by Holly Taylor
The reddish gold of the crackling fire reminded him of his own little daughter, Cariadas, for her hair was exactly that shade. He smiled again, a true smile this time, at the thought of his tiny, perfect little girl. Although he had suffered much to get her, he was glad now that he had paid the price. As he stared into the fire, he thought on how it had all begun.
He remembered well that day two years ago when Dinaswyn had come to the conclusion it was time for him to pass on his seed. She had consulted the Book of the Blood and given Gwydion a choice—go to Rheged to mate with Eurgain, the sister of King Urien or to Prydyn to mate with Isalyn, the sister of King Rhoram. Either one would do, she had said coolly.
He had not even mentioned to Dinaswyn that directing the mating of the Children of Llyr was his task now. It had been difficult for Dinaswyn to give up the position of Dreamer so soon—much sooner than either one of them had anticipated.
Although he was occasionally irritated by her refusal to surrender her authority, he did not demand that she do so. He wasn’t cruel enough to humiliate her like that.
So he had let it go, and chosen to go to Isalyn in Prydyn, for no other reason than that he had business to take care of there. And the business was of an unsettling nature. His cousin, Rhiannon ur Hefeydd, had been sent to Prydyn by Dinaswyn two years before to bear the child of King Rhoram. After that task was completed, Rhiannon was to return to Y Ty Dewin to begin training with Myrrdin as the next Ardewin of Kymru.
Rhiannon had gone to Prydyn as ordered; had the child as expected; and then had simply broken all the rules by falling in love with Rhoram and refusing to leave him. And King Rhoram, equally besotted, had let her stay; treating her as if she was his Queen—who she most emphatically was not, and never could be. For Rhiannon was a woman of the House of Llyr and one of the Y Dawnus. Her refusal to return to Y Ty Dewin had constituted a major crisis.
And for this, for Rhiannon’s refusal to do her duty to her House, Gwydion had determined to go to Prydyn and shake her until her teeth rattled. If necessary he would drag her back to Y Ty Dewin himself, in spite of Rhoram’s warriors.
But when he had arrived in Arberth, Prydyn’s capital, he found that she had disappeared three days before. Rhoram had fallen in love with another woman, and Rhiannon, in a jealous rage, had left Arberth in the dead of the night, taking her child with her.
At first everyone had assumed that she had finally given way to Dinaswyn’s continued demands and left for Y Ty Dewin. But she and her baby girl never arrived there. The two had simply vanished. Even now, two years later, they still had not been found.
Just thinking about it could still enrage Gwydion. Rhiannon was irresponsible. Spoiled. She had refused to do her duty. Gwydion often wished that some day he would confront that stupid woman and tell her just what he thought of her.
He hadn’t thought much of King Rhoram’s behavior, either. The man had been frantic, tearing his kingdom apart to find Rhiannon, all after having fallen in love with another woman, which had driven Rhiannon off in the first place. Rhoram had published embarrassing, heartrending pleas for her return. Gwydion loathed a man who couldn’t make up his own mind. Worse still, he loathed someone who let himself be ruled by a woman’s whims. He already knew what that led to.
The King’s behavior had also exasperated Efa ur Nudd—the woman Rhoram had thrown Rhiannon aside for. But Efa was clever. She had aided Rhoram in his search and comforted the King when he returned empty-handed, again and again. Isalyn, Rhoram’s sister, had said that Efa wanted to be Queen and was just biding her time. For Isalyn had not liked Efa at all.
Isalyn. What a horrible time he had with her. At first he had been pleasantly surprised, for she had been beautiful and anxious to please. Then he had discovered that she had fallen in love with him. They had mated, as was his duty, and when she became pregnant Gwydion had prepared to depart, his task done. But, to his shock, Isalyn had gone into hysterics, begging him to stay with her—at least until the baby was born. Rhoram had added his pleas to hers and Gwydion had reluctantly consented to remain.
He had tried to stay with as much grace as possible but it had been one of the most trying times of his life. Her constant clinging, her anxious tears, her continuous need for reassurance had battered at Gwydion every day as he waited through the long months for his child to be born. He had chafed at his prison, eating his heart out in this enforced captivity and trying not to show it. But, in spite of his best efforts, Isalyn had known how he felt.
That last month before the birth she had finally stopped asking him what was wrong, merely looking at him with her sad, blue eyes. He had been there on the day of Cariadas’s birth, as she had wished. Isalyn had only screamed once, at the very end, and although this had elevated her considerably in Gwydion’s estimation, it was not enough to make him stay. He wondered sometimes if, at the last, she had been just as glad to see the last of him as he had been to go. Just a week after Cariadas had been born he was on his way home, vowing that Dinaswyn would never make him do this again. One child would have to be enough.
But soon after his return home, he received the news that Isalyn had died in a hunting accident, falling from her horse and breaking her neck, leaving his little daughter motherless. So he had returned to Prydyn for the funeral and taken Cariadas back home to Caer Dathyl.
Just one year old now, his daughter had captured his heart from the very beginning. She crowed with delight whenever she saw him, and he took her with him on his long, solitary walks through the mountains surrounding Caer Dathyl, carrying her in his strong arms, plucking wildflowers for her, making daisy chains for her to play with, marveling at her beauty. She had his gray eyes and Isalyn’s red-gold hair. And a grin that always reminded him of Amatheon. He wished she was with him now, but she was far too young for the five-day journey to Tegeingl.
He winced inwardly, knowing full well, now that he had his own child, just how Uthyr must feel about his young son. But he didn’t want to think of that now. He couldn’t. Or he would lose his nerve.
He wished Amatheon was here but his younger brother was in Rheged, for he had been posted to the court of Lord of Gwinionydd, Hetwin Silver-Brow. Amatheon seemed to enjoy his time there, finding a friend in young Cynedyr the Wild, Hetwin’s son. The two would often get into trouble, Gwydion had heard, but it was nothing they had not yet been able to talk themselves out of.
Absently, still staring into the flames, he fingered the opal and gold Dreamer’s Torque that hung around his neck, glittering in the firelight. He thought that he would be willing to trade this torque and all he had (except for Cariadas, of course) just to get a good night’s rest—one without dreams.
He knew that there were heavy circles under his eyes. He knew he was too thin, for he hardly ever had any appetite these days. The constant repetition, the strain of reliving his first Dream, was grating on him. He had learned by now to keep his agonized tears locked firmly away, deep inside. But he had not yet learned how to live with the pain that the shadow brought to his heart, the pain he always brought back with him into the waking world in those first few moments when he started awake.
He glanced up. The waxing moon was on the rise. The stars of the Brenin’s Torque, grouped in a semicircle, hung in the sky like jewels strung on a necklace.
A new Brenin, a High King, for Kymru had been born at last. It had been a long time. The last High King, Lleu Silver-Hand, had died over two hundred years before at the hands of his wife and her lover. That was when Gwydion’s ancestor, Bran the Dreamer, had shut down Cadair Idris in a rage ensuring that none but a High King could ever open the Doors. He had set the soul of dead Lleu’s wife within Drwys Idris—the massive Doors of the High King’s mountain, giving her the task to guard the deserted hall until the High King came again. He had punished her lover, Gorwys, binding him to the land with the task to guard the shores of Kymru. He had hidden Caladfwlch, the High King’s sword. This would be another of Gwydion’s tasks—to find the sword.
Gwyntdydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—late morning
THREE DAYS LATER Gwydion arrived at Tegeingl. He dismounted as he approached the west gate, for the road was crowded with families who had come to have their children tested in the sacred grove this afternoon.
As he led Elise through the gates he made directly for the town smithy. He saw quite a few men and women gathered in front of the massive stone shed, talking, laughing, and greeting each other. The whole town was crowded and Gwydion knew this would make things all the more difficult for him. For the item that he had commissioned from Greid, the Master Smith of Gwynedd, was not for public eyes.
As Gwydion neared the smithy he saw Greid himself standing by the great anvil, laughing and joking with the crowd. His huge shoulders were bared and his sleeveless tunic of stiff leather was charred here and there, as was natural in the course of his work. He had a cup of ale in his right hand and he gestured with it often, spilling the contents as he bantered with his friends. Casually, Gwydion caught Greid’s eye. The smith nodded slightly and cut his eyes to the back of the shed, but did not stop his cheerful conversation.
“Stay here,” Gwydion said to Elise. “I won’t be a minute.” Elise eyed him doubtfully. Gwydion sighed in exasperation. “Just because I once forgot you were waiting . . .” His horse snorted, tossing his head.
Gwydion shook his head and walked around to the back of the smithy. As he did so, the door opened and Greid came out carrying a bucket in his right hand. In his left hand was a small, nondescript leather pouch. Casually, Greid slipped the pouch to Gwydion while brushing by him and continued out the back to dip the bucket in the full water trough. Gwydion tucked the pouch into a fold of his cloak and continued on around the smithy without stopping. As he came around the front again he went straight to Elise, grabbed the reins, and walked off.
“I told you,” he said smugly. Elise merely snorted. As he made his way through the marketplace he kept his head down as much as possible. The place was crowded with families in a holiday mood. Booths selling cheeses, breads, nuts, and ale had been erected and were doing brisk business.
As he left the center of town he remounted, for the crowd was thinning. When he passed Nemed Gwernan he noted that several families had already entered the grove and were waiting for Susanna, Uthyr’s Bard, to begin the testing. It would be a few more hours yet. Just enough time, he hoped, for him to do what he had to.
“Susanna,” he called out in the general direction of Caer Gwynt, Uthyr’s fortress.
“Gwydion? Where are you?” Susanna’s mind-voice sounded a little breathless.
“I’m just at the grove. Where is Uthyr?”
“He’s hunting for dinner tonight. He should be back within the hour.”
“And Ygraine?”
“In her chambers, with Arthur.”
Gwydion sensed that Susanna was distracted. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’ll talk to you later,” she said hurriedly.
Gwydion smiled. Now he understood. “Tell Griffi hello, would you? And tell him I’m sorry for disturbing him.”
A slight pause. “He says that you didn’t disturb him in the least.”
“I thought not.”
The great gate of Caer Gwynt was open and dozens of people were streaming in and out. He rode into the courtyard and scanned the crowd. Seeing a familiar face, he dismounted and hailed the young man who was hurrying across the courtyard. “Duach,” he called.
The man turned and halted in surprise. “Gwydion! I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Listen, do you think you could do me a favor?”
“Of course,” Duach said with a bow. “As doorkeeper of Caer Gwynt, servant to Uthyr PenHebog, the wise and noble King of Gwynedd, I am always at the disposal of the great Dreamer of Kymru, the Walker-between-the-Worlds—”
“Will you stop that?”
Duach grinned. “So, what’s the favor?”
“I think,” Gwydion said dryly, “that I’ve changed my mind.”
“I know. You want to be announced. That’s my job. What, are you afraid I’ll overdo it? Me?”
“Possibly. And, yes, I do want you to announce me. I need to see Ygraine and if we make a little ceremony out of it she may not kick me down the stairs right away.”
“Come with me,” Duach said slyly. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Gwydion sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Spoilsport.” Duach gestured and a stable boy came over to take Gwydion’s horse. Elise left without any further derisive gestures. A first, thought Gwydion.
As the two men made their way across the courtyard to the ystafell, Duach said in a serious tone, “You know, Gwydion, you don’t look too good. You’re not sick or anything, are you?”
“No,” he said grimly. And he wasn’t. Not in the way that Duach meant, anyway. “Do you know where Susanna is?”
“Oh, in bed with Griffi still,” Duach said airily. “She just got back to Tegeingl two days ago. She’s been conducting tests all over Gwynedd for the last three months. I think she and Griffi are making up for lost time.”
“Duach, I’m going to need another favor. When Uthyr returns will you bring him straight to the Queen’s chambers? Later, when I ask, will you get Susanna and bring her there? And tell her to bring the testing device. I need to check it.”
“You’re up to something,” Duach said, looking at Gwydion speculatively. “But then, you always are,” he went on cheerfully. “Count on me.”
“I am. I must be out of my mind.”
Duach merely grinned at him as he knocked at the heavy wooden door of the ystafell and waited. After a moment a young woman opened the door. She was dressed in a plain, gray gown and her light brown hair was bound back with a dark blue ribbon. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of Gwydion.
“Ah, Siwan, my dear. The most beautiful girl in all of Tegeingl,” Duach said with a bow. “Allow me to introduce my companion, Gwydion ap Awst, Dreamer of Kymru.” At Duach’s signal Gwydion sketched a quick bow to the startled girl. “Ygraine’s expecting us, my dear,” Duach went on smoothly. “I trust we may come in?”
Siwan glanced nervously over her shoulder. “I don’t know, Duach. She . . . she never said anything about this.”
“No doubt it slipped her mind, what with the excitement of the testing today. It’s all right, Siwan. Let us in and I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Well,” she said dubiously, opening the door wide. “If you say so.”
The large room was luxurious. Thick carpets made by the best weavers in Gwynedd were strewn on the floor in colorful profusion. Heavy, carved chests and small tables of dark, satiny wood lined the walls at intervals. A large, throne-like chair with brightly embroidered cushions stood under a blue velvet canopy. Intricate tapestries lined the walls with bright, colorful bursts. Polished wooden stairs with a curved banister arose at the far end of the room.
“The Queen is upstairs. With Arthur,” Siwan said nervously. “I don’t think—”
“Just go back to what you were doing, Siwan.” Without pausing, Duach climbed the stairs, with Gwydion right behind him.
The two men stopped in the open doorway to Ygraine’s bedchamber and looked in. This room was even more luxurious than the first. A large mirror hung against the far wall. The silver frame studded with pearls gleamed in the noonday sunlight streaming through the open windows. Summer flowers stood in graceful gold and silver vases strewn on tables throughout the room. The huge featherbed was spread with a wool coverlet of white worked with silver thread and pearls. A canopy of the same material stretched over the bed, the curtains a dazzling white. There was a dressing table covered with small pots and jars of cosmetics and perfumes. A large silver jewelry box spilled pearls and sapphires onto the table. Tall wardrobes, exquisitely carved, covered one entire wall. Elaborate tapestries covered the remaining spaces.
In the corner by the large w
indow, in a pool of sunshine, sat a cradle lined in blue silk. A coo from the cradle told Gwydion that tiny Morrigan occupied it.
Ygraine herself sat in a chair of oak, resting her hands on the curved armrests. She was dressed in white and her shining auburn hair gleamed. She wore a circlet of pearls around her forehead and her hair was elaborately curled. Another string of pearls encircled her neck twice then spilled down the front of her dress. Ygraine had not noticed the two men, all her attention bent on the child that played at her feet.
Arthur was small for his four years. Slender and delicate-looking, his eyes seemed too big for his face. A shock of sandy blond hair hung over his forehead. The child had a serious expression as he stacked small blocks of brightly colored wood to form a tower.
Duach cleared his throat. Arthur jumped slightly and the tower he was building teetered and fell. Unlike many children, Arthur did not cry at the destruction. He gravely looked at the ruins of his tower then glanced up at the two men. Obviously a fair child, his eyes held no blame for the mishap.
“My Queen,” Duach said bowing deeply. “May I present to you a noble visitor. Gwydion ap Awst, Dreamer of Kymru, Walker-between-the-Worlds—”
“Thank you, Duach,” Ygraine said dryly. “I believe I am aware of the identity of this uninvited guest.”
Duach bowed again. “Is there anything else you wish, my Queen?”
“Yes. I wish for you to go,” she said, her voice like winter snow. Swallowing hard, Duach bowed himself out.
“You scared him,” Gwydion said mildly, his eyes never leaving Arthur.
“No I didn’t. He expects that from me. He’d be frightened if I was nice to him,” replied Ygraine, just as mildly, her eyes also fixed on her young son.
To gain some time before he faced Arthur, Gwydion went to the cradle by the window. Two-year-old Morrigan slept with a contented smile on her exquisite face, her auburn hair illuminated by the sun. She did indeed have her mother’s delicate features, but Gwydion could see Uthyr in the set of her smiling mouth.
