The Dragon Prince (24 page)

He closed his eyes. His body was a husk
blown in the wind, swirling and dancing in the mindless breeze. He
soared above the land, like a kestrel gliding on the air, high
above the mountains of Gwynedd. He saw the land spread out below
him, heartbreakingly beautiful. Beyond Gwynedd stretched the rich
blue green of the rest of Britain. Wild, deep-hearted forests.
Rolling, jewel-green hills banded with the hammered filigree of
silver and bronze rivers. And the sea beyond, vast and untamed.

Gradually the tempo slowed; then ended in a
glistening, sad cascade of notes. Rhun felt himself floating back
to earth. He opened his eyes and looked around, wondering if anyone
else had been affected as he had. The rest of the warriors sat
silent and spellbound. Morguese shook her head, as if dispersing
the last remnants of her magic.

The musicians began another song. It was
light and festive and gay, altogether different from the earlier
melody. Rhun released a sigh. He had expected Morguese’s dance to
be sexual and provocative, but it had another sort of power. It
drew a man’s spirit into the music, made him feel lost and helpless
before forces much greater than he was. He struggled against the
new melody, not wanting to be affected again. But why fight
something so cheerful and benign? This tune reminded him of being a
boy, the bright weightlessness of his body, the untainted wonder of
being alive.

Morguese’s dance was playful, energetic. He
was impressed that she could move so quickly. Her face was flushed,
her eyes bright, and her hair swirled around her body like spilled
wine. As the pace of the dance quickened, the warriors began to
pound their fists on the small tables in front of them. They
shouted and whooped, urging Morguese on. She was a flame swirling
in the breeze, a ray of some bright sunset casting them all into
her glory.

When she finally whirled to a breathless
stop, the men cheered loudly. Rhun wanted to join them, but an
uneasy thought held him back. Urien had spoken of having Eastra
dance. Would he make good on his threat?

Eastra stood at the side of the room, her
gaze riveted on Morguese. Never before had she seen a woman hold
the attention of a whole group of men, making them feel her power.
It was exhilarating, fascinating. No Saxon woman, even the wife of
the most powerful king, would ever dare such a thing. Among
Eastra’s people, women were honored and valued. They could own
property and enter into legal contracts. But they always deferred
to men. They were not bold and proud; they did not flaunt
themselves in front of a crowded hall.

Eastra struggled to decide what it was about
Morguese that was so compelling. Was it the graceful, expressive
way that she moved, interpreting the music, making it come to life?
Was it her beauty, the sheer animal vitality of her voluptuous
body? Or was it some sort of magic, a power that could not be seen,
only felt? Eastra wished she knew her secret, and the thought came
to her that maybe if she asked Morguese, the woman might teach her
a bit of her skill. Urien’s wife did not seem hostile. Indeed,
there had been a vague sort of warmth in the way she dealt with
Eastra earlier.

A planned formed in Eastra’s mind. She
wanted to learn a little of Morguese’s technique for making men pay
attention to her, to possess just a subtle hint of it so she would
not always be so overlooked and unimportant. Even Rhun had a
tendency to ignore her. He never asked her what she wished to do
but told her what he thought was best. He treated her like a child.
A dear and precious child, but nonetheless someone incompetent to
make decisions about her own life.

She was puzzling on how to approach Morguese
when she heard someone call her name. Gazing across the smoky room,
she saw Urien motioning to her. A wave of apprehension instantly
made her muscles tighten. She walked slowly toward him. Had she
neglected to keep his cup filled? The look on his face suggested
something more important than that. He was watching her intently,
clearly seeing her as a woman rather than a nameless servant.

Her mouth went dry, and she glanced at Rhun.
The alarmed expression on his face did not reassure her. Had Urien
tired of this cat-and-mouse game he played with them? Was he now
going to reveal that he knew her identity? Then what would happen?
Would he imprison her? Or kill her and send word to Cerdic so the
bitter war would resume?

A vague smile played across Urien’s face as
she drew near. He looked relaxed and a little drunk. “Eastra.” He
said her name slowly, slurring it a little. “Beautiful lass that
you are, would you dance for us?”

Eastra stared, too startled to respond.

Hearing Urien’s words and seeing the
stricken expression on Eastra’s face, Rhun felt something inside
him snap. He got to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Nay.” He made his voice firm, although he tried not to raise it.
“You have no right to ask such a thing of her.”

Urien still smiled, but his response was low
and taut. “I addressed my question to the woman. Let her
answer.”

The coil of fury tightened inside Rhun.
Urien had her trapped and he knew it! Eastra was trembling. Rhun
could see the fear in her lovely eyes. She started to speak...

“Nay! I won’t permit it!” The words rushed
out of his mouth, outraged and violent.

Urien stared up at him, quirking a bushy
brow. “You’re a guest here, Rhun ap Maelgwn.
You
do not
issue commands.”

Rhun thought frantically, trying to find an
argument that Urien would listen to. “She’s my slave! I should be
the one to order her to dance, not you!”

“Then order her to dance.”

Rhun could sense the threat behind his
words. The warriors seated around the hearth shifted subtly,
preparing to leap to their leader’s defense. Then everyone went
silent and still, waiting. Rhun looked at Eastra. Her expression
was desperate. Once before, she had implored him with her eyes,
begging him to save her. He had not. Instead, he had walked away
and left her to be enslaved and degraded. “Nay.” He spoke precisely
as he drew his eating knife from its sheath on his belt. “I will
not. She is my slave, to do with as I see fit.
You
will not
give her orders.”

He heard Eastra gasp. Then, with a sudden
flurry of movement, there were Rheged warriors all around him.

“Seize him,” Urien said calmly. “Prince Rhun
has apparently forgotten what it is like to be a guest in a noble
household. Perhaps a few days of quiet contemplation will remind
him of the courtesy his position requires.”

* * *

They were taking him away! As if he was a
prisoner or a conquered enemy!

Eastra wanted to cry out, but she was too
shocked. She stared dumbly as Rhun was led from the hall. Then
Urien turned his gaze on her once more. She thought he was going to
ask her to dance again. She meant to refuse, to show them she could
also be brave and defiant. Instead Urien smiled. “I’ve changed my
mind. The time for dancing has passed.” He snapped his fingers.
“You may return to your task of clearing away the remains of the
feast.”

Eastra moved numbly around the room,
gathering up platters and cups. She was horrified by what had
happened to Rhun. Once again, she had complicated his life and
caused him difficulty. The sick guilt built inside her.

As she carried her burden of dirty dishes to
the kitchen shed, tears stung her eyes. She had to do something to
help him. But what? If only she could speak to Bridei.

She returned to the hall carrying a ewer of
mead. When she neared Bridei, she caught his gaze, then made a
subtle movement to indicate she wanted to speak to him outside.

A short time later, she saw him say
something to Urien, then get to his feet. She held her breath.
Would they let him leave the hall, or was he also a prisoner?

Bridei walked casually to the door and went
out. Eastra waited until he had been gone a few moments, then set
down the ewer and followed.

It was dark outside the feast hall. Only a
few smoky torches illuminated the pathway to the kitchen. Their
flickering light cast wavy, shifting shadows. She moved away from
the torchlight, struggling to see where Bridei had gone.

“Eastra.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice. “By
Freya!” she breathed.

“Sorry.” It sounded like he was
grinning.

“Can you not be serious for once!” she
hissed. “Rhun is a prisoner! Who knows what they will do to
him?”

“They won’t do anything to him. Unless he
dies of sheer fury and aggravation, he’ll be well enough.”

“But the way they’re treating him, like some
common captive!”

“Maybe it will be good for him. Force him to
calm down and think rationally. For once.”

“That’s not fair!” She wanted to strike
Bridei. “It’s
my
fault he is in this predicament. I should
have made it clear to Urien that I would not dance for him.” The
guilty thought crossed her mind that before Rhun’s protest, she’d
actually been trying to decide how to emulate Morguese’s skillful
performance.

“And what would that have accomplished?”
demanded Bridei. “Urien would have stood his ground, and Rhun would
still have acted like a hotheaded fool. Don’t you see? Urien
planned this whole thing. He provoked Rhun deliberately. He wanted
some excuse to claim offense. Now Rhun has given him one.”

Eastra saw the trap their host had sprung.
It angered her, but hardly eased her guilt. “It’s still my fault,”
she said glumly. “If I had not enticed Rhun...” She stopped,
abruptly recalling who she was talking to.

Bridei laughed. “It’s a bit late to worry
about that, isn’t it? My brother’s obviously smitten, and smitten
badly. He’d take on Urien’s whole army to fight for your honor. Or
for that matter, Cerdic’s army. Aye,
you
do make him
vulnerable to his enemies, but it’s hardly your fault. He fell in
love with you long ago. Whatever you did back there during the
storm didn’t make much difference.”

“We did nothing! Nothing at all!” Eastra
drew in a sharp breath. She could not let Bridei guess what had
happened under the great oak. He would think her a wanton. And
given that Rhun had said he would not wed her, it was true.

“Oh, aye.
Nothing
.” Bridei laughed
again.

“Stop it!” She struck out and hit Bridei’s
chest. “Stop laughing! We must do something. Rescue Rhun, then
escape somehow!”

“Escape? From this stout fortress, guarded
by two score of fierce warriors? Unless you know a way to sprout
wings and fly, I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”

“But we have to do
something
. We have
to try...” Eastra took a deep breath. Bridei implied it was
hopeless, but she could not accept that.

“Why must we try to escape?” Bridei’s voice
cut into her thoughts. “We are not in any danger here. Urien knows
my father would wreak terrible vengeance upon him if he harmed Rhun
or me in any way. And as for you, even if Urien knows who you are,
you’re worth far more to him alive than dead. In the meantime, we
are safe, well fed, comfortable...”

“You’re certain Rhun is comfortable? What if
they are holding him in some dark, dank hole?”

“Urien would not mistreat him. I’ve told you
that. As for the comfort of his thoughts, I don’t doubt Rhun is
suffering the tortures of the damned right now. But it has ever
been like that for him. You are merely the latest means he’s found
to make himself miserable.”

That was true. Ever since she’d found him
again, she’d done little except made Rhun unhappy. “So you’re
saying we wait here and do nothing? But what about the truce? What
about Arthur? If he learns we haven’t arrived in Gwynedd he will
think something has happened. He might blame Cerdic and go to war
against him. Perhaps that’s even what Urien is planning!”

“Perhaps. But there’s nothing we can do
about it, is there?”

Eastra heaved a sigh. Bridei was worse than
no help at all.

“Don’t be so discouraged” Bridei said. “I’ll
tell you what I will do. I will try to find out Urien’s plans from
Morguese. Then we’ll know how urgent the need is to get away.”

“How will you find out anything from
Morguese? She doesn’t seem like someone who could be tricked into
giving up information.”

“Ah, but there is every likelihood that
Morguese has different things in mind than her husband does. She
might even be willing to help us.”

Eastra considered Morguese’s scornful
comments about Urien and Arthur. Perhaps they had an ally there.
“Perhaps I will talk to her also. If I can get up the courage for
it, that is. Did you see how all the men watched her dance? And
there was not merely lust in their eyes, but a kind of adoration. I
have never known a woman who had that sort of power.”

“Ah, Morguese, she is a witch, have no doubt
of it. Even Arthur is afraid of her.”

“And you?” Eastra asked. “Are you afraid of
her?”

Although she could not see him, she could
well imagine Bridei’s smug expression as he answered. “She may be a
witch, but she is still a woman. And I have not yet met the woman
who can bewitch
me.”

Eastra returned to the hall, where she met
Morguese coming out.

“There you are,” Morguese said. “I had
wondered where our little Saxon had gone. My husband says I must
not let you out of my sight. I think he fears you will steal the
wits of the other men as you have Prince Rhun’s.” Eastra felt a
stab of guilt, but Morguese laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, your lover
has not been harmed.”

“He’s not my lover,” Eastra said
quickly.

“A pity,” Morguese said. “Although Rhun
often acts stiff-necked and dutiful, I don’t doubt he’s a lusty man
beneath that serious facade. I’m certain the right woman could
easily lure him away from his noble ideals.”