Free Crimson Fire by Holly Taylor Page B

wouldn’t be too sure that the Old Gods are powerless. Why, just look behind you.”
    Havgan whirled, for he had felt a prickling at the nape of his neck, as though someone—or something—was sneaking up behind him. But there was no one there. The wind picked up and began to howl for a moment, then subsided. He turned
    around to speak sharply to the old man, but he was gone. Hav- gan glanced around wildly, but he could see no one except his fi ve friends, who still stood some distance from him.
    He called out to them even as he strode toward them. “Where did he go?”
    Sigerric looked at him blankly. “Where did who go?” “The old man!”
    “What old man?”
    “Didn’t you see him? He was right there, talking to me.” “We didn’t see anyone,” Sigerric said. “Just you, wander-
    ing through the ruins.”
    Havgan opened his mouth to argue, but abruptly shut it. For at that moment an eagle wheeled high overhead, calling with the voice of the wind. And from far, far away, the sound of hunting horns drifted across the plain.

    Tiwdaeg, Sol 24—late morning
    T WO MONTHS LATER , Sigerric, riding across the grassy plain beside Havgan, was thinking very hard about his friend.
    Havgan was up to something, something devious, something possibly very, very dark, something Sigerric was still not certain he even wanted to know. But it had become evident to Sigerric some years ago that his task was to save his friend if he could. The trouble was that Havgan did not want to be saved, did not even seem to see the danger that Sigerric saw so clearly.
    Sigerric had not wanted Havgan to go to Ealh Galdra, for it was a dangerous place. He was of the opinion that the Old Gods were not as powerless as some would like to think. And though he had seen nothing, and Havgan had said very little, Siger- ric had his suspicions that Havgan had encountered something
    there. But Havgan had refused to discuss it. Indeed, Havgan always refused to discuss the things that troubled him most.
    That was a characteristic of his friend that frightened Siger- ric—for he had never known Havgan to have the slightest incli- nation to face the dark things that lurked inside, to even contem- plate a journey toward the truths that surely lay buried there.
    And Sigerric had often thought that some very dark things indeed lay hidden deep inside his friend. Sigerric had heard men mutter that they were surprised that Havgan, the son of a fi sherman, could have such a hold over his fellow warriors, the scion of lords of the Empire. Sigerric could have told them all that though he had no idea whose son Havgan really was, he certainly was not the son of a fi sherman. But even Havgan himself was not ready to believe that, so Sigerric had held his tongue—so far.
    Catha, Baldred, Penda, and Talorcan rode behind Siger- ric and Havgan, their cloaks fanning out behind them, laugh- ing and calling to each other as they raced across the meadow. Overhead the sun shone bright and warm as the heady scent of a summer morning drifted past them in the gentle breeze.
    Havgan laughed with them, his hair vying with the sun for brightness, laughter in his amber eyes. He held up his hand, and they all came to a halt.
    “So, Havgan,” Catha called, “how in the world did you get Lord Wiglaf to let us go? Blackmail?”
    “His winning personality, of course,” Talorcan said. His light green eyes danced with laughter in his thin face. “What else?”
    “It was easy,” Havgan replied with a wicked grin. “I prom- ised him that the fi ve of you would do midnight guard duty for the next three months.”
    Baldred groaned. “You didn’t!”
    “Why, Baldred,” Havgan said with mock dismay, “I thought you would be pleased to be part of the advanced welcome for the Prince.”
    “But at what price?” Penda asked theatrically. “We are un- done!”
    “Truthfully, though, we are very lucky to be chosen,” Bal- dred said, scanning the east horizon.
    “And we will be