There he remained, until the door opened so that Wiglaf could enter the room, with an exhausted groan. Scratching at his left cheek with his right hand, carrying his staff with his left hand with the crystal held up by the piece of oak-wood lit up with a soft golden light.

  The sorcerer leapt up what must have been fifty feet in the air with a cry, when he caught sight of Indulf having apparently not foreseen that the youth would still be awake. “By Brigantia and her flaxen hair, what are you doing standing there still as a gargoyle?!”

  Indulf sought to answer him, when the lass threw herself forward calling out in Gallian, to the sorcerer who stopped to stare at her visibly baffled.

  “She barged into the room, woke me up and would not leave until she had spoken with you,” Indulf informed him.

  “She told you all of this?” Wiglaf asked of him, which drew another shrug from the Caled who did not see why he should answer such a foolish question. “I shall translate between the two of you, if you truly understand so little of her tongue. Quite why she has found her way here, to our chambers is a mystery to me.”

  Indulf did not answer him.

  Fluent in a great many languages, the sorcerer turned now to the lady and addressed her now in her tongue. He soon extracted from her, the tale of how she had arrived there.

  *****

  “I am princess Bérénice, daughter of Clovis, High-King of Gallia.” She said with Wiglaf repeating her every word, in the Caled tongue for the sake of the youth. Repeating each word as swiftly as possible so as to not lose any of those, she uttered with all the speed of a woman desperate to communicate her every thought, as rapidly as they came to her. “My whole life was spent in happiness in the palace of Lynette and that of Armand, until I was sent to the convent of Tenjin, where I was educated, by the sisters.

  With this part of our family’s traditions, with my father having asked me as it happened if I preferred this convent or that near the castle of Armand. It was at this time that my father, the King had me join him in his Lynette palace, it was during this time that he informed me that he wished me to prepare to be wed.

  As a proper lady, I was fully prepared of course,” at this time Indulf could hardly restrain a short chortle of laughter that won him, an irritated look from the lass. “It is at this time that his advisor, the Comte of Pévardie sought to have me promised to him in marriage.

  This I could not accept, for he is within the degrees of consanguinity, and though my father had always favoured him, he is an odious and unlikeable man.”

  She paused at this time, with Indulf growing impatient and frustrated with her tale. He could appreciate her descriptions of her reasons and motives, but did not see how they tied in with her present situation. Certainly, he imagined Cormac or Daegan might well have appreciated her long-winded manner of telling her story, but he did not.

  “Can she hurry? I do not see how her description of events is remotely connected, to her presence here.” Indulf complained to the sorcerer who grumbled in response.

  “Let the lass speak lad, she has a reason for all she says,” He then added if rather sheepishly, “Though I could use a small taste of wine or milk to quench my thirst.”

  Holding up a hand to stall her, having by this time crossed the room to sit with her, he reached now over to the wine-bottle near where the fruit-basket near the center of the table was to be found. Wiglaf goblet in hand, poured himself a large helping of the bottle, drank, then repeated this action, ere he smacked his lips together joyously.

  With a wince at the lass’ fierce glare, he went on to translate for him the tale she wished to continue telling. “It happened that I spoke to my father, about my disdain for his advisor but he simply ignored me. Reminded me that my grandmother through my mother was the Comte’s mother also and for this reason I should be respectful of him. He also averred that I would marry whom it best pleased him to wed me to. I acquiesced, on condition that it would not be my cousin for the gods are clear on such matters.

  Wherefore he grew angry, and I wished to speak to him no more. Escorted from the palace back to the convent, my escort was raided and I was seized. My captors took me to Roven, where the Duke wished to wed me himself. But I escaped him, by pretending to be a nun and taking refuge in a convent nearby. It was then that the Duke had his friend, the son of Herleifr, Ivarr Face-Cutter raid the convent in question.

  The nuns wished to shield me from harm, by having me secreted away however the Arns were faster and caught us. The nuns were slain or sold into slavery, and I was brought here with Ivarr. The Duke Mathias has sought to have me ransomed, as has my father but Herleifr has refused their offers for he thinks he could demand a hundred times my weight in gold, from my father. Ivarr though, is angry with his father and wishes for my hand in marriage, despite the fact that I have told him I would not marry him.”

  At this time both of them took a breath, they been speaking for so long that neither had taken a breath in some time.

  In the interlude, Bérénice appeared both cold and lonely. Indulf was full of pity for her, as he well-knew how scared most ladies and princesses were likely to be of those around them, especially after such a horrible turn of events. It was a wonder he mused that this princess, could hold herself so primly and so high, with nary a hint of the apprehension she no doubt felt, for the future.

  Bérénice of the golden-halls of Lynette was no ordinary lady, nor was her courage to be put in doubt though, she did not wield a sword as Daegan or the Amazons of Namavo, or the nuns of Ziu might. Hers was a greater valour, borne not from any experience in warfare, but from one who had never seen war yet had maintained her courage and dignity. In many ways, he admired her far more, than he did Daegan.

  Wiglaf swallowed audibly, addressing the daughter of the greatest of North-Agenor’s monarchs, in a steady tone. Indulf waited for the sorcerer to translate her words, which he did after she had answered his question. “I have asked of the princess, if she knows anything about the hissing, if it is connected to the wraiths.”

  “And what did she say in response?” Indulf queried almost holding his breath in, having forgotten by this time the lies he told the elderly sorcerer.

  The princess was transmitted this question, with her answer one that led the sorcerer to take up at first a consternated expression, wherefore he scowled at the Caled with a thunderous gleam in his eyes. This grimace did not quite pass, in spite of her continuing on with her tale and explanation of what she had seen, since her arrival in Hraukrheier.

  When he next spoke Wiglaf did so with clenched teeth, “You lied to me Indulf; you told me that you went to the second and third floors, not the fifth one.”

  Indulf could only gape, swallowed and stumbled for words. Glancing from one man to the other, the princess appeared visibly uncertain of what was happening with the men. Quite why there was so much tension was a mystery to her.

  Tearing his gaze away from him, with a hard gleam in his eyes, Wiglaf translated for him, “She told me that she encountered you on the fifth floor when she sought to escape from her chambers. It was at this time that she ran into you, with the guards near her door absent.”

  Indulf remained still at a loss for words.

  The sorcerer continued sharply, “According to her Ivarr was not accompanied by Arns or by men from Norléans, but by snake-men. These ‘men’ if they could be deemed such, are demonic figures born during the Wars of Darkness, and were trusted servants of the first Dark Laird, Romus. They are called Colubériens in her tongue, or Colubar people, and are renowned for their cruelty. They have long ruled over this palace since the time of the conquest of the city.”

  “How have they ruled it? Surely someone would have seen them in the act, of ruling?” Indulf questioned stunned by the news that such beasts could exist in such a place, when he would have thought that they would have been chased out by Herleifr’s ancestors.

  Wiglaf did not immediately translate the question for the princess’s sake. “I am not certain what the princess thinks of this question, but will tell you my thoughts on the matter. It is apparent to me that when áki Thormundsson took over the palace and the city, he was likely aided by these snake-people on condition that he might rule with their aid.”

  “How did they aid him?”

  “It has always been a mystery how the Arns took the city without aid from the local inhabitants. I imagine they opened the gates to him, and given their own alliance with Romus, along with how they were driven out of Gallia at his fall, I suspect they are the ones who have pressed him into an alliance with the Dark Laird and Gargath.”

  Brooding upon this guess, Indulf considered as close to the truth that they might get at. A part of him could hardly believe that their enemies had grown in numbers. First there were the wraiths now there were these snake-men, how were they supposed to defeat this Dark Laird if he had all in place ere their arrival?

  The princess was urged out of the room shortly thereafter, with the promise that when they escaped, they would not do so without her. It was left to the sorcerer to escort her back to her chambers, though she was loath to do so.

  When he returned to the chambers he shared with Indulf who had decided to return to sleep though he did not succeed in doing so, due to how his mind was racing with what they had so recently discovered. By the time he heard the door open once more and Wiglaf move to occupy one of the chairs; he was once again drifting off to sleep.

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  *****

  Colwyn took the news of the existence of the snake-men well. “I had heard something to this effect from Brandr, when he had had too much to drink several nights ago. It would appear that now is the time, for us to seek to escape this place.”

  This sudden decision on his part startled both the youth and the sorcerer, with the former gaping at him while the latter stuttered in response. Neither could quite believe their ears, though it was exactly what they had previously thought, on several occasions in the days that had led, up to this one.

  “But what of the negotiations?” Wiglaf asked stunned.

  “I am not so certain that they will keep us alive for long, if they suspect that we know for certain now that Herleifr has tied himself to the Dark Laird.” Colwyn countered firmly, his ordinarily sly eyes glinting now with uncharacteristic steel. “I do not think that we should allow either Herleifr or Brandr, the opportunity to waste more of our time, not when it is so much of the essence.”

  It was unusual to hear him speak so firmly, with Indulf exhilarated to hear the talkative Cymran at last move to take action.

  The scheme which Colwyn proposed now, was exactly the sort that he might otherwise have expected from the prince who had become the center of so many legends and tales. Almost as many as Lyr’s uncle, or Bardulf, with the Cymran revealing the fullness of what he had preoccupied himself with hitherto this moment.

  “You see, in the time when I have not been occupied with speaking to the brothers, I have spoken to several guards and servants. Many of whom, would I think be more than happy to exchange places with Indulf and I, and even this princess.” Colwyn told them in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning across the table a little an eager smile upon his lips with his short golden beard gleaming in the light of the suns.

  “And where shall we find these guards?” Wiglaf queried impatiently, “It is highly unlikely that Herleifr or his cobra-men may have overlooked such a possibility.”

  “They may not have overlooked my cunning, though the Jarl’s eldest son, Helgi has.” The prince of Gwyneira revealed to them with a short chortle. “You see, since my arrival I have been presenting something of a ridiculous image of myself. For this reason the prince has begun to grow complacent. He has thus in the past three days, continuously used the same guards, Birger and Halfdan to maintain an eye upon us.”

  “Brilliant,” Wiglaf murmured awed by the slyness of the prince, saying as he regained his feet, “I knew you would validate my faith in you!”

  “What of the princess? What servant shall you convince to exchange clothes with her?” Indulf queried sceptically.

  If he was honest with himself, though he did not say it and strove to hide it from the two other men in the room, he was envious. Jealous of the cunning and praise the Cymran had won, he wished it was him who had won them their freedom and not Colwyn.

  He knew that were they present Cormac and Trygve, being naturally resilient and sly respectively themselves they could have discovered some means, by which to escape from the city’s palace. It was his hope still that he may have the chance to prove himself. If he could not prove himself to Wiglaf, than he wished to at least do so to himself.

  “Hmm, a good question I shall have to see if there are any of the servant-girls I have spoken to who would be willing to do so.” Colwyn conceded with a shrug of his shoulders, the cheekiest smirk on his lips that the Caled had ever seen in all his years. “I shall have to offer several bribes to the guards that they might let us escape.”

  “How do you intend to bribe the guards? I thought you had no coin upon your person, after the loss of our boats, en route for Antillia?” Indulf exclaimed at once, worried for this potential hole in the plan of the Cymran.

  “Colwyn you see may have the appearance of a prince, but he has the fingers of a common-thief,” Wiglaf answered ere the prince could, with the younger man quick to send him an irritated glance. “Just as he stole from his wife’s brother, I imagine he has been pilfering from our hosts.”

  “Must you dub it ‘pilfering’ I prefer to dub it ‘liberation’, and I have simply been aiding the common-men and women enjoy some of the gold and silver they ought to have some right to. Twas their ancestors who were robbed, of their lands and rule over this lovely palace,” Colwyn corrected at once, with a childish roll of his eyes. “I merely took from my chambers and the mead-halls of Brandr when I visited him, only small things he may not noticed at once and that I could hide. Ere long, these goods were given over to a washer-woman who has exchanged some of these candles, and statues for coin.”

  It was remarkable how a man from the highest and most austere rank in Cymru could speak so lightly, of the act of theft. It was also to the mind of Indulf sinister, for he was a hard-working sort who had toiled endlessly in his old life for all that he had.

  It was toil that defined men, and separated good men from the worst kind, Freygil tended to say. For those who toiled, for all that they owned were to be respected, and those who did not were to his mind, to be shunned.

  This view had long coloured the way in which the Caled viewed the world, Cormac would have shunned theft also. When he thought about it a little more, over a lunch composed of heron-meat, heated bread, onions and boiled pig-meat, he guessed that Trygve would have had a more liberal view of such an act.

  It was near to the end of the day that Indulf was joined by Wiglaf who informed him, the moment he entered the room. “You will have to hurry lad, I would rather not over-stay our welcome longer than we already have.”

  Indulf did not have to ponder a response for long, as the door opened now to the guards Halfdan and Birger, whom were accompanied by Colwyn. Without so much as a word to a single one of the captives, the guards removed their hauberks, chainmail trousers, their boots and leather riding gloves.

  Helping the two men from the Lairdly-Island into the Nordic clothes, which included the wolf-cloaks both men reluctantly gave over to them.

  Selected by Colwyn as much for how they matched the heights of the two captives in question, the guards then dressed themselves up in the ragged tunic and leather armour that the Elves had given over to the two of them at their departure. Once dressed, the guards tore into the fruit bowl that had been refilled that, very morning with nary a further glance to either of the men they had taken the clothes of.

  Hardly pleased to have to dress as an Arn, Colwyn sighed with visible melancholy, “Here I am; once more in the raiment of a barbarous northerner! What sorrow I have to endure, to return to my beloved Eirwen.”

  “Cease prattling, we have much to do and little time to accomplish it,” Indulf growled at him with the immediate approbation of the sorcerer.

  “He is right, Prince Colwyn now go while I see to finding that lass you selected for Bérénice.” Wiglaf replied keen to be out of the room at the soonest opportunity.

  “Bah, no need to worry over that, I gave her instructions to join the princess.” Colwyn answered breezily, having wished to avoid any delays in their escape.

  Wiglaf remained sceptical, though he did not utter a word to contradict the prince. The two of them left though not without urging the Caled to hurry, lest they might be discovered. All relied upon subterfuge, and though it might have been easier to escape without the princess, Indulf could not imagine abandoning her.

  *****

  The hallway was barren of guards as always, just as the stairs were. Colwyn descended the steps two at a time, with Wiglaf preferring to wait near them, saying to the youngest of their group, “Remember Indulf, if you see one of the guards return hither. If we must find another way to save the princess, or delay our leave-taking of this place, we will.”

  Sullen at this remonstrance or what appeared to be one Indulf nodded his head reluctantly. He would have preferred that the old man have faith in him.

  Leaving without a response beyond the nod of his head, he took to the stairs two at a time as Colwyn had done before him in the opposite direction. Reaching the fifth floor without seeing a single soul, no matter the fact that the suns still loomed in the distant skies, though they were already muted by the encroaching dark of night Indulf paused in the stairs. The lack of servants out and about bewildered him.

  Telling himself that they were all likely down on the first floor helping in the kitchens, with the cooking of the last bits of meat and pastries for Herleifr’s riotous feasts. Feasts that from what he had been told by his friends could last all through the night, and well into the succeeding day.

  His heart beating in his chest, Indulf was to hurry down the hallway, to the second door away to the right of the stairs, where he had several nights ago first met Bérénice.

  The lack of guards amazed him, for he had assumed that during the day she would be guarded by human or beast-folk guards, and yet there were no guards to be found near the door to her chambers. If it were him he would have placed guards there, with Indulf uncertain if he should proceed or not.

  He threw open the door to her room only to come to a stop, at the sight of the princess seated before the window, the last rays of the suns bouncing off her gold-tresses. She was certainly a lovely sight, incomparable in all the savage lands, of the Misty-Isle.

  Seated before the table in her chambers, with a thick tome in hand she was deeply engaged with the text contained therein, almost smiling as she read. Her full pink lips moving with each word that she read, her bright grey-blue eyes glittering with joy taking from an art that Indulf would never enjoy himself.

  But it was not her beauty that halted him. It was the fact that she was still dressed in the silk-dress of a princess.

  Bewildered he did not remain in the doorway for long, searching about the chambers with his gaze for the servant-lass of whom Colwyn had spoken of; he found no trace of her.

  Worried, Indulf asked of her in his broken Gallian, “Where is servant?”

  Thickly accented and hardly comprehensible, he could not know how difficult it was for any true speaker of Gallian to understand, the slightest word he uttered. Bérénice proved herself masterful in her ability to discern his words and extract the meaning behind them.

  What she could not accomplish though, was to properly communicate with him. Troubled by this, she chose simply to shrug, something that the Caled could well understand.

  Frustrated, once again at having to spend any time with the lass whom he could not understand or communicate with, Indulf closed the door behind him. Urging her to hurry away with him, speaking as best he could in his broken Gallian, “Hu- hu- hurray?”

  “Hurry,” She corrected him, as he had selected the entirely wrong term for ‘hurry’ in Gallian. The word he had chosen to say was ‘hourra’, rather than ‘précipité’. For this reason his attempt at Gallian was laughable at best.

  Where Daegan might have raised her nose at him, and Cormac would have begged him to stop this lass simply looked as though she were resisting a small smile. It amused her to no end, he noticed to see him struggling with her strange, foreign tongue.

  Indulf gritted his teeth at this perceived mockery.

  Inga would not have laughed, and if she had, he thought to himself she would have done so with deliberate good humour where this appeared to be scornful to his mind. Taking an immediate dislike to her, he repeated the term she had taught him with exaggerated care and some fury. “Hurry!”

  Something of his anger was conveyed to her, at her correction wherefore she took up an outraged mien of her own. Bérénice flushed scarlet, visibly offended by his offense, as she could not understand his wounded pride at her correction, since in Gallia grammar and proper speech was of the utmost importance.

  “D’accord,” She grunted reluctantly with a disdainful wrinkle of her nose at him, a gesture that only hardened his dislike of her.

  Gathering together her book, several fruits and a satchel she girt to her dress’s girdle with considerable care. The satchel jingled, informing any and all listeners of the coins that lay hidden within it.

  She made to follow then remembered her other book; that of the Canticle which lay upon her nightstand. Bidding Indulf to wait, she hurried over to the nightstand pulling from thereon the red-wood the book in question, wherefore she added it to the other tome she already had in hand.

  Growing impatient, Indulf called out to her, “Hurry!” In not only his tongue, but that of her own, drawing another glower from her.

  Rejoining him a moment later, though not swiftly enough for his taste, Indulf grasped her by the wrist pulling her roughly after him, this gesture was evidently not appreciated and drew a hiss along with a curse from her full-lips.

  Neither of them made it to the door, which flew open at that very moment. Pouring into the princess’s chambers, were nigh on a dozen guards, led by the second of Herleifr’s sons, Ivarr.

  A tall dark blonde-haired man with bright blue eyes, and the same hawkish nose, set chin and thick beard of his father, along with the bright mane of his mother, he was a daunting muscled figure. Dressed in a dark hauberk, chainmail and with gauntlets and iron boots, he appeared to loom over all present within the large room.

  “Lo! It appears that Gwyneth spoke true!” He bellowed in a deep voice, full of wroth with blazing eyes, “We do have a rat in our midst, here to take my rightful bride from me!”

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