May Earth Rise

by Holly Taylor

  “You won’t regret it,” Whitred began, eagerly.

  “Except for one thing,” Rhoram went on, as though Whitred had not spoken. “My Druid, Ellywen ur Saidi, tells me that you have some very unpleasant habits. Habits that involve young boys of my city.”

  Whitred’s face fell and tears gathered in his eyes.

  “So you see, Whitred,” Rhoram said in a confidential tone, “I can’t possibly let you live. Nor will we kill you as swiftly as we killed Eamer. For these boys will never forget what was done to them. For that you will pay for a long, long time.”

  At Rhoram’s gesture two more warriors grabbed Whitred by the arms, hauling him to his feet. The Byshyp began to blubber as they pulled him through the crowd of warriors, many of whom spat on him in contempt. They pushed him down the steps and into the courtyard. His hands were already bound with iron, and they bound his feet also. With a mighty shout they flung him into the fire. Whitred’s screams pierced the noonday sky and the smell of burnt flesh spiraled with the smoke up into the clean air.

  At Rhoram’s nod Geriant left the dais and brought in the last prisoner. The man walked through the crowd of warriors with his head held high. Chains bound his hands in front of him. His sweat-soaked, dark blond hair framed his pale face but his dark eyes were unafraid as he halted at the bottom of the dais.

  “Penda of Lindisfarne,” Rhoram said solemnly.

  “Rhoram of Prydyn,” Penda replied, bowing his head briefly.

  Ellywen stepped forward to stand next to Penda. “My King,” Ellywen said, bowing. “I beg a boon from you. I, who have no right to beg for anything.”

  “What would you, Ellywen?” Rhoram asked. Though he had a pretty good idea of what his Druid was going to say.

  “I beg that you spare this man’s life. For he has spared mine. If not for him I would be in Afalon, dead by now. True, he set a trap for Cadell and I. But then he let Cadell go so that he might warn you that I was taken. And then he sent me to Afalon, with only two warriors for company, knowing that you would rescue me on the way and wishing to make it easier for you. I was able to lead my fellow Druids in the fight for you today only because Penda spared me. Through the strength of the High King we called the fog to hide your movements from the enemy. We unbarred the gates so your army might come into the city. We fought with our gifts today for you and our High King. Although I have no right to ask, for I owe you much, I ask in spite of that. I ask for the life of Penda of Lindisfarne. For he is an honorable man.”

  Rhoram hesitated, for he, too, wanted to spare Penda. But Penda was one of Havgan’s generals and closest friends. To spare him would be, perhaps, foolish.

  Do not kill Penda, Arthur’s voice sounded in Rhoram’s mind. Send him to Havgan. For I have a message for him to carry.

  “And the message?” Rhoram asked, hiding his astonishment. He had known that Arthur was strong, but he was still shocked to see the proof of it.

  Tell him this. Tell him that he must carry a message to Havgan. He must tell the Golden Man to leave Kymru. This will be one of his very last chances to leave our land alive. If Havgan does not leave he will die.

  Rhoram turned to Penda. “My High King tells me that you must take a message to Havgan.”

  “And the message?” Penda asked.

  “Leave Kymru or die.”

  “I will tell him,” Penda whispered. “But he will not leave.”

  “Our High King has made his will known, and we will obey,” Rhoram said. At his nod Geriant unbound Penda’s hands. “My son will see to it that you are provisioned for your journey and that a fresh horse is given to you. We will send word throughout Kymru that you are to leave our kingdom unmolested and allowed to reach Eiodel.”

  “My thanks again to you, General Penda,” Ellywen said softly, “for my life. I do not know what happened to you in your heart to lead you to do so, but I am grateful.”

  “It was a dream, Ellywen,” Penda said. “A dream I had. In the dream I was freed from my oath to the Golden Man. Wuoton One-Eye himself said it was so. I will remain in Kymru until Havgan either leaves or is dead. If I am still alive by then I will return to my father in Lindisfarne. I will never again hunt the Heiden, for, in truth, I am one of them, as my father is. And I will never run from that truth again.”

  “The blessings of the Protectors on you, Penda,” Ellywen said.

  Penda bowed to Ellywen, then to Rhoram. Geriant led him out of the hall and gave him to two Kymric warriors to outfit and send on his way. When Geriant returned and mounted the steps, Rhoram opened his mouth to dismiss the audience. But a female voice called out, stopping him.

  “Justice, King of Prydyn,” she cried. Lluched made her way through the crowd to stand at the foot of the dais. “I claim justice,” she repeated.

  Rhoram’s brow rose. “And what injustice has been done to you, Lluched, that I might set right?”

  Lluched’s hair, usually woven in tiny braids and bound with copper beads, was now lose and flowing around her shoulders in a dark cloud of riotous waves. Her large, dark eyes flashed. “One of your warriors has played fast and loose with me,” she claimed, “and for that he must pay.”

  Rhoram’s eyes flashed to Aidan. His lieutenant’s eyes were wide with apprehension. But his mouth was trying not to curve in a smile.

  “This man,” Lluched said, gesturing to Aidan, “has promised to wed me but refuses to do so.”

  “I never promised that,” Aidan protested. “Not once.”

  “It was implied,” Lluched said haughtily.

  “In what way was it implied?” Aidan cried.

  “Every time you kissed me,” Lluched replied firmly. “Every time you held me. Every time you sweet-talked me into—”

  “No need to get into specifics,” Aidan said hastily. “I think we all understand.”

  “Aidan,” Rhoram said, trying desperately not to laugh. “Is this true?”

  “It is not.”

  “You call me a liar?” Lluched cried, her hand going to the dagger at her waist.

  “I do,” Aidan replied firmly.

  “And just how am I lying?” Lluched said.

  “You lie by implication,” Aidan said. “For you suggest that I do not want to marry you.” Aidan walked forward and laid one hand gently on Lluched’s flushed cheek. “But I do,” he said softly. “I always have. For you were born to be my wife and to you I gave my heart long ago. For I love you, Lluched ur Brathach, as I have never loved any woman. As I never thought to love any woman. And glad I am that you will marry me. For I will never let you go.” He bent his head and kissed her slowly, his other hand coming up to plunge into the mass of her dark hair. At last he released her and turned to face Rhoram, his arm around Lluched’s waist.

  “King Rhoram, I wish you to allow your Druid to marry us.”

  “Today?” Ellywen asked with a smile.

  “Today,” Lluched said firmly. “Before he changes his mind.”

  “You could wait long and long for that, Lluched,” Aidan said with a grin. “But today will suit me very well also. For the day Prydyn found her freedom is the day I lost mine. And with no regrets, for in truth I lost my heart’s freedom long ago in your dark eyes.”

  “Then my Druid will indeed marry you both today, as you ask,” Rhoram said with a grin of his own. “But she must perform a task for me first.”

  “Gladly,” Ellywen said with a smile. “And what task may I do for you?”

  “Another marriage,” Rhoram said. He turned to face Achren. “A few months ago you said something to me I have not forgotten. I had told you I loved you. And you did not believe me then. Do you remember what you said?”

  Achren’s face flushed but she met his eyes fearlessly. “Remind me,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “You said, ‘when once again you reign in Arberth over all Prydyn, when once again fortune favors you so that you may have the choosing of any woman of Kymru, offer again, if you still wish it.’ Those were your exact words.”


  “They were,” Achren agreed.

  “And so now I offer again, in front of all these witnesses. For I am once again King of Prydyn. Fortune has again favored me, and I do not seek out your heart to salve a wound of mine. I seek out your heart because, without you, nothing is complete. Even this,” he said, gesturing to his canopied chair, the wolf’s banner, the great hall, “is nothing if you do not share it with me.”

  “I am a warrior, Rhoram,” Achren said quietly. “I was not meant to be a queen.”

  “As to that, I have plans that I believe you will agree to,” Rhoram said. “Plans we shall speak of later. But for now, Achen ur Canhustyr, PenCollen of Prydyn, queen of my heart, I ask for your answer.”

  “Then, my King, I shall give it to you.” Achren drew her sword. The steel rasped loudly in the sudden quiet as she moved to stand before him. “My sword belongs to you and always has.” She held the sword out to him with both hands and he took it from her. “My heart, too, belongs to you and always has. Rhoram of Prydyn, I will marry you.”

  He gasped with delight, for his heart leapt at her words and at the truth he saw in her eyes. He handed her sword to Geriant, then took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly to the sounds of cheers from their warriors. At last he released her from his embrace, and drew her to the crook of his arm.

  “Today I declare that Prydyn is free from the enemy,” Rhoram cried. “Tomorrow we begin the muster for the battle in Gwytheryn against the Golden Man himself. I appoint Dafydd Penfro as ruler here until we return from that final battle where Kymru will be freed!”

  At his words the warriors cried out, calling out his name and that of High King Arthur. And from somewhere outside the city walls, wolves howled in triumph. For today, Prydyn was free.

  Chapter

  * * *

  Sixteen

  Dinmael

  Kingdom of Ederynion, Kymru

  Eiddew Mis, 500

  Gwaithdydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early morning

  The fog-shrouded city of Dinmael was hushed and still in the dark hour before dawn. Tendrils of mist curled around the silent houses and rose from the emptied streets.

  Two figures soundlessly appeared at the top of the city’s outer wall. Each figure tossed down one end of a length of rope secured to the jagged stones that topped the wall. Each grasping their ropes, they shinnied down swiftly, coming to rest noiselessly inside the city.

  Without a word the two figures made their way down the main street of Sarn Ermyn, easily shrouded from discovery by the fog. They stopped in front of Ty Meirw, the standing stones that guarded the bodies of the rulers of Ederynion. They briefly bowed their heads, and the slighter figure reached out to gently touch the nearest stone, as though in greeting or, possibly, in farewell.

  The two walked swiftly on. When they came to the nearest row of houses they separated, each one going to opposite sides of the street. Softly, swiftly, they knocked on each door once, twice, three times. Without waiting for an answer, they then went to the next house and knocked again. At each house doors silently opened, and figures stepped out. Some held swords, while others held spears. Some had helmets on their heads, while others were bareheaded. Yet, though the inhabitants in the street stirred in the mist-shrouded darkness, no candles were lit, and no torches blazed. Even the dogs, which should have bayed at the sound of knocking at such an hour, were quiet. Stilled by an instinct, or, possibly, by the recognition of what the day would surely bring or, perhaps, by something else all together.

  As each silent, armed man or woman emerged from their houses, they raised their hands in greeting to the two that had knocked, then moved out of their houses and into the streets.

  And waited.

  OUTSIDE THE CITY walls Angharad, PenAethnen of Ederynion, Queen Elen’s captain, stood silently before the southern gate, her eyes scanning the misty sky overhead. Her dyed white leather breeches clung to her slender body. She wore a sea-green, close-fitting tunic decorated with the white swan badge of her queen, and her arms were bare. Her red hair was tightly braided and bound to her head. A sword was belted around her waist and daggers gleamed at the cuffs of her leather boots.

  Behind her, hundreds of Cerddorian fanned out, waiting silently. She knew that Rhiwallon, the Prince of Rheged, was armed and ready to lead more Cerddorian through the west gate. Alun Cilcoed, the Lord of Arystli, was likewise ready with more warriors outside the northern gate of the city.

  To her left a Dewin stood silently, his eyes slightly glazed as he Wind-Rode inside the city. And to her right stood Madryn, one of Aergol’s Druids. Madryn’s eyes were closed and her hands clenched into fists. Beads of sweat gleamed at her temples, as she and her fellow brown-robed Druids concentrated, linked with High King Arthur, to maintain the heavy fog that masked the Cerddorian’s army from Coranian eyes.

  Yet though the work was obviously strenuous, Angharad had no fear that the Druids would not be able to fulfill the tasks they must fulfill today. For Madryn’s competent air had already reassured Angharad that the Druids would be able to do all that was required.

  Talhearn, Queen Elen’s Bard, made his way slowly through the ranks of silent warriors. His silver hair was misted with droplets and his shrewd, brown eyes glittered in his weathered face. He did not speak, but he did not need to. He knew better than anyone what this day meant Talhearn had been her friend for a very long time and they had faced danger together many times in the past three years.

  The Dewin next to her stirred then blinked rapidly. He turned to Angharad and said quietly, “Queen Elen and Prince Lludd have roused the populace. The Coranians suspect nothing. Everything is ready.”

  At last the day had come when they would begin to take everything back. Or die trying.

  All they needed now was the signal that High King Arthur had promised.

  Angharad nodded and continued to scan the milky-white sky. Emrys, her lieutenant, made his way to her.

  “Angharad, I must speak with you,” he said quietly.

  “Can’t it wait?” she asked absently, still eyeing the silent sky.

  “No, captain, it cannot,” Emrys replied, an edge to his voice she had never heard before.

  Jolted by his tone she turned to him. His handsome face was stern and set. His dark eyes were fastened on hers. His face had a pale cast to it and his mouth twitched as though he was in some sort of pain.

  “What is it, then?” she asked, alarmed.

  Emrys took a deep breath. “Today we go into battle. And today, I know, I am to die.”

  “Nonsense, Emrys,” she said irritably. She was astonished that Emrys would interrupt such an important moment with such patent foolishness. She did not for one minute believe that what he said was true.

  “It is not nonsense,” Emrys replied firmly. “It is the truth. I have dreamed it.”

  “Are you a Dreamer, then, that you should know the future?” she asked acidly.

  But Emrys continued, as though she had not even spoken. “And so the time has come to speak other truths to you. Truths that you never wished to hear from me.”

  “Emrys—” she began sternly. But Emrys would not be stopped. Would not, she saw, be reasoned with.

  “No, Angharad. You cannot stop me from saying what must be said. For I love you, cariad. I have loved you for years beyond counting. I loved you when I was only a warrior in Queen Olwen’s teulu. I loved you when you chose me to be your lieutenant. I have loved you these past years when we have lived hand to mouth, hunted by the Coranians. I have loved you every day, have longed for you every moment. And have never told you so. For I knew it would be useless.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to please—for the love of all the gods—please stop this. For she wished to hear none of it. Had, indeed, successfully avoided this for longer than she had ever thought possible. For she had thought that, someday, Emrys feelings would change. But they had not.

  And she could not help him. She did not love him, and would not pretend as though she
did. Or that she ever would. Amatheon, Gwydion’s murdered brother, had once held her heart for a brief time. But though he was gone now, her heart had not yet wholly returned to her. She didn’t know if it ever would. Deep inside anger began to stir, born of guilt and of her bitter loss, that Emrys should choose this moment to distract her from the momentous task at hand. She would tell him so, right this moment. She would—

  Effortlessly, as Talhearn did everything, the Bard caught her eye. The tiny shake of his head, the pity in his eyes, warned her to be silent and let Emrys finish.

  And so she would. But when this battle was over she would have a new lieutenant.

  “For,” Emrys said, continuing on, “you never wanted to hear it. You never wanted to acknowledge that I loved you. And you knew.” His tone was not accusatory. Only certain, knowing he was right beyond the shadow of doubt.

  “What would you have me do, Emrys?” she asked between gritted teeth, for she was becoming very, very angry now. “Would you have me lie to you?”

  Emrys shook his head. “No. For then you would not be the woman I love. You are not a liar and never could be. I want only one thing. Only one little thing today as I stand in the shadow of death.”

  “And that is?” she asked.

  “A kiss,” he said simply.

  She stared at him, scarcely able to credit what she had heard. He thought to trick her into kissing him with some stupid story that he would die today? Did he think her a fool? “Emrys ap Naw,” she said sternly, “you are impertinent. You have a job to do here, and I expect you to do it. Return to your warriors. Now.”

  Emrys paled even further and remained rooted to the spot. For a moment she thought he would not obey her. But Talhearn stepped forward and laid a hand on Emrys’ shoulder. Emrys swallowed hard, but Angharad would not relent. At last Emrys saluted and turned away, swallowed up by the mist.