by Holly Taylor
“Play a song for me,” Myrrdin said. “Play Taliesin’s song of Cadair Idris.”
Rhiannon stared at him in surprise. “Why that song?”
“I have a fancy for it. Come, indulge an old man.”
Hesitantly, she played the sorrowful, opening chords. And then she sang,
The court of Lleu Lawrient lies
Stricken and silent beneath the sky.
The thorns and blighted thistles over
It all, and brambles now,
Where once was magnificence.
Harp and lordly feasts, all have passed away.
And the night birds now reign.
After she finished, the room was quiet. Arthur, his head bowed and his fists clenched, said nothing. Myrrdin stared into the fire. Rhiannon stilled the strings of the harp and sat silently, her eyes blinded by tears. At last, Myrrdin stirred and caught both their gazes with his suddenly stern and compelling eyes.
“Who asks what we want for ourselves? Does the Wheel of Life ask? Do the Shining Ones? Do the seasons wish to know if we are happy? I tell you that the night birds reign in Cadair Idris. I tell you that the court of the High King is no more. And I ask you, both of you, if this means anything to you. Anything at all.”
Arthur paled, but he did not speak. Rhiannon answered, “I left my child. I left everything I hold dear. It means something to me.”
“So you say. But you were almost ready to turn back. And I tell you that you cannot. You have left your woods. And tonight I have heard you play your father’s harp. And so I know—you can’t turn back. Because you’ve come too far.”
“Myrrdin,” she said, the words tumbling out, “I dread tomorrow. I dread seeing Gwydion again. Letting him hypnotize me, rooting around in my soul for his precious clue. I hate him. I do. How can I go anywhere with him? He already despises me. He’ll gloat because he will think he has beaten me.”
“Hate him then, if it makes you feel better. He’ll care nothing for that. As for gloating, he would consider it a waste of time.”
This was not the understanding and sympathy she sought. Offended, she said indignantly, “You treat it as if it was nothing important.”
“It isn’t,” he said simply. “And you know it. Child, do you think our meeting was by chance? Do you think you would be led so far and allowed to turn back now? As for Arthur,” he turned to look at the boy who gave him back stare for stare. “As for Arthur, his time hasn’t come yet to decide.”
“I have decided. I have told you,” Arthur said stubbornly. “Over and over.”
“Oh, so you have. So you have. I forget sometimes,” Myrrdin said, smiling slyly at the boy.
Arthur unwillingly smiled back and shook his head. He turned to Rhiannon. “You see how it is? He never listens to a word I say.”
“Don’t worry about it. He does that to everybody. And he’s set in his ways. He’s very, very old, you know.”
“Come, enough compliments for one night,” Myrrdin said. “It’s time to eat.”
They ate and talked and even laughed a little, although Arthur was inclined to brood at first. Rhiannon spoke kindly to him and even teased him a bit so that, by the time the meal was through, they were friends. Arthur insisted that she take his bed, he could do very well by the fire, he said. He colored when he offered, and she thanked him kindly pretending not to notice his blush.
“Good night, child,” Myrrdin said and gently kissed her forehead. “It has been a pleasure to see you after so many years. I know we shall meet again.”
“I hope so.”
“Oh, we shall. And perhaps you will play your harp for me again.”
“Da’s harp, you mean.”
“No, it is your harp now. Good night, my dear.”
Meriwydd, Tywyllu Wythnos—late afternoon
THE NEXT DAY Rhiannon arrived in Caer Dathyl. The late afternoon sun shone on the cold, gray stones of the fortress as she reined in her horse and dismounted. The fortress was built in the shape of a circle, with the round three-story Dreamer’s tower jutting out defiantly toward the sky. She assumed that Gwydion was in the tower now, and, having seen her ride up was gloating over his victory.
She started up the stone steps to the huge, closed, golden doors of the fortress. The left-hand side was etched with the sign for the rowan, one vertical line slashed by two horizontal ones, all outlined in glittering opals. The right-hand side was covered with a glowing representation of the constellation of Mabon, also outlined in opals. Her heart in her throat, she raised her hand to knock.
But before she could do so, the doors opened slowly. It was not Gwydion, whom she had expected but rather Dinaswyn. Her face was proud and cold, as though carved from the same stone as Caer Dathyl itself. Her gray eyes, so like Gwydion’s, glittered and her silvery hair was braided and wound about her head. She was wearing a plain gown of black with a linen shift beneath it of bright red.
“Welcome, Rhiannon ur Hefeydd var Indeg. Welcome to Caer Dathyl,” Dinaswyn said in a cool voice. With a formal gesture, she held out a golden goblet jeweled with opals that flashed in the sunlight.
Rhiannon took the cup and sipped. “My thanks, Dinaswyn ur Morvryn var Gwenllian,” she said, just as coldly.
“You wish to see Gwydion,” Dinaswyn stated.
“I do,” Rhiannon replied evenly.
“Then come with me.” Well, Rhiannon had not expected a warm welcome from Dinaswyn—no one in his or her right mind ever expected that. She shrugged and followed the former Dreamer through the entrance hall and out into the central courtyard. In the center of the circular courtyard stood a grove of rowan trees forming yet another circle. The rowan trees were bright with clusters of red berries, and birds flew ceaselessly about them.
“He is in the grove,” Dinaswyn said, her manner still cool and formal.
“Not in his Tower then?” she asked.
“Nemed Cerdinen, Rhiannon ur Hefeydd, is where he goes when his tasks weigh most heavily upon him, when his cares press heavily, when things are going ill for him.”
“I see. And was that your habit, too, when you were Dreamer?”
“It was. Both Gwydion and I have spent much time in that grove, thanks to you.”
“Ah. Still angry after all this time?”
“You were a fool, Rhiannon. You could have been Ardewin but you threw it away. You defied your fate.”
“No, I defied you. Fate, it seems, has caught up to me at last.” She wasn’t going to be pushed around by Dinaswyn. If she took a humble line now, she’d never hear the end of it. So she lashed out on a sore spot with deadly accuracy. “And really, Dinaswyn,” she went on, “you shouldn’t hang on to your anger like that. It’s bad for your health. And I’m sure Gwydion wouldn’t want anything to happen to you—he relies on you so.”
Dinaswyn stiffened. “More than he knows,” she said quietly.
Rhiannon carefully searched Dinaswyn’s cold face, and saw now what few people had ever bothered to see. She saw the ghost of a woman who had, perhaps, once loved and laughed; a woman who had, somehow, sustained a wound from which she had never recovered. Unaccountably, Rhiannon was seized with pity. Impulsively, she put a warm hand on Dinaswyn’s arm in silent sympathy.
She had expected Dinaswyn to snatch her arm away. But Dinaswyn did not. Swiftly, she covered Rhiannon’s hand with her own cold one. “Go to him,” she said urgently. “He needs your help badly. He is tired and discouraged and angry with himself for failing with you. And, Rhiannon, please remember that what he has become isn’t entirely his fault. Be patient.”
“I can’t promise that I will always succeed in that. But I promise to try.”
Dinaswyn did not smile, that was not her way, but her cold, gray eyes warmed slightly. She nodded toward the bright rowan trees. “Go.”
Rhiannon entered the tiny grove. In the middle of the circle of trees, on a carpet of green moss, Gwydion ap Awst sat brooding, his back to her. He wore a simple tunic and trousers of black and his knees were
drawn up beneath his chin. His hands were clasped around them and his head was bent. He sighed as she came up behind him. Without turning around he said, in a weary tone, “Dinaswyn, I asked not to be disturbed.”
“She neglected to mention that,” Rhiannon said.
Swiftly, his head came up. For a moment he did not move, then he stood and turned around to face her. “Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. You came after all,” he said slowly.
“Well,” she said lightly, “I was in the area and I couldn’t resist dropping by.”
His gray eyes brightened and his mouth quirked slightly. “Were you now?”
“I was.”
“Well, now that you’re here, perhaps we could talk together like two civilized human beings.”
“Well,” she said dubiously, “we could try.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” He gestured for her to sit, and they sat on the green moss, facing each other.
“Why did you change your mind?” he asked, his silvery eyes keen.
“Someone tried to kill me.”
His hands clenched into fists, but he did not move otherwise. “Tell me,” he said quietly.
She told him of the attack, and of how she had hidden the body. “I didn’t want Gwen to find out,” she finished.
“Did you tell anyone? Rhoram, perhaps?”
“No. If I had told Rhoram he never would have let me leave Arberth.”
“Hard enough for you to leave as it was, I imagine,” Gwydion murmured.
She searched his face, looking for signs that he was mocking her, but he seemed to be quite serious. “It was,” she said shortly.
“Then I am even more indebted to you for coming. There was an attempt on my life also.”
“Where? When?”
“In Ederynion. At Mabon’s festival.”
“Before you came to find me.”
“Yes. The man was killed. He took poison rather than give up the name of his master.”
“And my would-be murderer told me nothing of who—only why,” Rhiannon mused.
“The Captains of the four kingdoms will join us here in Caer Dathyl by tomorrow. They have their own roles to play, according to the poem given to me by the High Kings. But I, for one, will be very grateful for their expert protection. There is none better.”
The afternoon sun poured through the rowan branches, pooling between them as they sat facing each other.
Gwydion’s sharp gaze softened a little. “Rhiannon, I am glad you have come.”
The intensity of his gaze made her drop her eyes. “I am tired,” she said abruptly, as she stood. “It has been a very long journey for me.”
His tone was full of indifference as he replied, “Find Dinaswyn, then. She will show you to your room.” He waved her away and turned slightly to stare at a bright patch of berries hanging from one of the trees.
She turned and left the grove. She did not look back. And so did not know that Gwydion turned back to look at her the moment she had turned away. He did not take his eyes from her until she was gone.
Part 3
The Search
On winter’s first day
The one who is loved shall die,
And tears will overwhelm
The lonely heart.
Taliesin
Fifth Master Bard
Circa 275
Chapter Sixteen
Caer Dathyl Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Ysgawen Mis, 494
Suldydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early afternoon
The silence spun out as Gwydion and Rhiannon sat across from each other in the study of the Dreamer’s Tower.
Gwydion was not at all surprised by the silence—he had expected it. After all, Rhiannon had lived in isolation with only her daughter for company for many years. She would not be adept at the art of conversation so soon after leaving her forest.
And he—well, he had not been one for conversation either these past years. Even as a child he had often kept his own counsel.
No, he was not at all surprised by the silence.
But he was surprised by how comfortable it was.
It seemed almost a companionable silence, one that was not filled with the anxiety to speak or the desire not to. And that made him very uncomfortable indeed.
The room was a cozy one, illuminated by the bright fire that blazed on the hearth and by numerous candles placed in golden, branched candleholders. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the walls, broken only by the door to his sleeping chamber and the door leading to the lower levels. This door was carved with four silvery disks to represent the four phases of the moon. The ceiling was hung with clusters of small, silvery globes modeled on the constellations that wheeled in the sky above Kymru.
In anticipation of their guests six wooden chairs were placed around a long, wooden table in the center of the room. For now, both he and Rhiannon sat in cushioned chairs before the fire.
Gwydion glanced at Rhiannon, knowing that she would not notice his stare, for she was Wind-Riding.
He took the opportunity to study her in a leisurely fashion, which he would not have done if she had been paying attention. His gaze lingered on her beautiful emerald eyes, her high cheekbones, her slim neck, her full breasts, and her slender waist. If she hadn’t been so patently dangerous he would have considered offering himself as a sexual partner. But she was dangerous. He knew it. He knew with every fiber of his being that to become involved with her would be like playing with fire. But fire was not to be toyed with. No, he would not toy with her, much as he might want to. And he did want to.
At last she stirred and her emerald eyes sharpened. Gwydion quickly looked away from her and into the fire.
“They are coming,” she said, and though there were no windows for Gwydion to check the truth of her statement, he did not need to. For she was right. They were here, at last.
THE DOOR OPENED slowly, and Dinaswyn stood framed by the doorway. “Your guests have arrived, Dreamer,” she said formally, then stepped aside to gesture them in.
The first one through the door was Achren, King Rhoram’s Captain. Her black hair was tightly braided to her scalp. Her black and green riding leathers were travel-stained. The badge of Prydyn, a black wolf on a field of green, glittered on her tunic. Her cloak was forest green wool. Her dark eyes were bright as she saw her old friend again. Rhiannon flew from her chair and embraced Achren.
“So,” Achren said with a grin, “we meet again.”
“So we do,” Rhiannon answered dryly with a glance at Gwydion, “at the will of the Dreamer.”
“Indeed,” Achren said. “And I must say,” she went on, turning to Gwydion, “this had better be good. I’ve been on the road for almost a month.”
“As have I,” Angharad said as she entered the room. Her tunic and trousers of white and sea green were dusty, but her green eyes were bright and alert. The badge of Ederynion, a white swan on a field of sea green, was sewn onto her tunic. Her molten red hair was bound in a braid that reached down to the small of her back, and her cloak was sea green. “And I agree with Achren,” she went on, “this had indeed better be good.”
“Rhiannon ur Hefeydd,” Gwydion said formally, “this is Angharad ur Ednyved, the Captain of Queen Olwen of Ederynion.”
Both Rhiannon and Angharad formally bowed to each other.
“So, you were indeed found,” Angharad said, her brows raised.
“And persuaded to come to Caer Dathyl, like the rest of us,” Trystan said as he entered. His dark brown hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a strip of red leather. His green eyes sparkled as he smiled. His red cloak and his leather tunic and trousers of red and white were clean but worn and the white horse on a field of red, the badge of Rheged was fastened to his tunic. “Like these ladies I came from a long way myself. Unlike them, my looks are diminished by my weariness.”
“Very good, Trystan,” Angharad said. “Flattery will get you almost anywhere.”
“Almost,” Trystan said, his hand on his heart. “You
cut me to the quick.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Angharad answered dryly.
“Very wise,” Cai said the last one through the study door. His brown hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his sharp brown eyes were alert as he took in the entire room at a glance. He wore riding leathers of blue and brown and the badge of Gwynedd, a brown hawk on a field of blue, was fastened to his tunic. He had discarded his brown, woolen cloak and carried it over his arm.
“Rhiannon, this is Trystan ap Naf, Captain to King Urien of Rheged and Cai ap Cynyr, Captain to King Uthyr of Gwynedd.”
The two men bowed to Rhiannon, then moved forward to the table at Gwydion’s signal. Angharad and Achren also moved to the table, sitting opposite the two men. Rhiannon took her place at one end of the table while Gwydion turned to dismiss Dinaswyn. But Dinaswyn was too canny to remain for a dismissal and had already left.
“So,” Gwydion said as he took his seat, “let us begin.”
But Rhiannon interrupted him. “Actually, I’m curious about Alban Nerth. I suppose that most of you were on the road traveling during the festival.”
He realized that she was right—they all needed some time to settle in, and talking of the Alban Nerth celebrations that took place just two weeks ago would help to do that. Alban Nerth specifically honored the warrior. All day warriors participated in games of strength and agility such as archery, spear throwing, and horseback riding. The three or four warriors that excelled at these games took part in one final contest: to be the first to shoot their arrow through an apple in mid-air.
“Actually, I did not have to leave Tegeingl until four days ago,” Cai said. “So I was in the city for the festival.”
“And no doubt won,” Rhiannon smiled.
Cai grinned ruefully. “Actually, I didn’t. I was one of the four to shoot for the apple, but another’s arrow found it first.”
“Uthyr’s,” Gwydion said with a certainty.
“Uthyr’s indeed,” Cai agreed. “The only person on Earth I am not ashamed to lose to.”
