The Dragon Who Loved Me
Page 66
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And the Tribesmen were . . . slippery. Disappearing into the forests until they were ready to attack again. They must worship those nature-loving gods.
Even Bercelak with a squad of Dragonwarriors had been unable to find the bastards, although they’d been attacked many times with arrows. So it looked as if they’d have to wait until the Tribesmen struck the castle again, when they were out in the open, before Rhiannon’s warriors could real y do some damage.
Wel , it could al be worse.
Rhiannon felt a tug on the skirt of her gown and she looked down to see her granddaughter Rhianwen standing there. Honestly! A brigade of Kyvich, a battalion of guards, a centaur, and dragons and absolutely no one could keep their eye on one smal child?
“My sweet girl. What are you doing?” Rhiannon crouched in front of her grandchild. “Why are you up here? It’s too dangerous for you to be up here.”
“But it’s begun,” the little girl told her.
“What has?”
“The siege. Where Daddy is.” Smal hands reached for her, and Rhiannon pul ed her granddaughter in close.
“What happened, Rhian?”
“Daddy’s hurt,” she whispered. “They can’t help him.”
“Are . . .” Rhiannon fought to hold back panic, devastated tears. She wanted to believe the child merely had a bad dream—a nightmare. But Rhiannon knew that the girl had seen. “Are you sure, luv?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Is it very bad?”
“Yes. It’s very bad.” She held up a piece of parchment that she’d drawn on. “But I’m drawing this to help him.” Rhiannon forced a smile. “It’s very pretty. I’m sure he’l love it.”
“Don’t tel Mommy about Daddy. She’l be upset.”
“I won’t.” Rhiannon kissed the child’s forehead, concern for her son nearly kil ing her. “Now I don’t want you to worry about anything,” she told the child. “This wil al work out.”
“Only if the monster helps.”
“Monster?” Rhiannon asked. “What monster?”
“The angry one. The bad people hurt him. So he hates everybody now. He only has one eye. An angry one eye. Maybe Auntie Keita can send him eye patches to cheer him up.”
Good gods, the child spoke of the Rebel King. But how...
“Wil the monster help?” she asked her granddaughter.
The child toyed with Rhiannon’s white hair as she liked to do when her grandmother held her.
“Probably not.”
“Probably not?” Rhiannon asked. “So there’s a chance . . . ?”
“Auntie Annwyl wil have to get back what means the most to him.” The girl’s face turned painful y sad. “But she’l have to get it from the bad one.
The bad one won’t give it to her.”
“And what means most to the monster?”
“The same thing that means most to Talwyn and Talan. If Auntie Annwyl remembers that, she’l know what to do.” Rhian sighed and looked her grandmother in the eye. “When can I have pretty necklaces and bracelets?”
“When I’m sure you won’t turn into your Aunt Keita.”
The girl final y smiled. “Auntie Keita’s funny.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Rhiannon hugged her granddaughter tight while her mind raced with how to get Annwyl a message. Any attempts she’d made to contact either Annwyl or the others in the west, and her offspring in Euphrasia Val ey had been fruitless. She’d been blocked. Her! A white Dragonwitch! Damn gods and their damn meddling. And she knew it was the gods because only they could stop her from anything. But there might stil be a way. Of course she’d need—
“Take my hand,” her granddaughter told her.
“Um . . . can we play later, baby? I need to—”
“Take my hand. We can contact Auntie Annwyl together.”
“No, I . . . we’ve been unable . . .”
Rhian held her hand out. “We can do it together,” she said again. “But soon. I’ve got to finish Daddy’s drawing.”
“You real y can help me contact your Auntie Annwyl, can’t you, Rhian?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
She shrugged. “I just know.”
Not sure what was going on, but only able to deal with one major crisis at a time, Rhiannon took her granddaughter’s hand. “Let’s do this together, but I’l do al the talking. I don’t want you in your Auntie Annwyl’s head. Ever.” Sadly, Vigholf and Rhona decided to let the horses go. The terrain of the mountains was so rocky and the group would have to be able to take cover so quickly, they didn’t want to risk the horses’ safety or their own.
Although, at first, Vigholf began to believe this was a bad idea on their part. What with al the walking. For miles. And the gods knew they had many more miles to go. This Rebel King whom Annwyl wanted to find was located clear on the other side of the Provinces. The Provinces they hadn’t even reached yet. How Annwyl expected to get to where she needed to go in a timely manner, none of them knew. But the queen seemed fixed on her objective. No matter how much Rhona tried to tel her gently this was not a good idea, the queen didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear anything, which explained why the normal y chatty Izzy and Branwen mostly kept silent.
Even Bercelak with a squad of Dragonwarriors had been unable to find the bastards, although they’d been attacked many times with arrows. So it looked as if they’d have to wait until the Tribesmen struck the castle again, when they were out in the open, before Rhiannon’s warriors could real y do some damage.
Wel , it could al be worse.
Rhiannon felt a tug on the skirt of her gown and she looked down to see her granddaughter Rhianwen standing there. Honestly! A brigade of Kyvich, a battalion of guards, a centaur, and dragons and absolutely no one could keep their eye on one smal child?
“My sweet girl. What are you doing?” Rhiannon crouched in front of her grandchild. “Why are you up here? It’s too dangerous for you to be up here.”
“But it’s begun,” the little girl told her.
“What has?”
“The siege. Where Daddy is.” Smal hands reached for her, and Rhiannon pul ed her granddaughter in close.
“What happened, Rhian?”
“Daddy’s hurt,” she whispered. “They can’t help him.”
“Are . . .” Rhiannon fought to hold back panic, devastated tears. She wanted to believe the child merely had a bad dream—a nightmare. But Rhiannon knew that the girl had seen. “Are you sure, luv?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Is it very bad?”
“Yes. It’s very bad.” She held up a piece of parchment that she’d drawn on. “But I’m drawing this to help him.” Rhiannon forced a smile. “It’s very pretty. I’m sure he’l love it.”
“Don’t tel Mommy about Daddy. She’l be upset.”
“I won’t.” Rhiannon kissed the child’s forehead, concern for her son nearly kil ing her. “Now I don’t want you to worry about anything,” she told the child. “This wil al work out.”
“Only if the monster helps.”
“Monster?” Rhiannon asked. “What monster?”
“The angry one. The bad people hurt him. So he hates everybody now. He only has one eye. An angry one eye. Maybe Auntie Keita can send him eye patches to cheer him up.”
Good gods, the child spoke of the Rebel King. But how...
“Wil the monster help?” she asked her granddaughter.
The child toyed with Rhiannon’s white hair as she liked to do when her grandmother held her.
“Probably not.”
“Probably not?” Rhiannon asked. “So there’s a chance . . . ?”
“Auntie Annwyl wil have to get back what means the most to him.” The girl’s face turned painful y sad. “But she’l have to get it from the bad one.
The bad one won’t give it to her.”
“And what means most to the monster?”
“The same thing that means most to Talwyn and Talan. If Auntie Annwyl remembers that, she’l know what to do.” Rhian sighed and looked her grandmother in the eye. “When can I have pretty necklaces and bracelets?”
“When I’m sure you won’t turn into your Aunt Keita.”
The girl final y smiled. “Auntie Keita’s funny.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Rhiannon hugged her granddaughter tight while her mind raced with how to get Annwyl a message. Any attempts she’d made to contact either Annwyl or the others in the west, and her offspring in Euphrasia Val ey had been fruitless. She’d been blocked. Her! A white Dragonwitch! Damn gods and their damn meddling. And she knew it was the gods because only they could stop her from anything. But there might stil be a way. Of course she’d need—
“Take my hand,” her granddaughter told her.
“Um . . . can we play later, baby? I need to—”
“Take my hand. We can contact Auntie Annwyl together.”
“No, I . . . we’ve been unable . . .”
Rhian held her hand out. “We can do it together,” she said again. “But soon. I’ve got to finish Daddy’s drawing.”
“You real y can help me contact your Auntie Annwyl, can’t you, Rhian?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
She shrugged. “I just know.”
Not sure what was going on, but only able to deal with one major crisis at a time, Rhiannon took her granddaughter’s hand. “Let’s do this together, but I’l do al the talking. I don’t want you in your Auntie Annwyl’s head. Ever.” Sadly, Vigholf and Rhona decided to let the horses go. The terrain of the mountains was so rocky and the group would have to be able to take cover so quickly, they didn’t want to risk the horses’ safety or their own.
Although, at first, Vigholf began to believe this was a bad idea on their part. What with al the walking. For miles. And the gods knew they had many more miles to go. This Rebel King whom Annwyl wanted to find was located clear on the other side of the Provinces. The Provinces they hadn’t even reached yet. How Annwyl expected to get to where she needed to go in a timely manner, none of them knew. But the queen seemed fixed on her objective. No matter how much Rhona tried to tel her gently this was not a good idea, the queen didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear anything, which explained why the normal y chatty Izzy and Branwen mostly kept silent.
