Dreamer's Cycle Series

by Holly Taylor

  “Not if you will not fight to take it back,” Owein replied.

  “A lecture from you, brother?” she asked, turning back to look at the fog-shrouded city walls.

  Owein shook his head. “Never. But still it seems to me, little sister, that you are a prisoner of your own choosing. If that is not true then why will you not fight today for Kymru’s freedom? Or for your own?”

  “I will not fight because I cannot fight. I do not have the strength. It is one of the many things they took from me.”

  “It is not the strength you lack. It is the will.”

  “So it is,” she agreed mildly. “Leave me be, brother, for there is no help for me.”

  “By your choice.”

  She turned to him, her eyes blazing. “Much you know of it,” she hissed. “You who have never been helpless before such depravity, you who have never had to endure what I endured while keeping your screams locked in your throat. And all because I was a fool. Well, I have paid for that foolishness. And I will keep paying until the debt is done.”

  “The debt is paid, Enid,” Owein said quietly. “Paid in full.”

  “Just leave me be, Owein. I will stay here, outside the gates, and wait for word of your victory. And when it comes I will leave this place and return, alone, to Coed Addien. I will build a small house there in the woods, and you and Sanon will visit me once a year, and bring your children with you. I will exclaim how they have grown, and congratulate you on your brood, your loving wife, on the opal torque clasped around your neck. You will pester me, at the end of each visit, to come to the city. You will, in your heart, think to yourself that I live alone because I like to suffer. You will think I could have the choice to be free, but will not take it. In your heart you will blame me for how uncomfortable I will make you feel. But you will let me do this. Because you know there is no other way for me.”

  Owein smiled unexpectedly and Enid blinked. “You seem to be very sure of the future, sister,” he said. “At one time I thought I knew what mine would be, too. I thought that I would never marry, I thought that I would never see Caer Erias again, I thought that I would die in bitterness and sorrow. But I was wrong. For Sanon, the love of my heart, is now my wife. And I will see Caer Erias again in a matter of moments. And if I die this day it will not be with either bitterness or sorrow. It will be with gratitude for the happiness I was granted, even if only for a brief time.”

  The fog swirled again and Sanon, Enid’s sister-in-law, laid a hand on Owein’s arm. Her golden hair, so like her brother Geri-ant’s, gleamed. Her dark eyes were fastened on her husband, her gaze trusting and strong.

  Sanon opened her mouth to speak, but Enid shushed her. “I hear it,” she said.

  The others stood still, straining to hear.

  “I think you must be mistaken, Enid,” Sanon began, then she stopped as she, too, heard what Enid had heard.

  A faint rumbling emanated from the south. Beneath their feet the ground began to shake, trembling with the news of what was rushing toward them. The rumbling grew louder.

  “At my signal, Sabrina,” Owein said to his Druid. And though Sabrina did not open her eyes, she nodded.

  The rumbling was massive now, though the cause was still hidden by the enshrouding fog. As one the warriors moved back from the gate.

  “Now,” Owein called, and Sabrina and her four Druids opened their eyes and raised their faces to the sky. In that moment the fog disappeared, gone as though it had never been. And Owein and his warriors turned to face the south horizon, to see what they knew they would see.

  Wild horses crested the horizon, pouring down the hills and toward the city. Horses white as snow, horses black as night, horses golden as the sun, horses brown as newly turned earth raced across the meadow, their eyes fierce.

  “Sabrina!” Owein called, and at his command Sabrina and her Druids raised their fists to the sky. And as they did so the gates opened with a crash.

  The lead stallion, his golden coat glistening, his fiery gaze on Owein, halted for a moment before the king. The stallion reared and neighed fiercely. And Owein grabbed the horse’s mane and leapt onto the animal’s back. The horse neighed again and whirled to the gate, leading the herd into the city.

  The Cerddorian poured in the gates after the horses. Sanon, with Owein’s name on her lips, sprang forward through the gate.

  But Enid stayed where she was, holding her ground.

  THE CERDDORIAN, LED by Owein, streamed into the city, mingling freely with the wild herd. The horses pounded down the streets, nimbly avoiding the townsfolk who were even now spilling from their houses, weapons in their hands.

  A contingent of Coranian warriors, obviously just awakened from a sound sleep, emerged from one of the houses. One of the horses neighed fiercely and sprang toward the warriors, followed by other horses who had caught their scent. The warriors cried out and turned to flee back into the house, but found their way barred by armed townsfolk. They turned back, looking for another way out, but it was too late. The horses reared, striking at the Coranians with their hooves. The men went down in a heap, their heads split open, their bones crushed, their blood spilling onto the cobbled road.

  Owein smiled as he clung to the golden stallion’s back. The first blow had gone to the horses. And that was as it should be in the country of Rheged. His smile faded as he saw the Temple of Lytir, erected on what had once been the sacred ground of Nemed Draenenwen, the grove of hawthorn trees where the people of Llwynarth had celebrated their festivals, where the queens of Rheged had gone to bear their children. Owein himself and his brothers and sister had all been born there, beneath the branches of the once-sheltering trees. At this time of year the grove should have been white with the clusters of delicate flowers that should have studded the tree branches. But the trees were gone, uprooted and burned when the Coranians built the huge, wooden temple to their God.

  The temple loomed before him, silent and forbidding in the early morning light. It was made of a series of sloping roofs of different heights, grouped around a large, square tower. A walkway ran around the building, enclosed by a low wall and topped by an arcade. The gables were carved with an array of beasts—boars and dragons, horses and eagles, serpents and hinds. Steps led up to the huge, double doors of the main entrance.

  Owein urged the stallion forward and the horse leapt up the stairs to the closed doors. Outside the doors two torches were lit, set in iron brackets against the wall. He grabbed one of the torches and leapt from the stallion’s back. He thrust against the doors and entered the building. This was the place where his sister had been forced to wed Morcant. This was the place dedicated to the Coranian’s jealous god. This would be the place that must be destroyed. Today.

  He raced down the nave and touched the torch to the white and gold banner of Lytir that lay on the stone altar. The cloth ignited, as though eager to be cleansed by the fire. He backed away, lighting pew after wooden pew. The interior began to fill with smoke, crackling wildly as the hungry fire consumed its prey. He reached the doors and flung the torch down the aisle, whirling around and out again down the stairs.

  The stallion was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, his eyes glowing in the light of the fire. The animal neighed, calling out his challenge. He rose on his hind legs, his forelegs kicking out to the sky. Owein leapt back onto the horse’s back and gave his own cry, calling out his challenge to his warriors and the townsfolk gathered there.

  “Forward Kymri! Fight the enemy and take back what was ours! I charge you with this in the name of my murdered father, King Urien; in the name of my murdered mother, Queen Ellirri, in the name of my murdered brother, Prince Elphin!”

  His wife, Sanon, ran to him, her sword already red with Coranian blood, her dark eyes fierce and glowing. He reached out his hand and pulled her behind him onto the stallion’s back.

  The horse leapt forward, making for Caer Erias, the fortress where he knew Morcant and Bledri huddled, hatching pathetic schemes to spare th
eir lives.

  But they would not be spared. For Owein had a debt to collect. And he would not rest until that was paid.

  AFEW HOURS later Owein and his warriors had secured the southwest quadrant of the city and were advancing the last few feet to Caer Erias, the fortress of the rulers of Rheged. Trystan came riding up, with his lieutenant, Teleri, right behind him.

  Trystan dismounted and came to stand before Owein. His tunic and trousers were torn and bloody, but he moved easily, and Owein concluded that the blood belonged to now-dead Coranians. Trystan gave Owein a jaunty salute. “My King, your city is secured. All quadrants are once again under Kymric control.”

  “And the wyrce-jaga were given no quarter, as you ordered,” Teleri said. The diminutive lieutenant smiled and her gray-green eyes were bright.

  “She says that with such relish, doesn’t she?” Gwarae Golden-Hair asked as he, too, rode up. “It’s one of her nicer traits.” He dismounted and grabbed Teleri around the waist, and kissed her exuberantly.

  “What are your orders, my King?” Sabrina asked quietly as she led the other four brown-robed Druids to stand before Owein.

  Trystan stepped forward toward Sabrina but was halted by the arrival of Esyllt, Owein’s Bard. She flung herself into Trystan’s arms. “You are safe!” she breathed.

  Trystan put his arms around Esyllt, for if he had not done so he would have fallen. He gave Sabrina a pleading look, but the Druid turned away and again addressed Owein.

  “My King?”

  The horse’s head, etched on the closed, golden gate of Caer Erias, glittered in the noonday sun. The opals scattered throughout the horse’s mane danced in the fierce light.

  “Bring the gate down, Sabrina,” Owein said quietly. “Bring the gate down, and may the Shining Ones soon have the task of dealing with Morcant’s black soul.”

  Sabrina nodded and turned toward the gate. She and the other four Druids raised their faces to the sky, their eyes closed.

  “Arthur,” Sabrina whispered. “High King, send us your aid.” The Druids instantly stiffened, feeling the power of the High King uniting them, guiding them, knitting them together to bring their power together as one. The gate shook, then burst open. As it did, Owein’s golden stallion reared high, his deadly hooves beating the air. Then the animal leapt forward and was through the gate, screaming his challenge to the Coranians.

  Owein and his people followed, bursting into the courtyard. Coranians lined the perimeter, their weapons ready, and the fight began afresh.

  Owein saw Sanon swing her blade and a Coranian went down in a welter of blood. Teleri, Trystan, Gwarae, and the rest engaged the enemy, Owein’s name on their lips as they shouted their war cries.

  And then Owein saw him. The man he had wanted to kill for so long. Morcant was pressed against the side of the stable, obviously looking for his chance to take a horse and flee. His black hair and dark eyes flashed like shadows beneath the golden sun as he crept forward. His sword was in his right hand, while a sack was clutched in his left. The bag, no doubt, contained whatever treasures Morcant had managed to gather up before the fortress was overrun.

  “Morcant!” Owein cried, as he sprinted toward the man who had betrayed Rheged. “You are a dead man!”

  Morcant whirled to face Owein. He threw the sack on the ground and brought his blade up, just in time to deflect Owein’s blow.

  And so the fight began. Their blades sang as they clashed. The swords moved so swiftly that the blades seemed blurred, trailing fire. Suddenly Owein felt a pain in his right leg, just below the knee. A dagger was protruding from his calf and he staggered.

  “Finish it, Morcant,” Bledri called out from just behind Owein, for it was he that had thrown the dagger. “Kill him!”

  Morcant raised his blade as Owein went down on one knee. Owein tried to bring his sword up in time, but he knew he would be too late. Morcant was going to kill him. His family had once again been betrayed at the hands of Bledri, his father’s false Dewin. Owein heard his wife cry out his name, but he knew she was too far away to help him. It was over for him. His only comfort was in knowing that though he would die today the Kymri had won this battle.

  He made his peace with fate in that moment and so, when the blade came out of nowhere and deflected Morcant’s killing blow, he felt only a dull surprise. He stared at the blade, then focused on the hand that held it. It was a slim, white hand that held the hilt so competently. So, she had come after all.

  He looked to his right and saw that Bledri had been disarmed and was held securely by Gwarae. The gwarda’s blade was pressed against the Dewin’s throat while Trystan and Sanon stood on either side, holding Bledri’s arms tightly.

  Enid smiled as she thrust her blade forward, forcing Morcant to withdraw his and step back. “Husband,” she said formally. “You seem surprised to see me.”

  Morcant licked his lips, his face ashen. “I did not think to see you in a place where decent people gather,” he said stiffly.

  Her brows quirked as she smiled slowly. “You think I am not decent?”

  “You know what you are,” he hissed.

  “The things you and Bledri did to me do not make me dirty,” Enid said softly. “They make you dirty. Foul. Polluted. Poor, poor excuses for men.”

  Owein smiled, for that was what he had been trying to tell her for so long. Enid saw his smile and smiled back. It had been so long since he had seen a smile on his sister’s face that he almost wept for the joy of it.

  “High King Arthur spoke to me,” Enid went on, “as I waited outside the city. I had thought, husband, never to enter Llwynarth again, never to return to the place of my humiliation. I did, indeed, feel the shame you think I should feel. But no more. For the High King Wind-Spoke to me and he said many things, but none so profound as the last thing. He said that, at the last, it is up to a prisoner to escape his own chains. He said that we can all be prisoners of our past. Or we can escape it. And that the choice is up to us.”

  Enid smiled again, but this time at Morcant. And this smile was so very different than her first. For this one held a promise of death in it. Morcant saw it clearly and shivered, even as he gripped his blade tightly.

  “So you see, husband,” Enid said gently, “I chose.” In a flash she raised her blade and leapt forward. The blade glowed like fire as it dove past Morcant’s defense and parted his chest, eagerly drinking his blood.

  OWEIN MOUNTED THE dais in the Great Hall and took his seat upon his father’s throne, a massive chair with a canopy of red and white brocade stitched with opals. The Coranian banner had been torn down and replaced with the banner of Rheged depicting the head of a golden horse with opals in its shining mane.

  The hall was packed with Owein’s warriors, all laughing and talking, drinking ale and telling stories of the battle. On Owein’s right stood what had been Queen Ellirri’s chair. Sanon occupied that chair and Owein reached for her hand and kissed her palm. Sanon’s face glowed and she smiled at him, her golden hair unbound and flowing down her slender shoulders, framing her beautiful face.

  Enid mounted the dais and took her place standing to Owein’s left. She moved with the same grace she always had but now she held her head high and walked proudly.

  Truly, Owein thought, she was indeed free.

  As was all of Rheged. For he had just received word from his Dewin that their plans had gone well throughout the kingdom. In Penrhyn the forces led by Anynnas ur Menw, sister of King Rhoram’s Bard, had been successful. In Gwinionydd Hetwin Silver-Brow and his son, Cynedyr the Wild, had routed the Coranians. In Ystrad Marchell Teleri’s brother, Brys, had rescued Lord Rhun and the two had led their warriors to victory. In Maelienydd Lady Atlantas, Trystan’s sister, had defeated the enemy and in Breinol warriors led by Feina, Gwarda of Llannerch, were victorious. Lastly, in Gwent forces led by Tyrnon Twryf Liant had freed the cantref.

  His beloved Rheged was now free and his throat ached at the thought. For he had not dared to hope for this day. Not u
ntil love had come into his life.

  At the bottom of the dais stood Sabrina. Owein’s Druid stood quietly in her robe of brown and green. Her dark hair was pulled back from her flawless face and her blue eyes were serene. Across from her stood Esyllt, Owein’s Bard. Her robes of blue and white set off her white skin and her blue eyes flickered continually to Trystan.

  Trystan and Teleri approached the dais and bowed. “King Owein,” Teleri called, “I am pleased to report that all the wyrce-jaga have been killed. Not one is left alive in Llwynarth.” At this the warriors cheered, for the black-robed witch hunters had been much hated.

  “Even better, Teleri herself has rid the world of the Master-wyrce-jaga, Saebald,” Trystan said with a smile.

  “That’s my girl,” Gwarae said as he went to Teleri and took her hand. He picked her up and mounted the dais, setting her on her feet in front of Owein. “My King,” he said with a grin, “it is only right that you be the first to greet my wife.”

  “You got married?” Sanon asked with delight. “When?”

  “Just now,” Teleri replied, smiling. “Sabrina married us. I didn’t think it a good idea to give Gwarae time to change his mind.”

  “Ha!” Gwarae said. “I’ve only been begging her to do this for weeks.”

  “My congratulations to you both,” Owein said heartily. “We just have a few more things to take care of, and we will celebrate.” He motioned for Trystan to bring in the prisoner. At Trystan’s nod two warriors marched in Byshop Oswy. The man’s green robe was torn and dusty and his fair hair, turning to gray, was disheveled. His hands were tied behind his back, but he walked calmly and stood quietly at the bottom of the dais. At Owein’s nod Trystan escorted the Byshop to stand before Owein.

  “Byshop Oswy of Gwyrin,” Owein said, “your life has been spared today.”

  The Byshop said nothing, merely looking at Owein, waiting for what would come.

  “Spared by the wish of High King Arthur. Spared so that you may take a message to the Golden Man.”

  “And the message?” Oswy asked.