The Beloved Dead by Tony Hays

Author:Tony Hays
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Some girl had been raped and abused by some horrible thing or creature. He said there was much blood and rent flesh and that the people were saying she had been assaulted by a dragon, though I have never heard of a dragon raping a woman.” Ambrosius finished in a near mumble, raising his beaker and draining the rest of the wine. Then his head dropped and his eyes closed, a not unfamiliar pose for the old king.

I leapt to my feet, shocking Ambrosius’s guards so much that they drew their swords. “Was it Vala? Rhodri’s daughter?”

“What?” Ambrosius roused himself enough to open one eye. “Vala? I know no Vala.”

“Was the murdered girl Rhodri’s daughter?”

“Oh.” A spark of understanding flared in Ambrosius’s eye. “No, the daughter of some family that lived a short distance to the west of the road. Really, Malgwyn. I do not understand why you would want to know about these things.”

“Thank you, my lord,” I said, without meaning a word of it. At that moment, I wished he had lost the whole story in the bottom of his beaker. “With your permission, my lord, I have matters to see to.”

“Of course, Malgwyn, of course. But allow some time to spend with your old commander, to relive our glorious deeds on the fields of battle.”

“I would be honored, my lord.”

At that, the wine got the better of him, and Ambrosius drifted back asleep.

* * *

Though I had felt low before, this news took me even lower. As I left the feasting hall, I snatched a skin of wine and headed for my old hut just beyond the main gate. I told no one where I was going, though I faintly remember hearing Bedevere hail me from a distance. But he must have assumed I did not hear him, as he went on his way.

I grunted at the guards at the massive timber gate and stumbled down the snake-like entrance, constructed to prevent the use of a battering ram. Ignoring the greetings from around me, I fell into the door of my old hut, pulled the plug from my wineskin and drank deeply.

Three girls, torn from life by the hand of some monster. Dragons, Ambrosius said. Druids, more likely, I thought. And one Druid in particular, Wynn. What other answer was there? He was present at the White Mount; he was present at Caer Goch; he may have been present on our return. He certainly had appeared in Castellum Arturius within hours of our own arrival, indicating that he may have followed us from Caer Goch. Yet, by all the old and new laws, as the guest of Mordred, his person was inviolable. Once again, Mordred was vexing me.

People had loved those girls. And someone had ripped them from that love for no reason that was apparent to me, but to discredit Arthur, to make real a curse laid on him by that blasted Druid. And I felt in my heart that I knew the killer and yet I could not touch him.

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