head, the time it might take to draw in a breath – the world had come alive again around her and she was filled with new hope and new anxiety and new life.
She watched in a daze as the owls rose and gathered, leaving blood and dread and disorder in their wake. She saw them flocking above Blodwedd and the others of the Gwyn Brawn. She saw that Dera and Aberfa were horsed now. She saw Banon turn her steed away and go riding hard and fast towards the gate of the city, Aberfa and Dera close behind.
Ironfist staggered to his feet, roaring orders to the remnants of his soldiery, running after the fleeing horses. And through the power of the white crystals, Branwen could now understand his words, even though he was speaking his own tongue.
‘Stop them!’ he howled. ‘To horse! They must not get away! They have the shaman girl with them! A bag of gold to the man who brings down the waelisc witch!’
Iwan whispered in Branwen’s ear again. ‘See now what we had planned? Dera will lead the others to the bridge and over the River Dee while you and I slip quietly away in the opposite direction.’
‘They will be run down and killed!’
‘With good fortune, they will not. The owls will do all they can to cover their escape! They are loyal birds and brave fighters, and they will do Blodwedd’s bidding, even to the death. While the owls keep Ironfist’s men busy on the bridge, Dera will lead the others north and around in a wide circle. If they outrun the Saxons we will meet with them in a place we have already chosen. The two of us shall approach it from the south, and there will be no Saxons on our trail.’
‘And if they do not outrun the Saxons?’
‘Then you at least shall be saved,’ Iwan replied. ‘The Chosen One of the Old Gods will not be lost, and neither shall the great destiny that she is meant to fulfil.’
Branwen stared into Iwan’s dancing eyes. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘That’s a tale for a less precarious time and place,’ said Iwan. ‘Are you able to walk?’ His eyes were anxious. ‘You are grown so thin,’ he said under his breath, a catch coming into his voice. ‘I’ve fretted for this day for a month and more!’ He touched his forehead against hers. ‘I feared you were dead, Branwen. Truly, I did!’
She lifted her hand to touch his lips. ‘Hush, now!’ she said. ‘I’m alive, Iwan. And I can walk, barefoot though I am and half naked in such cruel weather!’
‘In that at least, I can help you.’ Iwan undid the clasp that held his cloak and threw it around her shoulders, pulling it tight around her and clipping it at her throat. He looked into her face again, and for a moment the longing in his eyes took her breath away. But then he lifted the hood to cover her head and leaned forward, peering out over her shoulder.
‘The plan goes well,’ he said. ‘Let’s slip away now. Remember – move as quietly as possible and say nothing. We will need to pass close by the army camp, and I’d not count much on our survival if they get wind of us!’ She shivered. ‘Have you seen their numbers, Branwen? I’d say Ironfist has mustered six or seven thousand.’
‘I’ve seen them,’ Branwen replied. ‘Come, Iwan. Give me the crystal.’
He opened his palm and she took the small, cold crystal and closed her fist around it. She looked up. The sky was clear now, but she had noticed that there were no black feathers among the tawny bodies of the slaughtered owls. It seemed that the raven had fled. But where might he have gone, that was the question.
Ragnar was not a demon to be defeated by owls, no matter how thick they flocked around him.
So where was the dark god of the Saxons?
Where was Ragnar?
Branwen and Iwan made their stealthy way to the south gate of the town. On the way, they were often forced to step aside or to dart into cover as warriors came running past them in the opposite direction. From the centre of Chester, battle horns were blowing a strident call as Ironfist gathered his troops to hurl them in pursuit of Dera and the escaping Gwyn Braw.
Branwen watched the passing Saxon soldiery with angry, narrowed eyes, wishing she had a sword to hand so that