Dreamer's Cycle Series

by Holly Taylor

  “Probably hoping she won’t have a knife,” Baldred snorted.

  There was a slight commotion at the door, and Sledda burst into the hall, making straight for Havgan.

  Havgan stooped pacing. “Well?” he growled.

  Sledda’s face was white. “She’s not there!” he gasped out. “Gone.”

  “Gone! What do you mean?”

  “The door was barred, and there was no answer to my knock. Finally, I had my escort break the door down. Everything appeared to be in order, but she was not there. It didn’t seem as if any belongings were missing, and there were no signs of violence. So I waited for her to return. But she has not.”

  “Then go back and wait some more! Search the place. Look around, for Lytir’s sake! How could she have gotten out when the door was barred from the inside! Were the shutters closed?”

  “No, they were open.”

  “Do you think she decided to run an errand and slipped out the window?” Havgan asked sarcastically. “Or that she turned herself into a mouse and scurried away?”

  “Who knows what these witches can do?” Sledda asked darkly. “The dyrne-hwata is still sitting on the table. It looks to me as though she ran off. Maybe she did go out the window, to throw off pursuit.”

  Havgan pushed his face just inches away from Sledda’s own. In a very steady voice, he said, “Search for her. If she’s not at her house, search the city. Find her.”

  “But, Lord Havgan, the wedding! How can I miss—”

  Havgan’s hand shot out, grabbing the front of Sledda’s black robe. “Find her. Or don’t bother to come back. Have you got that?”

  Sledda nodded curtly. Havgan let him go, and the wyrcejaga turned and left without another word. Havgan went back to pacing.

  “What was that all about?” Penda asked curiously.

  Baldred shook his head. “No idea.”

  “Oh!” Gwydion said. “The gift!”

  Rhiannon turned to him. “You forgot it, didn’t you? After I reminded you twice!”

  “I didn’t forget!” Gwydion said indignantly.

  “Then why didn’t you bring it?” she demanded.

  “Answer that one, brother!” Catha laughed. “And to think, I almost took Rhea for myself. You can keep her!”

  The men laughed and Rhiannon flushed. “You—”

  Talorcan laid a hand on her arm. “Ignore him, Rhea. That’s what I do.”

  “I’ll just run upstairs and get it,” Gwydion said hastily.

  “You remember where it is?” Rhiannon said sharply.

  “Um … yes, right where I left it.”

  “Which would be?” she prompted. When Gwydion did not answer immediately, she sighed. “Never mind. I’ll come help you look.”

  “I can find it myself,” he protested.

  “To be sure. And the wedding will be over by then.” She took his arm, dragging him from the hall toward the stairs. “Oh, Talorcan,” she called over her shoulder, “if you have to, start without us. We’ll catch up.”

  “Good luck, Guido,” Penda called. “You’ll need it!”

  “You’re telling me,” Gwydion replied. A wave of good-natured laughter followed them up the stairs and as they turned down the corridor. When the hall was out of sight below, they ran.

  “What a bitch you are,” Gwydion said cheerfully.

  “Ha, ha,” she replied flatly. “Save your breath for running.”

  Swiftly they descended the back stairs and ran through the kitchens, crowded with servants preparing the wedding feast, but none of them had the authority to challenge their hurried exit, and they passed smoothly out the back door.

  As quickly as they could, they made their way up Flanstrat, which ran north of the fortress, then turned north again up Lindstrat, heading toward the docks.

  “This is the way to Anflaeth’s house,” Rhiannon panted. “Is there another way to the docks?”

  “I’m sure there is,” Gwydion said breathlessly, “but I don’t know it, and we can’t miss that ship. It would be just our luck to run into Sledda.”

  Rhiannon nodded, but saved her breath for running. The streets were crowded with people streaming to the palace to watch the wedding. They wove in and out of the colorfully clad crowds, Gwydion in front, dragging her behind him by the hand. Finally, they neared Anflaeth’s house. The front door was open, and they saw movement inside from across the street.

  “Hurry,” Rhiannon hissed.

  “We can’t run right now. That would attract too much attention. Just go slowly.”

  They passed the house, then picked up the pace. Gwydion turned to look over his shoulder, and ran—literally—right into Sledda. The force of the impact threw Gwydion into Rhiannon, and they both almost fell. Sledda did fall, knocking his head against the pavement. Gwydion recovered, and they almost sprinted off, but he saw a contingent of Havgan’s warriors standing right behind Sledda, and abruptly changed his mind. He reached down, and helped Sledda to his feet, dusting him off.

  “Sorry about that, old fellow,” he said genially.

  “You … you …” Sledda seemed at a loss for words. “What are you doing here?”

  “Coming to relieve you. Havgan sent us to wait for Anflaeth. And look for clues,” Rhiannon said.

  Sledda’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Probably because you whined so much about missing the wedding. Possibly because he has a greater faith in my abilities than in yours.” Gwydion shrugged. “He didn’t tell me why, and I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem like a wise thing to do.”

  Sledda stood there, chewing his lip. Finally, Rhiannon said, “If you don’t want us to do this, just say so. We’ll go back and tell Havgan you didn’t want to see the wedding after all. That would be fine with me—I happen to hate missing it.”

  Sledda made up his mind. “All right. Take the warriors and—”

  “Havgan said he didn’t want a bunch of people under my feet in that house,” Gwydion replied. “Take them back with you.”

  Again, Sledda hesitated. The sound of merriment to the south apparently helped him to decide. He nodded, then hurried away, the warriors following.

  After he was out of sight, they ran as though Sceadu himself was chasing them. They burst onto the docks, jammed with men loading and unloading the huge ships. Then she saw the ship.

  They hurried up the gangplank and spotted Captain Euric on the deck. “Captain,” Rhiannon called. “We’re here! Ready to go?”

  “Alas, not yet,” the Captain said, shaking his head.

  “But it’s noon. Right on the dot,” she protested.

  “So it is, but we still have one last load to take on. Just stay out of the way, and we sail when it’s done.”

  SLEDDA HURRIED DOWN Lindstrat. It was thoughtful of Havgan to be sure that he didn’t miss the wedding. After all he had done to get Havgan where he was today, too. All those years of scheming come to fruition at last. His dream was soon to come true.

  He arrived at Byrnwiga, just as Havgan was starting out. With a friendly smile, he took his place just behind Sigerric—and almost ran into the man when the procession abruptly halted. Sledda looked up to see Havgan standing in front of him, his face contorted with rage. “What are you doing here? I sent you to find Anflaeth!”

  “Guido and Rhea found me. They said that you …” Sledda’s breath caught in his throat. “You didn’t … you didn’t send them?”

  “Send them? They’re upstairs, getting my gift. They …” Havgan’s face turned white. “Guido,” he whispered. “It was Guido all the time.”

  “And Rhea,” Sledda said grimly.

  “But he saved my life. Twice. Why would he …?”

  “Not why would he—who is he? That’s the question,” Sledda said.

  “Find them,” Havgan barked. “At the docks. They must be leaving the city! Hurry, you fool. Hurry!”

  RHIANNON STOOD AT the railing of the ship, scanning the docks. She did not even turn around when Gwydion came up behind he
r. “Nothing yet,” she said.

  Gwydion nodded. “The Captain says we will be on our way in a few moments.”

  “The sooner the better. I—” she broke off, looking intently at the place where Lindstrat emptied onto the docks. The sun glinted off mailed shirts of armed warriors. “It’s Sledda!” she gasped. Instantly, Gwydion pulled her away from the railing, behind a convenient barrel. They peered around it.

  It was Sledda, all right. Two burly warriors pushed through the crowd, knocking people out of Sledda’s path. Behind him were at least twenty more warriors. Sledda’s weasel-like eyes searched the crowd. He stopped, grabbing the arm of a man who was hurrying by. He asked the man a question, and then looked toward the Fleet Foot.

  “Who was that man?” Rhiannon asked.

  “The dockmaster,” Captain Euric said behind them. They jumped, whirling around to face him. “Probably asked him which ship is leaving dock next. That’s us.”

  “Now?”

  “Now. We’re pulling up anchor. Just thought you’d like to know.”

  Rhiannon smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Just thought I’d mention it.” The Captain strolled off as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “There they are!” Sledda shouted. “It’s them. Stop them!”

  The gangplank was just being pulled up, and two warriors grabbed for it. Unaccountably, they overbalanced and ended up in the dirty water. The rest of the warriors ran toward the ship, but by some coincidence, a pile of barrels tottered and fell, blocking their way.

  “Captain! Captain!” Sledda screamed as the ship moved away.

  Captain Euric came to the rail, cupping his hand around his ear.

  “Stop! I demand in the name of Lord Havgan of Corania that you stop!”

  The Captain shook his head, pointing to his ear. “Can’t hear you,” he bellowed. “What did you say?”

  “Stop!”

  The Captain shrugged, indicating that he couldn’t understand, then turned away. “Best get below,” he said to Gwydion and Rhiannon. “Could be a rough trip.”

  They stumbled to the cabin and slammed the door behind them. Gwydion barred it, then they took their places on the narrow bunks.

  “Hurry up,” Rhiannon said. “After all this, you don’t want to miss the wedding, do you?” They closed their eyes.

  THE WEDDING PARTY was assembled at the eastern bridge leading to the palace. The Archpreost raised his hands high, the sunlight flashing off his purple robes and his ornate golden pendant of the Tree of Lytir.

  Havgan and Aelfwyn stood beneath a canopy of gold cloth. Talorcan, Catha, Baldred, and Penda each held one corner over the couple. Sigerric stood, pale and silent, on Havgan’s right.

  Aelfwyn, to Havgan’s left, looked deathly pale. Her splendid dress of bright red trimmed with gold only emphasized the whiteness of her face. Havgan was holding her left hand, saying, “With this ring, I thee wed. And this gold and silver I give thee. And with my body I thee worship.” He stopped a moment and grinned unpleasantly down at her, then went on. “And with all my worldly chattels, I thee honor.”

  Aelfwyn answered in a voice that was little better than a whisper. “I take thee to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold. For fairer for fouler, for better for worse. For richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. To be bonny and buxom in bed and at board, till death,” she closed her eyes briefly, “do us part.”

  “You may kiss the bride,” the Archpreost said, a benign smile on his face. Slowly Havgan reached out and took Aelfwyn’s chin in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. Then he bent his head and kissed her passionately. She struggled, and he abruptly let her go, so quickly that she almost fell. He turned away to receive the congratulations of his friends. Sigerric stumbled away without looking back.

  Havgan was laughing with Baldred and Catha when he saw Sledda running up, and his smile faded.

  “They got away,” Sledda panted. “The ship sailed and would not stop.”

  “Who are they? By the One God, who are they?” Havgan shouted in rage.

  I am Gwydion ap Awst, the Dreamer of Kymru.

  And I am Rhiannon ur Hefeydd, a Dewin of the House of Llyr.

  Havgan froze at hearing their voices in his mind, and lifted his face to the bright sky, as though seeking them there. At his gesture, the talking and laughing abruptly stilled. People stared at him in bewilderment and backed away from him in fear, until the Golden Man stood alone on the palace bridge, glowing with hatred and writhing with rage.

  “You—my brother, you betrayed me!” he shouted, his cry shooting up into the sky like a deadly, shining spear.

  I was never your brother. I am your enemy. I always will be.

  “I will come to Kymru and kill you!” he screamed, drawing the Bana’s sword. As the sword whistled from its sheath, he held it up. The sun glinted off the boar’s heads engraved on the killing blade. “I will kill you! I will kill you all!”

  Come to Kymru, then, Rhiannon’s voice rang softly but implacably in his raging, twisted mind. We will be waiting for you. Come.

  Part 3

  The Nightmare

  The whole land, every dale and glen, Weeps its long sorrow

  After the graceful summer;

  No tree-top can do more,

  Nor weep leaves after that.

  Since the earth has covered them,

  There is no hope of increase among herds,

  The woods are barren-crested,

  And fruits do not bend down the branching boughs.

  Feldema ur Gwen Alarch

  Ninth Master Bard of Kymru

  Circa 420

  Chapter 14

  Kymru

  Ywen Mis to Helygen Mis, 497

  Ruthin, Northern Ederynion

  Dinaswyn was waiting at the docks when Gwydion and Rhiannon stepped onto shore. Gwydion looked strained and weary, and there were tired lines bracketing Rhiannon’s mouth. Dinaswyn gazed at Gwydion in silence, aware of an odd lurch in her heart. For an all-too-brief moment, it was as though Gwydion’s father had returned from the grave.

  “You’re late,” was all she said, and deep inside she cursed herself for her coldness.

  “We had to wait three weeks in Seville for a ship to Kymru,” Gwydion sighed.

  “We’re lucky,” Rhiannon said sharply, “to be back at all.”

  “Come,” Dinaswyn said coolly. “We must be on our way.” They mounted the two extra horses she had brought, then followed her out of the town and into the heavily wooded countryside of northern Ederynion. The early evening shadows were lengthening, and when they reached a small clearing by the river, they halted.

  Without a word they dismounted and set about making camp. Dinaswyn wondered if Gwydion and Rhiannon even noticed that they worked together so smoothly, not even needing to exchange words in order to parcel out their tasks. Using his Shape-Moving abilities, Gwydion swiftly scraped out a shallow pit for the fire. Rhiannon unloaded the packs and, locating a small pot, she filled it with water from the river. Before long a savory stew was bubbling over a golden fire.

  Dinaswyn huddled closer to the flames, as the autumn chill had a way of creeping into her bones. The waning moon rode overhead, her silvery beams vying with the flames.

  “Tell us the news,” Gwydion said finally. “We’ve been away for so long.”

  So she began. The grape harvest had been especially good this year. The winter was expected to be relatively mild. In Ederynion, Queen Olwen was still infatuated with that Dewin, Llwyd Cilcoed. Sanon of Prydyn and Elphin of Rheged were betrothed. Gwydion’s daughter, Cariadas, had completed her education at Y Ty Dewin and was now at Neuadd Gorsedd, with the Bards. In Prydyn, Rhiannon’s daughter, Gwenhwyfar, was learning swordplay and twisting her father around her little finger.

  “Gwen’s still in Arberth?” Rhiannon asked, puzzled. “She should be in training at Caer Duir by now.”

  “She refuses to go,” Dinaswyn said crisply. “Like mother, like daugh
ter.”

  In Tegeingl, Uthyr was well, but quieter than he used to be. Queen Ygraine had miscarried earlier in the year but was now recovering. The child would have been a boy.

  In the sudden silence following this pronouncement, she said, “I brought some other things that you might want, besides clothes, food, and horses.” She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out two torques. One was of silver, with a single pearl dangling from a pentagon. “Your Dewin’s torque,” she said, handing it to Rhiannon, “which you left at Caer Dathyl.” The other torque was of gold. Opals flashed fire from within the circle dangling from the necklace. “Your Dreamer’s torque, Gwydion.”

  As he reached to take it, her hand tightened involuntarily on the necklace. But at his tug she let it go. Her mouth twisted as she watched Gwydion settle the torque around his neck. With an effort, Dinaswyn tore her eyes away from the torque and stared at the fire. “And now for your news. Did you get what you went for?”

  “Yes,” Gwydion anwered. “The Coranians plan to invade us, and we have seen those plans. Rhiannon and I go on from here to see Queen Olwen. Then to Rheged to see Urien and Ellirri and then to Rhoram in Prydyn. We will meet with the Master Bard, the Ardewin, and the Archdruid at Neuadd Gorsedd two and a half months from now. Arrange that for me. After that we will see Uthyr in Gwynedd. Oh, and where’s Arianrod?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Dinaswyn replied. “You know how she is.”

  “So I do,” Gwydion mused, glancing at Rhiannon. “Find her and take her back with you to Caer Dathyl. We’ll be there three months from now, and stay the winter.”

  “Then,” Rhiannon said, “we go to my old home in Coed Aderyn—to the cave.”

  “To do what?” Dinaswyn asked curiously.

  “To wait,” she replied.

  Caer Dwfr, Dinmael, Ederynion

  QUEEN OLWEN SAT in her canopied chair, sipping wine from a pearl-encrusted goblet. There were pearls scattered throughout her rich, auburn hair. Her amber eyes surveyed the occupants of the room coldly. Her children and her lover were fighting again.

  Her daughter, Elen, was flushed, and her blue eyes flashed angrily. Next to Olwen’s chair stood Llwyd Cilcoed. His handsome face, too, was flushed, and his dark eyes smoldered. Her son, Lludd, stood stiffly behind Elen’s chair, as if to underline his side in the debate. She looked at him in distaste. The boy was growing up to look more and more like his father every day.