Page 52 of The Dragon Ring
Cadwy made a sharp movement. Anger emanated from him in waves. Clearly he was furious Arthur was here, that Theodoric had fetched Arthur to his father’s deathbed in defiance of his wishes.
Uthyr spoke again. “But I knew my boy would come.” Was that a smile touching the cracked lips?
“Don’t talk, Father,” Arthur said gently. “Save your strength.” He glanced in my direction. “I’ve brought a healer with me.” He beckoned, and reluctantly I stepped away from the doors and up to the end of the bed. Euddolen’s and Breanna’s anxiety pressed in on me from behind.
Cadwy stared across the bed out of small dark eyes sunk in his overblown, ruddy cheeks. It was impossible to tell whether he took after his father or not– the High King’s appearance was too far gone for that. Once, Cadwy might have been a handsome man, but now, consumed with scarcely concealed hatred for his younger brother, his face had contorted into lines of ugliness.
“What can this boy do that our father’s own doctors could not?” he asked scornfully. He hadn’t even noticed I was a woman.
Arthur released his father’s hand and got to his feet. “Come here, Gwen.”
I went on leaden feet. A first aid weekend was no preparation for this. The smell was appalling. I wanted desperately to be somewhere else, miles from this terrible death chamber.
I stood beside Arthur. As I looked down at Uthyr I drew a sharp intake of breath. Astute intelligence resided in his bright eyes, an intelligence that recognized this was his end already come upon him. He held up a shaking hand. “No.”
Arthur took my hand in his firm grip. “Let her try, at least.”
Uthyr waved his hand back and forth feebly. “No.” It was a gasp. “You mean well, my son.” He had to pause to regain his strength. “But nothing can be done. It’s too late. My body already rots. Only my mind remains.” The hand fell and his eyes closed. His breathing sounded loud in the silence, as though he were forcing the air in and out of his lungs in an active effort to stay alive. Above dry and fissured lips, his nose rose prominent as an eagle’s beak from his ravaged face, his blue-veined eyelids thin as parchment.
“This is a girl?” Cadwy wasn’t fast on the uptake, that was for sure. “Your healer is agirl?” His voice was heavy with scorn. Not very PC of him.
The woman from the shadows stepped forward. Her gown rustled slightly as she moved, and for a moment, a rich exotic scent overpowered the stench of decay. “This is the Lady of the Ring who was foretold.” Her voice was deep and sweet, made for singing.
A leaf-green gown clung to her curves in all the right places, and for a woman she was tall. She had a pale, heart-shaped face with full lips, and a small dimple in her chin– a face that was not just beautiful, but absolutely stunning. I’d never seen anyone like her. I shifted uneasily in my dirty tunic and braccae and travel-stained cloak, feeling like a scullery maid brought before a duchess. A small smile curved her lips as she acknowledged the effect she’d had on me.
“The Lady of the Ring?” Cadwy echoed, staring from me to her and back again, and then at Arthur. “This is her?” He sounded disappointed. Should I feel insulted?
Arthur nodded. There was an air of triumph about him, as though he were playing cards and had just laid his winning hand on the table. “This is she.” Words hung unsaid in the air between them. Perhaps Arthur was thinking of the supposed Saxon raid on our camp two days before. I certainly was. This was the man who’d sent them.
The woman’s smile deepened. She looked as though she was enjoying Cadwy’s surprise. “She has the ring, Brother. Look, and you will see.”
Why did I have the feeling when she looked at me that she knew what I was thinking? Did she really have the “sight”?
Uthyr opened his eyes. They were fever bright. “You have the Lady of the Ring?” There was animation in his voice. He coughed, and the flecks of spit at the corner of his mouth were stained with blood. “Now? Here?”
Arthur dropped back down on one knee and took his father’s hand in both of his. Bending his head, he touched his brow for a moment to the skeletal fingers. “Yes, Father, she is here.” There was unmistakable exultation in his voice.
“Let me see her,” the old man whispered. “I must see her before I die.” His eyes closed again. The bed covers rose and fell as he struggled for breath.
A choked sob came from the door. Surely Breanna and not Euddolen.
Without being asked to do so, I knelt beside Arthur, our shoulders brushing. I stretched out my hand, the one with the dragon ring on it, and took Uthyr’s hand from Arthur. There was nothing there but dry papery skin and fragile bones.
The old man’s eyes opened again. He looked long and hard at the ring on my finger, then at my face. “I never thought I would see this day.” His voice trailed off and for a moment his eyes wandered blankly from side to side, the bright intelligence lost.
The woman stepped closer. “Leave him.” Her voice held command. She was used to being obeyed. “Let him rest. His time is fast approaching. By bothering him with this girl, you will only make it come all the faster.”
Now that she was out of the shadows I could see she was young– younger than Arthur and younger than me. The fresh bloom of her cheeks gave that away.
Arthur turned angry eyes upon her. “He needs to see the Lady of the Ring. He’s waited all his life for this.”
The bony hand in mine twitched, and I squeezed it in instinctive reassurance. The skull-like head turned, and he looked up at me, the blank look replaced by that sharp intelligence once again. How old was he? Surely not as old as he appeared.
“You are the one foretold.” Uthyr’s whisper rasped in the silence.
The stench was terrible.
His lips moved. “I’m glad I have lived long enough to look upon your face.” He paused for breath. “And to see you married to my son.”
