The Winter Prince (The Lion Hunters:01)(47)

We rode through the deer park, and passed through the gap in the peaks south of the high moor where I had taken the twins two summers before. Then we were in hilly, empty forest, with the moors rising around us. The forest close to Camlan is cultivated, but in the Pennines it is wild, mostly trackless, haunted by boar and bear and wolf. The day began gray and dark and never truly grew light. At noon when we might have stopped to eat it began to rain, a cold, soaking rain mixed with sleet. It was warmer to continue riding. By afternoon we had come over twenty slow miles; now we rode along a valley beneath a bare ridge whose peak had shrugged off layers of black, broken rock. “I know where we are,” said Goewin. “That hill with the landslip is Shivering Mountain. There used to be lead mines here.”

“There are still caves,” I said. “We often use them for shelter on long hunts. I know a place we can stay; it will be full darkness soon.”

Relieved at the promise of a dry place to sleep, Agravain and Lleu began to fling congenial insults back and forth. Agravain boasted that he surely sought bigger quarry than Lleu could ever hope to bring down; Goewin rode with me companionably. I could not look at any of them, wanting to laugh at Agravain’s gibes, but held in check by my own hidden treachery.

I found the cave, which was dry and warmer than outside. The opening was out of the wind, and there was an overhanging rock near the entrance where a small fire could be protected from the rain without polluting the air of the inner chamber. We fed and blanketed the horses, and unloaded our own satchels. Lleu untied the bundles of spears and bows we had bound to the saddles; he dropped them just inside the cave’s entrance with a clatter, and Agravain laughed. Lleu said ruefully, “I’m tired.”

“I too,” I acknowledged. My throat burned and ached. “Agravain, if you build a fire I’ll heat some wine.”

I came inside after the others. The cave was lit by the fire and the lanterns Agravain had set about the floor. I shared out the drink carelessly; Lleu nodded thanks when I filled his horn and did not notice that I had laced his warm wine with nightshade. Words from the rhymers’ pageant suddenly struck through my mind, but twisted:

Into your wine the golden drops



I pour from out the poisoned cup



As deat {quoalih comes to the Winter Prince…



I choked and turned away to strip myself of sodden shirt and jacket, feeling flushed with excitement and fierce determination. Goewin said sharply, “Are you all right, Medraut?”

She had noticed my clenched and shaking hands. I laughed at her over my shoulder, freely, and tried to stretch away the tension in my arms and back. The ceiling was too low for me to stand erect. “It has been a hard day.”

“Well, yes,” she agreed.

“There’s food in the large satchel, Goewin,” I said. “We shouldn’t eat much.” I went to stand outside the entrance to the cave, where I did not have to stoop. The sleet had turned to snow. I watched the dark outline of Shivering Mountain disappear as the light faded quickly, until all I could see were the swirling flakes just beyond the firelight.

“God’s sake, Medraut, you’ll kill yourself,” Goewin said behind me. “You aren’t even wearing a shirt. Come in.”

I ducked below the entrance to join the others and sat across from Lleu. Agravain shared out strips of salted meat and dried fruit.

“It’s snowing, isn’t it?” Lleu asked. His eyes seemed hooded, dark and strange.

“Yes,” I told him. “But no fear, Bright One; we’ve food and furs and shelter, and there is little wind.” I reached out to push damp strands of his hair off his forehead. His hand moved aimlessly, as though he meant to turn away my touch, but could not connect mind with movement. He was struggling to stay awake. I coughed and turned my face away; I could not bear to watch him.

“Medraut—”

I do not remember which of them spoke my name.

It was Lleu who got to his feet, unsteadily and laboriously, but with a courage and composure that I had not expected of him. He stood before me, but I could not face him upright without striking my head against the ceiling. I did not try to rise.

“Have you drugged me?” Lleu demanded, his voice even, his hands tremorous. “I was not so very weary before we ate!”

“Yes,” I whispered without remorse. “I have.”

“You promised me!” he cried.

“What did I promise? Do you remember precisely what I said?”