Dreamer's Cycle Series

by Holly Taylor

  Owein hesitated, for he knew that the message was useless.

  Nonetheless, Owein, you must give it.

  Owein was startled to hear Arthur’s voice so clearly. And he was awed, for though he had witnessed the power of the High King today, he still could scarcely believe that Arthur could Wind-Speak from so far away.

  “The message, Oswy,” Owein answered, “is that Havgan must leave Kymru. If he does not leave, he will die.”

  “I will deliver that message, but I do not think Havgan will care for it.”

  “Havgan will soon be hearing a great many things he does not care for,” Owein said. “He will soon learn that Prydyn slipped from his grasp three days ago. And that he lost Ederynion two days since. And that Gwynedd slipped from his grasp yesterday. And he has lost Rheged today. Small, rag-tag bands of what is left of his army are attempting to make their way to his stronghold in Eiodel, but very few, I think, will get there. And no wryce-jaga are alive to go to him, for them we slew with no quarter—in the same way they killed our Y Dawnus.” At Owein’s signal two warriors led the now-pale Byshop away.

  Owein’s next task would be more satisfying to him, he was sure. He nodded to Trystan and his captain signaled to the warrior at the door. Within moments they brought in Bledri. Next to him Owein heard Enid suck in her breath at the sight of him.

  The traitorous Dewin walked slowly, his head down. His silver and green robes were dirty where Gwarae had flung him to the ground after Morcant was killed. His sandy blond hair had come undone from its pearl clasp and hung loosely around his powerful shoulders. As he came to stand at the bottom of the dais he raised his gray eyes to Owein. Although Bledri had known there would be no quarter, he had, perhaps, still hoped. When he saw the martial light in Owein’s dark eyes he knew that this last hope was denied him.

  Owein glanced over at Enid and saw that his sister’s face was still and pitiless. Owein thought nothing would give him more satisfaction than the words he would say next. But he was wrong.

  “Bledri ap Gwyn, for your crimes you are to be—”

  No.

  The single word had been uttered in the heads of all the Kymri gathered here. It echoed in their minds, implacable, unquestionable, final.

  “High King—” Owein began, “this cannot be.”

  No. You may not put Bledri to death.

  Enraged, Trystan stepped forward, his sword drawn from its sheath and murder in his bright green eyes.

  “No!” Enid cried, moving swiftly to stand before Trystan. “The High King’s word is to be obeyed.”

  Slowly Trystan lowered his raised sword, returned it to its sheath, and stepped back.

  Bledri ap Gwyn, one-time Dewin of Kymru, I pronounce a doom on you today. A doom that has been given to me by Cariadas ur Gwydion, the Dreamer’s heir, who has dreamed well and true. You are to be exiled Beyond the Ninth Wave. You will be set in a boat with no oars, sails, or rudder. You will be given a knife and fresh water. The boat will be set adrift on the open sea. And the Shining Ones alone know why they require this.

  “Will you not kill me now, King of Rheged?” Bledri rapsed. For Bledri knew as well as the rest that exile Beyond the Ninth Wave was nothing more than an extended death sentence. He would die on the ocean, alone, of starvation and thirst. It would be a long death. “Think, Owein, of what I have done to you and yours. I betrayed your mother and father, giving out to the forces of Amgoed that they were not to come to their rescue. I served Morcant, another traitor. And even worse, I raped your sister as she stood bound in the cells beneath Caer Erias. I raped her not once, but several times, each time more brutal than the last.”

  “No, Trystan!” Owein cried as the captain leapt forward. “Can’t you see it’s what he wants?” And indeed, Bledri was smiling as he thought Trystan would kill him. But Bledri’s smile faded as Trystan stopped in his tracks.

  “Don’t you see how the Ninth Wave is worse?” Owein asked Trystan quietly. Trystan nodded thoughtfully, then took his hand from his sword hilt.

  “Captain Trystan,” Owein said sternly, “you are to escort Bledri to the shores of Ystrad Marchell. There you are to see to it that High King Arthur’s orders are carried out.”

  Trystan bowed and moved forward to lead Bledri away, but stopped when Esyllt spoke.

  “King Owein,” Esyllt said, her voice low and musical, “I request permission to accompany Trystan. A representative of the Y Dawnus should witness the exile.”

  Sabrina’s blue eyes flashed in contempt at this, but the Druid looked away, only to look back, wide-eyed, when Trystan responded before Owein could speak.

  “I agree, my King,” Trystan said firmly. “One of the Y Dawnus should indeed witness this.”

  Esyllt’s widening smile faded as Trystan went on. “But that Y Dawnus should be Sabrina ur Dadweir.”

  Esyllt’s face mirrored the shock she felt. “Trystan—”

  “Sabrina,” Trystan repeated. “And no one else.”

  It was in that moment that March, Esyllt’s long-suffering husband stepped forward. “King Owein, I ask for witnesses.”

  “Witnesses to what, March?” Owein asked, puzzled.

  “Witnesses to the fact that, on Calan Llachar, my marriage to Esyllt ur Maelwys will be dissolved.”

  “Witnessed!” Teleri called out.

  “Witnessed!” Enid cried.

  Esyllt, faced with repudiation by both her lover and her husband, stood rooted to the floor for several seconds. Then, with immense dignity, she walked from the hall. She did not look back. Which perhaps was just as well, for, if she had, she would have seen Trystan look at Sabrina with his heart in his eyes, and Sabrina’s answering smile.

  Owein rose and faced the crowd. “I declare today that Rheged is free!” His Cerddorian roared, whistled and stomped their approval. “Tomorrow we begin the muster of Rheged. We march, in a very brief time, for the final battle against the Golden Man.”

  Sanon rose and came to stand beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Owein turned and gestured for Enid to join them. His sister walked forward, her head held high. “While I am gone I will leave Enid PenMarch to rule Rheged.” This time the roar of approval was almost deafening. Enid’s blue eyes filled with tears, but she smiled at the acclimation and nodded her head.

  Today, indeed, we all are free, Owein thought quietly.

  Indeed.

  Chapter

  * * *

  Nineteen

  Afalon Gwytheryn, Kymru Eiddew Mis, 500

  Meriwydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early evening

  The stars sprang forth, glittering brightly as the sky darkened overhead. It would be hours before the moon rose, so no other light vied with the diamond-hard starlight that pooled over the shadowy plain. Even the steady glow of Cadair Idris could not be seen. For the mountain was a day’s march away from the shores of Llyn Mwyngil, where Arthur and his companions now lay concealed in the tall grasses at the edge of the lake. A faint breeze stirred the grasses, but the night maintained its silence, holding its secrets closely.

  The dark hulk of Afalon lay silently in the center of the lake, giving out nothing, asking for nothing, inviolate, in spite of the fact that the Coranians had invaded its shores. Arthur could just make out faint pricks of torchlight on the east shore of the isle, pinpointing the compound where his Y Dawnus were held captive.

  Arthur, remembering that this was the place where the last High King, Lleu Silver-Hand, fell in battle, shivered for a moment. Lleu had lain here in the grasses, somehow clinging to life, knowing, perhaps, that his dear friend, Bran, would come to him and hear his last words. Knowing, somehow, that Bran would never have let him die alone.

  Silently he glanced around at the men and women with him, safely hidden from sight of the lone Coranian guard who paced the docks just half a league north of them. Gwydion hovered at Arthur’s right, simmering silently and refusing to even acknowledge Rhiannon’s presence. Rhiannon, wrapped in a voluminous black cloak, was to Arthur’s left, suprem
ely indifferent to Gwydion’s simmering rage.

  Talorcan and Regan huddled closely together, hands clasped. Myrrdin, with Neuad at his side, lay next to Dudod. Dudod’s green eyes were bright as he studied his old friend’s expression—a curious blend of contentment and anxiety that apparently amused the Bard to no end.

  The Druids—Aergol, Menw, Aldur, and Sinend—huddled tightly together, conserving their strength for the heavy demands Arthur would soon make on them.

  Elstar, Elidyr, and their sons, Cynfar and Llywelyn, were together next to Cariadas, who lay on Gwydion’s right. The Dreamer’s heir watched the isle silently, her silvery eyes alight and ready.

  Last of all Arthur turned his eyes to Gwen, who lay quietly next to her mother. The starlight turned her golden hair to silver. Sensing his gaze she turned her head toward him, but he looked away quickly, unwilling to let her know how aware he was of her, now and always.

  Hidden deep in the grasses behind them lay sixteen large row-boats. These boats had been fashioned by the steward, Rhufon, and his family. It had been Rhufon’s eldest son, Tybion, who had led them through the maze of underground passages that ran all the way from Cadair Idris to the shores of Llyn Mwyngil. Tybion waited alone now at the cave entrance less than half a league away to guide them all back later tonight. All of them who were still alive, at any rate.

  If Arthur’s plans went as expected, Tybion would guide more than one hundred people back to Cadair Idris. The journey back would take some time, for the people that would be with them were ill and tired and some of them were near death. He hoped that the flasks of Penduran’s Rose would be enough to help them reach the safety of Cadair Idris, enough to help them begin to heal.

  For he was done with waiting. Tonight was the night when he took the captive Y Dawnus on Afalon back from Havgan’s clutches. Tonight was the night when they would be freed, their collars would be removed, and they would be led back to the safe haven of Cadair Idris.

  For Arthur had come for them at last.

  A slight breeze ruffled his hair. From somewhere nearby a night owl called. The stars shone coldly, bathing them in silvery light. And the torchlight on Afalon beckoned.

  It was time.

  “Rhiannon, Talorcan,” Arthur whispered.

  Talorcan rose cautiously, and Regan stood, also. Queen Elen’s Dewin lifted her face to her Coranian lover and kissed his lips in farewell.

  Talorcan clasped her hands in his. “Death cannot touch us,” he murmured, speaking Queen Hildelinda of Dere’s last words to her husband. “I am yours forever.” He turned away before she could reply.

  Rhiannon rose and joined Talorcan. Gwydion did not speak.

  “We will be watching,” Arthur said, rising also. “May the Shining Ones be with you.”

  “And with you,” Rhiannon said. She glanced down at Gwydion, but he turned away. “With all of you.”

  But Rhiannon and Talorcan hadn’t gone but a few steps toward the dock before Gwydion silently rose and took Rhiannon’s arm, spinning her around to face him. “You will come back to me,” he rasped. “You will come back to me or—”

  Rhiannon’s lips twitched. “Or you’ll kill me?”

  “Or worse,” he said grimly. Without another word he took her into his arms and kissed her long and deeply, as though he had all the time in the world. At last, he let her go and sank down again in the grass. Rhiannon smiled down at him, and then she and Talorcan walked away.

  Gwydion lay silently next to Arthur as the two moved away down the shore. At last Gwydion murmured a line from an old Kymric song. “I have loved you. Is there any help for me?”

  Arthur remained silent. If he could have reassured his uncle, he would have. But reassurances would be hollow, and they both knew it. He would not lie. Rhiannon and Talorcan might very well die tonight. They might all very well die tonight.

  RHIANNON AND TALORCAN neared the dock.

  “Wait here,” Talorcan said. “I want to deal with this one alone.”

  Rhiannon hesitated momentarily, but then gestured him to go ahead, clearly puzzled, but willing to let him do this himself.

  Talorcan went forward, hailing the lone soldier standing on the dock. “Warrior,” Talorcan called. “I look for passage.”

  “Passage you shall not have,” the Coranian warrior replied, “unless you have cause.” The silver mesh of the soldier’s byrnie reached to midthigh. He carried a spear and a round shield marked with the boar of the Coranian Warleader. His blond hair spilled out from under the helmet and hung lankly around his thin shoulders. Talorcan doubted that the guard was any older than eighteen years.

  “What business do you have there?” the young guard demanded, false bravado in his voice.

  “You truly do not know?” Talorcan asked softly.

  At his tone the guard took a closer look at Talorcan. Suddenly, he stiffened.

  “I see you recognize me, boy,” Talorcan said, still speaking quietly.

  “General Talorcan!” The young guard backed slowly away. “You who betrayed us.”

  “I never betrayed you,” Talorcan murmured. “Never.” Quick as lightening he pulled his dagger and threw it so swiftly that the blade was a mere blur. It plunged into the guard’s neck and the dying man fell onto the dock. Talorcan pulled out the dagger and kicked the now-dead body off the dock and into the water.

  “A little severe, don’t you think?” Rhiannon asked as she came up to join him.

  Talorcan shrugged. “One less for Arthur to deal with.”

  “Ah.” Rhiannon went to the lone boat tied up at the dock and climbed in, gesturing for Talorcan to join her. He grabbed the oars as she pushed the boat away from the dock.

  They both sat quietly in the boat, each with their own thoughts, as Talorcan rowed steadily toward the island. The soft splash of the oars cutting through the silent, dark water was the only sound. The distant torchlight from the island grew brighter. Torches lined the dock. The shadowy hulk of buildings beyond the dock was illuminated by the light of a large bonfire in the center of the compound. Distant shadows moved near the dock, indicating that the guards were alert.

  Talorcan slowed the boat as they neared the isle, looking at Rhiannon with what seemed perhaps to be pity in his green eyes.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “Then there is just one more thing.” He whipped the enaid-dal from the inside pocket of his cloak. Before she could even move he had it around her throat.

  He almost hesitated when he heard her moan of despair as her psychic powers were snuffed out, as a candle is blown out by the wind. But he was a soldier. He had done many things he hadn’t liked before. Things for Havgan that he hadn’t wanted to do.

  This would be just one more thing.

  TALORCAN SHOUTED. “Hoy, there, soldiers. You have visitors!”

  Ten guards, dressed in various states of slovenliness, materialized on the dock. Two held the boat while Talorcan stood, grabbing Rhiannon’s arm. He hauled her from the boat, flinging her out onto the dock. Two soldiers, not quite sure what was happening, nonetheless reached out and grabbed her arms, hauling her to her feet and holding her securely.

  A large, fat warrior stepped forward. Stubble covered the lower half of his face and his blue eyes were bloodshot. “My name is Sigald, and I am the commander here. What is all this?” he demanded of Talorcan.

  “This,” Talorcan gestured to Rhiannon, “is my prisoner.”

  Rhiannon, her green eyes blazing, her neck already beginning to blister from the enaid-dal, spat at Talorcan. “You pig!” she cried.

  “My companion does not care much for me,” Talorcan said with a twisted grin. “She thought she knew me. But she did not. Tell me, gentlemen, do you?”

  Sigald looked closely at Talorcan, his blue eyes narrowed. “You will tell me right now or I will—” he broke off, staring at Talorcan. “General!”

  “Yes, General Talorcan,” he said dryly. “Traitor to Havgan.
Or so the story goes.”

  “You mean—” Sigald asked, comprehension dawning on his face.

  “Yes, I mean just that,” Talorcan said. “I mean that this is a little something that Havgan and I cooked up between us. The only way to get them.”

  “The Kymric witches, you fooled them!”

  “I did. And many years I worked at it, too. A plan long in the making. But come to fruition at last.” He gestured to Rhiannon, who was now pale and silent. “I bring you the first of many. Next to come will be Arthur himself. And saving the best for last—the Dreamer. Before tomorrow is out Havgan will behold the Dreamer in the dungeons of Eiodel.”

  “Then by all means, General Talorcan,” Sigald said, “welcome to our island. It isn’t much, but we call it hell. For the Y Dawnus, at any rate.”

  He turned, gesturing for Talorcan to follow him. Rhiannon followed, dragged forward by her two guards. As they walked off the dock and onto the shore of Afalon, Talorcan sensed something that made his heart quake. As his feet touched the isle he felt something, something powerful and angry; something that was done waiting. Something, he did not know exactly what, that almost frightened him with its intensity.

  He could not, he would not, let these men know what he felt. He had struggled far too long against this thing that was inside him to let it betray him now.

  A large, roughly timbered hall loomed on their left as they entered the open gate of the compound. To his right three whipping posts were set up. The posts were covered with blood. Two blackrobed wyrce-jaga were removing a man from one of the posts.

  “Dead?” the first one asked.

  “Not yet,” the second one said. “We’ll give him a few days to heal up and then be at him again.”

  “Well, he’ll never call us names again after this,” the first one said with a grin.

  “Don’t count on it. This one’s been trouble ever since he got here. He was the very first of the witches to be collared, and yet he’s still alive.”

  Talorcan guessed that this must be Cian, one-time Bard to King Rhoram. Cian, along with his testing device, had been captured by Rhoram’s Druid, Ellywen, and taken to Eiodel. He had been the last Kymri to see Anieron Master Bard alive. And he had been among the first to be brought to Afalon.