The Penwyth Curse (Medieval Song 6) - Page 35

He continued to ignore Callas. The ancient collection of beard and bones wasn’t panting anymore, nor did he seem at all anxious to open his black-lined mouth.

It occurred to him suddenly that of course Callas was afraid of him. He had every reason to be. The prince was one of the greatest wizards of all time. The old man was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid.

The prince walked to Callas, towered over him, then stepped closer, nearly to his nose so he could intimidate him even more. Aye, let the old man’s teeth chatter, although he had so few left there wouldn’t be much sound to it.

The prince lightly touched his fingers to Callas’s mouth, skimming the flesh, the beard tickling his fingers. “Did you bring other priests with you, Callas? Are they awaiting your signal to attack me? It doesn’t matter if there are ten, nay, even a hundred ancient graybeards, even a hundred of your ghosts. I will cut off their heads, weave their dirty beards into leads for my dogs. Or I will turn them into black rocks to be pounded by the waves for all time. What do you think, Callas?”

“I think that something is wrong, prince. Just look at you. You pretend to arrogance, yet there is something strange going on here, something I don’t understand. Do you?

“No, prince, don’t threaten me. I mean you no harm. Aye, just look at you—you look more dangerous than your father looked when he blew the tide into that pitiful town called Londinium that lies toward the east.”

“My father is rarely capricious. A mob was stoning an old man, someone accused of witchcraft. He stopped it.”

“Why didn’t your father simply smite them all?”

The prince shrugged. “He was trying to

keep his temper, and he began blowing out to calm himself. Instead, his breath became a mighty gale, washing the water over all the land.”

“Aye, and that old man he saved drowned like the rest of the mob. Like your father, you would rather slice a man into two parts with your sword than simply lock your fingers together and turn him into acrid blue smoke or a tarantula.”

The prince stroked his chin. “Hmmm, I haven’t thought of spiders in a long time. Now, you are here alone, are you not, Callas?”

“As you see, prince, as you see.”

“Why?”

Callas cocked his old head at that question, he frowned, he pulled on his beard, but in the end he just shook his head. “I don’t remember. This is all very strange. Don’t you believe it’s stranger than a ghost who wishes to copulate with a mortal?”

“Aye, everything is passing strange.” So neither of them knew how he’d gotten here.

The prince said, “I will not kill you. That is not why I am here. This is Brecia’s oak forest, isn’t it?”

“No, it is not. You must leave, prince.”

The prince raised a dark eyebrow at him. “Leave? I don’t think so. I will tell you the truth, Callas. I have looked and looked but could never see where Brecia was. She is good at concealment, I admit it. But now I am here, how I don’t exactly know, but this is the very edge of her oak forest. I feel it to the very core of my being. Now I finally realize why you are here, Callas. You are here to guide me into her fortress. The gods sent you here, just as they sent me. It is time, and Brecia knows it.”

His heart began to pound. Soon he would see Brecia. It had been too long since that first time they’d stood beneath a sarsen stone lintel at the vast sacred stone circle.

“You weave a silly tale. Why would Brecia want to see you, prince? You’re a black wizard. You want to own her, control her.”

“Only that?”

“Listen to me, you black prince of Balanth. Brecia is the soul of the body. If she is taken, coerced, controlled, then she will die, then we all die.”

“You think that is true, Callas? That this is what I want?”

The old priest snarled like a cornered wolf. “That’s what she thinks. She came to realize that you lied to her, that you were not to be trusted. She found out that after you saw her at the sacred stone circle, after you told her you wanted her above all others, you disappeared and you took that witch from across the sea as your wife.”

The prince shrugged. “I did not lie, not really. The fact is, I had no choice but to wed Lillian. I did not even know of it until my parents and the council told me. It was my duty.” He paused a moment, felt a quivering of regret in the silent air. “Lillian died birthing my child.”

“How is such a thing possible?”

“She was flying at the time. I told her not to, that it was too close to her time, but she must always do the opposite of what I counseled her to do. At least the representatives of the Spanish Karelia agreed to keep to our treaty, since her death was a natural thing and not my fault.”

“Did you tell them what you told me? That she disobeyed you?”

“No, I did not.”

Tags: Catherine Coulter Medieval Song Historical
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