Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [54]
“And what are you doing? Starving the baby inside you? The poor little thing is cursed indeed if its own mother won’t feed it.”
Her eyes brimming tears, Brangwen raised her head. She looked at him, then took a piece of bread and began to nibble on it. When Nevyn gave her cheese and an apple, she ate it all, but she never spoke a word. He gathered more wood for the fire, then made her lie down near it where she could be warm. When he went through their meager provisions to see what was left, he found, wrapped in a piece of cloth, every courting present he’d ever given her. Ludda had sent them all along. Nevyn looked for a long while at the jeweled brooch in the shape of a falcon and thought of Gerraent.
When the night turned dark, and Brangwen had fallen fast asleep, Nevyn finally gave in to his wondering and built up the fire to scry. With so much terror and pain behind it, the vision built up fast, showing him the great hall of the Falcon. Blaen’s body was laid out by the hearth, with a pillow under his head and his sword on his chest. When Nevyn sent his mind to Gerraent, the vision changed. Out in the ward, Gerraent was pacing back and forth with his sword in his hand. He. had refused to flee his Wyrd.
Nevyn never truly knew how long he kept that last watch with Gerraent. Once, the fire burned so low that he lost the vision, but when he laid more wood in, he scried Gerraent out immediately, pacing, pacing, pacing, his sword swinging back and forth, the blade glittering in the torchlight. At last, Nevyn heard the sound, just as Gerraent did, tossing up his head like a stag. Horses, a lot of them, clattering up the hill. Gerraent strolled to the gates and positioned himself between them with his sword raised at the battle-ready. With his warband behind him, Lord Camlann rode into the pool of torchlight while Gerraent stood and smiled. When Camlann drew his sword, the warband did the same.
“Where’s my brother’s body?”
“By my hearth. Bury one of my horses with him, will you?”
His young face troubled, Camlann leaned forward in the saddle to stare at the friend who had become his enemy. Then the troubled look disappeared, swept away by the cold, honorable rage of the avenger. He flung up his sword, keened once, and spurred his horse forward. The men charged and ringed Gerraent round. In the mob, Nevyn saw Gerraent’s sword flash up, bright with blood in the torchlight. A horse reared; men shouted; then the mob pulled back. Gerraent was lying dead on the ground. His cheek bleeding from a sword cut, Camlann dismounted and walked over to kneel beside him. He raised his sword two-handed and cut Gerraent’s head off. He rose, swinging the head by the hair, and with a howl of rage, he flung it hard against the wall.
The scream broke the vision—Brangwen’s scream. Nevyn scrambled up and ran to her just as she rose, sobbing.
“Gerro! He’s dead. Gerro, Gerro, Gerro!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Camlann—ah ye gods—he cut—he, ah, ye gods! Gerro!”
Nevyn flung his arms around her and pulled her tight. Brangwen struggled, throwing herself back and forth in his arms while she keened for her brother and the father of her child. Nevyn held on tightly and grimly until at last she fell silent.
“How did you know? Gwennie, tell me! How did you know?”
Brangwen only wept, an exhausted tremble of her body. Nevyn stroked her hair and held her until at last she seemed calmed. When he let her go, she threw her head back and keened again.
And so it went for hours. He would just soothe her when something would make her remember and she would keen, struggling with him. Slowly her struggles grew weaker. He got her to lie down on the cloaks, then lay down next to her and let her weep in his arms. When she at last fell asleep, he watched the fire burning itself out until he, too, drifted off, as