Crimson Fire by Holly Taylor Page B

Druid’s Fire. His back arched as the invisible missile hit him and he went down, moaning.
    The fi re from the hearth fl ickered over the book-lined walls
    as she crept to him cautiously, looking down at him as he lay prone on the rich rug of red and black. His close-cropped, black beard shadowed the lower half of his handsome face, and his eyes were closed.
    Suddenly, he opened his eyes and smiled, and she crowed with delight. He sat up, and she put her arms around his neck to ensure that he was all right. Her nearly toothless grin was wide and happy.
    “So,” he said with a laugh, “the great Cariadas, heir to the Dreamer of Kymru, has defeated the terrible monster! You win, my daughter. Savor your victory!”
    She laughed again, her one-year-old fresh face delighted. Her red-gold hair clung to her head in riotous curls and her gray eyes, so like his, were sparkling with glee.
    They heard footsteps outside the study door and looked at each other, both with mock terror on their faces.
    “Oh, no!” Gwydion cried. “She’s come to take you! Well, I will not let her, not I!” He leapt up, Cariadas in his arms, and faced the door. “Fear not, fair maiden!” he went on. “For I will protect you!”
    The study door opened, and Dinaswyn, Gwydion’s aunt, stood there, her arms on her hips, a scowl on her face. Her dark hair, lightly touched by frost, was held back from her face by a red ribbon, and her gray eyes were sparkling with irritation.
    “She should have been in bed an hour ago,” Dinaswyn ac- cused.
    “I wanted to spend more time with her. I haven’t been back very long,” Gwydion protested. “And I was a long time away.” “Nonetheless, it is past her bedtime,” Dinaswyn insisted. “And you’ve been back for over a week. Not, of course, that I
    have any idea where you were.”
    Gwydion sighed to himself. That he had not told Dinaswyn exactly where he had been still rankled. Knowing his aunt, it always would. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her as much as it was
    that he needed to distance himself from her. He had been the Dreamer of Kymru now for four years, and she still seemed to have trouble remembering that.
    Besides, where he had been and what he had been doing was far too secret to be bandied about. He had recently taken young Arthur, the Prince of Gwynedd, from Tegeingl and de- posited the boy in the care of Myrrdin in the tiny village of Di- nas Emrys. And that was something he wanted no one to know who didn’t have to. And Dinaswyn didn’t have to.
    “Where I have been and what I have been doing is surely my business,” he said coolly.
    “As I well know,” Dinaswyn replied as she crossed to him and took Cariadas from his arms. “Now, little one,” Dinaswyn said softly to the little girl, “say good-night to your da and go to bed.”
    Cariadas yawned and leaned forward to put her little arms around Gwydion’s neck. She kissed his cheek then nestled against Dinaswyn’s chest, her eyelids already drooping. He smiled as he gently stroked her hair, then whispered his good-night.
    Dinaswyn turned and went to the study door. She hesitated a moment, then turned around. “I see the signs,” she said qui- etly. “You will dream tonight. If there is need, call me.”
    “I will,” he said, knowing that he wouldn’t.
    She knew it, too, but did not say it. She left, cradling the already-sleeping Cariadas.
    She was right. The signs were there. He had been restless all day, and had been having trouble concentrating. There was a dream awaiting him, and it was an important one, as he had learned to judge these matters.
    He climbed the steps leading to Ystafell Yr Arymes, the
    Chamber of Prophecy at the top of the Dreamer’s Tower. When he entered the room, he lifted his hand and called Druid’s Fire. Blue and orange fl ames immediately fl ickered from the brazier that stood next to the simple pallet in the middle of the room. Sapphires, pearls, opals, and emeralds glittered around the