Snakes of leather, an' iron." The soldier let the shackle fall with a hollow clunk. The prisoner made no sound. Hywel stood fascinated, wondering.

"Innkeeper!" the serjeant said.

Dafydd came out, wiping his hands on his apron. "Yes, Captain?"

The serjeant did not correct his rank. "Have you a blacksmith here? This rebel's harmless enough, but he'll crawl off with half a chance given him. We'll want him fixed to something with weight."

"You'll be staying here for a time, then?"

"We're in no hurry. The prisoner's to be taken to York for execution."

A soldier said "The Irish Sea were deep enough."

"Not to bury his curse, man," said the serjeant curtly. "Leave killing him to his own sort of worker." He turned back to Dafydd. "Don't worry about the lads, innkeeper; they're good and they'll obey me." He weighted the last word slightly. "And they're bloody tired of minding this rebel."

"Hywel," said the innkeeper, "run you and tell Sion Mawr he's wanted, with hammer and tongs."

A high-voiced young soldier called after Hywel, "And you tell 'im this aren't no horse wanting shod! A hammer on them chains—"

Hywel ran. He did not look back. He was afraid to. Under all the soldiers' voices, under Dafydd's, under his own breathing, he could hear another voice, whispering, insistent, like the beat of blood in his ears when all was still. He had heard it without pause since the sorcerer's lips had moved without sound.

You who can hear me, it said, come to me. Follow my voice.

And as Hywel ran through the gathering dark, it seemed that hands reached after him, grasping at his limbs, his throat, trying to draw him back.

 

 

Nansi touched the spit-dog's collar; it stopped walking its treadle, and Nansi carved a bit of mutton from the roasting haunch. The dog resumed turning the meat. Nansi put the mutton on a wooden plate with a spoonful of boiled corn, added a piece of soft brown bread.

"The soldiers didn't pay for no meat for him," said Dai, the kitchen boy.

"You needn't tell me what they've not paid for," Nansi said, tenting a napkin over the plate. "I hope he has his teeth; I daren't send a knife. Here, Dai, go you quick, ere it's cold."

"Why do they beat him, if he can't magic?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Dai," Nansi said, with a bitter look. "Take it, now."

"I'll take his dinner," Hywel said, from the kitchen door.

Dai's mouth opened, then shut. Nansi turned away.

"I've drawn his water," Hywel said. "And I'm not afraid of him. You're afraid, aren't you, Dai?"

Dai's pudgy hands tightened. He was a year or so older than Hywel, and also an orphan. Dafydd and Nansi, who had no children, had taken them in together, and tried to bring them up as brothers. Hywel could no longer remember what that was like, even when he tried.

Dai said "Ie, feared enough. You feed him." He handed the covered plate to Hywel, who took it with a nod. Hywel did not hate Dai; usually he liked Dai. But they were not brothers.

Just outside the kitchen, he picked up the hooded lantern and pot of ale he had set by the door, and crossed to the barn. Moonlight slanted across the interior.