Morwenna was Angharad’s daughter—her beloved. Angharad sent her to me to kill me, and instead Morwenna died. That is why she hates me.”

Amy drew a relieved breath as they reached the last step. “But how do you know this, Rey?”

“My heart tells me so.”

She looked at him a moment, as if there were lots of things she would like to say, but there wasn’t time.

“Amy!” Jez’s cry startled him, and Reynald staggered, his head beginning to spin again. Amy’s brother appeared before him, and held out a hand to Reynald, using his strength to help him through the door and onto the roof.

“I’m nearly finished,” Jez said, panting with the effort. “Just a couple of adjustments. Sorry the light isn’t as bright as we hoped, but it should do. You’ll stand out, that’s for sure,” he added, straight-faced.

Reynald strode to the battlements, working hard not to appear anything other than his normal self, and peered over into the castle yard. It took him a moment to clear the clouds from his vision, but he could hear the guests laughing and chattering. Finally, when he could see again, he realized they were crowded together under an ornately draped roof of canvas, close to some braziers, while they waited for the show to begin.

His gaze lifted. The lights of the keep were blazing, and there was music coming from somewhere, a Christmas song that sounded suspiciously like “Jingle Bells.” The snow had finally stopped, and although the night was bitterly cold, it was clear. Stars shone out in the midnight blue sky, and high above there was the flash of lights.

“Jesu, what is that?” he asked sharply, pointing up.

Amy followed his direction. “A plane,” she said. Then, realizing who she was talking to, “It flies. Much quicker than a horse, Rey. Could be going to Paris or Madrid or Rome. People travel the world regularly these days, which makes it seem a much smaller place.”

It was beautiful, he thought with surprise. He had been considering this time as inferior to his own, but suddenly he saw it through new eyes. He had learned much here. There were parts of this world he could apply to his own, and others he would be glad to discard, but nothing he had seen and done would be wasted.

Suddenly Coster’s voice rose up from below, calling everyone to silence. “We are very lucky tonight,” he began.

There was a sound approaching. Distracted, Reynald looked toward the gatehouse. The sound grew louder, a humming that seemed to vibrate in the stones beneath his feet. There was something coming, a dark shape, with red glowing eyes. Reynald felt his heartbeat begin to slow, felt his body preparing itself for the confrontation.

“It’s a helicopter,” Amy said loudly, above the noise.

“A police helicopter,” Jez corrected her. “Damn him, I hoped he was bluffing.”

“What is that?” Reynald whispered. “Is it the plane you spoke of?”

“Sort of. It’s a…a flying machine,” Amy explained lamely. “There’ll be men in it, men who will want to talk to you, Rey. They may even arrest you and take you away with them. It’s not good,” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “Not good at all.”

“I cannot go,” Rey protested. “The dragon is coming. Do they not realize that?”

“No. I don’t think they do.”

Jez clapped him on the back, and shouted above the incredible noise of the helicopter. “Don’t worry, I’ll head them off. Here, Amy, this is the control for the light. Just flick this switch down when it’s time for lights on, and back up again when you want them off.”

“Jez? Why are you—”

He grinned. “I want Rey to see my good side,” he joked.

The helicopter was so loud now it drowned out all other sound, and the wind from the rotors made it difficult to stand upright as it passed close over them. It circled the castle and landed outside, on a flat piece of land beyond the moat. Anxiously, they watched as several men spilled from it and began to move toward the gatehouse and the drawbridge.

“How did Coster get so many of them here so soon?” Amy shouted. “Was he really so afraid that the complaints of a few minor celebs would cause him adverse publicity?”

She looked around, to see what Jez thought, but he was gone.

Now that the helicopter was silent, Rey could hear Coster again. He was introducing the dragon-caller, a smallish man in a white tunic that was decorated with a pattern of stars and moons. “This is Mr. Davies, a Druid, who has been calling dragons since he was a boy.”

There was a titter of laughter.

“He must be freezing,” Amy murmured.

“…will not harm you…” Davies’ voice rose and fell. “…do not be afraid…”

Then Davies produced a musical instrument of some sort—a whistle or a flute, it was too far away to tell—and began to play.

The sound was plaintive. Not really a tune at all, but an odd collection of notes, rising and falling, that somehow came together. At first it was slow, like a dirge, then it began to quicken, swirling and echoing around the walls of the castle, getting louder, calling out for the dragon to come.

“Will it work?” Amy whispered, shivering with more than the cold.

She saw that Rey was staring out over the darkened landscape with a sort of expectant stillness.
He is waiting,
she realized. The knowledge that it was really happening raised her fear level considerably.

The music had slowed again, and now it held a beseeching note. It really did seem to be calling.

“She is coming,” Rey murmured.

Amy peered anxiously in the same direction, but she couldn’t see anything. Certainly no loud engine noises, like the helicopter, or whirring rotor blades and flashing lights. All she could hear was the eerie sound of the flute, and beyond that a thick blanket of silence.

“Where? I can’t see anything.”

“I feel her.”

Amy frowned. He was looking down over the ravine, which was as black as pitch, nothing like the green swathe of pine trees and bare deciduous trees you could see growing there during daylight.

She opened her mouth to question him again, then she felt it, too.

Something dark at the outer reaches of her mind, stirring, growing stronger as it drew nearer.

“Oh dear God,” she breathed. “She
is
coming.”

“Be ready with the light, Amy,” he said urgently.

“Don’t worry, Jez put it over there.”

“When the light is on, you must run. I want you to run, Amy. That is an order.”

“No.”

“I order you to run,” he said angrily, in the way he probably spoke to his garrison to make them do as he told them. But Amy wasn’t afraid of him, and she had no intention of running anywhere.

“Tough,” she said. “I’m staying. You need me. This is our big moment together, and there’s no way I’m running off and leaving you to steal the glory for yourself.”

He laughed. He actually laughed at her black humor.

And then she heard it. The flap of heavy wings. There was a tremendous roar, and fire spat across the dark sky. The dragon was momentarily illuminated, and it took her breath away. It was huge, much bigger than she’d remembered from their brief encounter in the tunnel. The head was long and square at the snout, while the tail was whiplike, narrow, with an arrow tip.

In the instant when it was lit up, she imagined she could see Angharad’s black eyes staring back at her, and the wave of hatred that came from them, into her mind, paralyzed her with shock and trepidation.

A cheer went up from below in the bailey, and some of the crowd ran toward the drawbridge, while others climbed the steps onto the walls, to get a better view.

“Dear God, they think it’s part of the show,” Amy whispered hoarsely, the best she could do. “They’ll stand there and clap until it comes over and incinerates them.”

She’d hardly finished speaking, when the dragon spat out another gob of fire and smoke, but this time it spewed out for a greater distance, singeing the tops of a copse of trees in a field beyond the castle. Flames caught in the bare branches and flared, briefly, making a spectacular show.