I am ready for their charge, but I can do nothing to evade the arrow that is loosed by the archer who sits still and quiet upon his horse whilst the others bluster and thrash about. The arrow that cuts through the moist morning air silent save for its whining song of death. The arrow that, as I leap from the path of the black warhorse, finds the end to its journey deep in my belly. I fall to my knees, dropping my knife to grasp the shaft of the arrow with both hands. I know it has struck a mortal blow, but I will not cross to the Otherworld with the instrument of my enemy’s victory in me still. I wrench it from my body and pain sweeps through me like a wave of fire. I am aware of the men coming to claim my corpse, but I will not let them! Summoning my spellcraft, I compel my own fading limbs to raise me up, so that I might stagger into the sacred waters of the lake.

I know she is near. She could not save me this time, for with so many foes near to show herself would have meant disaster for her, but I know she has come to take me with her. The hour has arrived when I shall go to her secret home in the depths, and she and I will dwell there together. As I fall forward into the water the shouts of those earthbound become more distant and blurred. I can feel her beneath me know, gently lifting me, bearing me away from the cruelty of men and the suffering of this life. I move so that I can see the little blackthorn tree. Wenna is still hidden there, my babe in her arms, and I send her a vision and with it my words, speaking directly to her mind, letting her know my dying wish.

‘Tanwen is Brynach’s child.’ I remind her. ‘She carries his royal blood. She is his heir. Love her as such. For his sake, love her!’

And now the cold of the water numbs my pain, and the soft swimming of the Afanc carries me across the lake. No more shall I walk these shores. My prince has gone, and I pray that I will find him in the Otherworld. My babe will live on, and I pray that one day she will return to the sacred lake to find me.

Chapter 22

22

TILDA

Wet through, Tilda clambers to her feet. She begins to shiver uncontrollably.

Must get back to the cottage. To Dylan. So cold!

She knows her body is in danger of going into shock, but this is something she can deal with. What she must do now is force warmth into her trembling limbs, and the perfect way to do that is to run.