victory. That today was the crossroads, the day that the God would send him a message that would set him on the right path and help him to ful fi ll a glorious destiny.
At that moment he became conscious of a buzzing in his ears that he could not dispel. No, it was more of a murmur, the words too low and indistinct to be understood. Was this it, then? His message from the God? He concentrated harder, and almost he could understand. He strained to make the words clear, but his concentration was broken as, when the crowd had fi nished drinking the bull’s blood, Whitred took the golden hel- met and came to stand before him.
“Today is Gewinnin Daeg, the Day of the Conqueror,” Whitred said. “This is the day when we honor the great Lytir, the hero who won every tournament, who was victorious in every battle, until he sailed away to Heofen. In his honor, we
choose the strongest warrior among us for this day. Today we honor Havgan, son of Hengist, who has won the helm of Lytir.” While he said this, Whitred held out the golden helm, fashioned like the head of a boar with large, ruby eyes. The light washed over the helm, as though it was made of pure fi re. Slowly, Hav- gan reached out to it, and then set it on his golden head.
“We have not in life set eyes on a man with more might in his frame than this helmed lord,” the Byshop continued, his hands upraised. “Between the seas, south or north, over earth’s stretch, no other man beneath sky’s shifting excels this warrior.”
“All hail to Lytir’s heir,” the crowd shouted. “All hail to the Gewinnan Daeg King!”
As he heard these words, Havgan’s heart felt near to burst- ing with pride, for the fi sherman’s son had won a great honor. And it was at that moment, when his joy was at its height, that the muttered words in his mind became clear to him.
Death to all witches, the voice said clearly. It is not enough to bring death to witches in the Coranian Empire. We must bring death to those in Kymru, that blighted island. We must take Kymru back, we who once held it, and cleanse the land of taint.
And Havgan closed his eyes with the knowledge. This was it. This was ansuz , his message from the God that had been promised him. He could see it all now so clearly. He could see the stepping stones to power. He would become Bana, the Slayer, the war leader to all of the Coranian Empire. He would marry the emperor’s daughter, and the might of all Corania would be his for the asking. He would hunt the witches in Kym- ru and kill them all, every one. And perhaps, if he did that, the black thing inside him would diminish and be gone from him. The One God will not turn from me , he thought, if I come to him with
the blood of witches on my hands.
T HE CROWD CARRIED Havgan off then for the feast in his honor, and the temple emptied. One man only remained, sitting on his bench staring at the altar. Sledda, wyrce-jaga, hunter of witches, had not really been paying any attention to the ceremony at all, and did not realize that he was alone in the temple. His thoughts were concentrated on one thing only. That, more than any- thing, he wished to go to Kymru where witches abounded, to hunt and kill them for his God. His thoughts buzzed and shot out from him like arrows, to be buried in the hearts of those who knew how to listen. Death to all witches , he thought. It is not enough to bring death to witches in the Coranian Empire. We must bring death to those in Kymru, that blighted island. We must take Kymru back, we who once held it, and cleanse the land of taint.
Gwyntdydd, Lleihau Wythnos—early evening
G WYDION , THE D REAMER of Kymru, was on the fl oor of his study in the Dreamer’s Tower of Caer Dathyl. He was crouched on all fours, growling, baring his teeth at his prey. She shrieked and ran away as quickly as her legs could carry her. But he leapt forward and caught her at the door. She raised her hand and, with an unintelligible sound, called for
At that moment he became conscious of a buzzing in his ears that he could not dispel. No, it was more of a murmur, the words too low and indistinct to be understood. Was this it, then? His message from the God? He concentrated harder, and almost he could understand. He strained to make the words clear, but his concentration was broken as, when the crowd had fi nished drinking the bull’s blood, Whitred took the golden hel- met and came to stand before him.
“Today is Gewinnin Daeg, the Day of the Conqueror,” Whitred said. “This is the day when we honor the great Lytir, the hero who won every tournament, who was victorious in every battle, until he sailed away to Heofen. In his honor, we
choose the strongest warrior among us for this day. Today we honor Havgan, son of Hengist, who has won the helm of Lytir.” While he said this, Whitred held out the golden helm, fashioned like the head of a boar with large, ruby eyes. The light washed over the helm, as though it was made of pure fi re. Slowly, Hav- gan reached out to it, and then set it on his golden head.
“We have not in life set eyes on a man with more might in his frame than this helmed lord,” the Byshop continued, his hands upraised. “Between the seas, south or north, over earth’s stretch, no other man beneath sky’s shifting excels this warrior.”
“All hail to Lytir’s heir,” the crowd shouted. “All hail to the Gewinnan Daeg King!”
As he heard these words, Havgan’s heart felt near to burst- ing with pride, for the fi sherman’s son had won a great honor. And it was at that moment, when his joy was at its height, that the muttered words in his mind became clear to him.
Death to all witches, the voice said clearly. It is not enough to bring death to witches in the Coranian Empire. We must bring death to those in Kymru, that blighted island. We must take Kymru back, we who once held it, and cleanse the land of taint.
And Havgan closed his eyes with the knowledge. This was it. This was ansuz , his message from the God that had been promised him. He could see it all now so clearly. He could see the stepping stones to power. He would become Bana, the Slayer, the war leader to all of the Coranian Empire. He would marry the emperor’s daughter, and the might of all Corania would be his for the asking. He would hunt the witches in Kym- ru and kill them all, every one. And perhaps, if he did that, the black thing inside him would diminish and be gone from him. The One God will not turn from me , he thought, if I come to him with
the blood of witches on my hands.
T HE CROWD CARRIED Havgan off then for the feast in his honor, and the temple emptied. One man only remained, sitting on his bench staring at the altar. Sledda, wyrce-jaga, hunter of witches, had not really been paying any attention to the ceremony at all, and did not realize that he was alone in the temple. His thoughts were concentrated on one thing only. That, more than any- thing, he wished to go to Kymru where witches abounded, to hunt and kill them for his God. His thoughts buzzed and shot out from him like arrows, to be buried in the hearts of those who knew how to listen. Death to all witches , he thought. It is not enough to bring death to witches in the Coranian Empire. We must bring death to those in Kymru, that blighted island. We must take Kymru back, we who once held it, and cleanse the land of taint.
Gwyntdydd, Lleihau Wythnos—early evening
G WYDION , THE D REAMER of Kymru, was on the fl oor of his study in the Dreamer’s Tower of Caer Dathyl. He was crouched on all fours, growling, baring his teeth at his prey. She shrieked and ran away as quickly as her legs could carry her. But he leapt forward and caught her at the door. She raised her hand and, with an unintelligible sound, called for
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