bulged red, and spit frothed through his moustache.
“No!” Owain cried. “No!”
Without a glance in Owain’s direction, Vortigern plunged the blade through Uther’s heart.
Uther’s mouth opened in a mute scream, his eyes wide, his face wracked with pain. As he exhaled his last breath, he whispered, “Jesu, have mercy …”
Owain squeezed his eyes shut as furious smoke rose from the Stone and lightning streaked across the sky. When he opened them again, he saw Vortigern fling the bloodied blade away. Turning from the murder, the battle chief covered his eyes with his hand while great tears streamed down his face.
Owain tore his gaze from the traitor, and it fell on the face of his friend, lightless eyes staring in death. Great Uther. Dead. And the heir as well! Despair again threatened to take him, and he drew in great gasping breaths, struggling to keep it at bay.
Mórganthu, now on his feet again, rose to his full height and called out, “Druidow! Sons of the wood! Slay this man who dares interfere with the divine rights of the sacrifice of Belornos!”
From all around Vortigern, the druidow advanced, holding blades, axes, and spears with shaking hands.
Vortigern drew his broadsword, brought his great horn to his lips, and blew long and loud. The dark woods echoed with thrumming feet, and in less than ten heartbeats, his warriors burst onto the field.
“Havoc! Havoc!” Vortigern shouted. “The king is dead. Druidow have slain the High King! Come to my aid, my warriors!”
CHAPTER 34
A LAMENT UNSPOKEN
Colvarth tore his tunic and wept until his vision blurred and he could no longer see the pale face of his dead queen. Eilyne and Myrgwen wept with him, hugging their mother and wailing.
The nightmarish images of the attack whirled through his head as he stood. He’d been so shocked with how swiftly Uther had been taken that Igerna’s cries barely reached his ears.
“Colvarth!” she’d shrieked. “They’ve taken Arthur!”
It all happened so fast. The men had stripped Arthur from Myrgwen’s arms and left the tower. All, that is, except for the one Uther had slain and the dark one guarding their escape.
But instead of joining his fellows when the rear was secure, this foul warrior had advanced upon Igerna and lunged at her with his sword, only to find two girls and their slim blades between him and his prey. The two daughters had defended their mother with all the fierce determination and inexpert skill they could muster, but to little avail.
“Get awa’!” the man had shouted, waving his sword as if to shoo away flies buzzing over his supper. “I’ll ha’ me reward o’ gold, nay matter the cost!”
God, pardon me for not acting more quickly. Treachery of this kind against women and children was against the ancient laws of the land — even the laws of the Eirish — and Colvarth, his bones shaking, simply had not fathomed the danger.
He should have acted sooner. My Father … forgive!
Eilyne snarled in righteous defense of her mother and had tried to stab the man. But McGoss, or so they named his fetid face, had clouted her with his fist and thrust her aside.
Myrgwen likewise had advanced to face him and was tossed into the rock wall.
“You whelps’ll die proper in a moment, once yer mither’s dead!” McGoss bellowed, circling her with blade thrusting and swinging.
Her own dirk in hand now, the queen defended herself fiercely, even slicing his elbow once, but the warrior simply outmatched her.
Only then had Colvarth woken from his fright. Grabbing the pickaxe, he wounded the murderer in the leg before being kicked into Uther’s freshly dug hole.
By the time Colvarth had crawled out, the queen, God save her soul, was dead.
And by grace alone had Colvarth and the unconscious girls escaped the man’s blade. For at that moment the other four Eirish warriors had returned, more quickly than McGoss had apparently expected. Caught in his despicable act, McGoss pled with them, but they hacked him dead in lawful judgment — and left again as Colvarth sobbed into his beard.
“Ah, God!” Colvarth cried as he kissed the wet cheek of little Myrgwen, now bereft of her mother … the queen who should have lived to see her godly lineage.
Eilyne still held her blade, and she ran at the mutilated body of McGoss, screaming. Colvarth grabbed her and held her back. “He is dead. Leave his … judgment to God, my lady.” He took her blade and held her sobbing shoulders tightly. Ah, she would have been a good sister-guide