gift.”
“What use is knowledge without understanding?”
“It is… your life’s blood.” The words cost him dear. Gwydion drew in one last rattling breath, then his head slumped to one side.
A thousand frogs scrambled forward and plunged into the dark water. Without looking back, Alwenna strode across the causeway as the priests released Weaver. She reached the main chamber as the last of the frogs disappeared underwater, leaving nothing but ripples perturbing the surface.
“Are you hurt?” Weaver reached out to support her, but she pushed him away. Drew gaped as she dashed headlong past him down the narrow passage that had caused her so much difficulty earlier. Weaver followed.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the Holy Well. There she stooped over the stone basin: not to drink, but to wash her hands, over and over. Finally she sat back on the grassy bank of the stream that overflowed from the basin. Weaver went to sit beside her, but not too close.
She tucked her knees up and wrapped her arms about them, hunching forward and staring at the water. “I suppose you’re going to say you told me so.”
“No. But I should have stopped him.”
She picked up a twig and began snapping it into short lengths. “Do you think Tresilian meant that to happen?”
This was the point to admit he had no idea what he’d just witnessed. “Garrad said Gwydion was much changed.”
She shrugged. “It’s done now. But I don’t know what to believe. If he was telling the truth about Tresilian, then…”
“He was playing on your fears, my lady. That’s what these mystics do. We’ve seen no proof.” He’d said himself Highkell would fall swiftly, but this wasn’t the time to remind her of that.
She raised a hand to her face and rubbed her eyes, then she threw the pieces of twig into the water, watching them bob away. “Proof? I suppose you heard what he had to say about you.”
“I heard.”
Abruptly, she jumped to her feet. “I need to walk. My mind’s too full.”
With a sigh Weaver stood up and followed her, warrior-turned-lapdog.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vasic sat in the carved chair that had once been his cousin’s. He scowled at the fire roaring in the hearth beneath a coat of arms that was not his own. The late evening sun burnished every detail of the elaborate fire surround. Old Brennir had loved to show off his wealth. Vasic would enjoy watching it demolished. Right now another matter was of greater importance: he may have laid claim to land and title, but his cousin’s widow had eluded him.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of his steward, Hames. “Sire, a messenger has arrived from Brigholm. He brings queries from the Townsmen’s Guild.” Hames dropped a bundle of scrolls onto the polished oak table before Vasic.
“You don’t expect me to read those, do you? That is why I employ you. What do they want?”
“There is an overriding concern for the safety of the Lady Alwenna.”
“Inform the meddling fools that since she has chosen to abscond I am in no way answerable for her wellbeing.”
The bearded man clasped then unclasped his hands. “Sire, they refuse to commit taxes to your administration until such time as the lady’s continuing good health has been proven.”
“Damn their insolence.” Vasic opened a couple of scrolls at random, then flung them aside.
“Sire, one other thing. Lord Stanton’s body has been found, hidden in a stable along with two of his men. They have all been dead for some days.”
“Stanton? Now that is news. He was detailed to ensure the Lady Alwenna’s safety.” Had Tresilian suspected Stanton after all? He’d surely have made an example of him – and disposed of the body with some measure of decency. His cousin had ever been honourable. “Hidden in a stable, you say?”
“Yes, sire, not far from the eastern gate.”
Hence Stanton’s failure to report before they advanced on the citadel. And the mocking smile on his
“What use is knowledge without understanding?”
“It is… your life’s blood.” The words cost him dear. Gwydion drew in one last rattling breath, then his head slumped to one side.
A thousand frogs scrambled forward and plunged into the dark water. Without looking back, Alwenna strode across the causeway as the priests released Weaver. She reached the main chamber as the last of the frogs disappeared underwater, leaving nothing but ripples perturbing the surface.
“Are you hurt?” Weaver reached out to support her, but she pushed him away. Drew gaped as she dashed headlong past him down the narrow passage that had caused her so much difficulty earlier. Weaver followed.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the Holy Well. There she stooped over the stone basin: not to drink, but to wash her hands, over and over. Finally she sat back on the grassy bank of the stream that overflowed from the basin. Weaver went to sit beside her, but not too close.
She tucked her knees up and wrapped her arms about them, hunching forward and staring at the water. “I suppose you’re going to say you told me so.”
“No. But I should have stopped him.”
She picked up a twig and began snapping it into short lengths. “Do you think Tresilian meant that to happen?”
This was the point to admit he had no idea what he’d just witnessed. “Garrad said Gwydion was much changed.”
She shrugged. “It’s done now. But I don’t know what to believe. If he was telling the truth about Tresilian, then…”
“He was playing on your fears, my lady. That’s what these mystics do. We’ve seen no proof.” He’d said himself Highkell would fall swiftly, but this wasn’t the time to remind her of that.
She raised a hand to her face and rubbed her eyes, then she threw the pieces of twig into the water, watching them bob away. “Proof? I suppose you heard what he had to say about you.”
“I heard.”
Abruptly, she jumped to her feet. “I need to walk. My mind’s too full.”
With a sigh Weaver stood up and followed her, warrior-turned-lapdog.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vasic sat in the carved chair that had once been his cousin’s. He scowled at the fire roaring in the hearth beneath a coat of arms that was not his own. The late evening sun burnished every detail of the elaborate fire surround. Old Brennir had loved to show off his wealth. Vasic would enjoy watching it demolished. Right now another matter was of greater importance: he may have laid claim to land and title, but his cousin’s widow had eluded him.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of his steward, Hames. “Sire, a messenger has arrived from Brigholm. He brings queries from the Townsmen’s Guild.” Hames dropped a bundle of scrolls onto the polished oak table before Vasic.
“You don’t expect me to read those, do you? That is why I employ you. What do they want?”
“There is an overriding concern for the safety of the Lady Alwenna.”
“Inform the meddling fools that since she has chosen to abscond I am in no way answerable for her wellbeing.”
The bearded man clasped then unclasped his hands. “Sire, they refuse to commit taxes to your administration until such time as the lady’s continuing good health has been proven.”
“Damn their insolence.” Vasic opened a couple of scrolls at random, then flung them aside.
“Sire, one other thing. Lord Stanton’s body has been found, hidden in a stable along with two of his men. They have all been dead for some days.”
“Stanton? Now that is news. He was detailed to ensure the Lady Alwenna’s safety.” Had Tresilian suspected Stanton after all? He’d surely have made an example of him – and disposed of the body with some measure of decency. His cousin had ever been honourable. “Hidden in a stable, you say?”
“Yes, sire, not far from the eastern gate.”
Hence Stanton’s failure to report before they advanced on the citadel. And the mocking smile on his
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