Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“No!” Her hand came away from the tent pole and her eyes opened as she slowly straightened. “I can manage.”

Kian watched her with apprehension growing in his dark eyes. “You are in pain, Charis. I will send for a Mage” He made a move toward the tent flap.

“No-no, thank you, Kian. It will pass. Annubi gave me something earlier. It is leaving me now, but I will be all right.”

The prince frowned. “This is not wise at all. You should be home in bed.’”

“Home? What a choice of words, Kian. And where do you suppose my home to be? The bullring?”

“You know what I mean,” He stood with his fists on his hips, then softened and stepped toward her. “Why did you come?”

“Belyn is still awake?”

“Yes, we were together until just a few minutes ago. Do you want me to send for him?”

“We will go to him.”

Leaning on Kian’s arm, Charis managed the few yards between tents. Kian nodded to one of the sentries and they were admitted at once. Just inside the tent stood a carved rosewood screen, candlelight shining through the innumerable perforations like starlight. A nearby censer burned sweet-smelling incense and a layer of blue-tinted smoke hung like a cloud at the top of the tent.

Charis composed herself and straightened as she stepped from behind the screen. Belyn was standing at a small table with a carafe in his hand, pouring wine into a cup. He wore the haggard look of a man tired beyond exhaustion. He glanced up as they entered. “Ah, Kian, will you have” His eyes went to Charis.

“Uncle Belyn,” said Charis.

Recognition spread across the king’s face like sunrise. “Charis! Charis, my soul, let me look at you. It has been a long time. When last I saw you-but look at you!” He replaced the cup and stepped around the table to take her by the arms.

Charis winced. “Uncle Belyn,” she said between clenched teeth, “it is good to see you too.”

He pulled back in alarm and cast a quick glance at Kian. “You are hurt. Sit down at once. Here” He dragged a three-legged camp chair across the carpeted floor. “Sit.”

Charis accepted the chair and lowered herself slowly onto it. “Some wine,” said Belyn. “Get more chairs, Kian.” He stepped to the table to pour two more cups. Charis saw that he had a scar on his temple that ran from his hairline into his scalp; his hair had gone white along the slash mark and one eyelid drooped slightly. He returned as Kian pushed two more chairs together. Belyn handed a cup to each of them saying, “Your brother told me about what you did at the watchtower. I am much impressed-and I am not the only one.”

“I made them pay for their pleasure,” acknowledged Charis. She took a sip of the wine, then several gulps.

“Indeed,” remarked Kian. “Charis, do you know that my men have talked about nothing else since? They Believe you a goddess.”

“Then they should see this goddess now,” scoffed Charis, raising a hand to her battered face. She took another draught of wine and cautiously leaned back in the chair. “A goddess with a broken back perhaps.”

“Say what you like, it is true,” Belyn said. “Talk is spreading among my troops as well and they, as you know, were not even there.” He gulped down his wine and set the cup aside. “Now then, why have you come when you should be home in bed?”

She answered directly. “I want you to give up this stupid war.”

“Give it up?” Belyn raised his eyebrows and looked across to Kian. “But thanks to you we have just gained the first advantage we have enjoyed since Avallach-well, the first in a very long time. Why would we want to give up now?”

“Not give up to Seithenin,” said Charis. “I mean stop. Quit fighting.”

“Kian, do you know what she is talking about?”

“I have a general idea,” he admitted. “Look, Charis, do you think”

She ignored him, speaking only to Belyn. “The war does not matter. Something is going to happen very soon and we must be ready.”

“Ah, you speak of this prophecy-the coming catastrophe?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are talking nonsense, Charis,” he said gently. “I have heard those silly rumors for years.”

“It is no rumor, Belyn,” said Charis firmly. “I cannot explain why or how I know, but I do know-I know it is going to happen. Very soon. There is little time left.”

Belyn slumped back in his chair, his expression mingling pity and regret.

“But I did not come here to ask you to Believe me,” she continued. “I can offer no proof for what I Believe. I came to ask for”

Just then there was a rustle of tent flap and into the room stumbled the tall, broad-shouldered frame of Maildun. He stopped just inside the entrance and stared, his eyes puffy from sleep. “Charis! Dear sister, it is you! I was asleep and thought I heard”

“Hello, Maildun,” said Charis rising slowly. “It is good to see you.”

He crossed the room in a bound and swept her up. She grimaced and stifled a cry of pain.

“She is hurt!” shouted Kian.

Maildun released her at once. “Then what they say is true?” He looked at her wonderingly. “Kian said you had saved them. But what are you doing here? Will you stay?”

“If you will be quiet for a moment, we will all find out why she has come. She was just about to tell us when you came crashing in.”

“Something about a request,” said Belyn.

“A request? What sort of request?” asked Maildun, settling himself on the floor.

“Ships,” said Charis simply. “We need ships.”

“We have no ships to speak of,” observed Belyn.

“Perhaps not, but Seithenin does,” offered Maildun. “They are about all he has left.”

“Then take them from him.”

Belyn stared at her and laughed. “Just take them?”

“Have you any idea how difficult that would be?” asked Kian. “We could more easily walk into his palace and take Seithenin himself.”

“Wait a moment, Kian, there is a way.” Maildun leaned forward. “Charis, this is just what I have been trying to tell them.”

“Well, you have your chance,” she said. “Tell us now.”

“We send a message-an urgent message from Belyn to Meirchion, saying that we Believe we have Seithenin on the run”

“True enough,” remarked Belyn slowly. “Go on.”

“We tell Meirchion we think we can defeat Seithenin once and for all, but we need more men-many more men. We must have enough men to press the fight home. Meirchion must raise them, and we will wait, meanwhile, with all our remaining forces, at-ah, somewhere just out of easy striking range-for a week, no longer, until Meirchion can send the men.”

Kian gulped down his wine and threw aside his cup with disgust. “Let Seithenin capture such a message? You can not be serious. He would never”

Belyn raised a hand toward him. “An attractive bait, Mail-dun. But where is the trap?”

“Suppose Seithenin also received an urgent communication from Nestor?”

“What sort of message?”

“Something to the effect that he has detected heavy troop movement to wherever it is we are supposedly waiting, and Believes he has a chance to cut us off before our attack force can be established. Let Nestor say that he has three thousand men amassed at somewhere or other and ready to fight, but”

“Yes?” wondered Charis, becoming caught up in the intrigue.

“But fears he cannot reach them in time.”

“I see,” said Belyn.

“I do not,” replied Kian. “What does Seithenin care”

Belyn waved Kian silent. “It is subtlety itself,” he said.

“We simply suggest the means and let Seithenin outsmart himself.”

“Would he send the ships?” wondered Charis. “Would he really send them?”