by Holly Taylor
“A good cast, cariad,” Owein said as he kissed her. “We will make a warrior of you yet, won’t we, Teleri?”
“The Queen does well,” Teleri agreed.
“Cariad, I have news for you,” Owein went on. “Your brother is coming.”
“Geriant? Here? To Coed Coch?”
“Indeed. He has asked for, and I have given him, permission to aid in Enid’s rescue.”
“Oh, Owein,” Sanon said slowly. “Do you think he truly understands?”
“From what he said through the Bards, I believe he does. He does not expect Enid’s gratitude or, indeed, anything from her at all. But he wishes to help, and the High King and your father have given permission. As have I.”
“Well,” said Sanon doubtfully, “it might do him good. And then again, it might not. He may say the right words, and even believe them, but his heart will be forever set on Enid. It is his way. When will we leave?”
“Leave?” Owein asked blankly. “For where?”
“To rescue Enid, of course.”
“We?” Owein asked quickly, startled. “You are not coming.”
“I am,” Sanon said firmly.
“You are not—”
Sanon laid the palm of her hand lightly over Owein’s mouth.
Owein sighed and gently removed her hand, kissing her palm. So this had been the point of all this knife throwing. “I see. So, Queen of Rheged, will you always tell me what to do?”
“Only when you need telling, cariad,” Sanon said with a smile.
“Which I hope is not too often,” Teleri said with a wicked grin and a dig to Owein’s ribs. “You must have at least learned a little about what to do by now.”
“Oh,” Sanon replied with a wicked grin of her own, “as to that, he needs no telling.”
And then Owein did something he had not done in many, many years. He blushed.
Coed Ddu, Kingdom of Ederynion
LLUDD AP OLWEN var Kilwch, Prince of Ederynion, clenched his jaw and stood, unmoving, in the center of the clearing. With all his will, he concentrated on not letting his rage pass his lips, not letting his boiling anger out into the wan morning light.
But enraged he was, and everyone knew it. They waited for him to speak, and, as they waited, they were silent and still.
Angharad, his captain, her green eyes blazing with her own anger, her glowing red hair muted by the dense trees which kept out the sunlight from fully penetrating the forest, waited for Lludd to speak. Alun Cilcoed, Lord of Arystli, was scowling, his dark eyes thunderous. Talhearn, Lludd’s Bard, waited quietly, his blue eyes wise and sharp in his lined face. Emrys, Lludd’s lieutenant, stood stiffly, holding the bloody dagger in his hand, his eyes angry, filmed with unshed tears.
Lludd stared down at the corpse at his feet. Naf, one of the best of his men, had died in surprise. His eyes, still open and staring, were lightly dusted now with snow. Naf, whom Lludd had known ever since he was a boy, had taught Lludd the rudiments of knife fighting. Never again for this turn of the Wheel would Naf wield a blade with joy in his eyes. For his soul had gone on to the Summer Land, to await rebirth.
Lludd did not, could not, move as he looked down at the murdered body of his friend. Just a few moments ago Lludd had been on the edge of waking from a dream of Queen Morrigan of Gwynedd, the High King’s sister. He had seen her for the first time in the caves where the leaders of Kymru had gathered those few months ago, to view the Treasures, to meet Arthur, to follow him to Cadair Idris and watch as he tested his soul.
Since that first moment that he had seen her, he had few moments when he was not thinking of her. Her long, rich auburn hair, her dark, shining eyes, her beautiful smile which so easily turned to a grin, her easy competence with knife and bow, these things had reached out to him, captured him, and he was not sorry to be bound.
Someday, he had thought ever since then, someday, when the enemy was gone, when his sister wore the torque of Ederynion in freedom, when his work here was done, he would go to Morrigan, whether she willed it or no. And he would lay his heart at her feet. And perhaps, just perhaps, she would accept it.
But that sweet dream, the dream that sustained him as he fought and schemed and led his warriors, and despaired of ever freeing his sister, that sweet dream had been broken this morning. By this.
“So, Llwyd Cilcoed is gone,” Lludd said at last.
Angharad nodded. “Sometime in the night. When we found Naf, he had already gone stone cold. Been dead at least six, maybe seven hours.”
“And my brother has had that much time to run,” Alun Cilcoed said, his dark eyes glittering. “My prince, I beg you, let me go after him. I will find him. And this time, I will kill him.”
“No,” Lludd said quietly.
“Prince,” Alun pleaded, “I must. How else can I live with this shame? My brother deserves death, and I must be the one to give it to him.”
“Perhaps you will, Alun,” Lludd said, still looking down at Naf’s corpse. “My heart says that you will have your chance.”
“Then—” Alun began eagerly.
“No. You may not go after him.”
“Why?” Angharad flared. “I will go with him. Between the two of us Llwyd Cilcoed is a dead man.”
Lludd looked up then, his swift gaze crackling in the air like summer lightening. Angharad, who feared nothing, fell silent.
“I will waste no warriors on Llwyd Cilcoed. We have a mission to complete. Perhaps some of you have forgotten.” No one answered him. He had not thought that they would. “Havgan’s ships are burning up and down the coast of Ederynion. And the job is not yet done. This task is more important than Llwyd Cilcoed’s worthless hide.”
Lludd did not want to say what he said. He would have given almost anything for the chance to run Llwyd Cilcoed to earth and gut him. The others thought, perhaps, that his hatred for Llwyd was a pale thing. But it was not. For he hated his mother’s former lover with all his heart. He hated Llwyd Cilcoed for his desertion of Queen Olwen when the enemy came. He hated Llwyd Cilcoed for the hold the man had once had on her. He hated Llwyd Cilcoed, not for the slights he had given Lludd, but for the slights he had given Elen, Lludd’s sister. Had Llwyd Cilcoed thought that no one had noticed the way he used to look at Elen? Had the man truly thought no one could see the lust in his eyes as he looked at the daughter of his lover? True, Olwen herself had never seen it. But Lludd had. And Elen had. They had known his thoughts and his thoughts had been vile.
Since Llwyd Cilcoed had come here, thrown himself on Lludd’s mercy, and pleaded to be protected by him, almost a year ago, he had served diligently. For Llwyd Cilcoed was Dewin, and for that Lludd had spared the man’s life, knowing that the man could be of real use. But Lludd had not trusted him, not for a moment. He had set a guard on Llwyd Cilcoed, a warrior who shadowed him, watched him, saw to it that, in raids on the enemy, Llwyd Cilcoed did what he was told.
And last night, Llwyd Cilcoed had killed his guard and slipped away.
It was then that Lludd began to think. “Why?” he asked Talhearn.
The old Bard’s blue eyes sharpened. Trust Talhearn to truly understand the question. “Indeed. Why now? Who has he been Wind-Riding with?”
Angharad shook her head. “We can’t know the answer to that. None of us here has that talent.”
“Perhaps he hadn’t contacted anyone yet,” Lludd said softly. “Perhaps he had to go in order to get close enough to the one he wanted to see.”
Talhearn nodded. “He could contact another Dewin up to thirty leagues away. No more.”
“Eiodel is further than that,” Lludd said quietly.
“So it is,” Talhearn agreed.
“Talhearn, contact the Master Bard. Tell him to tell the Ardewin what Llwyd Cilcoed has done. Let them seek him out. He cannot hide from the Dewin.”
“He can,” Talhearn corrected. “But not for long.”
“And when you are done with that, contact the High King. Tell Arthur what has happened here. An
d tell him that we will be leaving Coed Ddu somewhat sooner than we thought. We must leave before Llwyd Cilcoed betrays our location. Our hiding places in Ial are almost ready, and we can make do. That Dewin never knew anything about that.”
“It shall be done, my prince,” Talhearn said, bowing his head.
“And tell him one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Tell him my sister has been prisoner long enough. Tell him that I will not obey one more order from him until she is freed.”
“Lludd, I cannot—” Talhearn began. But before he could finish, the old man sank to his knees, his eyes wide with surprise.
Lludd leapt across the clearing and took Talhearn’s arm. Heart attack, he thought incoherently. He’s dying.
“The High King,” Talhearn gasped. “He speaks to us.”
“By the gods,” Angharad murmured. “All the way from Cadair Idris?”
“He is High King,” Alun murmered, his eyes alight.
“What does he say to us, Talhearn?” Lludd demanded.
“He says you are to do your duty to him, whether he rescues your sister or no.”
Lludd’s brown eyes blazed with rage for a moment, and then he bowed his head. “It shall be as the High King wills.”
“But Arthur says that he will not make you wait much longer. In a few days he will send us someone who can help us. Elen will be free by Bedwen Mis. Even if he has to come himself to free her.”
“The High King is generous,” Lludd said, his voice breaking slightly. “Even after my harsh words. Give him my thanks.”
“It is done,” Talhearn said. The Bard relaxed, leaning against Lludd.
“You are hurt,” Lludd said, his anger kindling again.
“I am not,” Talhearn said with a smile. “I am only tired. I tell you, boyo, I have never felt such power. Never doubt it, Kymru will soon be free.”
Cemais, Kingdom of Gwynedd
QUEEN MORRIGAN QUICKLY made her way up the gently swelling hills of south Cemais. A stiff wind nipped at her, bringing the blood to her cheeks, whipping back her auburn hair to fan out into the winter afternoon.
Snow dusted the rolling hills, glittering like diamonds beneath the coldly shining sun. Less than a league away, to the east, was the camp her Cerddorian had made when they had arrived here from Mynydd Tawel. But though she knew it was there she saw no sign of the camp, so well was it tucked away in the folds of the land, artfully concealed beneath the tall, thick brush. She wished her brother was here, so she could show him how well they had done.
Morrigan sighed. She had barely begun to know Arthur before he had irrevocably changed. He had been taken by Gwydion to be raised in secret when she was only two years old, too young to remember him. The first time she had seen him to remember was the day he and the Dreamer, with Rhiannon and Gwenhwyfar, had come to Mynydd Tawel.
Her throat tightened, for thinking of Arthur reminded her of her father. He had been dead now these past two years, killed in battle with the Coranians. And still she missed him so. She dismissed her tears and swallowed. She was the Queen now, and tears were not for her.
Then she smiled. For she knew what was for her—Lludd, Prince of Ederynion. She wanted him and she would have him. She did not think he would have an objection for she had seen the light in his eyes, even if he had barely spoken to her at Cadair Idris. She knew it and she was forthright enough to admit it.
And why not? She was no Cai, longing for someone but too frightened of loss to speak. She had seen how he looked at Susanna. Susanna’s son, Gwyhar, did his best to urge the captain, but Cai was stubborn. Strange how a man could be so brave in battle, but such a coward in matters of the heart.
And in matters of the heart, even a man as wise as Myrrdin could be a fool. For Morrigan had seen the light in her Dewin’s eyes at Cadair Idris. She had known that Neuad was in love with the man who had once been Ardewin of Kymru. And she knew what Myrrdin thought. For Myrrdin was old enough to be her father and Neuad was young and beautiful, and any man could be hers for the taking. But Neuad did not want any man. She wanted Myrrdin. And Morrigan knew her well enough to know that Myrrdin was as good as caught. No matter what the old man thought.
In matters of the heart, Cai’s nephew, Bedwyr, was not much better. She knew why Bedwyr brooded so much, and over whom he brooded. For Tangwen, daughter of Madoc the Usurper was in a truly unenviable position indeed. Her shame at her father’s deeds led her to spy for Morrigan and her Cerddorian. Yet she loved her father, even as she betrayed him.
A change in the sound of the wind alerted her and she turned. The sun lit Susanna’s red-gold hair to a fiery sheen as the Bard traversed the last few feet and came to sit on a snow-dusted rock at Morrigan’s feet.
“My Queen,” Susanna said, inclining her head.
“If you wish to be formal, it’s best to do that with my mother,” Morrigan said with a grin.
“Less formal now, don’t you think?”
“She is, isn’t she?” Morrigan agreed. “Because?”
“She has seen her son again. Her hope returns. Her sacrifice from years ago now has a purpose.”
“Will I ever, ever, be as clear sighted as you?”
Susanna laughed. “My Queen, it is not necessary that you be wise about others’ hearts. Only that you listen to those that are.”
“Then I will always listen to you.”
“And Lludd, too, I think. For he is no fool.”
Morrigan blushed, but smiled. “He is going to be mine.”
“So he is,” Susanna agreed.
“Why did you follow me here?”
“I Wind-Spoke to your brother.”
“He is well?” Morrigan asked eagerly. “He has a new task for us?”
“He is well,” Susanna said gravely. “And he has no new task. I told him that Havgan’s ships were being burnt along the coast as he ordered. And that we would be moving to Coed Dulas in a month’s time, as agreed.”
“The better to be close to Tegeingl. So we can take it back,” Morrigan said fiercely. “We are ready. And I am more than ready to topple false Madoc from his bony backside and back into the muck where he belongs.” Susanna did not answer for a moment and Morrigan’s heart beat fast. “No, oh, no. He didn’t!”
“Didn’t what?”
“Forbid me to fight. He didn’t. I’m old enough.”
“Almost sixteen,” Susanna gravely agreed.
“I know what I’m doing. I know how to fight. And I know how to lead a battle. I will not stay behind!”
“No, you will not. He said nothing of that.”
“Susanna! How dare you frighten me!”
“He did give me a message for you.”
“He did? What did he say?”
“That he loves you.”
Morrigan bowed her head so Susanna would not see her tears. But Susanna knew.
“Yes,” the Bard said gently. “He loves you very much.”
“And that was all of the message?” Morrigan asked harshly. For her voice would shake if she did not.
“All that you need to know.”
“He knows about the spy in Tegeingl, then. The one you know about but have told no one. Until you told him.”
“He is the High King,” Susanna said simply.
“And I am your queen. Why, why won’t you tell me who it is? You won’t even tell the Master Bard.”
“Anieron knew. He bade me to tell no one but the High King, should he return to us. And hold that secret safe until it is time.”
“It is as dangerous as that?”
“It is as dangerous as that.”
“Well then,” Morrigan said firmly, but brightly, for there was no malice in her, “we must see to it that the time is soon. For I will take back what is mine before the spring is out.”
“So you will, my Queen. So you will.”
Eiodel, Gwytheryn
HAVGAN SAT STRAIGHT and unyielding in his golden chair in the Great Hall. He was dressed in gold and
rubies and a circlet of gold held his honey-blond hair back from his grim face. His amber eyes glistened while Gram, the Bana’s sword, lay unsheathed across his knees. The bright blade etched with three boars’ heads glittered, as did the blood-red ruby on the black iron pommel.
His mistress stood to the left of the golden chair. Arianrod wore a kirtle of amber, which lay gently over her swollen belly. Topaz glittered at her ears and slender throat. Her honey-blond hair was held back from her face with a band of amber stones.
Aelfwyn sat on a chair to his right. His wife was dressed in cool white, and her long, blond hair was held back from her face with a band of diamonds. She shimmered in the darkened hall. Her emerald green eyes glittered coldly.
Sigerric stood stiffly to Aelfwyn’s right. He was dressed in black and emeralds, the black accentuating the pallor of his tight face. His dark eyes drank in the air of the hate-filled hall, and his thin hand clenched the dagger at his emerald-studded belt.
Havgan nodded to the men at the doors, and the wyrce-jaga was led in to them. The man was pitiful in his fear, his black robe making him seem even paler. His hands twisted around a small, silvery, bejeweled box.
“You were the wyrce-jaga at Maen in Prydyn, five months ago,” Havgan began.
“I was,” the man said stiffly.
“What is your name?” Aelfwyn interrupted.
“I am called Hild, Lady, son of Hildas, of Winburnan, in Ivelas.”
“Why do you ask his name?” Havgan demanded of Aelfwyn, his voice low. “It is nothing to me.”
“My father always asked the names of any who came before him. It is what a true ruler would do. You would not know that, of course.”
“Of course,” Havgan said smoothly. “Being only the son of a fisherman.”
“Just so,” Aelfwyn said coldly.
“My dearest wife,” he said with a smile, “it is unwise to be so very, very sure that I will not have you killed.”
“You can’t,” Aelfwyn said flatly. “Not yet. Not while my father lives. You are a fool to try to frighten me.”
