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

by J. M. Hofer

  Though Uthyr had gotten his way, his brother’s lack of opposition in the matter worried him. He had expected a heated discussion. He must be very ill, indeed. Lord, I know I don’t pray like the priests say I should, but, at least, hear me now—please, don’t take my brother from me. Please. I can’t live without him. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Get well, brother. I need you.”

  ***

  Taliesin kneeled by Emrys’ side, thinking he looked much older than his years. His face spoke of many battles and sleepless nights, leathered and scarred, lined with the worries of all the chieftains who had come to rely on him. “How may I serve, High Commander?”

  Emrys let out a weak sigh. “If I die on this damn cot, I need you to take care of something for me.” His narrowed his eyes on Taliesin’s face, scrutinizing it. “My brother is convinced you’re as powerful as Myrthin, whom I’d planned to entrust this task to, but he’s disappeared again. It’s not the first time. I don’t fault him for it. He listens to voices most of us cannot hear.” He closed his eyes a moment as if the effort to speak were too much to bear.

  Taliesin felt honored but a bit irritated he had only been asked because Myrthin was not available. “I know where Myrthin is, if you wish to find him.”

  “Do you?”

  “Shall I send him to you?” He refrained from mentioning the grove. It was forbidden to do so.

  “No, no. Wherever he is, I’m certain he has his reasons for being there. Let him be.”

  Taliesin nodded. “I don’t know the extent of Myrthin’s power or how it compares to my own, but I welcome a challenge and am willing to help in any way I can.”

  “Good, because this will not be an easy task. Many moons ago, I visited the graves of the chieftains Hengist murdered at Ambrius. I wept for them, but tears are a poor tribute. They deserve more than that. I want to build something grand to honor them—something that will endure for all time.”

  Taliesin remembered the churches Emrys was so fond of building. “Like a church? Or a temple?”

  Emrys shook his head. “Not quite. Many of those men were neither Romans nor Christians. What we build must be something all their clanspeople will look upon with awe and pride. I appealed to the local carpenters and masons to help design a monument, but none dared undertake the task. They feared they lacked the skill to create something worthy enough.”

  Taliesin’s mind spun with possibilities, inspired by the sentiment. “Leave this task to me, noble Emrys. I swear upon my blood, our fallen will have a worthy monument.” The moment he proclaimed his intention, a vision of giant stones standing upon a vast plain flashed in his mind. “It will stand for eternity, long past your death and mine.”

  Emrys smiled and nodded. “I’ll leave it to you, then, Taliesin. I’ll ask Uthyr to provide you with anything you need. Come to me when you have a plan, if I still have breath to speak of it.”

  Taliesin nodded. “I shall not fail you.”

  Now what? Taliesin thought as he left the hall. Where am I to find the stones you’ve shown me, Great Mother? He pictured them again in his mind—long slabs of grey-blue stones. He had only ever seen such blue-colored stone in the north, high in the mountains. He left the king’s chamber and found Uthyr waiting for him.

  “What did he say?”

  “He wishes for us to build a monument for those murdered in Ambrius.”

  “That’s all?”

  Taliesin raised his brows. “Is it not enough? You say that as if you think it will be easy.”

  Uthyr pursed his lips. “No, of course not. But it’ll have to wait. I’ll take no chances with Pasgen. We should have killed him when we had the chance. I need good men for this job. We leave tomorrow for Mynyth Aur, and then on to visit the other chieftains of Gwyneth and Powys. And we’ll need ships.”

  “Let’s visit my father, then,” Taliesin suggested. “He commands a great many ships. He’ll surely lend them to the task.”

  Uthyr’s face lit up. “How many?”

  “He commands twenty, now. All fit to carry a hundred men and supplies.”

  Uthyr grinned. “I think it’s time I met the man, then. First, to Mynyth Aur, then on to your dear father.” He slapped Taliesin on the back and strode off.

  ***

  Uthyr, Taliesin and Neirin journeyed on to Mynyth Aur the next morning, passing the time discussing the political dangers Emrys now faced. They were many, and they were mounting.

  “Power breeds enemies,” Neirin said coolly to Uthyr. “Your brother, though perhaps more admired than even your father, has acquired a dangerous host of enemies. They must be watched.”

  Uthyr spat. “The more we do away with, the less we have to watch.”

  Neirin took a deep breath. “Enemies are often like the hydra, unfortunately. Cut one head off, and three more grow in its place.”

  “Best aim for the heart, then,” Uthyr said.

  They reached Mynyth Aur by mid-afternoon. Taliesin stared at the village as soon as it came into view, scanning it for any flicker of activity. So intent was he on watching the village that he scarcely noticed the sound of a horse galloping up behind them.

  “Who’s that?” Uthyr asked, stabbing his thumb in the air behind him.

  Taliesin looked back to see Arhianna riding toward them, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. “You’re back!”

  “I don’t think she knows it’s you,” Taliesin said to Uthyr with a wink, dismounting.

  “Good,” Uthyr grinned. “She’ll be herself, then.”

  Arhianna rode up, jumped off her horse and ran into Taliesin’s open arms. “So much has happened. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  ***

  Bran and all the men of his council stood around the long table in the motherhouse, studying the map Uthyr had laid out before them.

  “I’ll be brief,” Uthyr began. “That bloody ungrateful wretch, Pasgen, has raised an army against Emrys. He’s recently recruited Gillomanius to his cause, as well. We believe their ships will land in Menevia within a moon.” He pointed to its shores upon the map. “Emrys yet ails from his wounds and has asked me to lead our forces against them in his place. May we count on your support once again?”

  “You know you may,” Bran consented. If my damn heart holds out. For some reason, today, his pain was worse than usual. I need more of Lucia’s tonic. I shouldn’t have practiced with Gareth so much this morning. He tried his best to block it from his mind. “I suppose you’ll need ships?”

  Uthyr nodded. “We will. Taliesin has offered to petition his father for them.”

  Taliesin pointed to his home on the map. “Maes Gwythno is here. Up the coast, a day’s sail from Menevia—less, if the winds are favorable. With ships, we could attack from both land and sea.”

  Uthyr nodded his approval. “Good. Now, I’ve got seven more chieftains to visit. Then, I’ll march all the men we have south to Menevia. Taliesin, you stay in Gwythno, and I’ll send a messenger within the week.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’ll help with your recruiting efforts,” Bran offered. “The chieftains of Gwyneth are like brothers to me.”

  Uthyr nodded. “That would be helpful.”

  “That’ll leave me to look after the clan, I suppose.” Maur sighed. “My fightin’ days are over. Wish they weren’t, but they are. You lads all come back, you hear me? There’s nothin’ more heart-breakin’ than the sound of wailin’ women.”

  “Done, then.” Bran felt his anxiety building. My fighting days might soon be over as well, at this rate. “Maur will see to your needs, Uthyr. I need to find my wife. Please excuse me.” He did not wait for Uthyr to reply. He left the motherhouse and went home, walking as quickly as he could manage. He burst through the door and collapsed on a bench. “I need another tonic.”

  “But you already had one today,” Lucia protested.

  “Well, I need another one!” Bran felt his pain spike, which only fueled his irritation. “Dammit, Lucia, just s
how me how to make it, and I’ll do it myself. I don’t like having to come to you every time I need it, anyway.” He took a deep breath and winced.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, I can’t! It’s too dangerous...I told you, no more than one a day.”

  This is ridiculous. Bran stood up, losing what was left of his restraint. “Lucia, whatever damage those herbs can do, it can’t possibly be worse than this! Don’t you understand? I can’t live like this. When the pain comes, that tonic is the only thing that makes living in his body bearable! So either make it, show me how, or I’ll beg Arawn to put an end to my fucking misery!”

  Lucia’s face looked as if he had stabbed her with his spear. She shoved him with such ferocity he stumbled backwards. “Don’t you dare say that to me!” Her lips quivered and eyes welled with tears. “Don’t you dare leave me!” She pulled a pouch out from underneath her robe. “Here! Go ahead. Use it all, if you want! But when it’s gone, it’s gone—and I have no idea how to get any more. Nothing in that pouch grows here. Believe me, I’ve looked. I’ve hunted every field and forest for miles around. Only Myrthin knows what’s in there and how to get it!”

  “Myrthin?” Bran bent down and picked up the pouch, eyeing the strange talismans tied to its strings. “You got this from Myrthin?”

  Lucia looked as if she were being pulled apart. “Yes.”

  Bran nodded, studying the pouch in his palm. “I need to speak with him.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait, Bran. Give it back.”

  “Why?” He ambled closer, looking for deception in her eyes. “Are you using it, too?”

  She furrowed her brow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Are you using it?”

  “No!”

  He held up the pouch. “This is mine now.” He left the house and went out into the night, seeking a quiet place where he would not be bothered. He passed the stable and saw no one was there. He went in, and Gethen whinnied a greeting. Bran smiled in spite of his pain and stroked his muzzle. “Hello, old friend.” He sat down with his back against Gethen’s stall door, relaxing into it. He opened the strange pouch, grabbed a pinch of whatever was inside it, pressed it between his fingers and wadded it up in his mouth. He chewed it until it was soft and then pushed it between his teeth and cheek. The pain instantly began to fade, filling him with euphoria. He lay down in the hay, surrendering to the relief. He looked up to see Gethen’s large black eye staring down at him.

  “I know, I know,” he croaked. He squeezed the pouch, terror filling him at the thought of how it would feel empty. Since returning home from Jutland, the ache in his heart had slowly gotten worse and the episodes of spiking pain more frequent. The only time he had been free from it had been the time he had spent in Vanaheim and Valhalla. He had even enjoyed a reprieve for awhile after having returned. But, since then, especially after the battle at Mais Belli, it had only gotten worse. Arawn had not warned him about that. One way or another, this pouch must remain full. He dreaded being indebted to Myrthin but saw no other way.

  ***

  Arhianna felt terribly disappointed Taliesin was leaving again so soon. “You come home only to turn around and leave again. And Gareth gets to go with you. I wish you were staying longer. Things aren’t the same here without you.”

  He cocked his head and squinted at her. “I can tell you’re troubled. What’s wrong?”

  She sighed. Since returning home, a growing sense of dissatisfaction had gnawed at her. “I wish I’d been born a man.”

  Taliesin laughed. “I’m glad you weren’t.”

  She shook her head. “I feel left behind, more so all the time. You and Gareth are traveling, seeing new places, doing things, honing your craft—and I’m…oh, I don’t know!” She let out a frustrated groan and put her face in her hands. “Here, I’m still regarded as a child. What’s worse, I can feel myself acting like one, from time to time. I feel I’m losing the woman I became while I was Jørren’s queen. I don’t know if that even makes any sense.”

  He sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “It does. I understand.” He had been but four years old when he had pushed his little boat out into the sea and sought his destiny. “Don’t despair. Your soul is telling you your destiny lies elsewhere, that’s all.”

  “Yes, but I feel restless. I must do something.”

  Taliesin nodded and looked up at the sky. “Why not sail with Creirwy and Tegid on the Ceffyl Dŵr next summer? She would let you come along, I’ll bet. It’s worth asking her. I’m sure a Firebrand would come in useful on board.”

  Arhianna pictured herself standing on the deck of the Ceffyl Dŵr instead of the dock as the ship pulled out of the harbor at Maes Gwythno and felt a jolt of excitement. Since the day she had first laid eyes on the Ceffyl Dŵr, she had dreamed of becoming like Creirwy, sailing away to other lands. “Do you really think she could convince Tegid to let me sail with them?”

  “I think Creirwy can convince just about any man to do anything she wants—but none more so than father.”

  She nodded, liking the idea more and more. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Midsummer isn’t that far away. And your mother’s sailed with them before. Why not me?”

  Taliesin smiled at her. “Yes, why not?”

  She grabbed his face and kissed his cheek. What she would have preferred to do was kiss him on the mouth, the way he had kissed her that strange afternoon, but she did not feel that bold.

  Taliesin then asked, “What of Myrthin? Is he still living in the grove?”

  Arhianna shrugged. She had only seen the druid a few times when he had come to deliver medicine or messages to her father. “As far as I know. He almost never comes to the village. He’s a strange fellow. Far stranger than Islwyn. Mother goes to the grove sometimes to check on him.”

  Taliesin nodded. “Tell her to keep an eye on him. Uthyr doesn’t trust him.”

  Arhianna raised her brows, intrigued. “Well, in that case, I’ll keep an eye on him myself.”

  ***

  Taliesin felt happy to see the gorse in bloom when he and Gareth reached the coastline of Maes Gwythno. It reminded him of the many mornings his mother had carried him down to the sea when he was still a wee babe. He remembered looking down over her shoulder at its yellow flowers as she made her way along the narrow footpath to the shore.

  They reached Caer Gwythno by mid-afternoon. Taliesin rode up to the gates and gave his name to a guard, who clearly did not recognize him.

  “And Gareth of the Oaks.” Gareth tossed back his hood.

  The guard’s face broke into a smile. “Lord Gareth! Yes, excuse me.” He opened the gate, letting them through.

  They gave their horses to the stable boy and entered the castle to find the household bustling. Gareth grabbed the nearest servant. “Go tell Lord Elffin his son, Taliesin, has returned home. We’ll be waiting for him in the hall.”

  The servant looked as shocked as if Gareth had struck her. “Yes, my lord. Right away.”

  Gareth glanced at Taliesin and furrowed his brow. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

  “I’ve not been back since the raid.” He felt ashamed as he said it. He had meant to return far sooner than this, but one thing had led to another, and it had simply not happened. He turned toward the door as he heard bootsteps upon the flagstone.

  “Taliesin? Is that you beneath that beard?”

  Taliesin stood up to greet him. “It is, Father.”

  Elffin’s face lit up. He smothered him in an embrace, and then stood back to look at him again. “If it weren’t for your eyes, I’d never have recognized you.”

  “I’ve changed. But Gwythno hasn’t—it’s exactly how I remember it, except bigger, and busier. Does no one daydream here?”

  Elffin laughed. “I’m so proud of you. I hear you’re bard to Uthyr, now.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m so proud of you. In all my life, there’s never
been a day more blessed than the day I pulled you from the sea.”

  Taliesin felt his remorse increase, for he saw terrible loneliness in the wells of his father’s eyes. He embraced him again and held him tight. “Thank you, Father.”

  ***

  Of course, Elffin agreed to provide the ships Uthyr requested. Day and night, for two weeks, Gwythno prepared its ships and sons for battle, waiting for word to come from Cambria.

  Gareth was in the shipyard with the Oaks when a messenger arrived.

  “I seek Gareth of the Oaks or Taliesin the Bard.”

  “I’m Gareth of the Oaks. What news?”

  The messenger handed him a sealed parchment. “Your orders, my lord.”

  Gareth broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Uthyr had sent a map marked with specific locations and instructions on where to sail the ships.

  “Thank you.” He dismissed the messenger and ran to the castle.

  The bells of Gwythno were tolling within minutes, bidding men report to their ships. The fleet was to sail south immediately.

  ***

  “There she is!” Irwyn cried, pointing to the harbor. “That’s Menevia.”

  Gareth felt a thrill as they docked. The harbor was teeming with soldiers and ships. From the looks of it, legions of men had come to fight.

  The Oaks were reunited that afternoon and spent the remainder of the day in preparation for the battle they were told they could expect any day. Until then, they would wait.

  Night fell, and the Oaks gathered around their fires. Gareth looked around at the battle camp. Fires stretched out in all directions, as did the sound of voices singing. Taliesin had gone to play for Uthyr and his commanders, but his father had stayed there in the camp with his men. Gareth assumed it was because he did not wish to risk seeing Aelhaearn.

  The sky was clear and the stars bright. Gareth gazed up at them, imagining thousands of warriors sitting around each star the way he and his fellow warriors were sitting around their many campfires. “Emrys’ army has grown. I’ve never seen so many men in one place in my life.” The vastness of the camp filled him with excitement and courage. “We’re a force, now—a force united in purpose, the way the Romans were.”