Read Online May Earth Rise by Holly Taylor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Holly Taylor
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flashed as Havgan descended the dais and came to stand before the wyrce-jaga. “Hild, you are not wise to remind us of our failures.”
“Your pardon, Lord,” Hild sobbed. “I, I did not mean—”
“No, I’m sure you did not.”
“Lord, please—”
But the blade flashed through the air to bury itself in the wyrce-jaga’s heart. Gram slid into the man’s chest, effortlessly parting flesh. Hild’s eyes widened as he stiffened in agony. Havgan kicked Hild off the blade and the wyrce-jaga crumpled at his feet. Gram dripped blood and Havgan cleaned the blade with the wyrce-jaga’s robe and then returned to his chair, still holding the unsheathed sword.
Warriors began to carry away Hild’s bloody body, and some knelt down on the flagstones to clean up the blood. Just then a warrior, sweat-slicked and panting, sprinted into the hall and flung himself at Havgan’s feet.
“Lord,” the warrior gasped. “I bring messages.”
“Get this man some ale,” Aelfwyn snapped, and the ale was instantly brought. She knelt down beside the warrior and made him drink.
“Lord,” the warrior said again when he could speak. “I bring news.”
“Tell it then,” Havgan said quietly.
“Your ships. Your ships are burning. All over the coasts of Kymru they burn. The Cerddorian. They come in the night like the wind, bringing fire. You have not one ship on this island that is whole.”
“He told you,” Arianrod murmured to Havgan, her face white and set. “He told you he would do this.”
“Arthur,” Aelfwyn agreed. “That night he came here. He said that if you would not leave, then you must stay and fight. And you refused to leave. And now it is too late.”
Sigerric, his dark eyes burning in his thin face, said, “It is not just that he prevents you from leaving. Do you understand that?”
“I do,” Havgan said steadily.
“Yes, husband,” Aelfwyn said sweetly. “With your ships burned, you cannot send for more warriors from Corania. The High King will fight you. And fight you with the warriors you have to hand, for there will be no more.”
“Oh, but there will,” Havgan said calmly.
“Impossible,” Aelfwyn snapped.
“You are wrong, Aelfwyn,” Havgan said with a serene smile. “Again.”
C
hapter
----
Three
Cadair Idris
Gwytheryn, Kymru
Helygen Mis & Onnen Mis, 500
Suldydd, Calan Morynion—early morning
D inaswyn ur Morvryn, one-time Dreamer of Kymru, reached the bottom of the stairs and hurried down the third level corridor, her heart beating fast. For Arthur had sent for her and she desperately hoped that the summons she had waited for had come at last.
Mabon, King of the Sun, she prayed, whom I have served for so long, please. Please, let me this once receive what I ask for. Let me receive what Gwydion promised me so very long ago. It is all that I ask. All that is left to me.
She stood still for a moment outside the door of the garden room. Surreptitiously she wiped her clammy palms on her black dress. She touched her long, silvery hair, held back from her face by a band of fiery opals. Schooling herself to show nothing of her feelings, her gray eyes hardened and cooled. And then she was ready.
She stepped in the room, taking in her surroundings at a glance. The walls were bathed in gold and the circular room was brilliantly lit from the same unknown light source that lit all of Cadair Idris. Jewels winked from the fronts of the seven doors set at intervals around the chamber. Behind each door, she knew, was a small chamber dedicated to the various gods and goddesses of Kymru. Each door was carved with the symbol for that deity and outlined with the appropriate gems, and next to each door grew that tree associated with the god or goddess. The Stewards said that the golden light helped the trees to stay strong, even without sunlight.
The yew tree, for Annwyn, Lord of Chaos, and the hazel tree for his mate, Aertan, Weaver of Fate, stood beside the door decorated with
“Your pardon, Lord,” Hild sobbed. “I, I did not mean—”
“No, I’m sure you did not.”
“Lord, please—”
But the blade flashed through the air to bury itself in the wyrce-jaga’s heart. Gram slid into the man’s chest, effortlessly parting flesh. Hild’s eyes widened as he stiffened in agony. Havgan kicked Hild off the blade and the wyrce-jaga crumpled at his feet. Gram dripped blood and Havgan cleaned the blade with the wyrce-jaga’s robe and then returned to his chair, still holding the unsheathed sword.
Warriors began to carry away Hild’s bloody body, and some knelt down on the flagstones to clean up the blood. Just then a warrior, sweat-slicked and panting, sprinted into the hall and flung himself at Havgan’s feet.
“Lord,” the warrior gasped. “I bring messages.”
“Get this man some ale,” Aelfwyn snapped, and the ale was instantly brought. She knelt down beside the warrior and made him drink.
“Lord,” the warrior said again when he could speak. “I bring news.”
“Tell it then,” Havgan said quietly.
“Your ships. Your ships are burning. All over the coasts of Kymru they burn. The Cerddorian. They come in the night like the wind, bringing fire. You have not one ship on this island that is whole.”
“He told you,” Arianrod murmured to Havgan, her face white and set. “He told you he would do this.”
“Arthur,” Aelfwyn agreed. “That night he came here. He said that if you would not leave, then you must stay and fight. And you refused to leave. And now it is too late.”
Sigerric, his dark eyes burning in his thin face, said, “It is not just that he prevents you from leaving. Do you understand that?”
“I do,” Havgan said steadily.
“Yes, husband,” Aelfwyn said sweetly. “With your ships burned, you cannot send for more warriors from Corania. The High King will fight you. And fight you with the warriors you have to hand, for there will be no more.”
“Oh, but there will,” Havgan said calmly.
“Impossible,” Aelfwyn snapped.
“You are wrong, Aelfwyn,” Havgan said with a serene smile. “Again.”
C
hapter
----
Three
Cadair Idris
Gwytheryn, Kymru
Helygen Mis & Onnen Mis, 500
Suldydd, Calan Morynion—early morning
D inaswyn ur Morvryn, one-time Dreamer of Kymru, reached the bottom of the stairs and hurried down the third level corridor, her heart beating fast. For Arthur had sent for her and she desperately hoped that the summons she had waited for had come at last.
Mabon, King of the Sun, she prayed, whom I have served for so long, please. Please, let me this once receive what I ask for. Let me receive what Gwydion promised me so very long ago. It is all that I ask. All that is left to me.
She stood still for a moment outside the door of the garden room. Surreptitiously she wiped her clammy palms on her black dress. She touched her long, silvery hair, held back from her face by a band of fiery opals. Schooling herself to show nothing of her feelings, her gray eyes hardened and cooled. And then she was ready.
She stepped in the room, taking in her surroundings at a glance. The walls were bathed in gold and the circular room was brilliantly lit from the same unknown light source that lit all of Cadair Idris. Jewels winked from the fronts of the seven doors set at intervals around the chamber. Behind each door, she knew, was a small chamber dedicated to the various gods and goddesses of Kymru. Each door was carved with the symbol for that deity and outlined with the appropriate gems, and next to each door grew that tree associated with the god or goddess. The Stewards said that the golden light helped the trees to stay strong, even without sunlight.
The yew tree, for Annwyn, Lord of Chaos, and the hazel tree for his mate, Aertan, Weaver of Fate, stood beside the door decorated with
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