Cuin's brown eyes sparkled. "My uncle alone could raise a force sufficient for that."
"I do not doubt it," Bevan remarked mildly. "But if the High King is to keep the peace of this kingdom, it will take more than Pryce Dacaerin's say-so."
"I mean only that he can be of great help to you. And of course he has the Speaking Stone. You must needs make him party to your summoning."
"It will take more than the Stone, also," Bevan mumbled. The plan weighted him with reluctance, though he could not say why. Other problems burdened him, perplexities of mortality and longing and the lady that he and Cuin did not name. "Cuin," he said abruptly at last, "there is one who is ancient even in the memory of my mother's people, and full of wisdom. Let us go to her and see what she has to say to us."
"Where?" Cuin asked, startled.
"Not far. A few days hence."
It was a day's ride from the Wildering Way, and only two days' ride from Caer Eitha; it seemed odd to Cuin that he had never noted the place before. It was only a valley with a cottage and a little stream, a few chickens and a garden plot; but there was a strange radiance about it all. Inside the cottage sat the old woman working at a loom. She was ancient indeed, but there was no infirmity in her movements or her placid glance.
"Welcome, Bevan of Eburacon. Welcome, Cuin Kellarth," she greeted them.
Cuin glanced inquiringly, and Bevan gave him a rare smile. "It means Cuin of the Steadfast Heart."
"So he has been called since Time began," the old woman said matter-of-factly.
Bevan sank onto a stool by her side. "What is that web, Ylim?"
"I weave the threads of days and dreams," she said. "The days are troubled of late, but the dreams are good. Look."
Cuin came closer to see. The cloth glowed with colors that were more alive than dye could make them. It was midnight-blue for the most part, or so Cuin was to remember it, but it was also hues of moonlight and storm clouds, Pit-blackness and the gleam of distant armies. Through it all leaped the form of a great white hart crowned in silver; it seemed to move before the eyes. Cuin blinked; he thought he saw blood on the stag, but then all went to confusion for him. He turned away his head.
"What have you seen for us, Ylim?" Bevan asked.
"You should be the greatest of the High Kings," the old woman replied, "and Ellid Ciasifhon should be your Queen."
Bevan flinched and glanced sidelong at Cuin, who met his eyes with painful reassurance.
"But that is a dream, Bevan," Ylim continued gently, "and you know the pattern is ever changing. You do not need me to tell you these things. What troubles you, son of Byve?"
Bevan was silent; they all waited for his reply. "Pryce Dacaerin," he burst out at last, to Cuin's surprise. "What of him?"
Ylim stared for long moments. "He has not yet resolved the bent of his mind," she said at last. "He is the father of your sweetheart, and for that reason alone he should cleave to you. But he is a proud and ambitious man, and the love of his child does not always constrain him. I believe you must strive to make him your friend, Bevan, but yet you do well to be wary of him."
"I have not known Pryce Dacaerin to do dishonor!" Cuin exclaimed.
"Nor have I," Bevan soothed him. "And in times to come, likely he shall set my worries all to naught."
"Declare yourself from Caer Eitha," the seeress told Bevan, "and scruple not to call on the power of Pryce of the Strongholds and on the saying of the Stone." Ylim shifted her gaze. "But what thought is in you, son of Clarric?"
"That Bevan of Eburacon is much man," Cuin told her. "Deep and subtle are his own powers, and mighty is my uncle's power to aid him. But if he is to win his throne, he will need power to dazzle the eyes of men of shallow sight. Above all, it seems to me, he will need a kingly sword."
"You are well named, Cuin." The ancient seeress studied them both, gauging their strength. "There is such a sword to be had in Lyrdion," she said presently.
"I do not know that place," Bevan said.
"I have heard of it," Cuin remarked, "but I do not understand what happened there."
"That memory had faded in men when Byve was a boy," Ylim mused. "An age before the High Kings of Eburacon ruled Isle, the Royal House of Lyrdion came to woe. But great was its power before pride overtook it, and great power yet resides in its chiefest treasure: the sword. Hau Ferddas is its name, 'Mighty Protector,' and he who wields it cannot be vanquished by force. Yours is the birthright, Cuin, for you are of that lineage, through your mother's folk."
Cuin gaped in astonishment. "Where now is this sword?" Bevan asked.
"It lies in the treasure barrow at Lyrdion, along the Western Sea. Dragons guard the place."
"Dragons I can deal with," Bevan sighed, "but there is a destiny laid on me that I may not behold the sea."
"I know it well, Bevan of Eburacon. Therefore, behold it not! Cuin must get the sword for you."
"Is it to be Cuin's lot," Bevan asked ruefully, "ever to give up his birthright for my sake?"
"I cannot answer that," Ylim replied, "unless Cuin asks it for himself."
"I ask it not," said Cuin quietly.
"Great is your gift of love, Cuin Kellarth," the seeress told him, "and great will be your pain in it. May the Mothers comfort and guide you well." But Cuin hung his head in unease at her words.
They ate with the ancient woman, and they could never afterward remember what had been that meal. Then they went on their way with the enchantment of deep time upon them and the threads of Ylim's web before their eyes. "Who is she?" Cuin demanded at last. "She is no goddess that I have ever heard of, Bevan. Is she one of the Mothers?"
"Nay," he replied dreamily. "The ages wash over her like tides. Before the Mothers brought man to Isle there were the Gods, and before the Gods there were the Old Ones, and before either there was Ylim. She is a part of none of it; she is here still, and no one does her reverence. She weaves."
"Then she is the master of us all," Cuin whispered.
"Is it the dancer or the piper who is master of the dance, or yet the one who made the tune? But Ylim is one who sits aside. She catches the dance in the web of her loom, but I think—she makes it not."
Bevan paused; his dark eyes had grown as deep as distant skies. It was moments before he spoke again.
"It may be that there is One in whose sight she is younger than the dawn."
3
Golden leaves were falling as the six souls journeyed to Caer Eitha. The silver-crowned hart shone among them as strangely as an Otherworld thing, but Flessa flitted through them like a kindred being. Achingly, irresistibly, Cuin was drawn to think of Ellid, of her flashing spirit, her quick golden lightness… In no wise had he ceased to love her. But his love for her and his love for Bevan had struck a perilous balance which eased him somewhat; pain of self was lost to its abeyance. Such was the quality of Cuin Kellarth that he could only seek to aid Ellid's happiness.
"Tell no one in Caer Eitha of Lyrdion," Bevan requested as they neared the gates.
Cuin nodded assent. It was the way of a wise man not to boast of a deed until it was done. And if Bevan had another reason, Cuin chose to ignore it for the present. Quietly, almost casually, they entered the stronghold that, by the reckoning of Cuin's people, was his birthright and his home.
Ellid saw them coming from her upper chamber; her heart leaped in consternation and delight. Pryce Dacaerin also saw them come; he was as surprised as Ellid but far less pleased. He had thought that Cuin was yet in Wallyn, for he had not sent for him and Clarric had given no word. That his nephew should have joined with the so-called son of Byve was a chance Dacaerin had not reckoned on, and it complicated his half-formed plans.
Nevertheless, the lord received Bevan and Cuin with warm courtesy, expertly masking his misgivings. He met them in his great hall with courtly formality.
"My greeting to you and the welcome of my land and people," he told them.
"Let fortune prosper you and yours, Pryce Dacaerin," Bevan replied
equably. "How fare your wife and gentle daughter?"
"Let the ladies come to us," Pryce bade a servant.
Ellid had not been idle since Bevan had entered the gates. Indeed, she had put the whole women's quarter into a flutter of activity. But despite the tumult of her preparations, she came before the company with quiet grace. Bevan gazed on her, as staggered as Cuin had ever seen him.
Her tawny hair had grown and was smoothed back under a net of gold; delicate beads of gold showed at her throat and wrist. In her russet gown she was as soft and sleek and mobile as the quick creatures of the wilds. Although she made no gaudy show, yet she was dazzling to look on, and she knew it well. She went first to Bevan and smiled into his widened eyes.
"What, my lord," Ellid teased softly, "do you not know me with my hat on?"
Bevan stepped to her quickly and gave her the kiss of courtesy, perhaps a trifle too long for courtesy. Cuin barely touched her cheek with his lips, brother-like. Then he went to embrace his aunt, the round-faced Eitha, who stood looking on Bevan with mingled doubt and awe. Dacaerin's tenderhearted wife feared for her daughter's contentment, if Ellid should cleave to this warlock Prince. But Pryce watched with satisfaction; he judged now that he saw the path clear which would lead him to power over a kingdom of men.
They feasted that night, for Pryce Dacaerin wished to do honor to his royal guest. Bevan spent the next day closeted with his host, forming plans, and the evening he spent with Ellid. The following day he and Ellid went riding.
None of this was easy on Cuin. He found himself at loose ends, for his uncle seemed to have little to say to him; and of his own accord he kept far from Ellid. Once he wandered unawares into the room where she sat with Bevan. They were holding hands, and Cuin saw the tension that filled even that small embrace at his approach. He left as quickly as he decently could.
"What do you think of all this?" his Aunt Eitha asked him worriedly. He saw more of her these days than of anyone else, for she kindly strove to fill the gap the others had left in his time.
"Of Bevan? He is bold of deed and deep of wisdom. My cousin has chosen well in choosing him." Cuin smiled whimsically. "If she keeps herself from me, that is her faithfulness, Aunt. But can you tell me why my uncle turns away his eyes?"
"I daresay it is only because you are so changed." Eitha sought to excuse her husband, though she also was puzzled by Pryce's demeanor. "You are not much like the little boy we once knew! Go to him, Cuin, and perhaps you can put it to rights between you."
So Cuin went, but to no avail. Dacaerin received him coldly and gave no worthy answers to Cuin's carefully voiced concerns. In fact, Eitha had spoken more truly than she herself credited her words. Cuin was no longer the stripling warrior who had followed Pryce Dacaerin with youthful adulation. These days his loyalties were quieter and his steady brown eyes saw clearly and deep. The past few months had seasoned Cuin more than he himself knew. But Pryce Dacaerin perceived his new stature, and felt it mostly as a threat.
Cuin passed the evening in halfhearted revelry with old comrades among the soldiery. He went early to his bed, but did not sleep. Sometime after mid of night Bevan entered his chamber and seemed to know at once that he was awake. "We will leave on the morrow," he said.
"How so, Bevan?" Cuin sat up anxiously. "Can you be at odds with Ellid already?"
"Nay, nay. It goes well." A soft vibrancy in Bevan's voice told Cuin all that he cared to know of how well it went indeed. "But we will go tomorrow, nevertheless."
"We need not go on my account," Cuin protested. "I am content." The lie showed plain even in the darkness; Bevan snorted at it.
"Can you be flesh and say that?" he retorted. "We will go in the morning. Get some sleep." Bevan pressed a hand briefly to Cuin's forehead. Cuin noted how the hand shone silvery-pale in the faint light from the window. He noted Flessa's hunched shoulders where she sat drowsing on her perch. Then peace came over him and he knew no more. He did not even see Bevan leave the room.
Cuin slept soundly and arose late. It was nearly midday when he and Bevan left Caer Eitha, for farewells took some time. To Cuin's surprise, Ellid made no fuss at their departure; she saw Bevan off with a dignity that heightened rather than hid her love. But Pryce Dacaerin was angered that they flouted his hospitality.
"It is well for you, Prince, that you may roam where you will," he growled, "but my sister-son should stay here. His first duty lies with this domain, that will be his to govern someday."
"By my troth," Bevan replied evenly, "I would rather lose my right hand than lose Cuin's love and companionship. But as for duty, the decision must be his."
"I will return in the spring," Cuin told his uncle without heat.
"Say you so, indeed!" Dacaerin roared. "Now hear me, sirrah; the decision is not yours to make! By the law of our people, I have authority over you, and I bid you stay! Disobey me, and you risk the loss of all that is mine to give. Heed me well!"
"You have little to give that has not already been withheld," Cuin replied quietly. "Farewell, Uncle. Farewell, Cousin." He kissed Ellid quickly, the kiss of friendship, and vaulted onto his steed. Bevan already sat his dapple-gray; he leaned to embrace Ellid once more before they turned to the gates. Behind them Pryce Dacaerin stood choking on his wrath.
They journeyed northward. For an hour or so they traveled in silence. Like a shimmering shadow, the white hart joined them.
"You should have asked Ylim that question concerning birthrights," Bevan said heavily at last.
Cuin laughed ruefully. "I expect mine uncle will think better of his threat. He is like that; he rages about a trifle and then forgets it when he is cool."
"And if it is no trifle?" Bevan asked in a low voice. "And if he does not forget, but hardens to his word with time, as a proud lord will? What will you think then?"
"As I think now—that my first duty is to be a man. Be easy, Bevan; it was not you who made the quarrel." Cuin's smile faded into a frown. "Though you may be one who suffers by it! What if he withholds from you the Stone, and his support? Or even—Ellid?"
"Those things he shall not do." Bevan spoke with settled certainty. "He is ambitious on Ellid's account and therefore on mine. He will aid me to the top of his bent. But he fears any power that is not his own, and therefore he wishes to separate us, to keep you by him where he can put a rein on you."
Cuin stared incredulously. "You credit him with monstrous cunning! Yet you gave him fair enough speech."
"He is your kin, and Ellid's," Bevan replied quietly. "It is true I think him a schemer, but he is sire to such glory that I look for good from him yet."
At nightfall Bevan and Cuin stopped to eat, but not to camp. "We will go on a while in the dark," Bevan explained, "and then turn west toward Wallyn. There is no need for your uncle to know whither we travel."
"As you will," Cuin replied wearily. "We had a late start, and the horses are rested. But I think you are moonstruck, Bevan Celonwy's son!"
"Do you think so, in truth?" Bevan eyed him quizzically. "Let me show you."
Leaving the horses and gear, he led Cuin afoot back the way they had come. Following him closely, Cuin moved as quietly as he could in the dense shadows beneath the trees. After less than a mile they came to a campfire. Cuin could scarcely believe what he saw. Around it dozed men he had known from his youth; trackers he knew them to be.
"So let us go," Bevan breathed in his ear.
They rode northward through the night. Toward dawn they chose a rocky stretch of soil to turn sharply westward, and they rode westward through the day. That night they rested, and after a week without further incident they came to Wallyn. Bevan judged that they had lost the trackers. Not that it greatly mattered, for those who trailed them wanted tidings, nothing more. Still, in the properest spirit of Dacaerin's conniving, they rode into Wallyn by night. Clarric was sorrowful to hear what had chanced at Caer Eitha, but not surprised.
"I knew we were risking Dacaerin's displeasure when I let you go a-roving," h
e remarked to Cuin. "He is not one to lightly abide another loyalty. You'll note I made no rush to tell him of your whereabouts."
"I spoke him soft," Cuin mused, "but what he wanted from me I could not give him. After facing Pel's priests I could not tremble before him as I used to. At his very worst, Pryce Dacaerin can but slay me!" He laughed, and Clarric smiled crookedly.
"I trust it shall not come to that! Ay, you've grown, lad, and I believe it is not only Pel's Pit that has changed you… Well, I hope your uncle will think better of you in time. Shall you winter here?"
"Nay. By frost we hope to come to Lyrdion."
"Lyrdion!" Clarric seemed strangely shaken by that one simple word. "My lord Bevan, is this your behest?"
"It is at Ylim's advice that we go there," Bevan replied. "For myself, I know little of it. I would gladly hear your thought."
"Ylim!" Clarric's tone had subsided to one of quieter wonder. "That also is a name of fair peril to me. I have no thought to offer you, Bevan of Eburacon, only fear. Six months ago, or even less, I would have locked Cuin in chains sooner than let him venture to that place of ancient dread and grandeur. But now I have seen that he is a man, and I can only say to him: Beware! Lyrdion is a place of deepest danger to one of your mother's proud blood, Cuin. I charge you: remember always how long have been the years since your mother's Mothers were the begetters of Kings beside the Western Sea."
"So long the years," Cuin remarked, "that I have never heard of such Kings till lately."
"Even so."
"But it is not of warlike peril that you speak, Father."
"Such peril there may be," Clarric replied heavily, "but it was not of such that I spoke."
"Then tell us, my lord Clarric, that we might know," Bevan requested, "what has chanced at Lyrdion."
"Is it my place to tell you what the seeress did not?" Clarric smiled faintly. "I have told you what I can, you two. For the rest, may the Mothers defend you! Come now, eat and sleep."
"I will eat gladly," said Bevan, "but you need have no bed prepared for me, my lord."
The White Hart (The Book of Isle 1) Page 8
