Cold My Heart by Sarah Woodbury

Author:Sarah Woodbury
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

MYRDDIN BREATHED IN the high moorland air, pungent with the smell of dried grass, juniper, and agrimony, patches of which grew all along the road. They’d reached a point where they were well above the farmlands of the Aber river valley and could see all the way to the Irish Sea. The water showed grey-blue and reflected the clouds that had begun to blow in from the west.

“It’s so peaceful up here. Not like down below.” Nell removed a hand from Myrddin’s waist and gestured towards the island of Anglesey, which squatted in the distance. “The Saxons plan to conquer Eryri next, and we can’t let them. They will move soon.”

Myrddin squinted, but to him the island wasn’t anything more than a grey smudge on the horizon. “Do you know that for a fact?”

“The ferryman at Bangor took me across the Menai Strait on the evening of November 2nd, not long after Wulfere’s men—” Nell swallowed and then continued as if the words weren’t poisoning her heart, “—found my sisters. But he only helped me because he was ferrying himself across. He felt an ill wind blowing and didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it. He didn’t intend to return to the island until it was over.”

“You speak of Wulfere. Does he still head the Saxon forces?” Myrddin said.

“Yes,” Nell said. “The people of Anglesey call him ‘the pig’.”

As before when Nell had spoken of the atrocities at the convent, Myrddin sensed that if she were less well-bred, she would have spat on the ground rather than speak Wulfere’s name.

“If anyone deserves it, Wulfere does,” Myrddin said. “He once chopped off a man’s hand for failing to give him his carafe of wine as quickly as he liked.”

“May he burn in hell for what he did to my sisters,” Nell said.

“I will see to it if I can,” Myrddin said. “Before I left yesterday morning, King Arthur’s scouts were reporting unusual activity on and near the bridge of boats. When they come, we’ll be ready.”

In fact, one of Arthur’s many spies had told him that Wulfere, frustrated by the delay, had openly commented that Modred lacked sufficient courage to fight King Arthur when it came to it and sought a way to force Modred’s hand. Arthur believed that soon Wulfere would order his men across the Strait, hoping for a surprise attack and a swift victory. Instead, he would find himself facing an army of Welshmen.

Myrddin could already hear the screams of dying men, blood coating them and him, taste salt and sand on his lips as the wind spit surf into his face, and feel again the slick thrust of his sword through an enemy’s flesh.

Nell and Myrddin made their way out of the mountains and into the forests and fields that surrounded Garth Celyn, following the Roman road. An hour later, they approached the gates to the castle. Arthur’s banner—the red dragon of Wales on a white background—flew from the flagpole. A shiver went through

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