Free Scarlet by Stephen R. Lawhead Page B

unquestioning belief. Unable to help myself, I glanced up at the sky, bright and fine, and not the least smudge of a cloud to be seen anywhere. The amused expression on my face must have given me away, for as I stood looking on, Bran called to me. “What,Will? Could it be that you doubt our good banfáith’s word?”
    “Nay, Lord,” I replied, softening his accusation. “Let us rather say that it will be the first time I’ve seen snow from a clear blue sky.”
    “Hmph!” sniffed Angharad, muttering as she stumped away, “These old bones know snow when they feel it.”
    I followed Bran to his hut and took my place alongside the other two. Iwan seemed comfortable enough with my presence, but Siarles did not appear to prize it much. Even so, I was there at the king’s pleasure, so there was nothing to be said or done. “It seems the baron in his boundless generosity is sending us a Christmas blessing,” Bran said. “We must make ready to receive it with all good grace.”
    The other two grinned at the thought, and all three began planning how best to greet the supply wagons when they passed through the forest on their way to Castle Truan. I listened to their talk, keeping my own counsel—as I was yet a little uncertain what manner of outlawry I had fallen into. Every now and then, the name King Raven arose in their discussion. It was the first time I had heard the name used among them in just this way. It was Bran himself they meant, and yet all three spoke of him as if it were someone else.
    Finally, after this had gone on awhile, I asked, “Pardon my ignorance, Lord, but are you not King Raven?”
    “Of course,” replied Bran, “as you already know.”
    “To be sure,” I said, “but why when you speak the name do you say, ‘he will go . . .’ or, ‘. . . when he calls . . .’ and the like, if it is yourself you mean?”
    Bran laughed.
    Iwan answered, “It is Bran and not Bran. See?”
    “Again, I must beg pardon. But that makes no sense to this dull head at all.”
    “Bran is King Raven,” Siarles explained, giving me a superior smile, “but King Raven is not Bran.”
    “Sorry.” I shook my head. “I may be slow of wit, God knows, but it still seems nonsense to me.”
    Bran said, “Then you’ll just have to wait and see.”
    Well, we spent most of the day planning the welcome for the baron’s supply train. While they talked about all they would do, I still had little real idea what to expect save for my part in the proceedings, which amounted to little more than watching the road and being ready with a bow in case events did not fall out as predicted.
    A few of the Grellon were involved, but not many, and none of them was given duty at the sharp end. Bran, Siarles, and Iwan assumed the greatest risk and made particular efforts to keep the people both out of sight and out of danger as much as possible.
    Oh, but it would be dangerous. There was no avoiding that.

CHAPTER 9
    I t was an odd thing: everyone scurrying around like ants in the rain—the children dragging wood into heaps near the door of each hut, and the women bundling foodstuffs, and the men drawing water and snugging the shelters—all labouring under a clear, bright sky to prepare for snow, the only hint of which was a twinge in an old woman’s bones.
    While the rest of us were taking such measures against the coming storm, Iwan and Siarles went to spy out the best place for the welcome. We did not know how many soldiers would come with the wagons, nor how many wagons there might be. But Iwan and Siarles knew the road and knew where an ambush might succeed.
    They were gone all that short winter’s day, returning at dusk. Upon arrival, they went directly to our lord’s hut. Tired from the day’s work, I settled by the common fire where a stew pot was bubbling, to warm myself and wait for the food to be served. “You were busy all day,” observed a woman nearby.
    “I was that.” I turned to see Mérian, bundled in her