The Dragon Revenant Read Free

more.” Nevyn heaved himself out of his chair and began to pace by the brazier. “There are a great many ins and outs to this story, most of which I’ve forgotten, but in the end, I betrayed her. Because of me, Brangwen died, and her brother, and an innocent man who loved her, too. That part I’ll never forget. And it fell to me to dig her grave and bury her. I was beside myself with guilt and grief that day, well and truly shrieking mad with shame. So I swore a vow, that never would I rest until I’d put things right. And from that day to this, I’ve done my best to put them right, over and over, as Brangwen and the others were reborn and crossed my path, but I’ve failed every time, and so I’ve never gone to my rest.”
    “Are you telling me that the Great Ones accepted a vow like that?”
    “They did. Well, I’d broken one vow, hadn’t I? I suppose they wanted to see if I could keep the new one.” He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Does it seem wonderful to you, living over four hundred years?”
    “It doesn’t, and especially not when I hear the weariness in your voice.”
    “Good. You’ll go far in the dweomer, Elaeno.” Nevyn sat down again and sighed with a heavy exhaustion. “But keep that vow, I will. Brangwen belongs to the dweomer, and by every god in the sky, I’ll make her see it this time or die trying—oh by the hells, what a stupid excuse for a jest!”
    “This time? She’s been reborn, then, has she?”
    “She has. Jill, Cullyn of Cerrmor’s daughter.”
    Elaeno gaped.
    “The same lass that’s off with that lackwit Salamander,” Nevyn said. “On her way to Bardek after Rhodry. The very same one indeed.”
    The storm blew itself out finally after two long days of rain. Everyone was glad to get free of the enforced leisure of drowsy hours spent huddled near the hearths in the great hall, and the ward was a-bustle that morning when Cullyn went out just to be going out, walking in the fresh and rain-washed air. He was strolling across the ward, aiming for the main gates merely to have a goal, but about halfway there he paused, struck by some odd observation that for a moment he couldn’t identify. Someone he’d passed, back by the washhouse, was somehow out of place. He turned back and saw a young man he vaguely recognized, Bryc by name, one of the undergrooms, but he was carrying a load of firewood, and his walk was wrong, not the shuffle or scramble of a servant, but the confident stride of a warrior. Cullyn hesitated only a moment before following him. Sure enough, Bryc carried the anomalous firewood right past first the washhouse, then the cookhouse as well. There was no other building where that firewood might belong between him and the outer walls.
    Cullyn stayed with him until the lad passed the armory, then ducked into it, ran down to the door at the far end, and opened it a crack to look out. His hunch paid off. Bryc was indeed looking back to see if anyone was following him, but he never noticed that the armory door was ever so slightly open. When he angled round a shed toward the broch complex, Cullyn slipped out and followed at a good distance, keeping close to the shadows of the various buildings. The lad never glanced back again until he reached the low brick wall that separated the gwerbret’s formal garden from the workaday rest of the ward. Cullyn hid in a doorway as Bryc unceremoniously dumped his load of firewood, looked cautiously around him, then leapt over the wall. As Cullyn went after, Bryc hurried across the lawn, where, some distance away, little Rhodda, Rhodry’s illegitimate daughter and only heir, played with a leather ball, while her nursemaid, Tevylla, sat and sewed on a small stone bench. There was absolutely no reason for Bryc to be in the garden at all.
    With an oath, Cullyn drew his sword and broke into a run. He leapt the wall just as the fellow made a grab at the child. Screaming, Tevylla jumped up and hurled her sewing scissors at