Night Birds' Reign

by Holly Taylor

  Just as he thought she would, Ygraine clung to Morrigan, the child they had left, hardly letting her out of her sight. But his precocious daughter seemed to instinctively understand her mother’s need and had done her best to fill the empty place in her parents’ hearts.

  “So he had caught himself in a thorn bush. Stuck fast, he was, and bleating like his throat was being cut,” Arthur was saying. “But he saw me and he knew I would fix everything. So he quieted right down and let me help him.”

  “Do you truly like being a shepherd?” Uthyr asked. And, oh, how it galled him that his son, his only son, lived in a hut and herded sheep. Arthur should have grown up in Caer Gwynt. He should have had a fine horse, and fine riding leathers, and a chance to learn the ways of a warrior. But Uthyr let none of this show in his voice.

  “Oh, yes,” Arthur answered. “Every day I am up in the mountains, with no other person around for miles. And the hills are quiet and you can feel the wind on your face. And the crocuses bloom up in the meadows. And there are streams and tiny waterfalls running through the mountains. And no one bothers you. It’s all very peaceful.”

  “You like solitude?”

  “Yes,” said Arthur brightly. “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t get much of it, really. There are always people around.”

  “How do you stand it?”

  “Well, you see, that’s something that every Ruler must get used to. One day, when you’re High King—”

  Arthur’s face, barely discernible in the fading light became still. Uthyr stopped and gazed at his son in surprise. “That’s not something you want, is it?” he said gently.

  Arthur said nothing, sitting as though made of stone. “Arthur, I’m your father,” Uthyr went on. “And I love you. You must know that. You can tell me things—things that are hard to say. And I’ll listen. You mustn’t think I won’t understand.”

  After a moment, Arthur said clearly, “I’m not going to be High King. I’ve made up my mind. I want to be left alone. I just want to stay here in the mountains, forever.”

  “Why?” Uthyr asked quietly.

  “I . . . I don’t know anything about how to fight a war. I don’t know anything about being wise and—and kingly. I’m just a shepherd.”

  “But you can learn,” Uthyr pointed out. “So that’s not really it, is it?”

  Arthur swallowed and stared down at his feet, unwilling to meet his father’s eyes. “Tell me the truth,” Uthyr said softly.

  “It’s—it’s too big for me. High King. It’s too big. I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’ll fail.”

  “And if you stay here and herd sheep, you won’t have to try. And then you won’t fail. Is that it?”

  “Yes,” Arthur said frantically. “I won’t try. I won’t. No one can make me—not even Uncle Gwydion. No one.”

  The two sat in silence for a long time. The stars wheeled brightly overhead; their shining patterns piercing the dark, velvet sky. “Myrrdin taught you the stars, didn’t he?” Uthyr said suddenly. Startled, Arthur nodded. “Look there, then.” Uthyr went on. “Do you see the constellation of Taran?”

  Again Arthur nodded as he looked up at the sky. Uthyr continued, “Taran, King of the Winds, who represents the element of air, is honored especially in Gwynedd. You know that Caer Gwynt, our citadel in Tegeingl, means House of the Winds?”

  Again, Arthur nodded.

  “On the great doors to Caer Gwynt, there is a hawk. Now, the hawk is a fine hunting bird, but I think the finest hunting bird is an eagle. Here in the mountains you must see many eagles. So you know what they are like. They are proud, fierce, and beautiful in their freedom. If captured they pine away and die, for they cannot bear chains.

  “You are like an eagle, my son: proud in your solitude, fierce in defiance of your fate, beautiful in your need for freedom. But the eagle is able to soar because of the air beneath his wings. He flies the sky because he can ride the winds of Taran from here to the ends of the Earth. Because this is how he was made.”

  Uthyr paused and grasped Arthur’s hands tightly in his own. “I sent you away when you were a child to ensure that you would grow up to be like the eagle—noble, ferocious, able to ride the sky on the wind. All this you can be. But there is a price to be paid for everything. Nothing is free. The price I paid to keep you alive was to sever myself from you. I pay the price in heart’s blood because I love you so. And I will never stop loving you. Whether you are a High King or a shepherd. I ask one thing of you. When the time comes, weigh the price carefully. Because there is no wind for an eagle who breaks his wings. He is bound to the earth forever.

  “You were born to be High King. I felt it even when you were in the womb, and I would put my hand on your mother’s belly, and know what you were meant to be. So I tell you this, to turn away from what you were meant to be is to break your wings, to be earthbound forever. I would not want that anguish for you.”

  Arthur said nothing, but Uthyr noticed that his mouth was set in a stubborn line. He knew he had not convinced his son, for the aversion was too deep. But he hoped that a seed had been planted that would one day bear fruit in his son’s lonely soul.

  “How is Mam?” Arthur asked, turning the conversation away from him.

  “She is well. She asked me to tell you that she loves you dearly. And she made this for you.” Uthyr reached into his tunic and pulled out a woolen scarf of sapphire blue. “She told me to tell you to wear it whenever it was a chilly night. She also said to drink chamomile tea in the winter, to keep from catching cold.” Uthyr smiled. “Your mother is convinced that you can’t take care of yourself. But that’s not personal—she thinks the same thing about me.”

  Wonderingly, Arthur took the scarf and wrapped it around his throat. “It’s perfect. So soft and warm. Please tell her . . .” Arthur paused, for his voice was in danger of breaking. “Please tell her that I am most grateful. And please tell her that I love her.”

  “I will.”

  “Will you come back? Will she come to see me?”

  “I won’t be back. And she can’t come. Gwydion says it’s too dangerous.”

  “Gwydion,” Arthur spat, leaping up from the rocks. “I hate him! I hate him! He took me away. He wants to use me. He doesn’t care what I want.”

  “Arthur, Gwydion is my brother. I love and trust him.”

  “Well I don’t.”

  “Yes,” Uthyr said dryly. “I can see that.”

  Slowly, Arthur sat down again. “I’m—I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people feel that way about Gwydion,” Uthyr said mildly. “I wish I had a gold coin for every time someone told me that. I’d be a rich man.”

  “Then why do you defend him? Why do you trust him?”

  “Because I know him. Not many people do. They think they do, but they don’t. It’s funny, but you remind me of him, a little.”

  “Me?” Arthur was clearly appalled.

  “Oh, yes. If he had his way he’s stay in the mountains, too. He loves the solitude. But he can’t do that, because he’s the Dreamer. And he dreams things that make his blood run cold. He didn’t want to be the Dreamer, didn’t want the burden. But he had to be. It’s what he was born for, after all.”

  The night was quiet and cold, and neither said anything for an extended period. “You—you aren’t disappointed in me, are you?” Arthur asked anxiously.

  “No! Never. You must never, ever think otherwise. Come, I’m sure our dinner’s ready by now.”

  As the two walked down the hillside and neared the tiny house, Arthur asked, “But if I don’t become High King, if I refuse, will you still love me?”

  Uthyr stopped and turned to face his son. “I will love you until the day I die, and beyond. Whether you are a High King or a shepherd, I will love you forever. Just remember that I only ever asked one thing of you. When the time comes for your final choice weigh the price carefully. There is a price for broken wings.”

  Chapter Ten


  Caer Duir and Neuadd Gorsedd, Gwytheryn, & Dinas Emrys, Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Bedwen Mis, 494

  Addiendydd, Tywyllu, Wythnos—late afternoon

  As Gwydion approached Caer Duir, the college of the Druids, he heaved a sigh of relief. He had been almost nine days on the road from Dinas Emrys, and he was weary.

  The three-story, round keep of black stone reared up before him as he dismounted his horse at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up at the golden doors, bathed in the light of the late afternoon sun. On the left door, etched in emeralds was the sign for the oak tree, the tree most revered by the Druids. On the right door, outlined in emeralds, was the constellation of Modron the Mother.

  To the west was a tall, slim observation tower that was used by the Druids to study the stars. A man exited the tower and walked swiftly toward Gwydion. The figure became recognizable as he neared.

  Gwydion’s cousin Aergol, Dinaswyn’s son, had dark hair, clasped at the nape of his neck with a band of emeralds and gold. He was dressed in a brown robe trimmed with green. His dark eyes, as always, were opaque, not giving a hint as to what he was really thinking. Aergol was only a year younger than Gwydion, and the two of them had both lived in Caer Dathyl until Gwydion was sent off to school. Yet, for all that, Gwydion could not really say that he knew Aergol very well. For Aergol had in full measure his mother’s reserve. His father’s too, for King Custennin of Ederynion had been a somewhat cool and detached man.

  “Welcome, Dreamer,” Aergol said formally when he was near enough.

  Gwydion nodded. “Aergol,” he said, pleasantly enough. “How is Sinend?”

  Gwydion’s inquiry of Aergol’s daughter and heir brought a spark of warmth to Aergol’s demeanor. “She is quite well, Gwydion. I thank you for asking.”

  “And Menw?” Gwydion pressed on. Aergol’s son by one of his fellow Druids was just a few years younger than his half sister, Sinend, and was reputed to be a fine boy.

  “Very well,” Aergol said with a smile. “Come, you must be weary. You have come, I assume, to see Cathbad?”

  “I am and I have,” Gwydion said as he handed the reins of his horse to the apprentice that had come over at Aergol’s gesture. He followed Aergol up the steps and through the doors. Aergol turned right and began to ascend the stairs to the second level. At the top of the stairs he turned right again and led Gwydion to a small, pleasant room.

  The arch-shaped chamber had a square window in the center of the far, rounded wall. A bed with a woolen spread of azure and green stood against the left wall, while a tiny wardrobe stood against the right. A small table was set beneath the window. On the table was a pitcher of wine and a golden goblet chased with emeralds. The floor of black stone was dotted here and there with rugs woven in shades of green.

  With a sigh Gwydion put his saddlebags on the bed.

  “Would you like to rest a while before seeing Cathbad?” Aergol asked.

  “No,” Gwydion said. “I think a quick visit now would be better. I’ll have a quick wash before dinner.”

  “As you wish,” Aergol said quietly. “Come with me, then.”

  They returned to the corridor and turned left, passing the stairs. They came to a massive door of oak and Aergol knocked lightly then opened it.

  A massive hearth covered the curved, opposite wall. All across the remaining walls hung tapestries of black, worked in silver, each showing a different portion of the night sky above Kymru. Just below the tapestries, which hung halfway down the wall, were massive oak tables, all covered with papers, books, and scientific instruments.

  The highly polished floor of black stone was covered with huge carpets woven in green and brown, showing the many fruits of the earth—apple trees and vines, plum trees and wild-flowers. Jeweled vessels of gold and emerald were strewn throughout the room—bowls and cups, combs and necklaces, plates and pitchers.

  Cathbad sat in a massive oak chair set before the hearth. He was dressed in a rich robe of green with brown trim. Around his neck was the massive Archdruid’s Torque of gold and emeralds, clasped at the center with a square inside a circle. Cathbad’s hair was a thick, silvery gray and his eyes were dark.

  When Aergol ushered Gwydion in Cathbad rose with a smile on his benevolent face. “Gwydion!” he exclaimed and moved forward to embrace Gwydion. “You are well?”

  Gwydion returned Cathbad’s embrace. “I am well, Archdruid,” he replied.

  Cathbad gestured for Gwydion to sit. “Be sure you have a place set next to me at the table tonight for Gwydion,” he said to his heir.

  Aergol nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Well, now, Gwydion, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Cathbad asked with a genial smile. “And how long can you stay?”

  “Just tonight, I’m afraid,” Gwydion said. “I must leave in the morning for Neuadd Gorsedd.”

  “To visit Anieron?” Cathbad guessed. “Be careful, Gwydion, of Anieron, unless you want him to know your thoughts themselves before you even have them.”

  “How do you mean?” Gwydion asked, startled.

  “Well, you know how he is. If there is anything happening in Kymru he doesn’t know about—often even before it happens—then I’d be surprised.”

  Gwydion would, too, which was why he had some concerns about talking to Anieron. But there was no way around it. He would never be able to find Rhiannon without Anieron’s help.

  “I must go to him. For the same reason I come to you. I must find Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. And I must do it before Ysgawen Mis.”

  Cathbad’s silver brows shot up. “That is quite a task, Gwydion, considering that we’ve been looking for her for eleven years.”

  “I know,” Gwydion said tiredly. “But it must be done.”

  “Tell me why.”

  When Gwydion hesitated, Cathbad shrugged. “Well, of course you don’t need to. I simply thought—”

  “You are right,” Gwydion said with a sheepish smile. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you.”

  “Yes,” Cathbad said, his mouth twitching. “I can see that.”

  Gwydion laughed. “Very well! I must find Rhiannon because she holds the key to a clue left by Bran many years ago. A clue to the location of Caladfwlch.”

  “The sword of the High Kings? Why, that means . . .” Cathbad’s voice trailed off as he understood Gwydion’s message. “I see. A High King for Kymru.”

  “Yes. And I must find Rhiannon. She alone knows the clue to the sword’s whereabouts. And without the sword—”

  “The High King can’t fully utilize his powers,” Cathbad finished.

  “That’s right,” Gwydion agreed.

  “I wish I could help, Gwydion,” Cathbad said. “But I have no idea where to begin to look for her. But I feel certain that Anieron knows something.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gwydion said.

  Alban Awyr, Cynyddu Wythnos—late morning

  AS GWYDION DREW closer to Neuadd Gorsedd, the college of the Bards, he saw that it seemed to be in an unusual state of activity. Apprentices in plain, white robes scurried in and out of the huge, triangle-shaped three-level building. The light reflected off the blue-hued stones and the huge silver doors. On the left side of the door two crossed lines had been carved, the symbol of the birch tree, the tree sacred to Taran, King of the Winds. The right door was studded with sapphires that outlined the shape of that god’s constellation. The sapphires danced before his eyes as he dismounted and looked upon the stone steps that approached the doors.

  Elidyr, the Master Bard’s heir, came hurrying down the steps to greet him. Elidyr was a pleasant looking man with sandy hair and light brown eyes. “Gwydion,” he said, smiling, “what a delightful surprise.”

  Somehow, Gwydion doubted that his arrival was a surprise, nor was he certain it was delightful. “What’s everyone running around for?” he asked, as he removed his saddlebag from Elise’s back. An apprentice came scurrying up to take his horse.


  “Preparations for the festival,” Elidyr replied as they mounted the steps leading up to the keep. “It’s Alban Awyr today, remember?”

  “Sorry. I just lost track of time. How’s your wife?”

  “Elstar is well, thanks. As a matter of fact, she got leave from her duties at Y Ty Dewin and she’s riding over today for the festival.”

  They passed through the sapphire studded doors and entered the main corridor that led to the Great Hall. The corridor was dim to Gwydion’s sun-blinded eyes, and the cool air revived him enough to make him realize how tired he was. He walked very slowly. “How’s Elstar coping these days?” he asked.

  “Well, switching from Myrrdin to Cynan was difficult at first. You know Cynan—kind to a fault, not really made for leadership. But it’s worked out all right. Elstar’s just got a little more responsibility than an heir normally would. By the way, Elstar’s bringing another guest with her that I think you’ll be interested in seeing.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t want to ruin the surprise. Come on, I’ll take you to Anieron.”

  Perhaps Elstar was bringing Dudod with her, Gwydion thought. Now that’s the man he would really like to see. Slowly he followed Elidyr up the winding stairs to the second story. “Is your father here?” Gwydion asked casually.

  “No. Dudod’s traveling. Anieron likes to use him to keep track of things, you know. And my Da loves to travel.”

  “Speaking of traveling, is there a place I could rest for a few minutes before I see Anieron? I’m all done in.”

  “Of course. I should have realized. I’ll take you right to your room. Do you want a bath first?”