Dreamer's Cycle Series

by Holly Taylor

  She silently opened the door and slipped inside. He lay on his back, deep asleep, linens in a tangle around his sweat-soaked body. So, he had been having nightmares. That was good. For he deserved all of them and then some.

  She crept to the bed then called his name. He needed to understand why, or it would mean nothing.

  “Menwaed,” she whispered. “Wake up.”

  Her brother stirred and opened his eyes. “Arday?” he asked, his voice blurred with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

  Without another word she thrust her dagger into his heart. He gasped, his hands flying up to close on hers around the hilt of the dagger in his chest. His dark eyes were wide with shock and pain as he looked up at her, his back arching in agony.

  Her eyes were limned with tears, but her face was stern as she looked down at him, her hands, covered with his warm blood, still on the hilt of the dagger that impaled him. “You were Lord of Arllechwedd, Menwaed,” she whispered. “Your duty was to fight by King Uthyr’s side. But you betrayed him, for Madoc and the Coranians.”

  Menwaed looked up at her in disbelief, even as his blood soaked the mattress, even as the light began to fade from his eyes. She twisted the hilt of the dagger and he stiffened with the added pain.

  “You should never have done that, brother,” she said gently. “You ruined our family honor. I was only too eager to put things right when Anieron Master Bard asked me to. For the past years I have been his source of information, gleaning for him what I could from both Madoc and Catha. Helping to keep Princess Tangwen safe. Doing whatever I could to aid the Cerddorian and ensure Queen Morrigan returns to her rightful place in Caer Gwynt. Did you really think I would betray my people? Did you really think I was like you?”

  But Menwaed did not answer, for his spirit had fled his dead body. Arday thought that he would have a bad time of it in Gwlad Yr Haf, the Land of Summer. For surely Aertan the Weaver would ensure that Menwaed paid dearly for his crimes.

  She had waited a long time for this day. She was looking forward to welcoming Queen Morrigan to the Great Hall.

  But when she heard the door open behind her, she knew that was not to be.

  MORRIGAN WAITED PATIENTLY—though that was a struggle, for it was not really in her nature—for her Bard, Susanna, to finish Mind-Speaking. Although Susanna’s eyes were opened, they were slightly glazed, so Morrigan knew she must wait a little while longer.

  Mist swirled and eddied as the Cerddorian silently took their places before the closed gates of Tegeingl. The Dewin had already informed her that her lieutenant, Bedwyr, was in position at the western gate, while Duach, Lord of Dunoding, was in position at the southern gate. Morrigan, along with her captain, Cai, was now ready at the eastern gate.

  She briefly touched the helm on her head, fashioned in silver and sapphire like a hawk with spread wings. Her father had given it to her mother the day he had sent Ygraine away from Tegeingl. He had also given her the ornate torque of silver and sapphire that now hung around Morrigan’s slender neck.

  Morrigan was dressed in a tunic and trousers of dark blue, with a brown leather belt and high, brown leather boots. The scabbard of her sword was fastened to her belt, and the hilts of two daggers showed at the cuffs of her boots. Her auburn hair had been tightly braided to her scalp and bound beneath her helm.

  On the other side of Susanna stood Yrth, one of the Druids that had been sent here by Aergol. Yrth’s seamed face was calm and his eyes were open, but sweat beaded his brow at the effort he was making, for he, along with four other Druids, was linked with her brother, Arthur, making the fog that seemed to rise from the grass at their feet.

  Slightly to the right of Susanna stood Cai, Morrigan’s captain. Cai held a hunting horn in his hands as he scanned the sky above them. Yet, as often as he eyed the sky, his dark brown gaze went to Susanna’s flawless face. The love and fear Morrigan saw in Cai’s eyes was so intense she could barely watch. For Morrigan knew that he loved the Bard, but he was afraid to tell her so. For it had been here, at the last battle in Tegeingl, that Cai had lost his wife and son, and the pain of that had marked him forever. His fear of being hurt that way again was just as strong as his love for Susanna. Perhaps, Morrigan thought, it always would be.

  At last Susanna turned to Morrigan, her blue eyes sparkling. “Our spy has been awakened. She knows we are here.”

  “Now will you tell me who it is?” Morrigan asked, somewhat acidly.

  “Her secret was shared with me by Anieron Master Bard, and passed on to Elidyr Master Bard and so to High King Arthur, your brother. And without their permission, I have not been able to tell you,” Susanna said mildly. “But now Arthur says that I may tell you who it is. It is Arday, your father’s former steward.”

  “Arday!” Morrigan cried softly. “I can’t believe it. Why, she has been Madoc’s mistress—and Catha’s—for years.”

  “And, therefore, in a perfect position to hear the things that we must know,” Susanna pointed out. “I would have thought that Tangwen, at least, would have suspected her, for Arday did much to save Tangwen from Catha’s desires.”

  Morrigan eyed her childhood friend, who had been standing on her left. “Well, Tangwen?” Morrigan asked. “Did you suspect Arday?”

  “In truth, Morrigan, I did not,” Tangwen replied softly. “Though I was aware that, once or twice, she helped me steer clear of Catha.” A slight shiver seemed to go through Tangwen as she said that.

  Prince Rhodri stood on Tangwen’s left, and at his granddaughter’s tone he briefly put a hand on her shoulder. He balefully eyed the fog, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His once red-gold hair was silvery now, but his blue eyes were as alert as ever. Since he had killed his son, Madoc, Rhodri had become more personable, less defensive, and Morrigan had come to know him a little better. And she now trusted him a great deal.

  The fog eddied before her as a figure moved through it, coming to stand by her shoulder. Morrigan’s mother was dressed in brown leather tunic and trousers and her auburn hair, touched by frost, was tightly braided and tucked beneath a simple helmet. Ygraine’s dark eyes, cool and watchful as always, scanned the sky, though Morrigan knew she would not be able to see anything through the fog.

  “Susanna,” Morrigan said, “please ensure that the other Bards tell our warriors to spare Arday. I want her brought to me unharmed, so that I may give her my thanks.”

  “I will, my Queen,” Susanna said and began to do Morrigan’s bidding.

  Morrigan put an arm on her mother’s slim shoulders. She knew her mother was thinking of the last time she had been in Tegeingl. It had been the day that Uthyr had sent her away, knowing that the enemy would soon be at the gates, knowing that his death was near. Although this day meant much to Morrigan she knew how much this day also meant to her mother.

  And then she heard it. The sound of hundreds upon hundreds of wings beating the air above. The fog swirled as the air over Tegeingl stirred.

  The signal that Arthur had promised. It had come.

  “Cai, blow the horn!” Morrigan called.

  And Cai brought the horn to his lips and blew. At this the fog blew away, showing a clear dawn. Above them hundreds of hawks flew, their fierce cries vying with the cry of the hunting horn.

  Yrth lifted his hands and threw back his head to the sky. And with a mighty shout, the gates of Tegeingl came crashing down.

  CATHA’S EYES OPENED the moment Arday stepped out into the corridor, softly closing the door to their room after her. He wondered just whom she was thinking of visiting in the middle of the night. Some Coranian warrior, perhaps, who had caught her eye? Perhaps she thought he would not mind, for he had shared her with Madoc for the past few years. But he did mind. Madoc was gone. Arday was his and his alone. He would not share her. When he tired of her, he would discard her without a second thought. But share her? No. Not any more.

  He went to the door, quietly opening it a crack. He was just in time to see her enter the queen’s chamber. So, s
he was going to see her brother. But why? Were they both in league against him? Plotting, perhaps, to take the throne of Gwynedd? If they were, they would both learn better.

  He took a moment to pull on trousers and his boots. He picked up his dagger and crossed to the door. The embers of the dying fire glowed, lighting his blond hair, his cold, blue eyes, and his handsome, cruel face.

  He reached the door to the queen’s chambers, where the Lord of Arllechwedd slept. He was not prepared for the sight that reached his eyes when he opened the door.

  Menwaed was dead and the mattress was drenched in his blood. Arday’s dagger protruded from her brother’s chest. She whirled around as she heard the door open, her hand pulling the bloody dagger from Menwaed’s body.

  Catha stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. Arday stood in a semi-crouch next to the bed, her dagger ready. He almost smiled. For this would be a moment he would savor for years. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

  “So,” he said softly. “All this time. It was you.”

  “It was,” she replied. “You are, I believe, surprised.”

  “I admit that I am,” he said, stepping nearer. “I knew someone was giving information to the Cerddorian. Not too much. Not enough to pinpoint the source. But enough to cause some upsets. A caravan attacked here, a secret raid gone wrong there. Just enough. You were clever. But not, my dear, clever enough. For now you are well and truly caught. Do you think that I will let you live?”

  “Do you think that you will survive this day?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  She gestured to the window where a white mist pressed heavily. “Did you not notice? A very heavy fog—so unusual for this time of year. And dawn just a few moments away.”

  “What are you saying?” he demanded, stepping still closer.

  “You know what I am saying,” she answered, shaking her long, dark hair back from her face, taking a fresh hold of her dagger. “Today is the end for you. Surely you didn’t think that you could hold back Morrigan forever?”

  “If she is here as you say, then today will be the day she dies. I killed her father. I can kill her.”

  “I think not,” Arday said, a smile on her beautiful face. “For her brother, High King Arthur, directs this battle from afar. He is stronger than you can even imagine. Today will be your death-day.”

  “And yours,” he cried as he leapt forward.

  Arday lifted her dagger but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her wrist and twisted. With a cry she let go of the dagger. He pulled her to him, feeling her lush body through her red robe full length against his. He bent his head and kissed her, forcing her mouth open.

  It was when he felt her change in his grip, when he knew that she hoped to use his passion against him, when he knew she thought she might live, that he struck. He plunged the knife between her beautiful breasts and into her heart.

  He should have seen shock in her dark eyes. He should have seen terror. He should have seen the knowledge of her defeat. But instead he saw a smile. Saw her sureness that today he would die. Saw clearly that, in the end, he was the one defeated.

  And then the light in her eyes died and she went limp in his arms. He dropped her heavily to the floor, like a broken toy he no longer wanted. He opened his mouth to call for the guards, but the call died on his lips. For that was the moment he heard the fierce cries of hundreds of hawks, and then the call of a hunting horn. Then crash after crash as what he knew to be the gates of Tegeingl came down.

  THREE HOURS LATER Morrigan stood outside the closed gates of Caer Gwynt. The streets outside the fortress was full of Cerddorian and townsfolk, all with Coranian blood on their weapons, all waiting for the last act to begin. A pall of smoke hung over the city from the burning temple of Lytir, which stood on what had once been the sacred grove of alders. Nemed Gwernen would rise again, Morrigan had vowed, when she had ordered the temple burned.

  Overhead the sky was thick with hawks, and their fierce cries mingled with the scattered sounds of battle as the Kymric warriors quashed the few pockets of Coranian resistance left. Most of the enemy still left alive had retreated inside Caer Gwynt.

  Cai, who had not once left her side during the bloody morning, stood on her right. And Prince Rhodri, who had also been near her all day, was on her left. Behind her Susanna, Ygraine, and Tangwen stood, their weapons ready. Bedwyr suddenly pushed through the crowd and bowed before her, but not before reassuring himself that Tangwen was unharmed. Then Duach also came to stand before her. Her father’s former Doorkeeper grinned and bowed.

  Gwyhar, Susanna’s son, ran up. “Queen Morrigan,” he said formally, his Bard’s voice carrying, “I bring you great news. Tegeingl is again ours. All other resistance is finished.”

  “Then only Caer Gwynt, the Fortress of the Winds, remains,” Susanna said.

  “What are your orders, my Queen?” Cai asked.

  The silver door of the fortress glowed in the noonday sun. The figure of the hawk with outstretched wings, outlined in glowing sapphires, shimmered brightly. Overhead, the largest hawk she had ever seen spiraled down from the sky straight for her. Knowing what she must do, she stood still as the hawk landed on her shoulder. The bird’s claws dug into the leather of her tunic, but she did not move. She was Morrigan, daughter of Gwynedd, daughter of the hawk, and she would not flinch.

  The hawk turned to look her full in the face and Morrigan returned the bird’s stare. The hawk’s bright, blue eyes glowed like sapphires and its fierce cry rang in her ears. Yes, she thought. Now it ends. Her own fortress was closed against her and she stood in the street outside the doors like a beggar. “Yrth!” she cried furiously.

  The old Druid seemed to materialize at her elbow. “Yes, Queen Morrigan?” he asked, his voice calm.

  “Bring those doors down!”

  “As you wish,” he bowed. Four other Druids in their brown robes gathered before the doors, behind Yrth.

  After a moment the door began to shiver. Then it burst open with a mighty crash. The hawk on Morrigan’s shoulder screamed again and launched itself into the air. With another cry it led the hawks over the wall and into the courtyard.

  With a cry of her own Morrigan led her warriors into the now-opened fortress. With cool efficiency, in spite of her rage, she began to kill the Coranian warriors that were massed in the courtyard. One after the other she killed them, aided by Rhodri and Cai, who refused to move an inch from her side.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother plunge her sword into the chest of a Coranian warrior. And she saw one of her mother’s rare smiles light her face. Bedwyr stuck close to Tangwen as the two sliced their way through the courtyard.

  “Morrigan,” Susanna called.

  Morrigan looked over at her Bard. Susanna was standing in the doorway of the ystafell, her face pale. Gwyhar, her son, was at her shoulder, guarding her closely from harm.

  “Arday is dead!” Susanna called.

  Morrigan briefly closed her eyes. She had so wanted to reward Arday for the years of service. But someone had gotten to her first. And she knew who it was, as surely as if she had been there.

  It was at that moment that she caught sight of General Catha through the press. His blond hair was soaked in sweat. Blood splattered his golden tunic. His axe flashed in the sun as he skewered a Kymric warrior.

  As if he sensed her gaze he raised his head and looked at her across the courtyard. A cruel smile came to his handsome face and he held the axe before him and gave her a mocking bow.

  But she needed no such invitation, no encouragement to meet him in battle. For this was the man who had killed her father. This was the man who had sent hundreds of Cerddorian to their deaths. This was the man who had held all of Gwynedd in his cruel grasp for so long.

  This was the man who would die today.

  She supposed he was not afraid of her, for her knew her to be no more than sixteen years of age. But she knew that, in all the ways that counte
d, she was no longer a girl. She was a warrior of Gwynedd. She was her father’s daughter. She was the PenHebog, the Head of the Hawk. And she would not fail.

  She stalked across the courtyard in fury and warriors of both armies seemed to melt from her path. She was vaguely aware that both Cai and Rhodri stayed with her and that her mother, too, followed closely behind her.

  She and Catha came to a halt in front of each other. Both held their weapons firmly in their hands.

  “So, daughter of Uthyr, you have come to me,” Catha said, smiling. “I will do to you what I did to him.”

  “I think not, General,” Morrigan said, her voice clear and calm. “For the time has come for you to pay for your crimes.”

  “Ha! You are a girl.”

  “No,” Morrigan said grimly. “I am justice.”

  Without another word they began. His axe and her sword clashed so hard that sparks flew. The air between seemed to be woven of metal as their blades flickered in and out, as each sought to get through the others’ defenses.

  For Morrigan it was as though every movement that anyone made in that suddenly still morning was unnaturally clear. She seemed to be aware of everything around her. She knew that her mother stood stiff and unmoving, and that Susanna had her arm around Ygraine’s shoulders. She was aware that Bedwyr and Tangwen stood close together, their hands clasped. She was aware that Cai and Rhodri were watching grimly, forcing themselves to stand back from the fray, leaving this to her.

  She wondered briefly if her father was watching from the Land of Summer. She wondered if he knew that she was fighting his enemy here today. She wondered if he was proud of her.

  The battle between the two of them went on and on. Her arm was getting tired and she kept wiping sweat from her brow. But the strength of Catha’s blows were also lessening, and he, too, wiped sweat from his face.

  Then Catha leapt forward, his axe swinging viciously at her knees. She jumped in the air, allowing the blade to pass beneath her. As she came down to earth her ankle twisted beneath her and she stumbled. She recovered only just in time, rolling out of the way of the descending axe. She leapt back to her feet, panting.