Merlin's Shadow by Robert Treskillard Page B

“I won’t talk about it again. It’s best this way. She’ll understand.”
    When Vortigern collapsed to his knees, Bedwir started to run to him, but stopped. He feared the battle chief’s anger if anyone thought him weak-footed in such placid waves.
    After Vortigern found his feet, Bedwir picked up the fallen spear and handed it back.
    Vortigern beat his chest and blinked as if a salt spray had stung his eyes. “Where? Where did the witch go?”
    Bedwir looked warily at the crew and warriors. A witch? There wasn’t even a woman among them. “What did you say?” Bedwir asked, but the battle chief pushed him aside and stepped over to the fisherman who manned the sail.
    â€œTake us to Baegower.”
    Vortigern’s lips nearly frothed, and the fisherman studied him with a wrinkled brow. “Take us to Baegower!”
    â€œAll’un right,” he said. “Nay need fer yellin a’ me.” After signaling the man at the rudder, he adjusted the sail until the boat cut northeast. The other boat saw their veer and followed suit.
    Like most of the other warriors, Bedwir settled down and leaned back against the side of the boat. In some ways this was best — you couldn’t lose your footing. But it didn’t help the stomach any, and Bedwir’s gurgled.
    Vortigern kept pacing, his eyes darting here and there. No doubt looking for his witch. The man even poked his head into a deck hatch. After a short inspection, he walked back to the fishermanmanaging the knotline and scowled at the limp sail and quiet wind. “How long to Baegower?”
    â€œMay’en be four hours, I’d conject.”
    â€œYou can’t go any faster?”
    â€œNay, unlessen the wind bites a mite more.”
    A gust suddenly snatched the sail, and one of the ropes whipped loose and welted the fisherman across the face.
    Vortigern grabbed the snaking line and pulled it tight. The boat sped now across the sea, and Vortigern’s laugh was lost amongst the waves.
    â€œTell me … what it was like?” Grandfather asked her. “How did you tell Vortigern where to go? You never left here, yet when I looked into the orb at Vortigern, I saw
you
standing in front of him.”
    Ganieda blinked. “I was only there. The orb ate me … Didn’t you hear me scream?”
    Grandfather clucked his tongue. “Yes, yes, of course you screamed … but the orb didn’t eat you. You embroider the tale, my daughter’s daughter.”
    â€œIt was scary.”
    Grandfather patted her on the head. “Well, it is done, and now that Vortigern has been told, you don’t need to do it again.”
    â€œWhy do you want my brother to die?”
    â€œI?”
    Ganieda slipped the orb back into her bag and wrinkled her nose at him. “You said I should tell Vortigern to kill my brother.”
    Grandfather’s lower lip wrinkled, and he lifted his bloody, bandaged right forearm and thrust it toward her face. “You … you want to know
why
?”
    Ganieda tried to step back, but the hot fabric of the tent pressed against her hair. “You want your hand again …”
    â€œI want your brother’s neck to look like this.” He stripped off the bandage and revealed his arm, with the skin dying and red atthe stump of bone where his wrist had been sliced through. He fingered its end with his remaining hand, disturbing the scabs that surrounded the wound.
    She couldn’t look anymore and darted to the side.
    Grandpa caught her by the shift and pulled her back.
    She screamed.
    â€œI want revenge. I want Vortigern to kill him and Belornos to afflict him evermore.”
    Ganieda beat at Grandfather, but his hand wouldn’t let go. “I didn’t tell that warrior to do it. I couldn’t.”
    Grandfather shook her like a rag and then dragged her to the center of the tent. “Then you … will … go … back to