The Emerald Flame (12 page)

“And how was it you met with Skur Bloodax?” asked Rhodri.

Asta slowed, staring ahead and looking alarmed.

Branwen’s companions were gathered a little farther along the valley; the sight of them seemed to have made Asta uneasy.

“They are my friends,” Branwen assured her. “Come, be at ease; your tribulations are at an end.”

Iwan and the girls of Gwylan Canu eyed Asta with interest as they approached. Branwen introduced them, but Asta’s attention seemed fixed on the sprawling corpse of Skur Bloodax, the blood already blackening in his wounds.

Fain was on the ground close by, tearing with his beak at something gripped in his claws. Branwen chose not to look too closely at what meat the falcon had found to eat. There was nothing reserved about his appetite.

Aberfa and Banon stepped aside as Asta walked forward, her jaw set, her eyes glinting. For a few moments she stood silently over the fallen warrior, her body rigid, her clenched fists trembling.

“Monster!” she hissed at last. “May Sleipnir bear you swift to Hel’s dark kingdom!” Then she spat upon him and turned away. “You asked how I came to be in his thrall,” she said to Branwen. “It happened this way. We got word that a fearsome warrior had set sail from Oslofjord in the Norselands, summoned by King Oswald to be the spearhead of his attack on your lands. My father greeted Skur Bloodax well when he made landfall on Lindisfarne—little knowing that after he had dined and supped at his hearth, the vile cur would ride south with me as his unwilling servant!”

“Your father allowed you to be taken away?” asked Linette.

“He is old and frail,” said Asta, her head bridling with sudden pride. “And yet he stood at the gate of our home with sword in hand and had to be beaten to the ground senseless before Skur could depart.”

“That was a brave act,” said Iwan, glancing at Skur. “I doubt that many men would have the courage to stand against such as he! And did your father
survive Skur’s attack, do you know?”

“I do not,” said Asta. “His head was bloody when last I saw him, staring back in misery as Skur dragged me across the causeway to the mainland.” Tears ran down her cheeks, but Branwen guessed these were more from anger than grief. “And it has been ten days and more since I was taken from him, and I have been forced to walk with my hands roped together while Skur rode at his ease into the south.”

“And where was he heading, do you know?” asked Banon.

“His intent was to meet up with a thain named Horsa Herewulf Ironfist in a great encampment outside the town of Chester,” said Asta.

“Then he would have been doubly disappointed!” said Dera. “For not only did he lose his right path, but had he come to that camp, he would have found General Ironfist absent—never to return!”

Asta looked puzzled.

“You have come too far; this place is to the southwest of Chester,” Rhodri explained. “Another half a day of travel and you would have entered the kingdom of Powys!”

“And as for Herewulf Ironfist,” added Iwan, “Branwen slew him in battle not two days ago!”

“And now she has also killed Skur!” said Asta, her eyes shining as she looked at Branwen. “I guess that you are more than you seem, Branwen. Little more than a maiden, you look—and yet you must be a formidable warrior!”

“Indeed so!” declared Blodwedd. “Branwen is the beloved of the Shining Ones. She has a high destiny, and all we who are gathered here are her faithful followers.”

Asta stared around the band, her eyes wide, her lips parted in wonder. At last her gaze fell on Branwen again.

“And what
is
your destiny, Branwen?” she asked breathlessly.

“To rout the Saxons and to make the borders of Brython safe …,” Branwen said. She paused, allowing herself an embarrassed smile of self-deprecation. “… apparently …”

“You would be astounded if we were to tell you what she has already accomplished!” said Linette. “She has ferocious allies. Why, in the battle at Gwylan Canu, when all seemed lost—”

“We have no time for telling stories,” Branwen interrupted her. “To horse, and away to Chester.” She turned to Asta. “You are free to go where you will. It is a long journey back to your home, but I wish you well in it. You may keep for your own the Viking’s steed and all the provisions he had.”

Asta looked bewildered. “I do not know the way home,” she said.

“Branwen, she is
Saxon!”
Dera said sharply. “Her loyalties are not ours; we cannot simply let her go on her way! She knows too much of us.”

“I am not a Saxon,” protested Asta. “I am …” Her voice faded suddenly away.

“A Viking!” prompted Aberfa, her brows lowered. “Yes, you are indeed.”

“I mean you no harm!” Asta cried, staring around at them. “You rescued me from Skur; it would be mean-spirited indeed for me to repay you with treachery.” Branwen frowned. Dera had a point. Asta was not of their cause; her loyalties must lie with her father’s master, with King Oswald of Northumbria. And they were in enemy territory on a mission that only stealth and surprise would accomplish.

“We have killed an enemy and released his captive—only to find that she too is an enemy … of sorts,” Iwan said, looking closely into Asta’s perturbed face. “What are we to do? We cannot release her, and we do not have the time to take her to a place where she can be safely kept.” He looked at Branwen, raising an eyebrow. “A weighty decision for a leader to make.”

“We must be sure that she cannot threaten our mission,” said Dera. “I see only two choices.”

“And what are those, in your opinion?” Rhodri asked.

“She must be rendered harmless, or she must be killed,” Dera said.

“No!” Asta wailed, backing away. Aberfa stepped up behind her and caught her by the elbows, her two strong hands holding her steady.

“That is a harsh sentence!” murmured Banon. “To save only to slaughter?”

“We cannot kill her!” said Rhodri, his voice shocked.

“How can we make her harmless?” Branwen asked, looking at Dera.

“If she has no tongue, she cannot tell our enemies of us,” Blodwedd said, staring unblinkingly into Asta’s frightened face. “And if that is not thought sufficient, her eyes could be put out. A dumb and sightless enemy is little threat.”

“Blodwedd!” Rhodri looked at her, appalled. “We cannot maim her for fear of what she
might
do!”

“Would you rather we kill her?” Blodwedd asked, seemingly puzzled by his anger.

“Kinder to put a sword through her heart,” said Dera. “But whatever we choose, it should be swiftly done. It’s cruelty indeed to make her suffer more than need dictates.”

Asta stopped struggling in Aberfa’s powerful grip. She straightened her back, her chin up as she looked into Branwen’s face. “I’ll not beg for my life,” she said, her voice firm but filled with fear. “Do what you will if you cannot put your faith in my gratitude! But if I am given the choice, a sword to the heart is my final wish.”

“There you have it,” said Dera. “A compassionate sword to end all doubt. She asks for it herself.”

“We cannot kill her like this!” Rhodri was adamant.

“Silence!” Branwen snapped. “No more words.” She paused, thinking hard, knowing she must assert
her leadership before the dissent among her followers grew out of control. “The decision is mine to make,” she said. “For our own safety we cannot let her go free, but I will not have her killed. There is another way to render the Viking harmless. Troublesome as it may be, we shall take her with us.”

“Then she should be blindfolded and hobbled,” Dera said doubtfully.

“Bind me and blindfold me if you must,” said Asta with new hope. “But I can be useful to you. I have no experience in warfare, although I can shoot an arrow into a straw target. But in other ways than warfare, I will serve you well.” She looked eagerly at Branwen. “I have skills that will be of use to you—all of you. I can cook, and I am able to patch and mend damaged garments. I speak the Saxon language—you may find that an invaluable gift in these lands.”

“We already have tokens that will allow us to understand the Saxon tongue,” Dera said.

“But not to speak it,” Linette added. “If she can be trusted, a speaker of Saxon may come in very useful in Chester.”

“If
she can be trusted!” said Aberfa.

“It would be madness indeed to allow her to enter Chester with us!” said Dera. “One word from her and we’d have a whole army about our ears!”

“We shall not take her into Chester,” said Branwen. “And she need not be bound if she is kept under constant guard.”

“I will vouch for her,” said Rhodri. “Put her in
my keeping. Blodwedd and I will see that she cannot escape.”

“This is yet more madness!” growled Dera. “Would we welcome a scorpion into our midst to sting us to death in our sleep? Kill her now and be done with her!”

“No,” Branwen said. “I won’t have her blood on my hands without absolute need. She was brought here against her will. She is an innocent in the doings of this war.” She turned to Blodwedd. “I put her into
your
keeping,” she said to the owl-girl. “She will be your responsibility. Are you willing?”

“I am,” said Blodwedd. “If she transgresses in any way, I will kill her.”

“I know you will,” said Branwen.

Branwen looked at the others. “Is anyone ill at ease with my decision?”

Dera pressed her lips into a thin white line but said nothing. Rhodri looked relieved. Iwan smiled, as though the whole affair had been put on for his amusement.

Aberfa let Asta loose. Rubbing her arms, Asta stepped up to Branwen, her face solemn.

“I will not betray you,” she said. “My word on it!”

“To horse!” Branwen called, ignoring Asta as she strode toward where Stalwyn and the other animals stood waiting. “Enough time has been wasted! We ride to Chester!”

“I
HAD NOT
expected it to be so large,” Branwen murmured as she gazed out from the summit of a long, forested fold in the land. “So many fires—so many lights! How many thousands must this place give shelter to?”

Night had come, swifter than Branwen might have wished; and they were still on their way when the sun set behind them and darkness swept the Mercian plain. But the news was not all bad—Fain had recently returned from a scouting mission with heartening tidings.

Blodwedd had translated his excited cries: ahead of them the land lifted in a long, gentle hill mantled in deep forest; but beyond that rise, the plain fell suddenly into a marshy valley through which a wide river flowed northward. And not far along the
looping course of that river, as the falcon wings it, lay a great gathering of buildings. Chester, for sure!

The travelers had wound their way up through the trees and so had come within sight of the ancient town. Night softened and obscured its contours, but even at a distance Branwen saw by the multitude of lights that twinkled and flickered and shone in the darkness that it must be a formidably vast settlement.

“I told you it was big,” said Rhodri, his horse close beside hers.

“You did,” she agreed.

“What is our intent?” asked Dera, leaning over her saddlebow and peering at the faraway lights. “To slip into the town with the night as our ally?”

“I would not advocate such a course,” said Iwan. “Daylight is a better friend to the thief than is the night.”

“How can that be so?” asked Dera.

“Because a stranger seen walking the streets in broad daylight may have many innocent purposes,” Iwan replied. “But an outsider prowling the town at dead of night is the more to be suspected of nefarious deeds.”

“That’s wise,” said Linette.

“Of course it is,” said Iwan.

“But won’t Merion’s stones protect us from being seen?” asked Banon.

“Not entirely,” said Branwen. “And I agree with Iwan—it’s too dangerous to enter by night. Far better
to mingle with the townsfolk tomorrow and thus be in a position to hear their chatter. Our first purpose here is to learn of the one-eyed warrior. Who is there to overhear when doors are barred and only the guardians of the walls are abroad?” She shook her head. “No. We will sleep tonight in the forest and try our luck in the morning.”

“And who shall enter Chester?” asked Dera. “There are only six stones, yet there are eight of us—seven if Blodwedd is to stay behind and watch over the Viking.”

“I’ll decide in the morning,” Branwen said, tweaking the reins and turning Stalwyn away from the hill’s edge. “We cannot risk a fire for cooking; it may be seen. But let us find a fit place to spend the night.” So saying, she rode Stalwyn back under the trees. But even in the deep dark of the forest, the myriad lights of Chester lit a bright and sleepless fire in her mind.

Branwen dreamed that she was walking through the alder forest again, trudging up a long slope, her shoulders bowed, her body steeped in blood, her fingers and hair dripping red. Alone. Weary almost to death. Skur lay vanquished behind her in the valley, and it was night.

She recognized her surroundings although the scale was wrong: the hill was taller and steeper; the trees around her soared to impossible heights. And as
she plodded up the hill, she left deep footprints that immediately filled with blood.

She came to that same spring of water and that same hollow stone where she had washed herself. But now the spring had grown and swollen to a waterfall, and the pool was a wide, round lake under the star-swept night sky. The full moon shone bright in the high middle of the sky, throwing down a perfect reflection of itself onto the lake. The hugest full moon that Branwen had ever seen.

Standing for a moment on the stone lip of the lake, she took a breath and dived into the water. It was cold and it stung, but she reveled in the way the blood was rinsed from her body.

She swam for a while, clean and refreshed. She turned onto her back and floated easily, gazing up into the pocked face of the moon, high above her.

“Branwen! It will not suffice!” A high, female voice.

Puzzled, she struck out for the bank and clambered onto dry land, her clothes clinging, her hair hanging in her eyes.

There was no one there.

She lifted her hand to pull the hair out of her eyes.