by Holly Taylor
“No!” Cai’s cry of despair and rage tore through the battle. “No!” He leapt from his horse, and before the enemy warrior could even turn, he grabbed the man from behind, snaked an arm across his windpipe, and in one abrupt motion broke the man’s neck.
Sobbing, Cai knelt on the ground, cradling the bloody body of his wife in his arms, rocking and moaning, begging her not to leave him. With his other hand, he reached for his son, laying still on the ground in a pool of blood.
Uthyr tried to go to Cai, but both he and Bedwyr were too hardly pressed. If Cai didn’t get to his feet and back to the fight soon, he would die.
But then Ygraine was there, pulling Nest from his arms, pushing Cai to his feet, back toward the battle. “They’re dead, Cai! You can’t help them!” she shouted. “Your place is with my husband! Kill them, Cai! Kill them all!”
Cai’s face changed. The pain flooded away and a terrible need took its place. A need to see the blood of others run into the ground as the blood of his family had. A need to deal out death as mercilessly as it had been dealt out to his wife and son.
All this Uthyr saw in the face of his Captain, as Cai changed into someone Uthyr had never seen before, changed into someone that Uthyr could never know.
All through that terrible day, as Uthyr’s warriors slowly reclaimed their city, Cai killed and killed, and killed again. But it was not enough. It would never be enough.
Addiendydd, Disglair Wythnos—afternoon
TWO DAYS LATER, Uthyr paced the north watchtower, straining his eyes for signs of his scouts returning. He had not wanted to send Cai and Bedwyr north to spy on the enemy army. But both Dewin had been killed in the battle a few days before, and there was no one left to Wind-Ride. So, Uthyr had to rely on more mundane methods to find out the strength of the enemy.
For two days they had battled the combined forces of Madoc and Menwaed. Finally, what was left of the enemy had again retreated—but they had gone north this time. North for what? That was the question that bothered him. And he was afraid that he knew the answer. The Coranians were coming from the north.
This morning he had called the remaining warriors together. Three hundred men and women had gathered to hear his orders. He had given them a choice. They could quit the city today, with honor, and escort the remaining townsfolk to safety. Or they could stay with him and face the Coranian forces he knew were coming. Though each warrior knew that this last battle was hopeless, they had all elected to stay. He wished he could give them something better than death. But he had nothing else to give.
Movement in the fading afternoon light caught his eye. Two warriors rode swiftly from the north. Uthyr gave a shout, alerting the guards to open the gate. He hastily descended from the tower and rushed to the north gate. Even as he got there, Cai and Bedwyr rode in, their horses lathered and trembling with fatigue. As the two men dismounted, Ygraine, Susanna, and Griffi came running up.
Uthyr picked up a water bucket and handed the brimming dipper to Cai. The Captain drank noisily, while Griffi picked up another bucket and helped Bedwyr to drink.
At last catching his breath, Cai panted, “They come. Over one thousand strong. Along with what is left of Madoc’s and Menwaed’s forces. In ships from the north.”
“When will they be here?” Uthyr asked quietly.
“Tomorrow,” Bedwyr rasped. “Morning.”
“Ah,” Uthyr said. It was no more than he had expected. He turned to Ygraine. In a tone that would brook no argument, he said, “You leave now.”
“Husband—”
“Now!” he shouted. “This moment. No more arguments. No more!”
Ygraine said nothing. She bowed her head. Uthyr went to her, put his hand beneath her chin, and raised her head. The sheen of tears made her dark eyes sparkle. But she was too proud to let the tears fall.
“Morrigan,” Uthyr said, naming their daughter.
“Morrigan,” she whispered.
“Yours to protect, yours to see Queen of Gwynedd. I leave her in your hands.”
She swallowed hard, her dark eyes searching his face. She straightened her slim shoulders. “I will not fail you,” she said clearly.
“No. I know you will not.” He grasped her hand, then turned to Cai. “Honor your promise to me. See her safely to the mountains.”
“My King, I cannot go.”
“Yes,” Uthyr went on implacably. “You have given me your oath.”
Cai drew himself up. “You shame me, Uthyr. I, the Captain of your warriors, the PenGwernan of Gwynedd, to be sent from your side.”
“You are my daughter’s Captain now. I give to you the lives of my wife and my daughter. Remember your oath to me and have done with this argument. Bedwyr, you go with your uncle and the Queen.”
“My King—”
“Do it,” he said shortly. “Your role in this life is not over. Go with them.”
“Susanna,” Uthyr said to his Bard. She stood stiffly by Griffi’s side, her hands gripping her lover’s arm. “You go with them.”
“No.”
“Yes. Come here.”
Slowly she approached Uthyr and Ygraine. Speaking softly, he said, “Years ago you tested my son. You are one of the few who know what he is.”
“Please—” she began.
“No. You have a task to finish. Your life is to be given to seeing my son reign in Cadair Idris. You will give Gwydion all the help you can, in my name.”
For a long time she was silent. Then she said softly, “Very well, my King. It shall be as you say. But Griffi will give you trouble. He won’t want to go.”
“Then he will not.”
“What?” she said, shocked, her voice rising. “You would have me leave him?”
Swiftly Griffi crossed to Uthyr’s side. “You will let me stay?” he asked eagerly.
“You may stay, if you wish,” Uthyr said. “But you, Susanna, must go.”
“Never. Not without Griffi. I won’t—”
“For the reason I have just given you, you will. You know what that reason is. Is it not enough for you, this reason?” Uthyr asked quietly.
Susanna opened her mouth, then shut it. She bowed her head, and her tears dropped to the ground.
“Go now,” Uthyr said, his eyes traveling from Ygraine’s pale face, to Cai, to Bedwyr, to Susanna, then back again to his wife. “Griffi and I will fight a last battle of which the Bards will sing.”
Susanna raised her tear-streaked face, her eyes fastened on the face of her lover. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “The Bards will sing of it.”
Uthyr called for the fresh horses he had ordered. He had already seen to it that their belongings were packed and ready. He helped his wife to mount her horse. Then he took the torque of Gwynedd from his neck and pressed it into her cold hands.
“For Morrigan,” he said softly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “For her.”
Uthyr removed his helmet and held it out to her. The hawk’s sapphire eyes sparkled. “This, too, for her. She will need it on the day she returns to take back what I will lose today.”
“I love you, Uthyr ap Rathteyn,” Ygraine said fiercely. “I will love only you until the day I die.”
“May that day be far, far off, my lady. Yet on that day, I will be waiting in Gwlad Yr Haf to greet you. You will see me again. I swear it.”
“I will hold you to that promise,” she whispered. Gently she bent down and touched his face with her hand. And then she rode away. She did not look back.
Meirgdydd, Disglair Wythnos—morning
UTHYR AND GRIFFI sat calmly on their horses just outside the open north gate of the city. They watched without comment as the dust from over a thousand tramping feet rose over the horizon, signaling that the Coranian forces were nearing Tegeingl.
The morning dawned bright and clear. A slight breeze stirred through the unmoving ranks of Uthyr’s warriors. Three hundred men and women sat upon their horses proudly. Their spears and shields shone bright and
deadly. And in their grim, set faces was the knowledge that they would die, and the determination to sell their lives at the greatest possible cost.
A glimmer to the north winked in the distance. At last the enemy army itself could be seen. On foot they poured over the blameless green hills. There were over a thousand soldiers. They carried shields and huge battle-axes. Daggers were tucked into the tops of black leather boots. They wore byrnies to their knees and heavy iron helmets.
“Formidable,” Griffi said quietly.
“They’ll move slower in battle. Heavy helmets, and those byrnies. And they do not ride. We should be able to do some damage before it’s over.”
“Good enough,” Griffi said. “But don’t you think it would be best to fight them from behind the city walls? Instead of out here in the open?”
“No,” Uthyr said absently, still scanning the distant army. “I don’t want them damaging the city too much. It will be Morrigan’s, one day.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. Look, there’s Madoc.”
Madoc was striding at the forefront of the mighty army. Next to him was a Coranian. The man wore a metal byrnie, trimmed in silver, and green trousers tucked into black boots. A huge battle-ax was in his hands. He wore a helmet of silver, with the figure of a boar fashioned at the top of it. Blond hair flowed from beneath the helmet. His handsome features were arrogant. The commander, without a doubt.
Uthyr’s eyes were drawn back toward Madoc, back to the brother who had betrayed him.
“Foolish of Madoc to stand in the forefront, don’t you think?” Griffi said, reading Uthyr’s mind.
Uthyr grinned a wolfish grin. “Very foolish.” He raised the horn of Gwynedd to his lips and blew the challenge. His horse leapt forward, Griffi’s horse keeping pace with his. Behind them, the rest of the warriors gave a mighty shout and began their last ride.
MADOC GASPED AS Uthyr rode straight toward him, his warriors following behind. “Uthyr’s crazy,” he said in disbelief.
“Looks like he’s coming straight for you,” Catha smiled unpleasantly.
“Well, hold him off. Do something! By the gods, there are over a thousand warriors here. Kill him!”
“Oh, I think not,” Catha said lazily. “It looks like he wants to talk to you. Let’s give him a chance, shall we?”
At Catha’s signal, the Coranian forces broke and ran across the field to close with the Kymric warriors, and the slaughter began. But the warriors left Uthyr alone. Catha would let the King approach. And see what the man would do.
UTHYR RODE THROUGH the ranks of the Coranian warriors, who seemed to melt from his path. Griffi still kept pace with him. He could see Madoc standing as though frozen at the top of a low hill.
With a shout, Griffi rose in his stirrups and began to gesture toward the Coranian commander. But the commander must have understood what was coming, for before the shout had died from Griffi’s lips, the commander had thrown his ax.
Griffi froze on his horse, astonishment spread across his freckled face as he looked down to see the ax buried in his chest. Blood bubbled from his mouth, and his lips moved. “Susanna,” he whispered, then toppled from his horse.
Catha calmly bent over the dead Druid, wrenching his ax from Griffi’s chest. He turned toward Uthyr, arresting the King’s movement toward his friend’s still body.
“I am Catha, brother of Ceadda, the Eorl of Pecsaetan, in the country of Mierce, in the Coranian Empire. My Bana has come to take this land. Surrender to me now.”
Uthyr laughed. He leapt from his horse, then grasped the dagger from his boot. “I am Uthyr ap Rathtyen var Awst, King of Gwynedd. And neither myself nor my people will surrender to you.”
“Your warriors are even now being slaughtered,” Catha said, gesturing toward the bloody meadow.
“But they sell their lives dearly. So shall we all.”
“You will all be defeated.”
“For a time, Catha, brother of Ceadda. For a time.”
Catha’s brow rose. “And then?”
“And then death will come to you all. At that moment, remember me. Don’t move, Madoc,” Uthyr hissed.
Madoc, who had been slowly backing away, halted. Uthyr turned back to Catha. “This,” he said, gesturing contemptuously at Madoc, “is my brother. My half-brother. I have better ones than this, of course.”
“Of course. I have met Gwydion ap Awst. In Corania.”
Uthyr nodded. “He will bring you all down, one day.”
Catha grinned unpleasantly. “Words, King Uthyr. Just words.”
“You will see. For now, my other brother and I have unfinished business.”
“Go to it, then,” Catha said.
“You will not interfere?” Uthyr asked.
“I will not interfere. For the moment.”
“Catha!” Madoc gasped.
“Are you a man?” Catha asked, contempt in his blue eyes. “Fight your brother, Madoc, you who think you should be King.”
Without another word, Uthyr closed in on Madoc. Back and forth they fought, daggers in hand, twisting and slashing. Then Madoc stumbled. Uthyr grinned. He had known Madoc would be no match for him.
But as he raised his dagger to strike, a huge, burning pain slashed across his back. Falling to the ground, he felt another wrench as something was pulled from his body. A foot planted itself on his shoulder, then turned him over so that he was lying on his back. He tried to get up, but could not move. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he looked up into the face of the Coranian commander.
Sighing, Catha said, “You are the better man, King Uthyr. But I could not let you kill such a fine tool.”
The morning light wavered in front of Uthyr’s eyes, the colors bleeding from his sight. He blinked again, for everything had become suddenly bright. Catha’s face, Madoc’s face, faded from his sight as a white light built before his eyes.
He whispered the names of his wife and daughter, and held up his son’s image before his eyes, for, even in death, he would not speak Arthur’s name to the enemy.
He thought of his brother, Gwydion, whom he loved so. He would leave his family in Gwydion’s capable, faithful hands. And that thought comforted him.
A sigh escaped him as blood bubbled from his lips. He was ready now. And as the Shining Ones came to take him away, he whispered his dying thanks that his prayer had been answered.
He had not died at Madoc’s hands. And it was enough.
WHEN EVENING FELL, their party was just at the fringes of the huge forest of Coed Dulas. Tomorrow they would venture across the border into the cantref of Rosyr and follow the tiny secondary roads that wound through the mountains.
Ygraine knew that Uthyr was dead. Sometime that morning, as they rode silently through the forest, she had felt a wrench inside. This world no longer contained the living soul of her husband. She rode numbly, barely seeing the forest around her. She was not even aware that night had fallen until Cai called for a halt.
Wearily, she dismounted at the edge of the clearing, tying her horse to a nearby bush. Bedwyr was already digging a shallow hole.
“We risk a fire?” she heard Susanna ask Cai.
“Not much of a risk. The enemy is busy elsewhere. And it will be a small fire,” Cai had answered.
Morrigan, Ygraine thought desperately. She forcibly turned her thoughts to her daughter, to the only reason why she had not died with her husband today. And now, now that she knew she was truly alone in this world, now that there was no one who would ever again try to reach behind her icy walls, she knew that her reason to live had not been enough. The world would never again hold anything for her.
Involuntarily, she glanced up and caught Cai’s face as he stared into the fire. It was the face of a dying man, the face of a man who had nothing left to care for. Susanna sat down with a tired sigh. Her blue eyes were sad and dull.
For a time no one spoke. Ygraine knew that they were each holding the dead in their thoughts. At last Cai said, “I will see you all safely to Mynydd Ta
wel. Then I will go. Bedwyr, you will be Morrigan’s Captain.”
“Where will you go?” Bedwyr asked, startled.
“Back to Tegeingl. To kill Madoc if Uthyr has not done so.”
Ygraine nodded. “Fine. I go with you.”
“No,” Cai’s eyes flashed. “Uthyr gave me a last command. To see you safely to the mountains. And I will. After that, my life is my own.”
“After that, your life can be measured in minutes!” Susanna exclaimed. “Don’t be a fool.”
“A fool? Only a fool would outlive his King.”
“Uthyr ordered you—” Bedwyr began.
“To see the Queen to safety. And I will.”
“But you can’t keep me there,” Ygraine pointed out. “I will return with you. As you say, only a fool would outlive their King.”
“Uthyr told you to look after Morrigan,” Susanna said quietly. “You promised.”
“Uthyr’s gone. My promise to a dead man does not hold.”
Susanna reached for her harp case. She opened the leather bag and pulled out a crumpled parchment. “I have a letter here. From the Dreamer.”
A letter from the Dreamer, from the man who had broken Ygraine’s heart by taking her son away? What did she care for Gwydion’s words?
“He gave it to Uthyr, who gave it to me when he was last here. He said that I would know when to open it. And I do,” Susanna went on.
“The Dreamer has nothing to say to me,” Ygraine spat.
“Nor to me,” Cai said abruptly. “I tell you, I am going back there.”
Without another word, Susanna opened the parchment and began to read aloud.
To: Ygraine ur Custennin and Cai ap Cynyr,
By now Uthyr and Griffi are dead. Cai’s family has perished. Tegeingl and Gwynedd are lost.
