Rise of the Pendragon (Islands in the Mist Book 3)

by J. M. Hofer

  “Of course,” she answered, handing her a cup, for she had already seen to it. “Come and sit. Tell me what you think of our Taliesin, returned from his travels.”

  Arhianna did not want to share what she thought. At times, her feelings for Taliesin threatened to eclipse her feelings for Jørren. She felt tangled and confused, and angry with herself. Are feelings of love such fleeting things? No more substantial than snowflakes or dry autumn leaves? How can something that feels as enduring as an oak float away so quickly, as if it were nothing more than a feather upon the breeze? She drank deeply, regarding Taliesin as both beloved and stranger. Whoever he was now had stirred something deep within her, something Jørren had never reached, and she felt both frightened and ashamed.

  Many wanted to speak with her, of course, so she turned her attention to them. She listened to their stories and endured an endless stream of well wishing, until, at last, the feast began. She was hungry, and it was a welcome distraction to sit down with a plate of roasted boar. She and Gareth sat on either side of her mother. As she ate her plate of familiar food, surrounded by her family, she felt a warm cloak of safety and contentment envelop her. She took a moment and closed her eyes, offering a prayer of thanks to Freya and the Great Mother.

  Once bellies had been filled, people began crying out for music. “Play for us, Taliesin!” Compliments and entreaties erupted from all over the hall, each more creative and charming than the last, until Taliesin smiled and picked up his harp. He came and sat in front of Arhianna, setting her heart aflutter, and looked sincerely into her eyes. “For our dear Arhianna, returned to us at last.”

  The Oaks cheered their approval.

  When he began to sing, everything around her faded away, including her inner torment. His voice filled her body, humming through her blood. She felt nothing but his music and saw nothing but his face for the few hours that followed. He sang of the fall of Vortigern, the treachery of Hengist, the nobility of their good commander, Emrys, and the battle-prowess of her own beloved father, but he also sang of love—a love as pure and hot as the center of a star, full of passionate desperation—a love tragic and beautiful, that called forth tears from every eye, men and women alike, but none more so than Arhianna. Such was the love that stood strong and eternal, like an oak, firmly rooted…rather than the love that came and went like leaves in the autumn breeze.

  Such was the love she realized Taliesin must have known, and she had not.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Arawn’s Demand

  Come to me.

  Bran’s heart nearly burst out of his chest, waking him from sleep. He lay paralyzed beneath the furs, stunned and covered in sweat. His body hummed with energy as if a colony of bees had built a hive within his ribs.

  “Bran?” Lucia whispered, her tone urgent. “Are you alright?”

  He caught his breath before answering, “Arawn came to me.”

  “What do you mean? In your dreams?”

  “Yes. I must go to the grove.”

  “Now?” Lucia sat up. “Why?”

  Bran sat up as well and lit a candle, his nerves still tingling. He felt a wave of dizziness and sat still until it passed. “He must want something of me.”

  Lucia furrowed her brow. “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “Come to me.”

  “Come to me? That’s it?”

  Bran let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s all.”

  Lucia shook her head. “Damn the gods!” She put her face in her hands. “Damn the gods! The moment we have Arhianna back, he insists on taking you? What kind of torture is this? Am I never to have my family together again?”

  Bran pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. “Shhhhh. Stop. I’ll be back. I promise—“

  Lucia pushed away from him. “You know you can’t make that promise—you don’t know if you’ll be back! You have no idea what he’s going to ask of you.”

  Over the years, Bran had learned reasoning with his wife when she was upset was pointless. The only thing that worked was love. He pulled her close. “You’re right, you’re right…but, Lucia…” She was not looking at him, so he took her chin and turned it toward him, locking eyes with her. “Lucia, you know I have no choice.”

  Lucia had often envisioned this day and how she would manage it, but, with the passing of the years, she had dared to stop worrying about it. Arawn had never once called upon her husband since the Battle of the Crossroads, though it was his right to do so. Not until now. Perhaps, like Jørren, Bran was about to be asked to do something that would compromise his life or his honor. Or worse, his very soul. Arhianna’s sad words leapt into her mind as she looked into her husband’s eyes. “Jørren insisted he had no choice. We owed Hengist everything. He could not refuse him.”

  “You know I can’t refuse,” he said, echoing her thoughts.

  The idea of losing him softened her temper, filling her with desperation instead. She gripped him tightly, breathing in his smell. She tried not to think the worst, though it was in her nature to do so. “I know you can’t. So make love to me again before you go. You’ve only just gotten home.”

  Bran took Lucia in his arms, happy to comply. He still grew excited by the prospect of taking her, unlike many men who tired of bedding their wives as the years marched on. This kind of numbness had not befallen them. Her green eyes still stunned him as much as they had the day he had first seen her in the doorway of her villa so many years ago. He loved her as if she were a part of himself, like his own body or inner thoughts.

  He made love to her, saying with his body all of the things that his words invariably fumbled at. Afterwards, they lay together within their own thoughts, waiting for the sun to rise, and then walked together to the grove.

  ***

  Bran and Lucia came upon Taliesin sitting in front of Islwyn’s hut, drinking tea. He heard them approach and turned. “Ah. I know why you’ve come. I’m going with you.”

  Bran and Lucia looked at one another and then back at Taliesin. Islwyn came out of the hut with two cups of tea and motioned for them to come inside. “Please, join us.”

  They went inside, took their tea and sat down next to the fire.

  “I am to take you to Arawn,” Taliesin explained. “He came to me in the night.”

  Bran felt pleased. Taliesin was no longer a child. He had become a man in the time he was away—a man with deep wisdom of not only this world, but the Otherworld as well. “Do you know why he’s asked for me? Us, I mean?”

  Taliesin shook his head. “That was not revealed to me. Only where we are to enter his realm.”

  “Where?”

  Taliesin poked at the fire. “Dinas Emrys. Through the side of the mountain.”

  Bran felt a jolt of excitement. “The lair of the red dragon,” he remarked, trying his best to hide his enthusiasm from Lucia. Dinas Emrys was the name the people had given the new fortress Emrys had built atop the mountain where he had vanquished Vortigern. Taliesin had told him the riveting story of the two dragons, and he had been scheming to find an excuse to travel to Dinas Emrys ever since. “Seems a fitting place for an entrance into the Underworld.”

  Taliesin nodded. “Arawn awaits us there.”

  Lucia scowled. “And how does Arawn expect you to dig into the side of the mountain without attracting the attention of Emrys’ men? Or do you intend to ask Emrys if you can open up the mountain and risk setting a dragon free to roam his castle mount?”

  “I know a way in,” Taliesin said. “A small gap, hidden, and only narrow enough for a single man to pass through. Certainly not wide enough for a dragon.”

  Bran shrugged. “Let’s go, then. Though Arawn has eternity, I dare not keep him waiting.” He turned to Lucia and kissed her. “Besides. The sooner we go, the sooner we can return.”

  He saw fear and disappointment in her eyes. Though he truly had no choice but to obey Arawn, he could not help but feel guilty for now want
ing to go. He held her close and kissed her. “I love you. Keep the clan safe.”

  ***

  Lucia’s anxiety increased as she, Bran and Taliesin walked back to the village. For some reason, leaving Islwyn alone worried her. Though his mind remained sharp, she noticed his body slowly fading away. He had seemed especially fragile and weary on this visit. Is it because Taliesin is leaving? Though her mind recoiled at the thought of losing him, she knew he would not be among them for much longer. What if he falls ill, or has an accident, and no one is there to help him? Great Mother, what if he were to die alone? She silently made a vow she would visit him every day until Taliesin returned. Her promise placated her worries somewhat. Feeling better, she turned her attention outward. The sun came out from behind the clouds as they passed along the edge of the fields. She noted with satisfaction how tall and healthy the crops looked. Soon, it would be midsummer. They would have good cause to celebrate, but somehow, she doubted Bran and Taliesin would be there for it. She grew melancholy again as the guards opened the village gates for them.

  It was not long before Gareth and Arhianna realized they had returned. “Where are you going?” Arhianna demanded, breathless from rushing over.

  “Taliesin and I have been called away.”

  Gareth’s eyes widened. “Can I come with you?”

  Bran shook his head. “I need you to act as chieftain in my place while I’m away as you did before.” He gripped his son’s shoulder. “With Neirin and Idris gone, I need you here more than ever.”

  Though he did his best to hide it, Lucia could see the disappointment in her son’s forced smile. “As you command, Father.” Gareth had always been the more practical and responsible of her children, but she knew he longed for adventure. Staying behind while Taliesin went along would be harder on him still.

  “Called away where?” Arhianna demanded of her father.

  “Dinas Emrys. And we should have left at dawn.”

  “I’ll ready the horses,” Taliesin volunteered, heading toward the stables. “It’s a short journey, shall I saddle Gethen for you?”

  Bran turned to Lucia and kissed her on the forehead. “No, he belongs to my wife, now. Best thing that could ever have happened to him.” He squeezed her. “Can you put together some food for us?”

  She nodded and took Arhianna by the arm. “Come, you can help me.”

  She turned to say something encouraging to Gareth, but he was already on his way to the forge, shoulders hunched over and head bent toward the ground. You’ll have your time at the knife’s edge, son. Gods help me, I know you will. Don’t be in such a hurry to dance with death.

  ***

  Bran and Taliesin took the main road east until it forked northward into more rugged territory. The mountains loomed ever larger on the horizon, and, as always, Bran felt a growing sense of anticipation. He loved the Eryri. Its ancient, craggy sentinels were at once beckoning and foreboding. His blood rushed at the sight of them, like the cold wind attacking his face.

  When the gusts died down enough that they could speak to one another without shouting, Bran turned to Taliesin. “Emrys will want to know why we’ve come. What shall we tell him?”

  Taliesin seemed to already have a plan. “I’ve not yet paid homage to Emrys. It’s my desire to do so. He knows it was I who foretold of the dragons within the mountain. I’ll offer to entertain him and his court when we arrive.”

  “And then?”

  Taliesin tilted his head. “Then, we slip into the mountain after everyone’s asleep.”

  “And when we’re nowhere to be found the next morning? We can’t simply disappear without a word.”

  Taliesin shrugged. “We can say we’re merely passing through on our way to Gwythno and plan to leave before the sun rises the next morning. Just before dawn, I’ll lead our horses from the stable and send them home.” He bent down and whispered something to his horse, who whinnied. “They know the way.” He gave his mare a loving stroke and patted her on the neck.

  Bran could not tell if Taliesin was joking or not, but felt it best to assume he was not.

  They were met upon the road by a granite-faced sentry long before they reached Dinas Emrys. “Name yourselves.”

  “Bran of Mynyth Aur, Chieftain of the Oaks, and the bard, Taliesin.”

  “Taliesin?” the sentry asked, his eyes widening. “The bard who shamed Vortigern’s druids?”

  Bran raised his brows and looked over at Taliesin.

  “The same,” Taliesin confirmed. “I’ve come to pledge my fealty to Emrys and play for his men tonight, if it would please him. The noble chieftain, Bran, who is already known to Emrys, will vouch for me.”

  The sentry gave a nod of approval. “Wait here.”

  Within the hour, the sentry returned. “The commander will see you. Follow me.” He led them through an enormous battle camp along a river and then up the long, winding trail to Emrys’ fortress. Night had nearly fallen, and the land was bathed in a pale orange light. The higher they climbed, the more Bran could see of the battle camp below. Cooking fires winked into view. A few men were singing. Faint choruses reached his ears, floating up on the night breeze. Hundreds of tents flanked the river, stretching much further than they had when Bran had first come to pay his respects. Which of those fires are our men sitting around? Several of the Oaks had joined Emrys’ army, eager to slay Saxons. That was me, once, Bran recalled with a wry smile. So full of piss and fight I could scarcely lay down my spear to sleep at night. He sighed, suddenly feeling very old.

  ***

  Bran and Taliesin presented themselves to Emrys in his hall that night in the midst of a modest feast. The food was simple but plentiful. Though he had been there less than two moons ago to pledge fealty and discuss arms, Bran felt happy to return. Emrys’ hall radiated optimism and a victorious spirit, like the camp stretching out below them. He longed to be a part of it. He knew every man in the hall was willing to die for Emrys, and he counted himself among them. For the first time in years, we have a king we can believe in—one who won’t invite wolves into our flocks, or marry the daughter of our enemy. Then, as if the gods wished to rebuke him, he thought of Arhianna and Jørren. He cringed, wishing for the thousandth time he had brought her home on that fateful day. I’m a terrible father. No better than that bastard, Vortigern. Bloody hell, I let my only daughter marry a Saxon! And for what? Is she happy, living the life she was convinced she would not find anywhere else? No! She left him. It was all for nothing. If I were a good father, I would have forced her to come home. I should have listened to Lucia. I could have protected her from this, but I didn’t. In time, she would have seen it was for the best.

  He felt Taliesin tap him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. “Lord Bran, are you unwell?”

  He shook his head and forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

  When it came their time, they went forward and presented themselves to Emrys. The young king smiled. “Back so soon, Bran of the Oaks? I hope you’ve decided to stay this time.” He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Uthyr and I need warriors like you—as many as we can get—if we expect to defeat Hengist.”

  Uthyr narrowed his eyes on Bran. “We do, indeed.”

  Bran felt flattered. “Thank you, High Commander. That day will come, I’m certain. My visit this time is as an escort to my close friend and advisor, the bard Taliesin, whom you may have heard of.”

  Taliesin bowed his head.

  “Ah, yes! The infamous Taliesin!” Emrys wiped his hands, stood up and motioned for them to come closer. “Please, approach.”

  Taliesin walked forward, all eyes in the hall following him.

  “So, you’re the bard who made fools of Vortigern’s druids and discovered the dragons within this mountain?”

  “I am, Lord.”

  “And, where are they now?”

  Taliesin wrinkled his nose. “The druids or the dragons?”

  “I know where the druids are.” Emrys sighed. “If
one can call them druids.”

  Taliesin nodded. “The dragons, then. The white has fled, and the red still sleeps beneath us.”

  The hall became a sea of gasps and murmurs. Uthyr, who had barely looked up from his meal since Bran and Taliesin arrived, dropped his leg of lamb and stood up at his brother’s side. He pinned his eyes on Taliesin. “You’re certain of this?”

  “Yes, I’m certain.”

  Emrys furrowed his brow. “Do we have anything to fear?”.

  “I don’t believe so, as long as she’s not disturbed…however, dragons are unpredictable creatures.”

  “Then we must ensure she is not disturbed.”

  “That would be wise, my lord.”

  Emrys nodded. He dismissed two of the men near him and motioned to their places at the table. “Please, sit.” The two previous occupants of their seats gave them suspicious glances as they left, but, of course, said nothing.

  Uthyr leaned forward. “So, Taliesin, why is it you’ve come to my brother’s fortress? To warn us of this dragon?”

  “No, my lord. I came to pledge my fealty and my services as a bard, should they ever be desired.”

  Bran saw Emrys glance across the hall and followed his gaze. He noticed someone staring at them from beneath the half-light of a torch and felt his heart skip a beat. The man looked as if he had been wandering the moors for a century. He held a twisted yew staff in his right hand. His shaggy grey hair fell to his chest, and his shoulders seemed to droop from the weight of the numerous necklaces he wore. He caught Bran’s eye and stared at him boldly, unblinking.

  “I have been blessed with such an advisor that I trust with my life,” Emrys said, still gazing in the strange man’s direction. “But one never knows when the Lord will take our friends and loved ones into his arms.”

  Uthyr seemed to bristle at this comment.

  Taliesin nodded. “Indeed.” He found it both strange and encouraging that a Christian king would keep the regular counsel of a druid—and such a strange one at that.

  “Master Taliesin, I would have you entertain in my hall tonight, if you are willing. I’ve heard your voice and playing know no equal. How could I deny my hall the pleasure, after hearing so much about you?”