the hilltop, Branwen saw a standard fall – the red dragon of Powys fluttering to the ground to be trampled and torn under Saxon feet.
‘Oh, by the sweet saints!’ Iwan’s voice at her side was barely audible over the clamour of the battlefield. ‘We have come too late!’
Too late.
Too late to do anything other than watch Pengwern burn. The gates were thrown down, the towers ablaze on either side. The causeway to the citadel was clogged with warriors, Saxons hacking and slashing their way forward, the guards and soldiers of King Cynon falling back to the inner ramparts.
Now the others had come to the edge of the hill at her side. Branwen heard their cries of woe and dismay. Too late!
‘Pengwern is lost!’ shouted Dera. ‘Powys is lost!’
Branwen’s eyes were drawn from the carnage of the battlefield to the burning towers of Pengwern – and there she saw a sight that crushed her soul. A sight that had come to her as an omen when she had looked into the fire in Merion’s cave.
Perched high among the flames was a mighty raven – a huge creature, far larger than the monster that had attacked them before. Vast it was, its black wings outspread, its neck stretched and its head thrown back as it screamed its triumph, its eyes smouldering and its tongue of fire.
Ragnar loomed above the bloody battlefield, encompassed by roaring fire, fanning the flames with his sable wings as the smoke billowed thick and ugly into the sky, shrouding the sun and polluting the air.
‘I am no coward, Branwen,’ Iwan called to her. ‘But it would be madness to throw ourselves into this butchery!’
‘What would you have us do, Iwan?’ shouted Dera. ‘Turn tail and run? Hide ourselves in the mountains until Ironfist’s men dig us out like fox cubs in the den?’
‘No, of course not!’ spat Iwan. ‘But neither would I have us throw our lives away uselessly. Pengwern is lost – but we can spread the word – rally warriors – create a force to harry Ironfist’s army every step of their way.’ He looked urgently at Branwen. ‘We could do this – make them pay for every valley they pass through. Attack them in every forest. Ambush them in every mountain pass. Fortify every citadel against them.’ He stared out over the furious and bloody turmoil of the battlefield. ‘That, or ride down into the world’s end.’
‘Rhodri said to come here and deal with what we found,’ Branwen replied, slipping her shield on to her arm and drawing her sword.
‘I did!’ called Rhodri’s voice from behind her. ‘But I’m in my better senses now!’
Branwen swung around. Aberfa and Rhodri were approaching fast, and now Rhodri was sitting up in the saddle and his eyes were clear.
‘And what does wisdom tell you now?’ Branwen asked him, searching his face for some sign that he was still the boy she knew.
‘To escape this battle, and to live to fight on.’ Rhodri rode up to her. ‘I am myself again,’ he said, looking into her eyes. ‘I am changed, but I am not possessed. Say rather, I have grown into something … older. Deeper. I see many things. I do not understand them. They rush in my head like …’ He frowned. ‘… like salmon come to spawn in the rivers of their birth … like the evening flocking of starlings …’
‘Can the poetry wait?’ interrupted Iwan. ‘If we are to go, we should go now – before we are seen. I would not wish for a hundred horsemen on our trail!’
‘I fear the time for flight is past,’ said Dera. She pointed down the hill. A group of Saxon horsemen were gathered there, captains or favoured lords under Ironfist’s generalship, clearly holding back from the affray while the men under their command ran headlong into battle.
Branwen saw that one was pointing up towards them and shouting. The other horsemen turned, drawing their swords.
Orders were bellowed. Some of the horsemen rode in among the foot soldiers, howling commands. In no more time than it took to draw three breaths, Branwen saw wedges of horsemen and warriors go streaming around either side of the hill, running fast, their swords and spears and iron helmets glinting.
‘They will cut us off from retreat!’ shouted Aberfa. ‘If we are to depart in safety, we must ride like the wind!’
‘It is too late for that,’ Branwen called. ‘We will be pursued and cut down.’
Even as she spoke, more soldiers and horsemen began to