by Holly Taylor
“They know nothing of the Kymri,” Arthur said. “And that, in the end, is what will kill them.”
“Yes,” Gwen said firmly. “It will.”
“And besides,” Arthur said absently, his thoughts elsewhere, “they would never have been able to catch me. I’m very good at this.”
“At what? Running away?” Gwen countered, stung that he was taking all the credit. It had, after all, been partially her idea to be the bait.
“I’ve been doing it all my life,” Arthur said bleakly. “And so, my girl, have you.”
“I’m not your girl!”
“Thank the gods for that.”
“You—”
“Hush,” he said firmly. “Let’s get back to the lake. We need to find Gwydion. And I hope to the gods that your mother has returned, safe and sound.”
“And with the Stone.”
He turned to look at her, and there was contempt in his eyes. “Just safe and sound would be enough for me. But not for you, I see.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that you are cruel to her. And she doesn’t deserve it.”
“You don’t know anything about it. And you’re a fine one to talk of cruelty to others, the way you treat your uncle.”
“That is something you know nothing about. Come on.”
GWYDION HUDDLED NEXT to the tree, his head resting on his drawn-up knees. She was dead. And everything was over. Now what would he do?
The snap of a branch, the sound of steps, did not make him raise his head. The warriors had returned for him. Now would be his turn to die. And everything was ash, dust, everything was gone, and he did not care that life was over.
“What kind of welcome is this?”
Her voice. Her voice from the dead. He raised his head and saw her.
Her shift clung to her body like a second skin. Her feet were bare. Her braided hair was slicked against her head. In her arms she cradled the Stone. Her green eyes shone with triumph.
He leapt up, grabbed the Stone, and set it down, as though it was nothing. He took her in his arms and held her close. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her, reveling in the feel of her body against his, feeling the beat of her heart against his own, knowing that this was always how it had been meant to be.
He looked down at her, and she raised her face to his. Her green eyes were soft, and her lips parted as he bent his mouth to hers.
And before their lips touched he felt that he was at last at peace, having surrendered to the truth of his heart.
But his peace lasted only for a moment.
For he remembered everything about who he was, then. He remembered that he was the Dreamer and he had almost given up, all because he had despaired of losing her.
He remembered that the things he had done, that the things he must do, were tasks given him by the gods, and he must not fail.
He remembered what would happen to Kymru if he weakened.
And he knew he must not.
So he withdrew from her, dropping his arms, stepping away, standing in the forest by Llyn Wiber and feeling so cold as he saw the shock, then the humiliation, then the anger, in her emerald eyes.
Chapter 16
Coed Coch and Llwynarth
Kingdom of Rheged, Kymru
Celynnen and Draenenwen Mis, 499
Gwyntdydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early afternoon
Twenty-five days later, Gwydion, Rhiannon, Arthur, and Gwen silently made their way through the dense forest of Coed Coch in southern Rheged. They were on foot, having left the wagon behind in the trees a few leagues back, unable to further penetrate the woods with it in tow.
They walked in single file, waiting for the forces of King Owein to contact them. Owein and his people knew they were here, for Gwydion had contacted his daughter, through Wind-Speech. But the forest of Coed Coch was huge, and it would take some time for Owein’s people to reach them and guide them to the hidden camp; Cariadas had explained that Owein had forbidden knowledge of that location to anyone, including to the Dreamer and his party. Gwydion’s daughter had apparently expected outrage from him about this, but Gwydion had not felt any anger. Owein was right—such behavior was their only safety from traitors within. He did not forget that one of their own—whomever that might have been—had betrayed the location of the Y Dawnus at Allt Llwyd. And Owein’s own sister had, in the end, betrayed her brother’s presence in his previous hiding place in Coed Addien.
Thoughts of Enid, Owein’s sister, continued to irritate Gwydion. The stupid girl had stolen her brother’s ring and journeyed to Llwynarth to persuade Bledri, King Morcant’s Dewin, to repent of his collusion with the enemy and return to Owein. Bledri had promptly turned her over to Morcant Whledig. And Morcant was now determined to make Enid his wife, and, in so doing, claim the ring of the House of PenMarch for his own. It would be Gwydion’s task to get the ring back from beneath the watchful eyes of Morcant, Bledri, and Baldred, Havgan’s General in Rheged.
Gwydion glanced behind him at the others who followed. Gwen was right behind him, as she often was. It seemed as though whenever he turned around, she was there. Rhiannon trudged behind Gwen, looking, as was always the case now, at anything and everything except at Gwydion. Her eyes had not met his since that day at Llyn Wiber. She had barely spoken two words to him since then.
Why wouldn’t she understand? Because, he thought bitterly, she was a woman. And they never understood anything beyond their own desires. Higher concepts of honor and responsibility meant nothing to them. It was because of his responsibilities that he had withdrawn from her that day by the lake. His was the task of ensuring the return of the High King to Kymru, the task of driving the enemy from their land. And he could not be, would not be, fettered in any way in the pursuit of that task.
It was true that what had almost happened between them had been Gwydion’s fault. At the sight of her safe and sound, his heart had leapt and he had, momentarily, lacked the ability to check his impulses. But since then he had been in full control.
Behind Gwen, Rhiannon almost stumbled, for the balance of the Stone she was carrying in the pack on her back made her footing awkward. Arthur, the last in line, put his hand beneath her elbow to steady her. She smiled her thanks, and Arthur’s returning smile and slight flush told its own tale of how the boy felt about Rhiannon.
A violent rustling in the bushes halted the party. Gwydion, his walking staff raised, immediately placed himself between the source of the sound and Rhiannon. Arthur leapt forward, drawing his knife, to stand next to Gwydion, while Gwen guarded Rhiannon’s back, for the Stone Rhiannon carried was precious beyond price.
Then a slight figure, her red gold hair curling around her shoulders in its usual disarray, burst from the bushes and hurled herself into Gwydion’s arms.
“Da!” she cried, hugging him fiercely.
Gwydion dropped his staff and held his daughter close. He kissed her forehead, then tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. She was thinner than when he had last seen her. There was a line above her brows now for all that she was smiling. He remembered she had been in Allt Llwyd when the caves had been invaded. He remembered that she had journeyed with the few survivors across Rheged to take refuge with Owein. He remembered that she had barely escaped with her life. Tears came to his eyes, and he held her close to him. Should anything ever happen to Cariadas, his heart—touched by so few that many claimed it didn’t even exist—would break.
“Daughter,” he murmured softly into her hair. “Cariadas, my very dear.”
Three more people came from the forest to stand beside them. He gently disentangled Cariadas’s arms from his neck to greet them.
“Trystan ap Naf,” he said to the Captain of Owein’s forces. “Well-met.” He grasped Trystan’s hand, and the man’s green eyes lit with welcome.
“Teleri ur Brysethach,” he went on to Trystan’s petite but fierce Lieutenant. “What is your count of the enemy dead now?”
“Forty-two
, including three wyrce-jaga,” Teleri replied with a grin. “Ah, the day I got the wyrce-jaga was a fine day, indeed.”
“It must have been,” Gwydion agreed. “And Sabrina ur Dadweir,” he went on. “I hope that you are well?” he said, for Sabrina’s blue eyes were shadowed.
“I am well, Dreamer. As well as anyone in Rheged can be with Princess Enid’s wedding to come so soon.”
“You were not at fault, Sabrina,” Trystan said, with the air of a man who has said the same thing dozens of times before. “You did all you could to save her that day in Llwynarth. Enid did this to herself.”
Trystan turned to Gwydion. “We rejoice that you have come. Owein has asked us to convey you safely to his nearest refuge. Elidyr, the Master Bard, and his wife, the Ardewin, have asked me to tell you that the new network is building apace and they expect to have it all repaired by the festival of Calan Gaef. They are in the southern part of Coed Coch and cannot come to greet you. But they will be listening for your Wind-Speech to them tonight and will give you all the details.”
Gwydion shook his head. “It is not enough. They must have the network repaired sooner than Calan Gaef. By Ysgawen Mis, at least.”
“They have done a great deal in a short time,” Trystan pointed out stiffly.
“I think much of their work, Trystan,” Gwydion said coolly. “But on Calan Gaef, truly momentous things will happen. This Kymric new-year festival will be like no other. And our network of Y Dawnus must be functioning before then.”
“Do you know my companions?” he went on smoothly, for he was not going to argue with—or be judged by—Trystan. “This,” he said, gesturing airily to Gwen, “is Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon, Princess of Prydyn and apprentice Druid. And this is the son of an old friend.” The lack of any further identification of the boy was not lost on those present. After a moment of silence, when it became clear that Gwydion was not going to add any other information, Sabrina greeted these two formally in the name of King Owein.
“I think you know Rhiannon ur Hefeydd,” Gwydion went on.
Trystan bowed to Rhiannon. “We have never met, but I know of you.”
“And I you, Captain Trystan,” Rhiannon replied. “But I must ask you about another matter. Is my Uncle Dudod here with you? Or with Elidyr and Elstar?”
“Neither, Lady. Dudod is on his way to Llwynarth, to prepare for your coming to that city.”
Rhiannon turned to Gwydion, accusation in her green eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you sent him there?”
“You didn’t want to talk,” Gwydion replied innocently, picking up his staff. “Remember?”
“You—” Rhiannon began, then stopped as she noticed that Cariadas was looking from Rhiannon to Gwydion, bewildered. The girl seemed close to tears. Whatever Rhiannon had been about to say—and Gwydion was pretty sure what the general import would have been—remained unsaid. He knew that it was only a momentary respite. Rhiannon would not very easily forgive Gwydion for dispatching her uncle to Llwynarth. But Gwydion had no choice—someone had to set up the arrival in Llwynarth, and Dudod was the obvious choice.
“Take us to Owein,” Gwydion said. “There is much to talk about.”
THE JOURNEY TO Owein’s hidden camp was accomplished in cool silence for the most part—the one notable exception was Cariadas. Gwydion’s daughter chatted almost without stop to everyone, and while no one initiated conversation, no one was unkind enough not to respond to her overtures. Gwen, in particular, was taken with Cariadas and so, in another way, was Arthur. But the elders in the party were mute. Sabrina was subdued. Rhiannon was furious. Trystan covertly watched Sabrina, but his face was unreadable. Only Teleri seemed unaffected by the general atmosphere, but she often ranged ahead of the group, scouting for potential trouble.
Cariadas, at the news that Gwen was a Druid, chatted about her friend Sinend. She was sure that the future Archdruid could help Gwen with further lessons, if Gwen wished. And she was very curious about Arthur. She spoke to him about general subjects, but questions were in her eyes. Secretly Gwydion was amazed that Cariadas had learned enough restraint not to try to worm Arthur’s identity out of them.
They reached the camp after a few hours. Sentries melted out of the forest to greet them and escort them into the camp proper. The camp was small, for it was not King Owein’s main camp. There were forty Cerddorian practicing their archery, wrestling, staging mock knife fights, and the like. Gwydion and the rest were led to a brown-colored tent erected within the shelter of a copse. The tent was large, and Gwydion barely had to duck his head to enter. The rest followed, all except Teleri, who stationed herself outside the tent flap.
In the dim light Gwydion recognized King Owein, his younger brother, Prince Rhiwallon, and Sinend, the daughter of the Archdruid’s heir.
Owein uncoiled his thin, wiry frame from where he sat and formally embraced Gwydion. “Dreamer,” Owein said, “you are very welcome here. The things you have asked for have been done. Tell me what else you need from us, and it is yours.”
“Such deference is bad for him, Owein,” Rhiannon said tartly.
Owein’s face relaxed slightly as he greeted her. “You are more lovely today than those years ago when I followed you and the Dreamer to meet the Wild Hunt and hear of our fate.”
“And you have become very well spoken. I am pleased.”
Before Owein could reply, Gwydion said, “This is Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram.”
“The Princess and I have met before,” Owein said, his smile forced.
“Yes,” Gwen replied. “When you and Enid came to visit us on Ogaf Greu—” Gwen stopped abruptly, her face red. Everyone present knew the time she meant—when Owein had offered his hand to Gwen’s half sister, Princess Sanon, and had been refused. And when Geriant, Gwen’s half brother, had offered his hand to Enid and been accepted. But that marriage had not taken place, and a new marriage loomed for Enid.
“This is the son of an old friend,” Gwydion said quietly, gesturing to Arthur.
Owein looked at Arthur curiously, but merely said, “You are welcome here.” Arthur bowed his head to Owein but did not speak.
“We have fulfilled the first task given to us by the Shining Ones,” Gwydion said formally. “The first Treasure has been found.” He nodded to Rhiannon. She opened her pack and brought forth the Stone. The pearls gleamed and the silver veins shimmered in the dim light.
Inside the tent they all gasped. “A mighty task, indeed, Dreamer,” Owein breathed. “And it is for the further completion of this task that you are here, is it not?”
“It is,” Gwydion nodded. “For I have come to claim the ring of the House of PenMarch, as foretold by Bran the Dreamer.”
“But, to my sorrow, I do not have the ring.”
“We know. We have come for help to retrieve it from Princess Enid.”
“This is great news!” Owein exclaimed. “For if the Dreamer is to help us rescue Enid, how can we lose?”
But Gwydion shook his head. “We do not go to Llwynarth to rescue Enid, but to rescue the ring. I can do nothing about Enid’s fate.”
“You must!”
“I tell you, I cannot,” Gwydion said harshly. “The ring is to be used to find the Spear, and I do not know where it lies. Do you think it can be easily found in a country seething with the enemy over Enid’s escape? That will endanger everything, and I cannot allow it.”
He expected them to attack him, and they did. Owein protested angrily, and his brother, Rhiwallon, backed him up. Trystan was enraged. Sabrina demanded that he help rescue the Princess, saying that, if he did not, she herself would burn Llwynarth to the ground. Gwen and Arthur added their protests, for it seemed monstrous that they not help Enid. Even Cariadas and gentle Sinend argued for the rescue.
Of them all, only Rhiannon said nothing, until the argument reached a fever pitch. At this she rose, and there was something in her stance, something in her face, that made everyone fall silent.
“The Dreamer is right,” she
said quietly, to Gwydion’s astonishment.
“King Owein,” she continued in the shocked silence, “Prince Rhiwallon, truly do we understand your feelings and your love for your sister. But understand this. There is nothing we can do. We have all sacrificed for our country, haven’t we? Sinend, you ran away from your home to throw in your lot with those who had been outlawed. Cariadas, you have not seen your father for years at a time, and have lost the Master Bard, whom you loved, to the enemy. Sabrina, you have endured shame for being a Druid, and for being powerless to save Enid from her folly. Trystan, you, too, have endured shame—the shame of surviving your King and Queen. Owein and Rhiwallon, you have lost your mother and father. And your eldest brother, too, has died at the hands of the Coranians.
“All this—these heartaches, these tragedies—are lamented by the Kymri. But there is more at stake here than Enid’s future. Kymru is at stake. What Enid did, she did of her own free will, hard as that is to accept. And though you love her, you must leave her to the consequences of her actions.”
Rhiannon’s cool, smooth voice rippled through the tent. At her words the Stone beneath her hand seemed to glow brighter. Her pearl ring gleamed. “I do not speak for myself in this,” she went on wryly. “Left to myself, I would, as we all know, oppose the Dreamer’s wishes to my last breath.”
She glanced at Gwydion, and he abruptly shut his mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. “But remember,” she went on, “that the Shining Ones knew that this would happen. For listen now to the line of a song that was left to guide us in our darkest hour: ‘Fast was the trap of the woman in Caer Erias.’ And Caer Erias, the fortress in Llwynarth, is where Enid now waits the day of her marriage. Her trap is unbreakable. We cannot help her. We can only pity her. And, if we can, get from her the ring of PenMarch, to make our last hope come to fruition.”
After she was done, the silence in the tent lengthened. At last, Owein looked up, his blue eyes lined with tears. “I have sent Dudod to Llwynarth as the Dreamer wished. I will leave my sister in captivity, if this is what I must do. But you must take Trystan with you. And Trystan will be guided by this wish—that if there is any way to rescue my sister, he will do it. And if there is not, he will give her my love and my hope for a better life to come the next turn of the Wheel.”
