with me or without."
"You got it."
"And it doesn't bother you that your travelling companion won't be human?"
Cadwal winced. "I can't swear to that. But I'm going, no matter who's my companion."
Ardagh sat back, studying the man. "I can't guarantee your safety. I can't even guarantee my own!"
"I don't understand. Why not just magic us there?"
"Think, man! Do you really think I would be languishing in this human Realm if I could wield that much Power?"
Cadwal blinked. "There is that."
The prince sighed, seeing stubbornness and honesty both in the man's eyes. "I can trust you." It was as much command as comment. "In my native Realm, yes, I could magic myself, as you put it, here or there with little more than the wish. Here . . ." He shrugged slightly. "Let's just say that in this Realm, my abilities are rather restricted."
"But you're not without magic?"
Ardagh laughed shortly. "You sound like a small boy hoping for wonders."
That roused a wary chuckle. "Och, I do, don't I? But you have to admit this sort of thing is far from my experiences."
"Mine, too," the prince drawled. And yes," he added, relenting, "I do have some Power left to me, though it's nothing spectacular." Ardagh could see skepticism plain on Cadwal's face and gave a mental shrug. Humans would believe what they wished, regardless of facts. "Which," the prince continued, "is why we'll be making the journey to Wessex by perfectly mundane means."
" 'We,' eh?"
"We. You already told me as much. So be it." Suddenly Ardagh smiled, and saw Cadwal's puzzled frown. "I was just thinking of that journey. And the human societies about which I still know so very little."
"I speak the Saxon tongue. Know your enemy and all that."
"Enemy?" Ardagh echoed uneasily.
"Och, not to you and not to Eriu." Cadwal's voice was wry. "Let us just say that Cymru has had more dealings with the Saxon folk than Eriu and leave it at that. I know a fair bit about how they live, too."
"And you won't let prejudices get in the way, I trust."
Cadwal snorted. "You know me better than that."
"Im glad to hear it." Ardagh got to his feet, stretching warily. Under the soothing salve, the burn had almost stopped hurting, and he was all at once too restless for further conversation.
But he suddenly stopped at the doorway and turned back to the watching human. "Quite frankly, friend Cadwal," the prince said, "I was not looking forward to travelling alone—yes, yes, I know the king will send an escort with me. But there will be none among them with whom I can speak freely. Save for you. Cadwal, I admit it: I will be very glad of your company."
Renovations
Chapter 9
She couldn't remember. Something odd had happened just before, Edburga was vaguely sure of it. Something odd had been said to her, but she could not remember what it had been or who had said it. Or had the words come from her own mind? There had been something about a drink . . . someone had been urgently whispering about a drink . . . about Worr . . .
Worr. That was it. She would be rid of him. Yes. The potion she had mixed under the goad of that whispering voice was quick to act, quick to cut off any hope of breath. Worr would neatly drink and neatly die. And Beortric? Beortric would soon forget.
That was it, just as the whispers told her. Of course. She would poison Worr.
The world failed to come into focus, but it didn't matter. She had the drinking horns, one in each hand. (And for a moment Edburga wavered, wondering, had she poured the poisoned drink into one horn or both? But the voice was whispering to her; she must go on; she must believe this was right and Worr would die.) One horn for Beortric, the ritual first drink of the evening given to the king by his wife. (Though Edburga could not remember ever having followed this ritual before; but the whispers were telling her, yes, yes you have.) One horn for Worr, the last he would ever taste.
Moving through a dreamy haze, Edburga crossed the crowded,
"You got it."
"And it doesn't bother you that your travelling companion won't be human?"
Cadwal winced. "I can't swear to that. But I'm going, no matter who's my companion."
Ardagh sat back, studying the man. "I can't guarantee your safety. I can't even guarantee my own!"
"I don't understand. Why not just magic us there?"
"Think, man! Do you really think I would be languishing in this human Realm if I could wield that much Power?"
Cadwal blinked. "There is that."
The prince sighed, seeing stubbornness and honesty both in the man's eyes. "I can trust you." It was as much command as comment. "In my native Realm, yes, I could magic myself, as you put it, here or there with little more than the wish. Here . . ." He shrugged slightly. "Let's just say that in this Realm, my abilities are rather restricted."
"But you're not without magic?"
Ardagh laughed shortly. "You sound like a small boy hoping for wonders."
That roused a wary chuckle. "Och, I do, don't I? But you have to admit this sort of thing is far from my experiences."
"Mine, too," the prince drawled. And yes," he added, relenting, "I do have some Power left to me, though it's nothing spectacular." Ardagh could see skepticism plain on Cadwal's face and gave a mental shrug. Humans would believe what they wished, regardless of facts. "Which," the prince continued, "is why we'll be making the journey to Wessex by perfectly mundane means."
" 'We,' eh?"
"We. You already told me as much. So be it." Suddenly Ardagh smiled, and saw Cadwal's puzzled frown. "I was just thinking of that journey. And the human societies about which I still know so very little."
"I speak the Saxon tongue. Know your enemy and all that."
"Enemy?" Ardagh echoed uneasily.
"Och, not to you and not to Eriu." Cadwal's voice was wry. "Let us just say that Cymru has had more dealings with the Saxon folk than Eriu and leave it at that. I know a fair bit about how they live, too."
"And you won't let prejudices get in the way, I trust."
Cadwal snorted. "You know me better than that."
"Im glad to hear it." Ardagh got to his feet, stretching warily. Under the soothing salve, the burn had almost stopped hurting, and he was all at once too restless for further conversation.
But he suddenly stopped at the doorway and turned back to the watching human. "Quite frankly, friend Cadwal," the prince said, "I was not looking forward to travelling alone—yes, yes, I know the king will send an escort with me. But there will be none among them with whom I can speak freely. Save for you. Cadwal, I admit it: I will be very glad of your company."
Renovations
Chapter 9
She couldn't remember. Something odd had happened just before, Edburga was vaguely sure of it. Something odd had been said to her, but she could not remember what it had been or who had said it. Or had the words come from her own mind? There had been something about a drink . . . someone had been urgently whispering about a drink . . . about Worr . . .
Worr. That was it. She would be rid of him. Yes. The potion she had mixed under the goad of that whispering voice was quick to act, quick to cut off any hope of breath. Worr would neatly drink and neatly die. And Beortric? Beortric would soon forget.
That was it, just as the whispers told her. Of course. She would poison Worr.
The world failed to come into focus, but it didn't matter. She had the drinking horns, one in each hand. (And for a moment Edburga wavered, wondering, had she poured the poisoned drink into one horn or both? But the voice was whispering to her; she must go on; she must believe this was right and Worr would die.) One horn for Beortric, the ritual first drink of the evening given to the king by his wife. (Though Edburga could not remember ever having followed this ritual before; but the whispers were telling her, yes, yes you have.) One horn for Worr, the last he would ever taste.
Moving through a dreamy haze, Edburga crossed the crowded,
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