The Two Tanists (A Bard Without a Star, Book 2)

by Michael A. Hooten

  Kyrnin frowned. “My heifer is not for sale.”

  Gwydion held up his hands. “I meant no offense, lords! But perhaps we could discuss the issue?”

  “I don’t know why,” Kyrnin said. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Where did you say you were from?”

  “Turian,” Gwydion said. “It is across the sea, to the south of here.”

  “I’ve heard of it. But my heifer would do poorly there,” Kyrnin said. “Too hot and dry.”

  “Yes,” Gwydion said. “But that is only the north. The south is still hot, but quite lush.”

  Kyrnin shook his head. “I think not.”

  Gwydion said, “I do not come empty handed, my lord. I have six fine hunting falcons to offer you.”

  “I saw them. They are very nice, but the answer is no.”

  “And the stallions?” Gwydion said. “Perhaps you would prefer the horses to their riders.”

  Kyrnin shook his head. “My heifer always has two calves in the spring. There is no telling that your stallions will produce similar offspring.”

  Gwydion was watching Gwillim out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be holding his breath as Gwydion and Kyrnin haggled. When Gwydion offered the stallions with their bridles and saddles, he interrupted. “Per Grojian? Do you mind if I had a private word with my son for a moment?”

  “Not at all,” Gwydion said. “Take your time, please.”

  Gwillim pulled his son into a far corner of the hall, and several other men joined them. The wind brought their conversation clearly to Gwydion’s ears; Lord Dyfed and the others, who seemed to be leading lairds from the cantref, attempted to convince Kyrnin to take the bargain. Kyrnin kept refusing, and Gwillim asked in exasperation, “What is the matter? What do have against trading your heifer?”

  “I just don’t like it,” Kyrnin said. “It feels wrong to me.”

  “Feels wrong!” Gwillim said. “Fine! But if he offers much more, you may be facing a revolt if you refuse.”

  Kyrnin laughed. “Who would lead such a thing?”

  “I would,” Gwillim said.

  They returned to the table, Gwillim looking furious, and Kyrnin looking bemused. Gwydion said, “My pardons if I have upset your house, my Lord.”

  “It is nothing,” Gwillim said with a glare at his son.

  Gwydion pulled his harp around. “Perhaps a song would help? It has been known that music can calm a raging heart; perhaps it could improve our moods.”

  “Yes, that is fine,” Gwillim said.

  “Then I shall play the song that I told you of before, yes?” At Gwillim’s terse nod, Gwydion touched his fingers to the strings, and before he even had a chance to apply any magic, he felt something resisting him. He continued to play, telling a convoluted story about a god who made the first harp of fish bones, and used it to control the world, but part of his mind was probing the strange magic working against him.

  It seemed to be drawn to his music, but every time he tried to start using it to make magic, the force resisted him. He kept his song soothing, both for his audience and for the almost sentient magic. He probed at it cautiously, subtly, but it seemed malevolent, although mostly directed at the cantref, not Gwydion personally. It dawned on him suddenly that he was dealing with a cursed land, and that the curse evidently had a real, magical presence. He played a bit longer, trying to find a way to get the curse to help him, but it seemed oblivious to him except when he started feeding magic into his music. Then it turned its power on him, forcing him to defend himself.

  He drew his song to a close, grateful that music by itself was indeed soothing. Gwillim and Kyrnin both looked more relaxed and open. Gwillim said, “Your music was unusual, Per Grojian, but the story was well told. Thank you.” He took a gold ring from his finger. “In this country, we reward storytellers. Would you take this ring in consideration for your harping?”

  Gwydion lifted his hands. “I know not this tradition. Please, give me nothing; I offered this for your benefit, and have better things to barter with than a song.”

  The mention of barter made Kyrnin’s face cloudy again. “My heifer is not for sale at any price.”

  Gwydion nodded sagely. “I see it has value to you more than my mere trinkets. You are a wise man.”

  Gwillim looked disappointed that the trade would happen, and several of his lairds looked shocked to anger. Even Gwydion’s company seemed surprised that he had given in so easily. The rest of the evening was spent with Gwydion fending off Gwillim’s attempts to trade something else for the company’s finery.

  After the meal ended, Gwydion said, “Would it be permissible to check on my animals?”

  “Of course,” Gwillim said. “Adaf will lead you to the stables.”

  Bran and the others made as if to accompany him, but Gwydion waved them all away except for Cofach. “We are safe here, my men. I only need the groom here to assist me.”

  Bran looked thunderous, but he allowed himself to be led away with the others. Gwydion and Cofach followed Adaf back to the courtyard. Adaf seemed to be intent on boasting about every stone they saw along the way, and Gwydion gently steered him back on track. “My animals, chief.”

  “Of course, of course,” Adaf said. “They are in here, along with the heifer that you tried to get from us.”

  “Your lord’s son is too shrewd for me.”

  “Stubborn, I’d say,” Adaf said with a trace of irritation. The stables seemed to have an inordinate number of people, most of them gawking along one side. Adaf yelled, “Get out of here, the lot of you! Our guest would like to look at his animals himself, without all your stares down his neck!”

  The spectators milled about a bit, heading in several different directions, trying to appear nonchalant and innocent. Adaf shook his head and called out, “Oy! Eynon! Where are you man?”

  “Right here, where I belong,” said a hulking man with work worn face and hands, coming out of one of the stalls with a pitchfork and a bucket. “Whatcha need, Adaf?”

  “This man here is the owner of the stallions,” Adaf said. “He wants to make sure they are being taken care of.”

  “Of course they are,” Eynon said, spitting on the ground. “Horses are horses, no matter how fine they may seem. They need water and clean straw, and these here have both.”

  As Gwydion and Cofach went through each of the stalls holding the stallions, Eynon watched them closely. “Where’d you say you’re from?” he asked.

  “They are great traders from across the sea,” Adaf said. “Mind how you speak to them!”

  “Eh, fine,” Eynon grumbled. “Just never seen stallions with such docile temperaments before. Remind more of well-bred mules then horses.”

  Gwydion could see Cofach getting nervous out of the corner of his eye. “We train them well,” he said to Eynon. “These are not war horses, after all, but animals for the riding by wealthy people.”

  “Sure, that’d explain it.”

  “I understand you have a fine animal of your own,” Gwydion said. “May I see the famed cow of Dyfed?”

  Eynon turned suddenly bashful. “She’s not that much, just a good cow with good keeping.”

  He led them to a stall across from the stallions, opening it with the pride of a father. Gwydion, who was not that good a judge, watched Cofach. The old chieftain’s nervousness melted away, as he said, “She is a beauty.” He ran his hands along her flanks, and began talking about diet, exercise, and grooming. Gwydion smiled at the enthusiasm in both of them, and felt a pang of sorrow for what he intended to do to Eynon and the others like him who had no fault in the cantrefs’ feud.

  Adaf looked bored with the whole routine, and kept craning his neck back towards he stallions. Gwydion caught his eye, and said, “I have one more request of you. I like to harp to the horses at night. It helps them sleep better, and keeps them from becoming irritable.”

  Adaf perked up. “I would like that very much, Per Grojian.”

  They crossed to the first stallion�
�s stall, and Gwydion pulled out his harp before settling down on a hay bale. “Do you think all them can hear from here? I usually have them gathered around me, but that seems unlikely, yes?”

  “They should be fine,” Adaf said absently, staring at the jewels on the bridle. “Are those rubies?”

  “Ah, yes,” Gwydion said as he began playing. “The green are emeralds, the orange are topaz.” He started a lullaby, watching Adaf closely, but he had stopped paying attention to both the harper and the song. Gwydion felt for the curse, and found it all about him. He began feeding magic into the music, but instead of something to sap the will, he made the magic as sleepy and soothing as his song. The night began to quiet around him, and Adaf began yawning widely. The curse tried to rouse itself once, but could not muster any energy.

  Adaf said, “That is a nice song.” He yawned again.

  “Please, sit,” Gwydion said. “I will not be much longer, yes?”

  “Yes, sitting would be good.” Adaf sat in the corner where he could watch the whole stall including the door. Gwydion smiled at the warrior instincts, but soon Adaf’s head began to droop. When he was snoring, Gwydion stood up and crossed the barn to the heifer’s stall. Both Cofach and Eynon had curled up in the hay, sleeping soundly. Gwydion looked at the heifer, who stared placidly back. He began playing again, using the music to keep the curse calm while he worked on his illusions. After he was satisfied, he woke Cofach, and said, “It’s time to go.”

  The chieftain yawned and stretched. “I can’t believe I fell asleep!”

  “I can,” Gwydion said. They crossed the barn to the stallion’s stall. Gwydion touched Adaf’s shoulder, and the chief warrior woke with a start. “Can you lead us to our chamber?”

  Adaf jumped up. “Of course, Per Grojian! Many pardons for dozing off there. I must have been more tired than I knew.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Gwydion said. They followed Adaf, who scowled at the number of sleeping kerns he saw. Gwydion pretended not to notice, and they traversed the quiet halls of the caer without incident.

  Adaf left them with a curt, “Goodnight,” as Gwydion and Cofach entered.

  “Many thanks,” Gwydion said, but Adaf was already walking down the hall, looking furious.

  Gwydion checked on the company, who were all asleep, including Bran, who had obviously tried to stand watch. Gwydion sent Cofach to bed, and then woke Bran, who startled much the same way Adaf had. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  Gwydion said, “Nothing. All is well. I just wanted to see if you wanted me to take a watch.”

  “If you are up to it,” Bran said. He looked around. “Is there something going on I should be made aware of?”

  “All is well,” Gwydion assured him. “Get some rest. Tomorrow is likely to be a busy day.”

  In the morning, Gwydion and his company broke their fast with Gwillim and Kyrnin, and Gwydion tried once more to trade for the heifer. “I can offer all six stallions and all six falcons,” he said.

  “I meant it last night; she’s not for sale or trade,” Kyrnin said.

  Bran and Gil looked at Gwydion expectantly, and Gwillim looked furious. Gwydion just shrugged. “I had to try, my lord. Perhaps you know who has the second best cow in this land?”

  “I don’t,” Kyrnin said. “You might look in Duvnecht.”

  “That is the land to the north and east, yes?” Gwydion asked. “Many thanks. Perhaps I will try there.”

  Gwillim stayed in the caer, still mad at his son, while Kyrnin led the group out to the barn. Gwydion pulled Cofach aside and spoke softly to him while the horses were saddled and the great stallions brought out. Sunlight reflected all around the courtyard from the jewels, and Gwydion said, “Still not interested, my lord? They could all be yours...”

  Kyrnin, who had been looking at all the finery with a certain amount of lust, turned and said, “I’m afraid not.”

  “Very well,” Gwydion said, getting into the saddle. Adaf returned the jeweled weapons somewhat reluctantly, and the rest of the company mounted up as well. Cofach went down the line of stallions, paying special attention to the last one. He signaled to Gwydion that everything looked good. Gwydion acknowledged him, then turned to Kyrnin once more. “Perhaps I will return next year.”

  “And I will still say no.”

  “You are a wonderful trader!” Gwydion said. “I look forward to seeing you again.” He led the company out the gate, oblivious to their disappointed looks.

  Gil kept trying to talk to Gwydion as they rode away from the caer, and Gwydion kept ignoring him. Gil became more insistent, and finally Gwydion looked him in the eye and said, “Shut up already! I’m concentrating on a few things right now.”

  “Like how to get that stupid cow you came to steal?” Gil said.

  “No, like how to get her home,” Gwydion said.

  “Don’t you think the getting is the first part?”

  Looking around at the empty road, Gwydion said, “That part’s been done.”

  Even Bran perked up. “You have the heifer?” Dirgan asked incredulously. “Where did you hide her?”

  “In plain sight, of course.” Gwydion turned around and yelled back at Cofach, “How is she doing?”

  “Seems none the worse for looking like a stallion,” the chieftain said.

  “She’s one of the stallions?” Gil said. “But when did you—”

  “Last night, after everyone fell asleep, including you,” Gwydion said. “Now shut up, there are other things going on that you can’t see.”

  “What do you mean?” Bran asked sharply.

  “I mean,” Gwydion said slowly, “that there is a curse on Dyfed. I thought it would assist my magic, but it doesn’t, it makes it harder. While we are in close proximity, it is easy enough to keep an illusion going, but the distance and the curse make it very hard to maintain.”

  “How long do we have?” Bran asked.

  “Um, Tanist?” Cofach called. They turned around to see him leading five mules and a sleek brown heifer.

  “About that long,” Gwydion said.

  Bran began to curse, slowly and steadily.

  Gil said, “What do we do now?”

  “We keep going, as fast as possible,” Gwydion said. He shifted back into his natural form, and began sorting through the voices on the winds. “The alarm hasn’t been raised yet, but it will be, and I guarantee that this time, the men of Dyfed will not let Kyrnin chase us alone.”

  They left the five pack mules behind, along with all their unnecessary gear. They had only gone another few miles before Gwydion heard shouts on the wind. Kyrnin’s voice was clear, ordering quick search parties to try and catch the thieves, and to spare no life, despite the also clear protests of his father. But the men of Dyfed remembered the shame of the first Gwydion, and the blood lust was evident. He told Bran, who simply loosened his sword in response.

  They made good time at first, but Cofach began demanding more and more rest stops. “It’s not me,” he said when Gwydion demanded an explanation. “This pampered cow cannot keep the pace you want.”

  Gwydion cursed the animal, and scanned the road for signs of pursuit. “Do you still think it wise to keep to the high road?” he asked Bran.

  “It gives us several advantages,” Bran said. “Speed being the primary one. Cutting through back country is very slow, especially with animals.”

  “What else?” Gwydion said. “We’ve got warriors coming up quick.”

  Bran said, “Here, the wilderness favors Dyfed. They have allies in it, they’ll have men who know it well and can use the terrain to their advantage.”

  “But those advantages will switch to our favor once we cross the border,” Gwydion said.

  “If we get there,” Bran said. He pointed to a dust cloud on the road behind them.

  “The first scouts,” Gwydion said. “Everyone get ready!”

  “Can you tell anything about them?” Bran asked.

  “There are ten,” Gwydion said. “Th
ey’ve been riding hard from Arberth, and their horses are nearing exhaustion. Their orders were to get the word to the border lairds and get them armed. I think they’re going to be surprised to see us here.”

  “Good,” Bran said. “But we can’t let them pass.”

  “Agreed,” Gwydion said. He looked around. “Cofach! Take that blasted beast and keep going! We’ll catch up to you when we finish this!”

  “Aye, Tanist!”

  “Dirgan, Llygad, get your bows ready. Shoot when your arrows will find marks, not before. You’re only likely to get off two flights at most. Gil, you and Bran are to use claymores.”

  “And what about you?” Gil asked. “Are you just going to stay back and direct us?”

  “Nope,” he said, drawing his sword. “Throw me your regular sword.” Gil looked doubtful, but Gwydion caught it in his empty hand. “Now, let’s see how Dyfedians do in battle.”

  They spread out across the road and waited. The dust cloud came closer, resolving itself into a band of armed men riding hard towards them. As soon as they realized that the road was blocked, they pulled up, but Dirgan and Llygad got off an arrow each, and two of the men went down. The Dyfedians didn’t pause long, making the Gwynedd archers drop their bows and pull their swords.

  Gwydion recognized Gwillim’s chief warrior Adaf at the same time he spotted the Tanist. Adaf spat and said, “Kyrnin said it was you.”

  “Who else?” Gwydion asked, pressing forward to the attack.

  Adaf held his own through the first flurry of blows, but Gwydion found his opening and plunged his sword into Adaf’s thigh. “Damn you to hell,” the chief warrior said as he fell to the ground.

  Gwydion made two more quick strokes to make sure he was finished, then turned to the rest of the battle. Gil and Bran looked like they had each dispatched an opponent, but Dirgan and Llygad were hard pressed. Gwydion saw the last Dyfedian trying to sneak past the melee, and he charged him with a bellow. The man threw up his sword and caught one of Gwydion’s, but fell to the other in surprise. Gwydion then assisted Dirgan and Llygad, while Bran and Gil finished off their opponents.

  Gil was beaming as he wiped his claymore, but Bran still scowled. “If we have to do that again, we’ll never make it to the border.”