Sanctuary (Dominion) (35 page)

Finally, Arkael stepped forward, and a ripple shook the room as hardened Irish warriors shifted away from him, and me. Even Cullach stepped aside, his anger replaced by a morbid fascination about what might come next. Finally, after several slow, deliberate steps, Arkael reached me, and he stood there like a statue, his eyes moving up and down as they examined every inch of me. Then, before I could even react, his sword came up in a flash. The blade smacked my wrist and the knife flew from my grasp. His other arm came up across my chest and I was pushed bodily against the wall, next to my former captive, with Arkael's sword point now nestled into the folds of my neck.

"Explain to me exactly,” he stressed that word carefully, “what you mean when you use the word ‘heal.’"

My bravado was gone. I'd been willing to face down death a moment ago, but that moment had unfortunately passed. Now, with Arkael's sword ready to end my life, I became increasingly protective of it.

"I... I can heal people," I stammered, trying to stay composed. "I cleanse them of the demon's touch.” I struggled for a better word, one that more completely explained what it was I could do, but I couldn’t think of one. “I heal them."

Arkael's eyes narrowed.

"Show me."

Part 5

Caer Gybi

Chapter 30

We moved through the dark, hands at our side, grazing the slick, grimy walls that surrounded us. An orange glow far ahead and another far behind were the only sources of light, neither of which let us see more than the silhouette of those who walked with us in the narrow, suffocating tunnel. The thick stench of rat dung filled the air, making breathing a chore, and the sound of almost a hundred scuffling footsteps blended together into a single, grating noise.

The sound of an army escaping.

After our standoff in the church, I told Arkael we had to return to Ynys Mon for me to show him how I could heal. He agreed, reluctantly, and then walked away without saying another word. Cullach’s men parted as if he were Moses himself, and then set about plundering the church once no one was left to defend it. I stood there, dazed, while the Irishman I’d just held hostage complained to Cullach and threatened to slit my stomach open. Cullach told him to be glad he was alive and not to let a priest with the arms of a child pull a knife on him anymore. That seemed to settle the affair for now, though I wouldn’t be turning my back on that man any time soon.

Once I could leave the church, I ran to the gates because I feared Arkael might leave again, but he wasn’t on the road. Instead, I found him standing on one of the watch towers, staring off in the distance. When I tried to approach him, he waved me away angrily so I decided not to antagonize him. Instead, I found comfort in the fact that I’d finally reunited with him, after all this time, and I’d convinced him to do something of my own accord instead of just blindly following him. But I couldn’t help but be troubled by his mood. What could possibly concern him?

The more difficult task was convincing Cullach. He was no fool. He’d stopped trusting Lorcan some time ago. And he knew Ruark could turn on him, too, but he’d expected it to happen after they’d taken the city. Perhaps through a coup of some sort once they’d strengthened their defenses, or an assassination while hunting, or poisoning of food. Cullach never imagined he’d be betrayed the morning of the battle, though, which is probably why it nearly destroyed him.

Of Cullach’s original one hundred and fifty one men, only eighty two remained. Thanks to Lorcan, Rhodric knew exactly when and where Cullach would strike. Towyn had been abandoned, very recently from the looks of it, and defenders were hidden in most of the houses, ready to spring on the Irishmen once they spread out to plunder a surprisingly empty town. Had Cullach and his lieutenants not been as suspicious about the whole thing as they were, the casualties would have been higher. Luckily, Cullach’s men were disciplined and they stayed together when the trap was sprung. As such, only fifty four died, though still a terribly high number for an army with no way to replenish itself.

Those fifty four men weren’t the only ones Cullach lost, though. About fifteen more had turned on him in the forest, and slipped away during the night or just before the attack. I don’t know if they thought their chances of surviving were slim or if they’d been lured away by Ruark or Lorcan, but I think those defections hurt Cullach more than those he lost in the battle.

What no one could figure out, though, was why Rhodric had so few defenders here. Another fifty or so men would have swung the battle in their favor, and Cullach might be dead or captured by now. Some claimed that Rhodric didn’t have time to get more defenders to Towyn, while others thought he was playing a game with Cullach, though no one could say what kind of advantage he hoped to take from this. Personally, I thought if Rhodric wanted to play games with Cullach, he could do so much easier by just defeating him soundly. But I wasn’t any kind of strategist, so I didn’t pretend to understand why the King of Gwynedd didn’t try harder to defend his city.

Cullach wanted his revenge, of course, but he also wanted his town. He’d come here to find a new home, and he wasn’t about to abandon it after losing so much to gain it. He was adamant about that for some time, even though I pleaded with him to stop Lorcan.

“How do we get back, priest?” he asked me later that morning, barely holding back his frustration. Cullach had taken over the main hall in the city, claiming it as his own. I found him there with his lieutenants, Malador and a younger man named Trian. “You want to go back to Ynys Mon, to that cursed fort where Lorcan keeps his devilspawn? Then how do we get there? Rhodric knows we’re here, and he will have more men headed this way by nightfall. They will see us leave, and they will harry us no matter where we go. We’ll spend the next two days fighting them off night and day, and in the end, we’ll be lucky to get out of Gwynedd with our heads.” He shook his head. “Just so we can go back to that wasteland of an island.”

“The priest is right about one thing,” Malador said. “We can’t stay here. Our plan was to defend with over two hundred men. We could hold a city this size throughout the winter with that number, but now,” he shrugged, “we may hold out against Rhodric’s first wave, when he decides to throw us out, but that’s all we could hope for. The walls are broken, the storehouses burned down, and we’d be too spread out to defend. We have to leave, and the sooner we do it, the sooner we put space between us and him.”

“I know,” Cullach said. He pounded his fist on the arm of the large wooden chair he sat in. “I know all of this. We can’t stay, but I still don’t see how leaving keeps us alive any longer.”

“We could try to escape to the east, or the south,” Malador said. “Rhodric’s reach only goes so far. Maybe we can find a king somewhere who would take some of our silver in exchange for safe harbor for the winter?”

Cullach frowned, considering the proposal.

“We could leave at sunset,” Trian suggested, “and make for the boats we left. We’d make it by morning if we didn’t stop.”

“The boats are scuttled,” Malador said. “Ruark wouldn’t betray us and then leave us boats we could use to come find him.”

“If he thought us dead, he’d have no reason to bother.”

Malador rolled his eyes, and prepared to argue with the younger man, but he was interrupted by the appearance of Arkael, who strode through the front door unannounced. Cullach and his men stood defiantly as he approached.

“Who let you in here?” Cullach asked.

Arkael looked around the room, and when he saw me, his eyes narrowed. He turned back to Cullach. “You want to leave without being seen?”

Cullach, Malador and Trian glanced at each other uneasily. Finally, Cullach nodded. “What if we do?”

“Get your men to the forest north of here under cover of night, and I’ll show you how to get back to Ynys Mon.”

“We know how to get there,” Trian said carefully, balancing his distaste for Arkael with his desire not to be gutted by the man. “The problem is Rhodric’s army does, too.”

“Rhodric may know the path I’m about to show you. What I doubt, however, is him thinking that you know it, too.”

“What are you talking about?” Cullach said.

“A tunnel,” Arkael said. “Underground. There’s an entrance to it in the forest, and this particular one will lead you north, under the mountain you call Snowdonia, and directly into Ynys Mon, very near to the fort.”

Cullach stared at Arkael in disbelief. “You expect me to believe,” he said, slowly, “that a tunnel exists that leads from this city all the way to Ynys Mon? An underground tunnel, that happens to take us exactly where we need to go? Is that what you’re proposing to me?”

Arkael didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“How foolish do you think I am?” Cullach growled. “This is another trap. Rhodric’s men could be waiting out in those woods, watching as you lure us right to them with the promise of easy escape. Is that your plan? You think you will see us cut down like lambs to the slaughter?”

“If I wanted you and all of your men dead, I could do it myself. I don’t need your enemy’s help for that.” All three Irishmen bristled, and Cullach’s hand instinctively went to his sword before thinking better of it. “As for this tunnel, it exists. Dozens of them, all over Britain.”

“What?” I asked. “All over the island?”

He nodded. “Built by the dwarves, long before the Romans ever heard of this place.”

“How do you know this?” I said, but Arkael ignored me.

“You have no other options. At least none that will see you alive two days from now. If you want me to take you to the tunnel, then gather your men and meet me at sunset at the north wall, where you burned your way through.” Arkael turned to leave. “If you’re not there, then I’ll assume you’ve decided to take another path.”

With that, he left, and the room stayed quiet for several long moments. Cullach sat back down to ponder his options, while Trian and Malador glanced at each other uneasily. Finally, Cullach turned to me.

“Daniel.” He motioned me to step closer.

“Yes, sire?” I bowed my head.

“How well do you know this man?”

I took an uneasy breath. “You’re asking if I would vouch for him?”

“I am. I need to know if he would lie to me.”

“I don’t know him that well. But I know he spoke the truth about one thing. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t need Rhodric to do it.”

Cullach frowned at me, and for a moment I worried that I’d gone too far. Then his gaze left me, and he stared instead at the front door. “He is the Hand of God you spoke of?”

“He is.”

Cullach grew quiet again, and a thought occurred to me.

“Sire, if I may,” I paused until Cullach nodded, “Arkael is going to Caer Gybi to kill Lorcan, and I can assure you that he will be successful. If Ruark gets in his way, he will probably die, too. So, it seems to me that with those two dead, their men would need a new leader, and it would make sense for you to be there when it happens, so that you can claim them before they scatter to the winds.”

Cullach looked at me, an odd tilt to his head, and I briefly saw the edges of his lips curl in a smile. Then he turned to look at Malador, who just nodded. Finally, he stood.

“Leave us be, priest.” I bowed slightly and left the hall.

*****

I had nowhere to go, so I occupied my time by wandering through the broken city, trying to find my satchel. I made my way back to the tavern where I’d lost it, only to find three Irishmen already scavenging through the place. They looked at me warily, which I also did to them while walking past them to the back. Luckily, my satchel was still on the floor where I’d left it, although someone had obviously rummaged through it already, leaving my extra robe strewn across the floor. My parchments and my cup were still there, though, so I repacked everything, and went to the back door. I stood on the step just in front of the trough that nearly killed me, the exhaustion of the morning finally catching up to me, and I leaned against the door frame, clutching the satchel to my chest. By now, I considered this scratched and scuffed leather sack, along with everything in it, to be just as world weary as I.

My stomach rumbled loudly, but I had no food, and I didn’t dare ask any of the Irish for some. So instead I set to rummaging through the remains myself, looking for anything to eat. I discovered a section of houses that Cullach’s men had not yet picked through, and found some bread and cheese in one of them, and amazingly enough, a heavy bottle of wine in another. I sat at the table in that small, wooden house, partook in my meager feast, and managed to taste none of it because of the jumbled mass of thoughts that filled my mind. After eating, I put the leftover bread and cheese in my satchel for later, but I gave what was left of the wine to the first group of Irishmen to show up. They took it without a word, and watched me with curious eyes as I left to aimlessly wander the streets of Towyn.

When the sun finally grew low in the sky, I made my way to the north wall, by the hole, and I found Arkael already there, sitting on the earthen wall, eating an apple. He said nothing as I approached – which by now was the only way I ever expected him to greet me – and I sat on the mound next to him, staring out at the forest to our north. He reached into his pack and pulled out another apple and offered it to me. I took it, glad for more food, and we sat there quietly, the only sound the crunching of our teeth on apple skins.