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By Root 593 0

the page to return, Gweniver stood beside her horse and looked over the broch complex. Although her brothers had told her about the splendor of Cerrmor, she’d never been there before. A full seven stories high, the massive tower joined itself to three lower half brochs, and the dark gray complex rose like the fist of a giant turned to stone by dweomer. Nearby stood enough barracks and stables to house hundreds of men. Over it all flew a red-and-silver flag, announcing proudly that the king himself was in residence. When she glanced round at the swelling crowd, she saw all the noble lords watching her, afraid to speak until the king gave his judgment on this strange matter. Just as she was cursing the page for being so slow, the ironbound doors opened, and the king himself came out with a retinue of pages and councillors in attendance.

Glyn, Gwerbret Cerrmor, or king of all Deverry as he preferred to be known, was about twenty-six, tall and heavyset, with blond hair bleached pale and coarsened with lime in the regal fashion so that it swept back from his square face like a lion’s mane. His deep-set blue eyes bore such a haunted expression that she wondered if he’d just lost some close kinsman. When Gweniver knelt before him, she felt an honest awe. All her life she’d heard about this man, and now here he was, setting his hands on his hips and looking her over with a small bemused smile.

“Rise, Lady Gweniver,” Glyn said. “May I not sound like a churl, but never did I think to see the day when a woman would bring me men.”

Gweniver made him a curtsy as best she could in brigga.

“Well, my honored liege, never has the Wolf clan broken its sworn vow, not once in all these long years of war.”

“I’m most mindful of that.” He hesitated, picking careful words. “I’m informed that you have a sister. Later, no doubt, when you’ve rested, you’ll wish to speak to me about the fate of the Wolf.”

“I will, my liege, and I’m honored that you would turn your attention to the matter.”

“Of course. Will you shelter with me a while as an honored guest, or do you need to return straightaway to your temple?”

Here was the crux, and Gweniver called upon the Goddess in her heart.

“My liege,” she said, “the most holy Moon has chosen me to serve Her as a Moon-sworn warrior. I’ve come to beg you a boon, that you’ll let me keep the place I have as head of my warband, to ride with you in your army and live at your command.”

“What?” He forgot all his ritual courtesy. “Here, you must be jesting! What would a woman want with battles and suchlike?”

“What any man wants, my liege: honor, glory, and a chance to slay the enemies of the king.”

Glyn hesitated, staring at the tattoo as if he were remembering the old tales of those who served the Darktime Goddess, then turned to the warband.

“Now, here, men,” he called out. “Do you honor the lady as your captain?”

To a man the warband called out that they did. At the back of the line, Dagwyn boldly yelled that Gweniver was dweomer.

“Then I’ll take it as an omen that a Moon-sworn warrior has turned up at my court,” Glyn said. “Well and good, my lady. I grant your boon.”

At a wave of Glyn’s hand, servants descended. Stable boys ran to take the horses; riders from the king’s personal warband hurried over to Ricyn to take him and the men to the barracks; councillors appeared at Gweniver’s side and bowed; two underchamberlains trotted up to escort her into the great hall. The sight of it amazed her. Big enough to hold over a hundred tables for the warbands, it had four enormous hearths. Red-and-silver banners hung among fine tapestries on the walls, and rather than straw, colored slate tiles covered the floor. Gweniver stood gawking like the country lass she was as the chamberlain, Lord Orivaen by name, hurried to greet her.

“Greetings, my lady,” he said. “Allow me to find you accommodations in our humble broch. You see, since you’re both noble born and a priestess, I’m honestly not sure what rank that gives you. Perhaps the same as tieryn?”

“Oh, my good sir, as long as the room has a bed and a hearth, anything