by J. M. Hofer
Another hour passed. Why hasn’t he returned? Taliesin’s mind churned with possibilities, none of them pleasant. The day was draining away, and he could not afford to waste any time. Somewhere, Arhianna was suffering while he sat there doing nothing. When the sun had nearly reached the top of the sky, he could stand it no longer. He packed up the camp and swung himself up onto Chrysgod’s back. He whistled to the hounds and rode down into the village, reasonably confident he could pass for a Saxon with his knowledge of their tongue and culture. He was ready to bolt into a full gallop should he encounter any trouble.
Curious looks greeted him, which quickly turned suspicious. It was not long before a man of wide girth approached him, raising a huge, hairy arm in a half-greeting, half-halting way. “What’s your business here, stranger?”
Taliesin looked the man in the eye. “I’m looking for the giant, Gawyr. He came through here last night.”
“So he did. What of it?”
Men in passing stopped to listen to their conversation. The wide man narrowed his eyes on him, moving closer. “I said, what’s your business here?”
Taliesin felt the air around him shift, gazes becoming menacing. “Just looking for the giant. We were separated on the road. Did he head east or west?”
“He didn’t mention anyone traveling with him. Seems to me, if he wanted you to know where he was going, he would have told you. Maybe you were slowing him down.”
The men chuckled.
“I’ll bother you no more.” Taliesin mustered a curt nod and turned his horse back toward the road.
“You lookin’ for that traitor queen as well, then?” the man called after him.
Taliesin’s heart stopped. “Traitor queen?”
“Never mind.” The man waved him off.
Though he burned to question the man further, Taliesin dared not pry any further. He rode on, resolving to get the answers he craved from Gawyr.
Once he was safely out of the village and back on the main road, he dismounted to examine the soil. Gawyr’s large tracks were fairly fresh and easy to find. He stood up and scanned the countryside, searching for the giant’s great bulk on the horizon, but his eyes tripped over nothing but hills, trees and sky. He sighed and crouched down between the hounds. “I’m afraid it’s up to you two.” He put the hounds close to Gawyr’s tracks, scratching their ears and encouraging them. “Go on! Find him!”
The dogs picked up Gawyr’s scent and took off. Knew that wouldn’t be too difficult, Taliesin thought in disgust. Their first day traveling together, he had made a considerable effort to avoid riding downwind of Gawyr. The man smells worse than a pen of hogs.
Within a few hours, Griffin bayed and tore off across the moor. Braith chimed in and took off after him. Taliesin kicked Chrysgod into a gallop and pursued. He soon spied Gawyr moving his direction.
Once they were within earshot, Gawyr unleashed a string of obscenities that matched his odor. “What the hell do you want?”
Taliesin felt a surge of hot indignation shoot up his neck. “What do I want? You said you were coming back! Where are you going?”
Gawyr strode over to him like an enormous stone tower come to life. His arm came sailing toward Taliesin’s face like a broken rampart, stopping just short of his forehead. An accusatory finger shot out, nearly hitting him in the nose. “You lied to me, Bard!” Gawyr’s eyes squinted down at him in anger. “But worse than that, you lied to Urien!” Gawyr scanned their surroundings. “This woman you’re after—did she marry a Saxon?”
Taliesin regretted ever agreeing to Gawyr’s help. It’s only been two days, and, already, things are fraying.
Gawyr did not wait for him to reply. “The man I spoke to is an innkeeper back in that village. He told me a Saxon traitor named Jørren and his wife, a woman who matches your description, passed through their village—but only one of them left it alive."
Taliesin’s anger fled his heart like a thief caught stealing. What filled its place was cold, mounting fear. Oh, gods. Is that why the dreams have ended? He swallowed. “Which one?”
Gawyr glared at him. “Before I tell you anything else, you give me the whole story, you hear me? If you’re not going to trust me, this is where we part ways. You can go and find the poor wench on your own, if you like—but you’ll be rotting meat by sundown if what I’ve heard is true!”
Taliesin’s heart began to beat again, knowing Arhianna had survived. He considered his options. I’ve nothing to lose anymore—and I need his help. “I’ll tell you all I know,” he conceded. “It’s true. She married a Saxon chieftain. I was told they came north in search of his clan…”
“So she’s wife to another, yet you ran after her because you’re in love with her—is that it?”
Though there was much more to it than that, Taliesin did not deny the assessment.
Gawyr grimaced at him, shaking his head. “You’re a romantic fool, like every other damn bard I’ve met in my miserable life.”
Taliesin ignored the insult. “My foolishness doesn’t matter any more than her marriage, at this point. We must find her and get her home, where her father can protect her.”
“If Ingvar’s got her, that may not be possible.” Then Gawyr’s expression changed abruptly. “And who’s this Viviaine woman from Caer Leon?”
Viviaine! Taliesin felt as if the world were unraveling around him. “Who mentioned her?”
“Does it matter? Seems she’s looking for your woman, too—why?”
Taliesin’s mind reeled as yet another of his secrets was exposed. “She’s a...priestess, of a kind.”
“Who? Viviaine?”
“No. Well, yes, actually—they both are, in their own ways.”
“Gods, whelp!” Gawyr grabbed Taliesin by the tunic, nearly unseating him from his horse. “Dagda help you, if there’s anything else I should know, you’d better tell me now—I’ll not go blindly against the likes of Ingvar.”
“Who’s Ingvar?”
“Of all the men who could have your woman, he’s the worst of them all—a creature as vile and dark as they come. If that poor thing’s still alive, though I hope, for her sake, she’s not, she’ll never be the same. That you can count on.”
CHAPTER TEN
Viviaine’s Lament
Viviaine woke to a soft rain dripping down upon her from the leaves of the tree she had slept under. She wiped the water from her face and pulled the cowl of her heavy cloak up over her head. The nearby river sang its rolling song as she fed her horse, tied her belongings back on her saddle, and set off along its bank. Eventually, the river would lead her to Caer Ligualid, where Urien kept court.
The rain fell all morning, slowly soaking her through, but it made the land beautiful. The lichen clinging to the many boulders and rocks on the moor jumped to life in an array of greens, golds and russets. All growing things hummed around her with verdant vibrancy.
Toward afternoon, the rough walls around Caer Ligualid came into view. Viviaine let out a sigh of relief and gave her horse a nudge with her heels. Almost there.
***
A few hours later, Urien received her in his hall, where it seemed she had interrupted a council of some sort.
“What news from Caer Leon, my lady?” he asked. “How fares Uthyr Pendragon?”
“Well, my lord. As does his queen.”
Urien nodded with satisfaction. “His former bard graced my hall not so long ago.” Viviaine could feel him drinking her in with his eyes. “The women are always so ready for love-making after a night of his playing. Makes for a happy kingdom.” The men around him chuckled and a few raised their cups in tribute.
Viviane smiled, unshaken by his suggestive comments. “His bard? I confess I’ve not had the pleasure of hearing him play. What name does he go by?”
“Taliesin. Along with a good many well-warranted nicknames—the Golden One, the Honey-Tongued, Sídhe-Fingered—and a bunch of others I don’t recall. I’m surprised you’ve not heard of him. Makes me think Uthyr
must not have made good use of him. Too busy for music, perhaps. I’m glad of it, however—he came north on some fool’s errand that he needed my help with, so in return he’s agreed to stay and play in my hall for a year. But enough about him. I’ve been told you’ve come seeking Lord Bran’s daughter, is that right?”
Viviaine’s blood had frozen at the mention of Taliesin’s name. She found herself unable to speak. He’s found his body. He’s left Affalon. He’s left me. She dug her fingernails into the heels of her palms. She heard Urien whisper, “Pour the lady some mead. She looks as pale as ice.”
Someone came to her with a cup and held it out, but she could not move her hand.
Urien stood up. “My lady, are you unwell?”
She managed to breathe life into a few words, but they left her mouth like dry leaves falling to the floor. “Forgive me, I’m so tired.”
Urien’s face softened. “I’ve been a selfish boor. Please, Lady, forgive my comments—I meant no harm.” He turned to the servant girl. “Lass, take her to her guest chamber at once, see to it she has all she needs and leave her supper there, so she may eat when she wishes.”
Viviaine felt the girl take her arm and lead her gently from the room, down a hall, through a series of doorways, and into another room. She collapsed gratefully upon the bed, ignoring the girl’s questions until, at last, the girl left her in peace.
Viviaine let her tears fall into the quiet, empty space around her, grateful for its privacy. Oh, my love, hear me—hear my heart. It was not to be forever—only until I could free you from Myrthin and the Sídhe. She curled up into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest, as if by doing so she could squeeze the horrible truth out of her stomach and heart. If you have forsaken me, all is lost.
***
Viviaine rose with a stomachache the next morning. She nibbled on a bit of bread from the supper tray the servant had brought her the night before, but it tasted sour to her. She went to the window and looked out over the green hills that surrounded the fortress, following their gentle curves until they unfurled into the mist rising off the river. What do I do now, Mistress? She thought of Myrthin and threw the bread out the window. Curse you, Myrthin Wyllt, you stupid, selfish old fool! You’ve ruined everything! She spent the next hour brooding, until she resolved herself to a course of action. If Taliesin is truly to return here, I must stay until he does. I must make him understand.
There came a knock at the door. Viviaine let out a startled cry. She put her hand over her racing heart. “Come in,” she croaked.
“My lady, King Urien has asked to see you in the hall, if it please you.”
Viviaine collected herself and stood up. “Yes, of course. Come and help me, lass. Can you give these laces a tug?”
The maiden smiled and wheeled in a cart with a bowl of water on it. “Of course, my lady. I’ve brought you some rosewater as well.”
She tightened her laces, ensuring they were perfectly arranged. Viviaine thanked her and then washed her hands and face.
“Would you like me to comb your hair, my lady?”
“That would be lovely.” Viviaine sat down.
“I’ve never seen such beautiful locks,” the maiden said behind her, drawing the comb through her hair, smoothing it tenderly with her fingers. “It’s like liquid moonlight—the way it catches the sun takes the breath away… Shall I braid it for you?”
Viviaine took comfort in the maiden’s soft touch and kind tone. “Yes, as you like. I imagine you know the fashion here.”
The maiden set to work and nimbly wove a snug-feeling hairstyle about her head, then stood back and smiled. “My best work yet.”
“I’m ready, then.” Viviaine stood up and the girl escorted her to Urien’s hall, where he sat waiting for her.
“King Urien,” she began, “I must apologize for my abruptness last evening. I was feeling a bit ill and woefully in need of sleep.”
“Please, don’t.” He shook his head and waved his hands as if a fly were buzzing about his face. “Now that you’ve rested, please tell me why you’ve come.”
Viviaine spoke the words she had rehearsed. “I have recently visited Mynyth Aur on behalf of Queen Igerna. She requested that I escort Lord Bran’s daughter, Lady Arhianna, down to Caer Leon. I was dismayed to discover Lady Arhianna was not there. Her mother told me she came north to spend time in your court, and perhaps the court of King Ceredig, as well. I am hopeful she is here and that I might speak with her.”
Urien furrowed his brow. “When did she leave Mynyth Aur?”
Viviaine grew concerned. “Her mother said she set out for Rheged nearly two moons ago—is she not here, then?”
Urien shook his head, the lines in his face deepening. “No. And if that’s true, she should have arrived by now.” He stood up and began to pace. “I count Bran of the Oaks among my closest allies.” He shook his head. “God forbid anything has happened to his daughter.”
“It would be most unfortunate,” Viviaine replied honestly. “There’s a chance she’s with Ceredig. Perhaps I should journey on and inquire.”
Urien grimaced and waved a hand in objection. “No. You’ll not ride through these lands alone. I’ll send men to all the lords and holdfasts in Rheged, and one to Ceredig as well. If she’s anywhere within Rheged or Alt Clud, I’ll know within the week.”
Viviaine felt a thrill at the prospect of Urien’s men doing all the work of finding Arhianna for her. “Might I stay until she is found?”
Urien’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course! In fact, I insist you do. Once she’s found, I’ll send you both well-provisioned to Caer Leon with a company of men to escort you and some gifts for Uthyr and his queen.” Urien moved closer, his eyes again betraying the desire he felt for her. “Until then, it will be an honor to have you as a guest in my court.”
Viviaine felt inclined to step away from his intense gaze, but stood her ground.
Urien took her hand and kissed it. “Besides, it will soon be Mabon, and we’ve many festivities planned after the harvest. If we’re fortunate, Taliesin will be back by then, and we’ll have proper entertainment.”
Viviaine felt a flutter of hope in her chest. “Yes. That would be lovely.”
And then, my love, I’ll make you understand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nialedd
Arhianna felt a heavy dread descend as the day’s light began to fade. The women fell to ardent praying. She prayed, too, with perhaps more humility and soul than she had ever mustered in her life. Please, Freya, grant us the courage and strength to endure whatever the darkness will bring. Bless us. Help us.”
She heard heavy footsteps outside. The prayers reached a heightened pitch. The women chanted mantras of comfort and courage, faster and faster, in anticipation of what awaited them.
Men threw the doors open and dragged the women out, funneling them into the night air. Arhianna stood to go with them, but Sigrid stopped her and whispered, “No, my lady—stay here.”
Hilde turned around. “Oh, I do not think so. Ingvar will surely want to break in his new slave.”
Sigrid snarled at her. “Keep your mouth shut, Hilde!”
Hilde backed down, gesturing her compliance. She looked Arhianna in the eye. “Do not worry. Even if he does not rape you tonight, tomorrow will come soon enough. We take turns enduring their abuse. It is how we manage to stay alive. You will not be spared.”
Arhianna felt indignant. “I would never ask to be.” She defied Sigrid and followed them out, determined to be one of the victims. The women were led across the yard and into the longhouse.
Ingvar spotted her immediately. His mouth widened into a diabolical grin. “Queen Arhianna, at last, here, in my hall. I have been searching for you and your traitorous husband for years.” He gestured to a stool by his feet. “Come sit beside me. I want you to see what my men do to oath breakers.”
She did not move, so was thrown up on the dais at Ingvar’s feet. She sat down on the stool and watched as Ingvar’s
men grabbed her clanswomen and dragged them into the center of the hall, some shrieking and fighting, others limp and compliant, unwilling to struggle and give their captors the satisfaction of overpowering them.
Arhianna’s rage mounted with the cries of the women. I must do something! Freya, let me help them! She closed her eyes and tried, once again, to summon her power.
Nothing.
Like a deer caught within a circle of wolves, she searched the hall for unattended blades or spears, anything she might use to kill Ingvar with. She spied a dagger stabbed into a haunch of meat on a table some feet away. She kept her eyes on it, waiting for an opportunity to grab it, but none came. The shrieking grew shriller as the men beat her sisters and ripped their clothes off.
At last, unable to bear it any longer, she lunged for the blade. She yanked it out of the table and turned toward her captor, the dagger held so tightly in her fist she could not feel her fingers. Ingvar moved toward her like a wolf, his eyes dancing with sick delight. He taunted her until she struck, then laughed as he grabbed her wrist and shook the knife from her grip. “So predictable. All of you.” He backhanded her. She stumbled backward, her fat lip splitting open. Bellows rose all around her. The men abandoned their victims, eager to see what their chieftain would do to his now most-prized slave.
Ingvar took the knife, cut Arhianna’s robe, and ripped it off. He turned her naked body around, gripped her neck and pinned her head down on the table. She knew what would come next and braced herself for it. As he violated her, she blocked out her pain and humiliation by focusing on one thing. If he kills the babe, then I shall have my Firebrand back, and burn him alive until he is nothing but screaming black ashes.
