"Agreed," said Eirig quietly. The import of this moment had wiped out most of his lingering doubts, and there was gruff friendship in Turold's tone. "Now to the great hall, that the marriage ceremony may be properly concluded and the bond fastened."
Both pairs turned and started up the right-hand corridor. Colwyn and Lyssa marched side by side behind their fathers, careful to keep their eyes from each other. The ponderousness of ceremony weighed heavily on Colwyn and he was anxious to be done with speeches and invocations. Lyssa's sideways glances counseled patience and she whispered without turning her head: "Gentle go, husband-to-be. All this will be over and done with soon enough."
"I have no taste for these primitive rituals," he muttered back at her.
"They are necessary. The books say it is so."
"The books have been of little help to us in combating the Slayers. Why should I take their advice where marriage is concerned?"
"Because I ask it of you, Colwyn."
He couldn't repress a grin. "Do I detect the sound of hands clapping?"
She fell a step off his pace. "Only if you cannot see that I follow you around."
Eirig looked back at them. They were starting up a circular staircase. "Quiet, the both of you! Remember your positions."
"I will strive to do so, Father, when the proper time comes."
He made a face at her but said nothing. Perhaps it would not be such a hard thing, to give away so impertinent a child.
The wedding party emerged from the stairwell and entered the great hall. At the far end, to one side of the throne, was a font filled with freshly drawn springwater. The music which had filled the castle all evening was drowned out by the sound of swords beating on shields as the king's guard acknowledged the approach of the bridal couple.
Lyssa and Colwyn halted before the stone basin, their fathers looking on approvingly. A single torch stood upright in a metal sconce nearby. Colwyn stepped forward and removed it from its resting place. It burst into flame without so much as a glance. Murmurs of approval rose from the watching ranks of soldiers. Here was a man they could follow. Yet the critical test was still to come.
Colwyn composed himself. Again it seemed as if he were half-asleep as he spoke. No one could tell for certain if he was addressing them all, his bride-to-be only, or the wood he held tightly in his right hand.
"I give fire to water. It will not return to me except from the hand of the woman I choose as my wife." Eirig in particular was watching closely as Colwyn recited. Were the old books right? Was this the match they sometimes alluded to?
Colwyn held the flaming brand over the basin and let it fall. It dropped like a fisherman's line and landed upright on the bottom. Beneath the surface it continued to burn as brightly as ever. A great sigh arose from the onlookers while King Turold looked proud.
The sentry who stood atop the gate cursed his rotten luck at pulling guard duty on this night of all nights. Here he was, .stuck out in the damp and cold, while most of his brethern were inside the keep, their armor polished and sparkling, enjoying the wedding ceremony.
Something broke his train of thought. He stopped and stared out into the night: black as a lawyer's thoughts. But surely he'd heard something moving about.
There it was again. Rain, he decided. A late summer squall moving toward the castle. He would get drenched. His more fortunate colleagues would tease him about his bad luck later that night back in the barracks.
He strained to hear better: a mighty strong storm. He turned and called out. Several other sentries came running from their stations to join him in staring out into the darkness. They listened intently.
"That's not rain, I think," said one. "Surely those are hoofbeats?"
"Nay," another argued, " 'tis only rain, or the wind blowing out from the forest."
They bent toward the rising rush, trying to reach out into the blackness, wanting to be certain before committing themselves. There was a royal wedding in progress and no man wanted to raise the alarm falsely.
Lyssa stepped toward the font and studied the fire burning steadily beneath the water. She did not close her eyes, nor did she look the least bit sleepy. Her movements and words were crisp, businesslike. But she could not hide the slight trembling that afflicted her. She was shaking from the effort required to prepare. Nothing must go wrong. She'd waited too long for this moment.
"I take fire from water. I give it only to the man whom I choose as my husband."
Fingers spread, she reached out and down, one tiny hand hovering an inch above the water. For a long moment nothing happened. The torch continued its miraculous burn. Eirig held his breath.
There was the faintest hiss, loud in the respectful silence, as she reached into the water and removed her hand. She turned it palm-up and opened her fingers, showing flames dancing hotly on pale skin. The air of expectancy in the hall was almost palpable.
She turned to extend her fiery palm to Colwyn. Her voice dropped to a whisper and her face glowed as her entire being seemed suffused with the heat from the fire that flickered in her hand.
"Colwyn. Now is the time. Before my father and my people, before all of Krull. Before the words that fill the old books. I ask thee most sweetly. Take the fire from my hand."
"Rain, you think?" The sentry was tired. "It sure sounds like rain coming. You're all of you crazy if you think otherwise. I'm getting back to my post before the watch commander finds me out of position." He hesitated, listened hard as he stared into the darkness. The thunder was growing steadily louder, and there was an unnatural steadiness to it.
Then, as his stunned companions looked on, the skeptic toppled slowly backward off the wall. Something bright and deadly had struck him in the chest.
The others scattered, frantically trying to sound the alarm. Their shouts were unnecessary and unheard, as the sound of the explosion that blew apart the main gate aroused everyone in the castle courtyard. Fragments of wood and stone flew in all directions while thin shards of light and bursts of energy felled one soldier after another.
The noise reached to the hall and broke the hopeful mood that had enveloped the ceremony. Colwyn wavered slightly and Lyssa's eyes broke from his.
"Slayers! Inside the gate!" the words rang out. Wedding ceremony forgotten, soldiers turned and rushed for the courtyard.
"Arm yourselves!" Turold roared to the gathering.
"But the ceremony!" Lyssa pleaded.
"No time for that now." Colwyn turned away from her, impatient to join the fight.
The moment had cracked. Time later to mend it. Lyssa's hand became a fist. When she opened her hand again, the flame that had burned there so intensely had vanished. She hurried after Colwyn, cursing the formal gown that hampered her movements.
"We'll fight them together," she shouted.
"No, not here."
"But the ceremony—"
"Can be completed later. For the moment my concern is for your safety, not our future."
"Colwyn, think a moment. Our safety lies in our future."
"Soon," he told her soothingly. "The mood is important." He turned, caught the attention of a captain of the King's Guard. "Get her to a place of safety."
"My place is with my men, fighting," the captain replied.
"Your place is where I order you to be." The captain hesitated a moment. But he'd heard the two kings join their kingdoms. He nodded tersely. "Get her away from this. We'll clear them out and there'll be plenty left for you."
"My place is with you," Lyssa insisted. "I'll not be shipped about at anyone's whim, not even vours."
Colwyn tried to divide his attention between his betrothed and the increasingly violent sounds beyond the hall.
"Do you love me?"
"I am to be your wife. The alliance—"