It’s…its been hard for him.”
She was a jewel. A mere local chieftain’s daughter, not even of the House of Lyon. He’d married her against the politics and calls for alliance. Married her just because he was a headstrong young lord and he’d looked at her and known what he wanted. In earlier years it would never have been permitted. But if one good thing had come out of this chaos of endless war, it was her. “Yes. Hopefully he’ll see a better Lyonesse before he grows up.”
She blinked, holding him, as if to reassure herself he was real. “I thought Medraut still sat on the throne?”
“He does. But the Defender Aberinn forecast in his prophecy has come. I was there. I saw it. She made the sea-window reappear.”
“Really?”
Earl Alois sighed. “Yes. I saw her appear from nowhere, I saw the sea-window reappear. And I heard her name herself as Anghared. I believe it is her. That was magic of no low order. She has come to set things to rights. She even looks like the old queen in the tapestry hanging in the banquet hall. But the bad part, Branwen, is that she will want my head. And if that is what it takes to put Lyonesse back together again, I will go to the headsman.”
“No!” she said, clinging to him. Clinging as to someone whom she’d loved, thought dead, and now had to face the fear and uncertainty again. Which was true, of course. “Why would she do that? It’s Medraut who has brought Lyonesse to ruin. Not you, Alois!”
The boy woke up and stared at his parents, and rubbed his unbelieving eyes eyes, as his father said: “Because I tried to kill her.”
***
Meb wondered how long the state of tense waiting would continue in the halls of Dun Tagoll. Wars could go on for years. This one had, it appeared. But the answer this time was: not too long. The prince seemed to have developed a hit-and-run strategy, simply designed to hurt the foe, irritate them and make them plunge after the army, toward Dun Tagoll, rather than ravaging the countryside.
That might be good for the countryside, but right now it meant that the attackers were setting up siege engines on the headland. “Last time they threw everything from dead horses to rocks at the castle,” said Neve. “It looks like they’re making bigger ones this time.”
“And…will it break the walls?” asked Meb.
“No, m’lady. The walls are magical. Even if they break, they just pull together. But a dead horse…oh, the mess. And the rocks can kill people.”
The causeway was too narrow and steep for a charge, but their foes had sent brave men across in the darkness, under their shields, carrying a brass-headed ram. So Meb woke to the pounding of the ram and a sudden inhuman yowling and screaming. In the darkness of her room, it was terrifying. She’d never been in a castle under siege before. Had the attackers broken through? What should she do? Fight back, obviously. What was there in this room that she could fight back with. She needed a sword. Or better yet, an axe. You needed to have some skill with a sword, but an axe, one of those metallic-handled, narrow, wicked-bladed ones that the alvar gate guards used, surely didn’t need much. She was afraid and imagining it in detail…and it was a great deal heavier in her hands than she’d thought. Summoning magic again…it seemed to work when she was absorbed enough and afraid enough…neither of which were easy to switch on at will, she thought as she wished for a light…and failed. She couldn’t even find the pricket, let alone light it. So she went and opened her door by feel, alvar axe in hand. There was a tallow-dipped brand of rush on a metal wall sconce at the end of the hall. She walked down that way. To find a bored guard walking down the passage…
He was a lot less bored seeing a woman in her nightclothes with a silvery two-handed spatha-axe in her hands. “M’lady,” he took a grip on his own sword handle. “What’s amiss?”
“The noise. That screaming.
She was a jewel. A mere local chieftain’s daughter, not even of the House of Lyon. He’d married her against the politics and calls for alliance. Married her just because he was a headstrong young lord and he’d looked at her and known what he wanted. In earlier years it would never have been permitted. But if one good thing had come out of this chaos of endless war, it was her. “Yes. Hopefully he’ll see a better Lyonesse before he grows up.”
She blinked, holding him, as if to reassure herself he was real. “I thought Medraut still sat on the throne?”
“He does. But the Defender Aberinn forecast in his prophecy has come. I was there. I saw it. She made the sea-window reappear.”
“Really?”
Earl Alois sighed. “Yes. I saw her appear from nowhere, I saw the sea-window reappear. And I heard her name herself as Anghared. I believe it is her. That was magic of no low order. She has come to set things to rights. She even looks like the old queen in the tapestry hanging in the banquet hall. But the bad part, Branwen, is that she will want my head. And if that is what it takes to put Lyonesse back together again, I will go to the headsman.”
“No!” she said, clinging to him. Clinging as to someone whom she’d loved, thought dead, and now had to face the fear and uncertainty again. Which was true, of course. “Why would she do that? It’s Medraut who has brought Lyonesse to ruin. Not you, Alois!”
The boy woke up and stared at his parents, and rubbed his unbelieving eyes eyes, as his father said: “Because I tried to kill her.”
***
Meb wondered how long the state of tense waiting would continue in the halls of Dun Tagoll. Wars could go on for years. This one had, it appeared. But the answer this time was: not too long. The prince seemed to have developed a hit-and-run strategy, simply designed to hurt the foe, irritate them and make them plunge after the army, toward Dun Tagoll, rather than ravaging the countryside.
That might be good for the countryside, but right now it meant that the attackers were setting up siege engines on the headland. “Last time they threw everything from dead horses to rocks at the castle,” said Neve. “It looks like they’re making bigger ones this time.”
“And…will it break the walls?” asked Meb.
“No, m’lady. The walls are magical. Even if they break, they just pull together. But a dead horse…oh, the mess. And the rocks can kill people.”
The causeway was too narrow and steep for a charge, but their foes had sent brave men across in the darkness, under their shields, carrying a brass-headed ram. So Meb woke to the pounding of the ram and a sudden inhuman yowling and screaming. In the darkness of her room, it was terrifying. She’d never been in a castle under siege before. Had the attackers broken through? What should she do? Fight back, obviously. What was there in this room that she could fight back with. She needed a sword. Or better yet, an axe. You needed to have some skill with a sword, but an axe, one of those metallic-handled, narrow, wicked-bladed ones that the alvar gate guards used, surely didn’t need much. She was afraid and imagining it in detail…and it was a great deal heavier in her hands than she’d thought. Summoning magic again…it seemed to work when she was absorbed enough and afraid enough…neither of which were easy to switch on at will, she thought as she wished for a light…and failed. She couldn’t even find the pricket, let alone light it. So she went and opened her door by feel, alvar axe in hand. There was a tallow-dipped brand of rush on a metal wall sconce at the end of the hall. She walked down that way. To find a bored guard walking down the passage…
He was a lot less bored seeing a woman in her nightclothes with a silvery two-handed spatha-axe in her hands. “M’lady,” he took a grip on his own sword handle. “What’s amiss?”
“The noise. That screaming.
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