by Troy A Hill
“Here you are, Milady,” Ruadh said. His meaty hand held my master’s cup toward me. I smelled blood inside it.
“Thank you for your gift, my friend.” I took the cup and raised it to my lips.
“I’m glad you be my friend, Mair,” he said. “But Gwen was the one who made me do it,” he said with a wink. “Even give me her silver knife to do it with.” He handed her a small sheathed blade. I sent a glare at Gwen, who grinned.
“Why do you think I chatted with the groom by our door?” she said. “Your cup was right there in your travel bag.”
“All covered in cloth and nestled in the middle of everything so it wouldn’t get damaged.” I said between sips. “And you’ll be with me when we visit the stables. The poor lad just about rattled his brain out his ears. He invited us, a dozen times or more, to come see the horses.” I took another drink as Ruadh chuckled. He didn't seem bothered at what I sipped.
“If ye ladies be excusing me, I smell stew and mead inside,” he said. “Bleeding be hungry work.”
“So, about Iolo,” I reminded Gwen.
“He is half-Sidhe," she explained. “His mother is a Sidhe noble, that fell in love with one of Rhian’s older cousins. He was a widower, and they secretly married.”
“I sense an unhappy ending.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she sent. “Days after Iolo was born, the Sidhe prince arrived and declared that she had to return to the Seelie Court to become his wife. The babe had to stay in our world, and neither he nor his father could have contact with the princess again.”
“Tragic,” I sent, “but you said he goes to see his mother.”
“Yes,” Gwen added. “Rhian’s cousin agreed to have no further contact and asked only that the princess be able to see their son to not deprive his son of a mother’s love. The Sidhe prince agreed. Once a year, the princess opens a pocket between the Seelie court, and our world. Similar to how I can open a rift to the mists between our world and the Otherworld of the Lady’s domain. Iolo spends a month with his mother. He has limited skills of the Seelie Court magic. He can affect minor healing, detect and stop negative energy, such as the Shifter’s curse. And he has the ability to enspell someone to speak the truth.”
“Does the abbot know?”
“Of course,” Gwen sent. “They’re cousins. And, he offered Iolo his protection here within the church. Just like I hide my connection to The Lady by letting everyone assume I’m part of the Cymry church.”
Emlyn and Sawyl headed toward the keep. Emlyn directed Sawyl inside, then he strode across the wooden deck toward us. He bowed low.
“You have my apologies for my behaviour this morning and last night,” He said. He kept his body bent. I leaned forward and kissed the top of his head.
“Accepted and forgiven, milord.”
“How are your wounds?” he asked, then spied what was in my cup.
“Healing,” I said. He raised an eyebrow.
“No. Don’t ask. And, no, you may not. It’s too soon for you.” We both knew he had to have time before I could drink from him again. A few more weeks. “How was Sawyl today?” I asked, to change the subject to something safer as I took another drink.
“Excellent.” He said. “We talked on our run. He has a good head on him.”
“Cadoc said you had him in mind for other roles.” I took another sip. I wouldn’t waste what a friend had provided.
“I’ve kept a spot in leadership open, in hopes he’d change his attitude. We talked about that, and I told him to organise a survey of the herds and crops that Cadoc wanted updated.”
“Any change in Bleddyn?” he asked Gwen. She shook her head.
“I’ll have him sleep until after the Abbott says mass for Rhys tomorrow.”
“He’d try to attend if he were awake,” Emlyn said. “Cadoc and Enid can instead.”
He must have realised we were out of serious topics. Emlyn wasn’t one for idyl chit chat. He gave us another slight bow and headed in to dinner.
37
Council
Later that evening, Rhian pulled Gwen and I in to sit in council. She sat in Bleddyn’s favourite spot by the hearth in the great hall. Emlyn, then Cadoc and Enid sat to one side of her, Gwen and I to the other. She asked Ruadh to join us as well. The other folks gave us enough room to converse privately if we kept our voices quiet.
Rhian gave us all a report of what she estimated the total food stores on hand to be. Cadoc presented the number of men that could muster to fill out the teulu, which she and he had worked on in the afternoon. Emlyn questioned some of their estimate, but agreed their numbers were realistic. Rhian asked for a report on what Emlyn had found.
“On our ride, I found evidence of a band or two along the border,” Emlyn said. “Someone has been scouting along our western border. We found no more incursions or assaults on our people.”
“So we don’t know where the raiders are, or what their intent is?” Rhian asked.
“My best guess is that the northern Saxon lords may be staging for another incursion into Powys or Gwynedd.” Emlyn continued. “Or… Fadog has gotten bold and has found his spine to go after the crown of Powys. We don’t know.”
“Fadog is too ambitious,” Cadoc said. He glanced at his wife. “He was irate when father declined his offer to marry his daughter to me.”
“If his daughter is anything like her aunt Betrys,” Emlyn said with a wink at Rhian, “be thankful your father remembered that. I’m not sure we’d have a teulu left if Lady Betrys had become Lady Penllyn.”
“Fadog wants to be king?” I asked.
“Fadog and Penllyn were both cantrefi under Powys’ king,” Rhian explained. “But, the old lord Fadog’s manoeuvring caught the former king of Powys in a scheme against Mercia. That angered Penda. He invaded Powys, and sacked Pengwern, the capital. The new king is a puppet for Penda.”
“That incursion left Fadog with a much smaller cantref,” Emlyn added. “Penda has no love for Fadog. But, my brother has maintained good relationship with Mercia. Despite Fadog’s desire for a crown, Penllyn answers to no king.”
“Any idea on how many were in the force you tracked?” Rhian asked to steer us back on topic.
“Perhaps a score,” Emlyn said. “There was something else. Several places we found patches of discoloured grass.”
“On old graveyards?” Gwen asked.
“Perhaps,” Emlyn said. “They were in areas where the old forts once stood. One was in the ruins of an old Roman fort, and another in ruins that were Cymry. Probably well before Arthur’s era.”
“We found similar signs on our trek,” she said. “Mair and I used our connection to the Holy Lady and determined the blighted areas are above the graves of long dead soldiers.” She glanced around the group once. “But, the graves are now empty. All but one in each area, anyway.”
“Empty?” Rhian asked. “Oh, dear.”
“Magic of some sort was used,” Gwen continued, “to pull the old bodies away from their graves… where they went, we have no idea.”
Emlyn leaned back. He stroked the whiskers above his lip.
“I have no ideas,” he said. “Magic is not my specialty. I prefer enemies I can cut with a blade.”
Our talk continued like this, full of uncertainties. Emlyn laid plans for representatives from the keep to attend Rhys’ funeral mass at the abbey. Cadoc and Enid agreed they should attend. Gwen said that we’d go as well.
“I will ride with you to represent the guard,” Emlyn said. “Even though Rhys’ kin is on the other side of Penllyn, the guard was his family. Did you send word to his kin?”
“I drafted a letter, for the local friar to read to his parents,” she said and wrapped her arms across her chest. “I am fortunate that I rarely have to send such word to families here in Penllyn. Each one is just as painful to write as the last one, though.” Gwen reached to her and rubbed her knee. Rhian gave her a thin smile of thanks.
“Any sign on your ride back of the cr
eature that attacked Bleddyn and Rhys?” Emlyn asked Ruadh. “Or of your climbing partner?”
“None,” he shook his head. His curly reddish-brown hair and beard swayed in the dim light of the hall. “I could nae smell him anymore once he run off. Iolo, I nae not where he is. Sometimes he gets distracted. But…”
“Any sign that my men know about…?” Emlyn waved a hand to be vague about the monk’s nature as a shape-shifter. Or perhaps about my nature. Ruadh shook his shaggy head.
“I spoke with them when they arrived,” Cadoc said. “They all said Mair drove the beast off, but she was too injured to follow. They mentioned nothing else.”
“I’ll double check on our ride tomorrow,” Emlyn said. “Those three will come with me to serve as honour guard for Rhys.” Rhian raised her hand.
“What are we to do about that creature?” Rhian asked.
“We can send hunting parties out,” Emlyn said. Rhian shook her head.
“After what happened last night, I’m afraid of how many more men we might lose. And the curse of the creature…”
“Aye, that nae be pleasant,” Ruadh said. “Mair and her sword can go with me, once we know where to look for the beastie.”
He and I would make a good pair to take the creature down. With my new stronger connection to the goddess, I should be able to handle the fight and not turn on Ruadh.
“Once we find a trace,” Rhian said, “if the creature hasn’t run back into Mercia for good, we’ll get you two on its trail.”
From there the conversation drifted to more mundane topics. We raised mugs several times to toast the babies in Enid’s womb, though I only pretended to sip. I noticed Sawyl drift into the great hall. He filled a mug, waved to us, and drifted to another set of chairs at the other end of the hall, near where the harpist sat and played. The bubbly Haf joined him. Sawyl’s arm drifted around Haf’s waist, and she leaned into him.
“Oh, dear…” Rhian said, as she watched the guard and his girl. “We may have another wedding this summer.”
38
The Abbey
The abbey rose out of the morning mists as we topped the last rise. It was built it on an old Roman fortification. A wooden stockade wrapped around it. Not as tall, nor stout as the one around Bleddyn’s hill fort, but sturdy enough.
The gates were open, and monks greeted us along as we rode in. I glanced at Emlyn’s horse. He tied Soul to his saddle. Emlyn reminded me earlier that I best not be seen outside Caer Penllyn with my sword on my waist. I sighed, and handed him my sword after he promised to keep it belted to his saddle.
“If we get to where you need a blade,” Emlyn said. We watched the monks lead the horses away. “Take one from any of my guards. They’ll be happy to let you fight in their place.” I glared his way, then chuckled when he grinned. A smile was a rare sight on his face.
“Blessings Lady Gwen, and to you Lady Mair,” Abbot Heilyn said and gave each of us a fatherly kiss on our cheek. “Such a sad occasion. You’ll all stay after mass for a meal? I’ve asked Brother Bevan to fire the ovens and make his special pastries.”
"Of course," Gwen said. "One should not disappoint Brother Bevan after he's been baking."
“The brothers try to live austere lives,” Abbot Heilyn said, “but we must allow some joy in our lives. On a sad day like today, some sweet food will help us all.” He rubbed his sizeable belly. I suspected he found many reasons for Brother Bevan to bake for them.
A bell sounded in the cloister.
“More riders coming in,” the abbot said, with a note of surprise. Emlyn shrugged when he saw me glance his way. He kept an eye on the gate.
We stood outside the church, but under the thatched roof of the cloister. The covered walkway connected all the major buildings inside the walls. Enid and Cadoc chatted with several of the monks. Ruadh drifted around and shared smiles or laughs with many of his brother monks.
Gwen gave a sharp intake of breath. Cadoc’s eyes narrowed as he watched the gate. My heart sank as my eyes followed his.
Bechard, the Seeker of the Witch Hunter’s guild, and his toady Lecerf dismounted, along with three of their guards.
My hand reach over to grab the hilt of my sword. But, came up empty. Soul was tied to Emlyn’s saddle. I pulled energy from my link to The Lady. Gwen must have sensed my action and cleared her throat.
I closed my link, but kept what I had gathered. I had no idea what to do with it. But it felt better to have something ready.
Bechard and his ever-present companion walked our way. The Seeker’s assistant still carried the dark wooden staff with the guild symbol atop it. The dreaded cross of iron nails, ringed with a wreath of thorns. Iron and Silver. I was cold inside just at the sight.
“Smile, dearest,” Gwen sent across our mental link.
She was right. I forced a small smile perk up my cheeks. Bechard stopped to talk with Enid and Cadoc, then turned toward the abbot.
“Your grace, it is our pleasure to greet you again,” the Seeker bowed low. When the Witch Hunters had first met him, they had no idea he was more than a lowly abbot. Only after they dismissed him as beneath their notice did he don the ring and pectoral cross his station allowed him. The wily abbot revealed himself to be the bishop of this area at Cadoc and Enid’s wedding.
The guilders guards were different than the ones two days before. One of them gave Emlyn a long pointed glance. His eyes were dark, like his wavy brown hair that framed a round face. He wore an evil looking grin that twitched every time Emlyn moved. This guard wore two baldrics, long belts of leather across his thick body. From each hung a sword.
“Seeker Bechard,” Abbot Heilyn said. His bubbly persona faded. “What brings you back to our abbey?”
“We were nearby,” the seeker said, his tone serious. “We heard of another beast attack. Our men killed one large bear. Is there another here in Penllyn? Perhaps we can lend assistance in tracking it down.”
“I see,” the abbot’s eyes narrowed. “We will speak of such matters after the mass. You will join us, won't you?”
Verpa Dei! I didn’t want to sit through religious rites with Witch Hunters in the same church. But I had no choice. I forced the frown off my face and pushed my gaze up off my feet.
Bechard stepped toward Gwen and I. The shaggy headed guardsman with two blades stayed by his side.
“Ladies…?” Bechard said and paused, forgetful of our names.
“Gwenhwyfar,” the abbot added, no trace of emotion in his tone, “and Mair. Servants of the Holy Mother.”
“I beg your pardon for my short memory, miladies,” the Seeker said with a small bow toward us. “May I present our guild’s new Sword Captain, Osbert of Deira.” Osbert bowed toward the abbot, and ignored Gwen and I.
The Seeker turned away and pulled the abbot off to the side. The sword-captain looked at me, then slid his eyes to Gwen. His grin grew larger. He winked at her, then turned to saunter after the seeker. His head turned toward Emlyn as he hovered near Bechard.
Sharing Gwen with a guilder wasn’t on my agenda. I pulled in more energy from the Goddess. Gwen touched my hand as I started to step toward the guilder. I growled a little, but stayed put.
“Very good, dearest,” Gwen sent. “You didn’t kill them. You’re getting better.”
She was correct. Humour was the only way to deal with this situation.
“That Bechard,” I sent, “reminds me of several merchants I have dealt with. He could sell a farmer a three legged goat, claim it was the best ox ever to pull a plough.”
Emlyn must have sensed the probing glare from the guilder with the swords. Penllyn’s sword master looked his way once, nodded, then continued his conversation with Ruadh and Cadoc. Gerallt wandered behind us a few seconds later.
“So that’s Osbert,” he said. The unspoken question must have shown on my face.
“He’s Deira’s version of a swordmaster. Fancies himself as good as Emlyn,” Gerallt spoke quietly. “There’s been talk that Fadog wanted
to hire him and come after Penllyn again. But those Witchers got him first.”
“Is he that good?” I asked. I forced my hand to stop before it drifted to my hip where Soul should be.
“No one knows,” Gerallt said. “If this were not Holy ground, I’d expect a challenge today.”
39
Funeral for a Friend
The abbot and the brothers motioned that we should head into the church. The men unbuckled their weapons and passed them to a monk in a small side room. No weapons in the church. Even the famed Osbert relinquished his blades, but only after Emlyn had passed both of his to the monk. Osbert divided his attention between watching Emlyn, and glancing at Gwen.
Inside the church, benches sat in two columns. One aisle ran between the columns of benches, and another on either side. This building was by far the most ornate of the complex. The art of the architecture was much more Celtic in its designs than what I had seen in Europe. Celtic designs of swirls and points adorned the high stone walls.
Bechard’s toady, Lecerf walked toward the front of the church with his ever-present staff in his hands. Despite the age spots dotting his bald head, the old guilder walked with quick determined steps toward the platform of the sanctuary. He wanted to place the Witch Hunter symbol behind the alter in a place of prominence. The thought of the Guild’s symbol there to oversee the service sent a shiver through me.
One monk rushed to intercept the guilder. They spoke in hushed tones, standing right by Rhys’ cloth draped body. Lecerf reddened as his face drew tight and pinched with contained outrage. The monk’s calm insistence held firm. He gestured once toward the dead Penllyn guard. Another time, he pointed toward where the abbot stood at the rear of the church.
Lecerf turned away, contempt rippled across his expression. The age lines on his face deepened with his surly expression. The monk crossed his arms over the fine linen robe. Lecerf glared at the brother who wouldn't budge. The old Witcher gave a loud “Harrumph!” and retreated.
