‘How dare you?’ stormed Okessa, surging to his feet.
‘How dare I? How dare the son of a common prostitute abuse the name of a noble lady of this realm!’
‘I take it, Errin, that you will champion her? You will demand trial by combat?’ Okessa’ hissed.
Errin froze as the words hammered home. All he had been taught as a Knight and the son of an earl seremed at him to accept the challenge in the name of chivalry, but all that he had learned as a man warned him to beware. He was no swordsman and he knew what had happened to the champion Elodan. He took a deep breath. ‘I will consider that option,’ he said. Aware that all eyes were upon him, he transferred his gaze to the table and fought to quell the anger within.
‘You will consider the option,’ sneered Okessa. ‘How gallant of you!’
‘That is enough,’ snapped the Duke. ‘The Lord Errin has every right to take time on this issue. We are… were… all fond of the Lady Dianu. But if her blood is tainted, then it is right that she travel to Gar-aden. The King’s word is law; we all accept that. Now let us move on.’
Errin sat in a daze throughout the rest of the meeting, images racing through his mind. Dianu had told him that evil was rampant in the land, and now she would pay, perhaps with her life. He thought of her being brought to Mactha, derided and alone, to endure the sneers of serpents like Okessa. And what would she find in Gar-aden? Stripped of wealth and privilege, she would be forced to live in a desert hut making a living as best she could among other Nomads. But what skills did she have that could make her life bearable? None — save her beauty. They might just as well kill her, he realized. When she was brought to Mactha he would have to avoid seeing her; he would not be able to meet her eyes. And when they took her away, he would have to live every day of his life in the knowledge that he had done nothing to save the woman he loved.
Love. At the thought of the word and the emotions it conveyed, his throat swelled. He swallowed hard. Yes, he loved Dianu. He always had, ever since they were children together. Could he bear to live, knowing he had done nothing to aid her?
In that moment he knew he did not have the courage to turn away from her.
He blinked and stared around the table. The meeting was obviously over and all eyes were on him as his voice came surprisingly clear and strong.
‘My sword will speak for the Lady Dianu,’ he declared.
Okessa smiled as he sank back in his chair and switched his gaze to the stunned Duke.
‘My Lord, you must name someone to champion the King’s cause.’
‘Retract, Errin,’ whispered the Duke. ‘This is madness.’
‘I cannot.’
‘I think you should,’ said Cairbre softly. ‘For I must champion the King’s cause, and that will mean us facing one another.’
Errin shrugged. ‘What will be will be.’
‘I hope,’ said Cairbre, ‘that you are a fine swordsman. But think on this. I am the man who cut the hand from Elodan, and he was the best I ever fought.’
A storm broke over the forest as Ruad, Gwydion and the three magic hounds reached the shelter of the trees. Ruad led the way east into the thickest of the woods, seeking a haven from the driving rain. Mortally tired, Gwydion slipped on a muddy slope and fell heavily. Ruad walked back to help him to his feet.
Calling one of the golden hounds, Ruad lifted Gwydion to its back.
‘Such is the fate of old men,’ said Gwydion, with a weak smile, ‘to be mounted on a dog.’
Ruad chuckled. ‘At least it is a magic dog.’
‘Have you been here before, Ruad?’
‘Two years ago I came looking for herbs. There is an old cabin about a mile further along the trail. It was uninhabited then. Now?’ He shrugged.
‘This is a gloomy place,’ said Gwydion.
‘It will look better by sunlight, I promise you.’
They continued on the trail and Gwydion found his mount not entirely to his liking. The metal back made a poor seat, the plates grinding and pinching the skin of his thighs. But it was a great deal less arduous than walking.
Ruad’s recollection of the distance was faulty, and it was two hours and almost midnight before they came to the cabin. It was no longer empty and no longer solitary; four other homes had been built close by.
‘I hope we will be welcome,’ said Gwydion.
Ruad did not reply. Boldly he stepped to the first door they came across. Warm golden light showed through the gap in the shutters of the window as he rapped his fist against the door.
It was opened by a young man, carrying a broad-bladed knife.
‘What do you want?’ asked the man. Then he saw the golden hounds; his mouth gaped and he stepped back, the knife forgotten. ‘A wizard!’ he shouted to someone behind him.
Ruad moved swiftly into the house. ‘Indeed I am,’ he said, forcing a broad smile to his face. ‘But a friendly wizard, seeking shelter for the night. We mean no harm to any here, I promise you. And we will pay for shelter.’ Inside the one-roomed cabin was an elderly woman, three young children and a younger woman in a bed by the fire. The man was in his early twenties, stockily built, with thick dark curly hair.
‘What else can go wrong?’ he shrugged, dropping the knife to a rough-cut table. ‘For what it is worth, you are welcome. But the beasts stay outside.’
‘Of course.’ Ruad helped Gwydion into the house and the hounds sat outside the door, the rain streaming from their metal hides. Inside once more, Ruad removed his soaked leather jerkin and stood before the fire, enjoying the warmth. The children sat quietly staring at him, their eyes wide and fearful, while the old woman returned to the bedside, where she sat dabbing at the brow of the younger woman.
‘Is she sick?’ Gwydion asked. The young man looked away and sat at the table staring at the wall. Gwydion struggled out of his white woollen robes and laid them over a chair by the fire. Dressed only in a loin-cloth, he dried himself by the blaze and then moved to the bedside. The young woman was skeletally thin, her skin almost translucent. Dark rings had formed beneath her eyes. When Gwydion lifted her wrist, the pulse was weak and fluttering like a trapped butterfly.
‘May I take your seat?’ he asked the old woman. ‘I am weary from my travels.’ She looked up at him, her eyes dull, then stood and moved away, shepherding the children to their beds by the other wall. Gwydion placed his hand on the dying woman’s brow, closing his eyes and seeking the Colours. The Red was still powerful, yet less so than in Mactha; he rose through it to the outer edges of the Harmony, fastening to the Green. Slowly he linked with the woman, flowing with her blood, pulsing with the rhythms of her life. He found the cancer; it had spread across both lungs and down into her stomach.
‘Fetch me a piece of meat,’ he said.
The young man ignored him, but Ruad walked to the table and touched him on the shoulder. ‘Bring some meat to my friend.’
‘Dying people give him an appetite, do they?’
‘It is not to eat. Do as I ask. Please?’
The young man rose and fetched a joint of ham from a hook in the pantry, carrying it to Gwydion. ‘Put it in a bowl on the bed,’ said the elderly Healer. The old woman fetched a bowl and the ham was placed in it. Ruad joined them. Gwydion soared into the Colours. One bony hand rested on the woman’s brow, the other on the meat in the wooden bowl. Gwydion’s face grew ever more pale and he began to tremble. Ruad moved alongside him, waiting. The young woman groaned.