Authors: Holly Taylor
“Oh,” Torgar said easily. “It could be done. Given sufficient water and food. Nothing fancy on the food, now,” he said confidentially. “I can’t eat the way I used to anymore.”
“Really, Havgan,” Sigerric sputtered. “You don’t mean to listen to this. This is nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense,” Torgar said indignantly. “And I will prove it to you, if the Warleader gives me a chance.”
“I will give you that chance, Torgar,” Havgan murmured as he half turned to eye Cadair Idris. “I will indeed.”
“Havgan, you are not serious,” Sigerric exclaimed.
“When you get across the sea, go to Athelin with this token,” Havgan said, ignoring Sigerric completely. He took a ruby ring from his finger and placed it in Torgar’s hands. “Show it to the guards at the city gates and they will see to it that you are taken to Aesc, the Emperor’s brother. Mind you, you will tell your business to Aesc only. No one else.”
“Yes, lord,” Torgar said, examining the ring closely.
“And do not, Torgar,” Havgan said quietly, “even think of betraying me. You will go to Aesc and tell him what I want. If you do not, if you attempt to cheat me, I will return to Corania just to hunt you down. And I will. Believe that.”
Torgar swallowed hard. “I believe that, lord.” Then the old sailor drew himself up to his full height, almost able to straighten his old spine. “And there is no need to threaten me,” he said with a modicum of dignity. “I will do this for you—and for Lytir, my God.”
“See that you do, Torgar,” Havgan said softly. “See that you do.”
Cadair Idris, Gwytheryn &
Dinmael, Kingdom of Ederynion, Kymru
Eiddew Mis, 500
Addiendydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—morning
A
s he stepped out of the grim forest and into the golden meadow Gwydion laughed and flung out his hands as he lifted his face to the warming sun.
He danced across the meadow, whirling among the tall, green grasses. Fiery rockrose and lemon-yellow globeflowers, dark blue forget-me-nots and white lily of the valley dotted the emerald plain. The heady aroma of wallflowers and violets scented the clean air. A spring bubbled across the plain, laughing and sparkling, beckoning him. He plunged his hands into the cool, clear water then flung out this arms, spilling droplets onto the grasses where they lay like glittering diamonds.
From far away he heard a hunting horn and he welcomed the sound. He knew whose presence the horn preceeded and he was not afraid.
White hunting dogs with red ears bounded across the plain, baying and gamboling, headed straight for him. Gwydion stood still and let them come. They halted before him and he held out his hand. The lead dog stepped forward and gravely sniffed the offered hand. Then he barked once, twice, three times, and the pack halted, then lay down, panting.
Two horses cantered across the plain. One glistened white as pearl and the other black as onyx. The rider of the white horse sat his mount proudly. Antlers sprung from his forehead. His chest was bare and his breeches were made of deerskin. His leather boots were studded with glittering topaz. His face was quiet, but his topaz owl-eyes glittered and his lips seemed as though they might be ready to curve in a smile.
The rider of the black mount was dressed in a glowing shift of pure white. A silver belt encircled her slim waist. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, held back from her face by a band of amethysts. Her amethyst eyes smiled.
Far overhead an eagle called out fiercely and began to spiral down from the clear, blue sky. The eagle screamed again then swooped down, coming to rest on Gwydion’s outstretched arm.
“I greet you, Arderydd, High Eagle of Kymru,” Gwydion said gravely as he inclined his head to the huge bird. “And I greet you, also, Cerrunnos, Lord of the Wild Hunt, and Cerridwen, Queen of the Wood.”
“Well met, Gwydion ap Awst,” Cerridwen said her voice musical and light, like the ringing of tiny, silver bells. “For the first time I could almost believe you are happy to see us.”
“For the first time he is happy,” Cerrunnos amended, his unblinking owl-like eyes focused on Gwydion.
“You speak truly, Cerrunnos,” Gwydion replied. “For the first time in more years than I can remember, I am happy.”
“Because?” Cerridwen asked, although Gwydion thought she already knew the answer.
“Because I am free at last. Free from the bondage I put myself in for so many years. Free to love she whom I was always meant to love. I saw it truly, finally, when Llwyd Cilcoed captured me and imprisoned both my body and my mind.”
“Yes?” Cerridwen prompted.
“All these years I kept her away from me, saying I did so for my duty. But I was wrong. It was not my duty. I was afraid.”
“And your adherence to your duty now?” Cerrunnos asked pointedly.
“Is as strong as it has ever been. I have faithfully performed the tasks that you asked of me so long ago. I protected Arthur from both the traitors in our midst and from the invaders. I journeyed to the land of the enemy, to spy for Kymru. I have journeyed throughout Kymru with the others and helped to find the four Treasures. I brought Arthur to Cadair Idris, along with the Treasures, and prepared him to undergo the Tynged Mawr. Now Arthur is High King of Kymru. My task is not yet done. I know this, for Kymru is still held by the enemy. But the task is nearing its end. And it is only now that I discover it was never a reason to be alone. Only an excuse.”
“And so, Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon, you have learned the truth. What will you do now?” Cerridwen asked.
“I will lay my heart at the feet of the woman I love. I will beg her to forgive me for taking so very, very long to bring my heart to her. And then I will do all I know how to do to free Kymru. But, before I die, I will love. And not be afraid.”
“Very well met, then, Dreamer,” Cerrunnos said. “Very well met, indeed. Then you are ready to return to the world in which you live. Your body lies in Cadair Idris, under the care of she whom you love. She has nursed you these many days. To her you owe your life, for with less expert care you might have died.”
“To her I owe everything.” Gwydion said simply. “And if she will let me I will spend the rest of my life with her, doing all I can to make her happy.”
“Then you are ready to return. Listen, now, for she senses you are going back. Go to her, Dreamer of Kymru,” Cerridwen said gently. “And know that our good wishes go to you both.”
“And, remember, when we are called next, we will be ready. The Wild Hunt will ride again in defense of Kymru,” Cerrunnos said, “when the one who was meant to call us calls. And when the one who is meant to lead us takes his place at our head.”
“And who is meant to call you to our aid?” Gwydion asked. “And who is to lead you?”
“They will know when the time comes,” Cerrunnos said. He brought the hunting horn to his lips and sounded a note. The challenge rose through the air. The eagle launched itself from Gwydion’s arm with a fierce cry and spiraled up into the sky. The dogs bayed and launched themselves into the sky after the eagle.
The white and black horses leapt up after them.
Gwydion watched until the Hunt was no more than specks high overhead. He lifted his head at the sound of his name called across the wind. She called him, he knew. She called him and he would answer.
H
E OPENED HIS
eyes slowly. Above him her beautiful face hovered, her green eyes glowing in the soft golden light. The bed he lay in was covered with a spread of red edged in onyx. A banner of a raven with opal eyes shimmered on the far wall. Wardrobes of polished oak lined one wall. Next to his bed was a small table, covered now with bottles and a few golden goblets chased with opals. The door to the chamber was golden and the symbol of the Dreamers was outlined there in fiery opals. He blinked again, and knew that he was in the Dreamer’s chambers at Cadair Idris.
“How long?” he whispered.
“Fourteen days in all,” she answered as she wrung fresh water from a soft cloth and laid it gently on his forehead. “Four days here from Sycharth and ten days in Cadair Idris.”
“It was very bad, then.”
“Very bad indeed,” she said. “You were suffering from lead poisoning from the collar. For that I have been giving you a tincture of Penduran’s Rose, which also helped to reopen the pathways in your brain for your gifts. I believe if you take a few moments to check, you will find that your gifts have fully returned.”
He nodded, for he could tell she was right. “And what else?”
“The mistletoe poisoning was the worst. That was what Llywd Cilcoed kept making you drink, to keep you disoriented. I gave you hawthorn to counteract its effects on your heart. And valerian for the convulsions.”
“Very efficient,” he murmured.
“But for a time, nonetheless, we thought we had lost you.” Her lips tightened as her voice wavered slightly and she looked away for a moment, unwilling to meet his eyes.
“Rhiannon,” he began.
“But you turned the corner a few days ago,” she continued, wiping his face with the cloth. “And I am doubly glad you woke today, for I predicted you would.”
“Did you now?” he asked, his brows quirked. He smiled and she blinked down at him, startled.
“Gwydion, do you know you just smiled?”
“I do,” he said, and laughed softly.
She frowned for a moment, clearly puzzled. “I have made you a good broth. And you are to drink every drop,” she said and she rose and went to the fire that crackled on the hearth. A small pot hung over the flames on a spit. She swung the spit out over the hearth and ladled the broth into a golden bowl. She brought the bowl back to the bed and sat down again in her chair. She helped him to sit up, propping him up with pillows. Then she spooned the broth into his mouth.
He ate obediently, willing to bide his time and regain at least a measure of his strength. And for all that he had just woken up he did feel almost strong again. The warm, tasty broth made him feel even better.
“I could almost get up,” Gwydion said as he swallowed the last bit. “I feel strong enough.”
“Then you may get up,” Rhiannon said. “But not for long. It won’t take much to tire you.”
“I am sure you are right,” he agreed, and was rewarded with another tiny frown when he did not argue with her. “I am wearing something, aren’t I?”
She laughed. “You are wearing a pair of very comfortable breeches.”
“Ah. And who dressed me in those?”
“I wish I could say I did, but it was Arthur.”
“I wish you could say you did, too,” he replied. He flung back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He rose slowly, but did not feel dizzy. “I feel surprisingly good,” he said as he took a few steps.
Rhiannon shadowed him, ready to put out a hand if he fell. For that he almost felt like falling, just to have her hold on to him. And perhaps he would have, if only Cariadas had not chosen that moment to burst into the chamber.
His daughter flew across the room, laughing to see him on his feet, and threw herself in his arms. But he was not as strong as usual, and he tottered back. Rhiannon grabbed his arm to steady him but missed and he and Cariadas ended up on the floor, their fall cushioned by a soft rug woven in red and black.
“Da!” she cried, clutching him around the neck. “Da, you’re alive!”
“For the moment,” Gwydion croaked, loosening her grip somewhat so he could breathe. He stroked her bright, red-gold hair and tears came to his eyes as she sobbed.
“Oh, Da, we didn’t know if you would be all right. Rhiannon kept insisting that you were too stubborn and too mean to die, but I was so afraid.”
“Did she?” Gwydion asked as he raised his eyes to Rhiannon over Cariadas’ bowed head.
Rhiannon looked back at him steadily. “I certainly did,” she said crisply. “Cariadas, dearest, perhaps you would help your da up.”
“Oh, Da,” Cariadas said, laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m sorry!”
“Don’t be,” Gwydion said as she helped him to his feet. “It is so wonderful to see you again, I don’t mind a bit. I missed you, daughter. Very much.”
Cariadas’ brows raised at that. “Da, are you feeling all right? I mean—”
“I know what you mean, my dear,” Gwydion said gently. “And, yes, I feel very fine indeed.” He smiled and Cariadas looked even more shocked.
His daughter turned to Rhiannon, her face anxious. “Are you sure he will be all right? This is all very—”
“Odd,” Rhiannon finished for her. “Yes, it certainly is. And, no, I don’t know how long this will last.”
“For the rest of our lives,” Gwydion said softly. “Believe me.”
Meirwydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early evening
G
WYDION SLEPT MOST
of that night and a good deal of the next day, waking occasionally to eat. With every passing moment he felt stronger. Cariadas stayed with him, saying Rhiannon needed to rest, as she had hardly left his side at all in the last two weeks.
Toward evening he rose and took the bath they had prepared for him. He luxuriated in the warm water, occasionally humming a tune to himself as he trimmed his dark beard. He toweled himself off and dressed in the clothes they had laid out for him—a tunic and trousers of black with opals at the hem and throat. His hair was held at the nape of his neck with a golden clasp chased with opals. His boots were black leather and opals glittered at the turned-down cuffs. He fastened the Dreamer’s torque of gold and opals around his neck then went to the door and opened it.
Rhiannon stood there, her hand out to grasp the door handle. She was dressed in a gown of sea green over a kirtle of white. A girdle of glowing pearls encircled her slim waist. Her dark hair was held back from her face by a band of pearls and her Dewin’s torque of silver and pearl was clasped around her slender neck.
For a moment he simply stared at her, drinking in her beauty. Her green eyes softened slightly as she returned his gaze. He crossed to her side and held out his arm, never taking his eyes from hers. She smiled and laid her hand on the crook of his arm.
“Arthur and the rest are waiting in Brenin Llys to welcome you back to the land of the living,” she said.
“The only welcome I need is yours,” Gwydion said quietly. His quicksilver eyes gazed into her emerald ones. He reached out and gently touched her face, his thumb lightly brushing her lips.
He was about to say—and do—more, much more, but just then Cariadas appeared on the landing. And though he loved his daughter dearly he momentarily wished her leagues away. Cariadas smiled at them both and then took his other arm.
“Arthur is waiting for you,” Cariadas said.
“I am surprised he has not come by to see me,” Gwydion replied.
“Oh, but he has,” Cariadas protested. “He was by your bedside every day until yesterday, when you regained consciousness.”
“Was he now?” Gwydion murmured thoughtfully.
To his surprise even descending five levels of stairs did not tire him. When they reached the bottom level Gwydion saw that the golden doors to Brenin Llys, the High King’s Hall, were flung open. A soft golden glow emanated through the archway, spilling warm light into the corridor.
He stood for a moment in the archway, Cariadas on one side and Rhiannon on the other. Light played across the glittering walls and pillars sheathed in gleaming gold. Jewels winked from the banners that hung within each of the eight shallow alcoves—azure sapphires and verdant emeralds, glowing pearls and fiery opals. Trees shimmered in each alcove—hawthorn and birch, hazel and rowan, ash and alder, oak and aspen.
In the center of the hall a golden fountain bubbled and laughed, spraying tiny droplets of clear water into the golden air. Next to the fountain the Four Treasures gleamed. At the far end of the hall eight steps led up to a raised dais. Each step was covered with jewels—the first step topaz and the next amethyst, followed by emerald, pearl, ruby, onyx, opal, and sapphire. The throne on the dais was shaped like an eagle, with outstretched wings forming the high back of the golden chair. A tree of yew and another of hazel stood behind the throne.