by Holly Taylor
Knowing that the time had come, she cried her father’s name and pressed her attack, beating him back with the onslaught of her repeated blows. But he recovered quicker than she had thought he would. He raised his axe and it began to descend more swiftly than she thought possible. She might have died then—would, surely, have—but the sudden harsh scream of a hawk and the beating of wings distracted Catha from fully completing the blow. He ducked to avoid the huge bird, and his stroke went wild, which was all that Morrigan needed. Her blade knocked his axe from his hand. Without hesitation, she plunged her sword into his chest with both hands.
Blood spilled from the wound and from Catha’s mouth as he sank to his knees, his hands clutching the sword that protruded from his heart. She stood in front of him, her hands still on the hilt as he stared up at her with shocked eyes.
“This is for my father,” she hissed, and she twisted the blade.
He cried out in agony and his cold, blue eyes shone with hatred.
“And this is for my mother’s pain,” she said, as she twisted it again.
“And this is for Arday,” she whispered, as she again twisted the blade in Catha’s dying heart.
And then Catha sank fully to the ground, sliding off her blade. She stood over him and watched his spirit flee, defeated.
And then the hawk, the huge hawk that had cried out, cried out again in triumph and shot up into the sky.
MORRIGAN SAT IN her father’s chair on the dais in the Great Hall. The boar banner of Corania had been taken down and burned, and the banner that now hung on the wall behind her was the banner of the Rulers of Gwynedd. The banner showed a hawk with outstretched wings worked in blue on brown silk, outlined in silver with sapphire eyes.
Rhodri and Cai both stood stolidly on either side of her chair, neither one giving any indication that they would ever stop shadowing her. She hoped that, eventually, she could persuade them to leave her alone, but she was touched by their obvious devotion.
Rhodri kept his eye on his granddaughter, Tangwen, as she stood with Morrigan’s lieutenant, Bedwyr. Rhodri did not seem at all displeased at this, and he almost even smiled.
Cai, on the other hand, kept looking over at Susanna. But just when she would sense his eyes on her and turn to look at him, he would look away. Men, Morrigan thought with a hint of exasperation. They were so silly.
Her mother, who could not be persuaded to mount the dais, stood proudly at the foot of the stairs. Ygraine’s dark eyes held triumph at once again being back in the hall she had ruled for so long. But there was pain in her eyes, too, that Uthyr could not be here to witness this moment.
Susanna and her son, Gwyhar, stood on either side of Ygraine. Gwyhar kept looking up at Cai, as though waiting for something. Morrigan had a pretty good idea what that was, but privately thought Gwyhar would wait a long time for Cai to say what he should have been said a long time ago.
Morrigan gripped the armrests of the massive, canopied chair. She was Queen of Gwynedd. She ruled, not just here in newly freed Tegeingl, but throughout Gwynedd. For the past few days had seen success in every cantref. In Llyn, Lady Gildasa, Tangwen’s aunt, had been rescued and she and her son, Ydeer, had led the Cerddorian and common folk to victory against the Coranians. In Arfon, Lady Isagwyn who had led the Cerddorian in Coed Arllech for the past two years had also won her battle.
In Dunoding Dywel, Gwarda of Ardudwy had been victorious. He had begged hard to have that chance, for his brother was Bledri, the Dewin in Rheged who had betrayed his people to the enemy, and Dywel was always eager to prove himself. In Eryi, Lord Ciawn had escaped his prison, and freed his cantref. In Rhufonoig no lord or gwarda had been left who was not in league with the enemy, so Morrigan had dispatched Cynwas Cwryfager, the Gwarda of Aberffraw, to lead the Cerddorian there. And he had done so successfully, ensuring that Nerthus and Saranhon, the traitorous gwarda there, had been killed.
In Arllechwedd, Teregund ap Moren had also been victorious. Menwaed, the Lord of Arllechwedd, was dead, and at his sister’s own hand as they had discovered earlier. Morrigan had ordered that Menwaed’s body be burned without ceremony. And she had seen to it that Arday’s body had been treated with reverence and readied for burial. Tomorrow she would be present when Arday was buried in Bryn Celli Ddu, for her father’s former steward deserved all honor.
Of course, all this had only been able to happen because of Arthur, her brother. He had dispatched the Y Dawnus throughout Kymru, and had used his powers as High King to ensure victory throughout. Without Arthur they never would have won back their own.
She gestured for the prisoner to be brought in. Very few Coranians were still left alive at this point. Cai himself had killed the Master-wyrce-jaga in battle, and she had given orders before the battle had even begun that not one wyrce-jaga was to be left alive. And those orders had been faithfully followed. Most of the common Coranian soldiers had elected to fight unto the death, and she was not sorry, for she would have been loath to give quarter. But she had seen to it that a very important Coranian was spared, for her brother had told her to do so.
The prisoner was brought in. His hands were tied behind his back. His priests’ robe with the tabard of green was torn and dirty. But the prisoner held his head high and made his way without resistance through the crowd of Cerddorian gathered in the hall. At last he was made to halt at the bottom of the dais.
Morrigan leaned forward. “You are Ecgfrith of Deorby, self-styled Byshop of Gwynedd?”
“I am Ecgfrith of Deorby. I was sent here by my ArchPreost to be the Byshop of Gwynedd.”
“And do you wish to have your life spared today?” she asked.
“All my life I have faithfully served my God. Should He want me to die today, I will. Should He wish me spared, I will be. You must do as He sees fit.”
“Indeed?” Morrigan asked, her brows raised. For a moment she reconsidered what she was going to do, for though she was sure he was sincere, he sounded very pompous about the whole thing. But in the end she let it go. After all, Ecgfrith was only being loyal to his God, even if he was such a pain about it.
“I have a message for you to take to your Warleader,” she said. “It is a message from High King Arthur. Will you take that message?”
“I will,” Ecgfrith said.
For a moment she hesitated. The message was surely useless. Havgan would never—
Yes, sister, I am sure about this.
She smiled at the sound of the voice in her head, for it was so comforting to hear her brother’s voice, to know that the two of them, together, had avenged their father this day.
“The message, Ecgfrith, is that Havgan must leave Kymru. If he leaves, he will live. If he stays, he will die. This is the message.”
“I will carry it, Queen Morrigan,” Ecgfrith said. “But I do not believe Havgan will leave.”
“Neither do I,” Morrigan agreed. “Nonetheless, that is the message.” She gestured to the two men guarding the Byshop. “Let him rest today, and send him on his way tomorrow, with a fresh horse and supplies.”
The guards bowed and took their prisoner away.
Rhodri stepped up from his place beside her and bowed to her. “Queen Morrigan, I beg to give you news.”
“News?” Morrigan asked blankly. “What sort of news?”
“News that my granddaughter, Tangwen of Rhufonoig, is to be married.” Rhodri gestured and Tangwen and Bedwyr came to the bottom of the dais, holding hands. They bowed to her. Tangwen was blushing, but she was smiling and Bedwyr was grinning from ear to ear.
“Tangwen ur Madoc var Bri,” Morrigan inquired solemnly, though she too had a smile on her face, “do you truly wish to wed Bedwyr ap Bedrawd?”
“I do,” Tangwen answered, blushing still further.
“Then I, too, will announce some news of my own,” Morrigan went on. “As the former Lord of Rhufonoig, Madoc ap Rhodri, is dead, a new ruler must be found for that cantref. And you are my choice. Lady of Rhufonoig, will you swear fealty to m
e?”
Tangwen’s jaw dropped in surprise. Laughing, Bedwyr pushed her up the steps, for she seemed too shocked to believe what she had heard. Tangwen knelt before Morrigan, tears streaming down her face.
Morrigan drew her sword and lightly touched Tangwen’s left shoulder with the blade, then her right. “In the name of Taran of the Winds, you are mine.”
Well done, sister.
As the Cerddorian applauded first Tangwen’s engagement then her elevation to Lady, all of Cai’s attention was focused on the beautiful face of the woman he so loved. Susanna watched Tangwen and Bedwyr with tears in her eyes, remembering, perhaps, her lover, Griffi, who had been King Uthyr’s Druid. Griffi had died the day King Uthyr had, died defending his king. Died, indeed, only a few days after Cai’s wife and son had died.
Their deaths, the deaths of Nest and Garanwyn, still haunted him. For he had so loved them; they had been his world. And when they died so much of Cai had died also. So much that it had taken him a long time to realize that he was even capable of loving again. And by the time he realized that, it was far too late to change it. For he had fallen in love with Susanna and he could not fall out of love with her, try as he might.
And he had tried, because he hadn’t wanted to love her. He had been too afraid. But there was no going back. His heart simply refused to come back to him. And when he saw the happiness on Tangwen’s and Bedwyr’s faces, he had thought that, for one brief moment, such happiness might be possible for him again.
It is.
Cai knew that voice. It was the voice of the son of the man he had served so faithfully. It was the voice of the High King of Kymru.
Your fears make you foolish, Cai. Be strong. Be brave. Be true.
Be true, Cai thought. Why had he never thought of it that way before? Be true. And his truth was Susanna. As if in a dream he walked forward, past Tangwen, who was rising to her feet, now Lady of Rhufonoig. Past Morrigan, who was sheathing her sword. Down the steps and past Ygraine, whose dark eyes glinted as she guessed what he was going to do. Past Gwyhar, Susanna’s son, whose face tightened with unspoken hope. And up to Susanna.
“Susanna ur Erim, Y Dawnus of Kymru, Bard to Queen Morrigan of Gwynedd, will you take me as your husband?”
Gwyhar gave out a whoop of joy. Bedwyr shouted in glee. Ygraine actually smiled. Morrigan grinned.
But Susanna stood as though rooted to the spot, her beautiful blue eyes misted with tears.
“Susanna?” he asked, uncertainly. “I—I know I am not the best man you have ever known. But I do love you truly. Will you—will you at least think about it?”
“Will I think about it?” she cried with a smile, tears spilling down her face. “You foolish man, I have thought of little else. Yes, Cai ap Cynyr, I will marry you.”
And he took her in his arms and kissed her as he had so longed to do, and it was even sweeter than he had ever imagined. His heart gave a little sigh, for he was home at last.
MORRIGAN COULDN’T SEEM to stop smiling. That Tangwen and Bedwyr were so happy, that Cai had, at last, shown how brave he truly was, touched her. She walked to the edge of the dais and stood looking down at the Cerddorian massed there. She lifted her hands. “Today I declare that Gwynedd is free!” The roar from her warriors was almost deafening.
“Tomorrow we begin muster for the final battle in Gwytheryn. I appoint Rhodri ap Erddufyl, he who was once King of Gwynedd, to rule until I return.”
The roar that accompanied this announcement was almost as deafening. Rhodri’s jaw dropped, for he had not expected this. Tears came to his blue eyes, and he knelt before her.
“I will do as you wish, Queen Morrigan, in expiation for my son. I will not fail you.”
“I never though you would, Prince Rhodri,” Morrigan murmured. “I never thought you would.”
Chapter
* * *
Eighteen
Llwynarth
Kingdom of Rheged, Kymru
Eiddew Mis, 500
Gwyntdydd, Cynuddu Wythnos—early morning
Enid ur Urien, sometime Queen of Rheged, stood quietly outside the gates of Llwynarth. Dense fog shrouded the city, turning those warriors that surrounded her into ghostlike figures.
Very substantial ghosts, she amended. More substantial than she, for they were whole, and prepared to fight to take back what was once theirs. And she? Well, she was not whole and would not, perhaps, ever be. Morcant and Bledri had seen to that. As for fighting—well, that was another thing she could not do. For all her strength had been sapped out of her during those long nights in a cell beneath the fortress where she had once lived. During those nights when Bledri would come to her, nights when he would strip her and play with her, and force her to do things she still could not think about without shame.
But those were nothing to the nights with her husband, Morcant. For Morcant gloried in pain and had spent his nights trying to force her to cry out, violating her in ways she had not even dreamed were possible.
The only thing she could say about that was that she had kept her silence during those endless hours in hell. In that small way she had measured her victory. It was the only victory she had, the only one she would ever have.
For though her desecrated body had at last been rescued, the rest of her was still in prison. Every night since she was rescued from Caer Erias she woke up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding, certain that Morcant or Bledri was just outside her tent. But she would lock her screams in her throat and had never told anyone of those fears. Nonetheless, she thought they knew. She was certain that her brother, Owein, did. And she thought his wife, Sanon, was also aware of it. They saw it, perhaps, in her drawn face, in the purplish cast beneath her eyes that spoke of sleepless hours in the still of the night.
And Geriant would have known, had he been here. Geriant had always known her, better than anyone ever had. But he had returned to Prydyn to aid his father. He had come for her, rescued her, then left her.
She remembered clearly the day he had left her. He had come to her tent and asked her to walk with him. She had not wanted to leave her tent, the only sanctuary she had, but she had wanted even less to have a man—any man—enter that tent. She thought, perhaps, that Geriant had known that very well.
They had walked away from the clearing in Coed Addien where her brother and his Cerddorian made their plans to recapture Rheged. They had walked in silence beneath the trees for a while. Then Geriant had stopped and turned to face her.
“I am leaving tomorrow, Enid,” Geriant had said quietly.
Her jolt of dismay had taken her by surprise. But she had betrayed nothing of it.
“I go to join my da,” Geriant had gone on, in spite of her silence. “It will soon be time for us to free Prydyn, and I must be with him.”
“Of course,” she had said, for it was clear she must say something.
“I would stay if I could.”
“It is best that you don’t.”
“No?” His blue eyes, blazing in intensity, had caught hers. Somehow she tore her gaze away and looked down at the leaf-covered ground.
“Enid,” he had said, reaching out to touch her face.
But she had leapt back, her hand, of its own volition, grasping the dagger at her belt.
Slowly, Geriant had lowered his hand, his eyes bleak. “I see,” he had said quietly.
“I don’t think you do!” she had replied harshly.
“Oh, I think I do.”
And he had. Of course. Hadn’t he always?
“Goodbye, Enid. My dearest love.”
Then he had turned and left her, his shoulders bowed but his steps firm and purposeful.
That had been some days ago. Almost before she knew it the day had come when Owein, with the power of the High King at his back, would gamble all. According to the Dewin, the people in the city were ready and armed, awaiting the signal soon to come. And the Cerddorian massed silently outside the gates, their movements hidden by the fog generated by the Druids t
hrough the power of High King Arthur, who was far away in Cadair Idris.
The five Druids, lead by Owein’s Druid, Sabrina, stood still as statues, their eyes closed, their fists clenched, their brown robes barely moving with their shallow breaths. And the Cerddorian stood just as silently, their swords and spears ready. The Cerddorian at the north gate were led by Gwarae Golden-Hair, while those at the east waited with Trystan, Owein’s captain, at their head. Teleri, Owein’s lieutenant, led the forces at the west gate while Owein and his wife Sanon would lead those at the south gate where Enid now stood.
The fog swirled and eddied as one figure came to stand next to her. Without even looking at him, she spoke, her voice muted and hushed. “This is your day, brother.”
“Our day,” Owein replied quietly.
She shook her head. “It is yours. Today you take back what you lost.”
“And you?”
She turned to him, a bitter smile on her face. His red tunic was muted in the fog, giving it the sheen of old blood. Opals and gold flashed from the torque of Rheged clasped around his neck. On his head he wore the helm she had last seen her father wear.
The helmet was made of gold, fashioned like the head of a fierce stallion. The horse’s eyes were fiery opals which shone even in the fog with a light all their own.
She, too, was dressed for battle, wearing a stiff leather tunic of white and breeches of red. Her white leather boots reach to mid-calf and her auburn hair was braided tightly to her scalp. She was armed with a short sword and knives tucked into the top of her boots. Yet for all that, she would not fight this day. Would not fight again, ever. She was only dressed as a warrior due to Owein’s insistence, only here at his firm bidding. She would do this much for him and no more. And nothing at all for herself.
Owein’s blue eyes searched hers and dimmed at what he saw there.
“What I have lost cannot be returned to me,” she said.
