Hunting with Gods by M. K. Hume

Author:M. K. Hume
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

Chapter XIII

THE KING OF WINTER

We owe respect to the living; to the dead we owe nothing but truth.

—VOLTAIRE, LETTRES SUR OEDIPE

The oil lamps flickered in the darkening tent. Storm clouds were gathering, and a mist of rain obscured the sun. As he lay on his soft woolen pillows, Ambrosius’s face was so pale that he already looked like a corpse with his blued lips and haggard face, while the lamplight bleached the gold of his hair to the color of pale ash. The light cast upwards from the lamp closest to him was reflected in his bloodshot eyes, so that Myrddion could fancy that his master was a reincarnation of Charon, calling for the lost souls he would carry to the Underworld on his time-warped, split, and weathered ferry boat.

Uther’s face was obscured by shadow. As if seeking the solace of darkness, he had stepped backward when Myrddion had introduced Vengis, so that his body alone expressed the powerful emotions that caused his huge hands to clench and unclench as he sought for something he could rend and pound into the dust.

At the center of the lamplight, his chin streaked with blood, Vengis talked and talked. Having hidden behind an affable mask of innocence for long, wearisome months, the young man relished the opportunity to justify his crime, to glory in his vengeance, and to boast, like a common felon, about how clever he had been. Guilty and shocked, Myrddion had no choice but to listen.

“You’ll kill me, or your brother will, once you have taken your last vile breath,” Vengis stated proudly at Ambrosius’s recumbent form. “I have no illusions that my death will be either quick or painless. I could have eaten the pretty flowers in my cap if I had wished to escape the so-called justice of your court, but only a coward tries to escape the outcome that has been hungered for during year after lonely year of exile, as I wandered in the cold north with neither kinfolk nor friends to offer shelter. There is nothing you can do to me that could be as terrible as the years that have passed since the death of my mother at Dinas Emrys.”

“How did you poison me? I know about the salt, but I doubt that you’ve had any experience as a secret murderer, which probably explains why you botched your first attempt. My brother and my healer took every precaution possible during the journey to Glastonbury.”

Vengis glanced at Myrddion, who returned his gaze and nodded in understanding.

“You’ve figured it out, Demon Seed, haven’t you? My father used to call you the Black Raven of Cymru, and often said that you were the worthy son of a devil sire. But I never believed him because you tried hard to save my mother’s life. Still, I’ve cursed you often enough on this journey as you blocked my plans at every turn. Loki was laughing in Udgaad and did not see fit to smile upon me until two days ago, at a time when I was almost mad with despair.

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