May Earth Rise (34 page)

“It is not.”

“You call me a liar?” Lluched cried, her hand going to the dagger at her waist.

“I do,” Aidan replied firmly.

“And just how am I lying?” Lluched said.

“You lie by implication,” Aidan said. “For you suggest that I do not want to marry you.” Aidan walked forward and laid one hand gently on Lluched’s flushed cheek. “But I do,” he said softly. “I always have. For you were born to be my wife and to you I gave my heart long ago. For I love you, Lluched ur Brathach, as I have never loved any woman. As I never thought to love any woman. And glad I am that you will marry me. For I will never let you go.” He bent his head and kissed her slowly, his other hand coming up to plunge into the mass of her dark hair. At last he released her and turned to face Rhoram, his arm around Lluched’s waist.

“King Rhoram, I wish you to allow your Druid to marry us.”

“Today?” Ellywen asked with a smile.

“Today,” Lluched said firmly. “Before he changes his mind.”

“You could wait long and long for that, Lluched,” Aidan said with a grin. “But today will suit me very well also. For the day Prydyn found her freedom is the day I lost mine. And with no regrets, for in truth I lost my heart’s freedom long ago in your dark eyes.”

“Then my Druid will indeed marry you both today, as you ask,” Rhoram said with a grin of his own. “But she must perform a task for me first.”

“Gladly,” Ellywen said with a smile. “And what task may I do for you?”

“Another marriage,” Rhoram said. He turned to face Achren. “A few months ago you said something to me I have not forgotten. I had told you I loved you. And you did not believe me then. Do you remember what you said?”

Achren’s face flushed but she met his eyes fearlessly. “Remind me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You said, ‘when once again you reign in Arberth over all Prydyn, when once again fortune favors you so that you may have the choosing of any woman of Kymru, offer again, if you still wish it.’ Those were your exact words.”

“They were,” Achren agreed.

“And so now I offer again, in front of all these witnesses. For I am once again King of Prydyn. Fortune has again favored me, and I do not seek out your heart to salve a wound of mine. I seek out your heart because, without you, nothing is complete. Even this,” he said, gesturing to his canopied chair, the wolf’s banner, the great hall, “is nothing if you do not share it with me.”

“I am a warrior, Rhoram,” Achren said quietly. “I was not meant to be a queen.”

“As to that, I have plans that I believe you will agree to,” Rhoram said. “Plans we shall speak of later. But for now, Achen ur Canhustyr, PenCollen of Prydyn, queen of my heart, I ask for your answer.”

“Then, my King, I shall give it to you.” Achren drew her sword. The steel rasped loudly in the sudden quiet as she moved to stand before him. “My sword belongs to you and always has.” She held the sword out to him with both hands and he took it from her. “My heart, too, belongs to you and always has. Rhoram of Prydyn, I will marry you.”

He gasped with delight, for his heart leapt at her words and at the truth he saw in her eyes. He handed her sword to Geriant, then took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly to the sounds of cheers from their warriors. At last he released her from his embrace, and drew her to the crook of his arm.

“Today I declare that Prydyn is free from the enemy,” Rhoram cried. “Tomorrow we begin the muster for the battle in Gwytheryn against the Golden Man himself. I appoint Dafydd Penfro as ruler here until we return from that final battle where Kymru will be freed!”

At his words the warriors cried out, calling out his name and that of High King Arthur. And from somewhere outside the city walls, wolves howled in triumph. For today, Prydyn was free.

Dinmael
Kingdom of Ederynion, Kymru
Eiddew Mis, 500

Gwaithdydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early morning

T
he fog-shrouded city of Dinmael was hushed and still in the dark hour before dawn. Tendrils of mist curled around the silent houses and rose from the emptied streets.

Two figures soundlessly appeared at the top of the city’s outer wall. Each figure tossed down one end of a length of rope secured to the jagged stones that topped the wall. Each grasping their ropes, they shinnied down swiftly, coming to rest noiselessly inside the city.

Without a word the two figures made their way down the main street of Sarn Ermyn, easily shrouded from discovery by the fog. They stopped in front of Ty Meirw, the standing stones that guarded the bodies of the rulers of Ederynion. They briefly bowed their heads, and the slighter figure reached out to gently touch the nearest stone, as though in greeting or, possibly, in farewell.

The two walked swiftly on. When they came to the nearest row of houses they separated, each one going to opposite sides of the street. Softly, swiftly, they knocked on each door once, twice, three times. Without waiting for an answer, they then went to the next house and knocked again. At each house doors silently opened, and figures stepped out. Some held swords, while others held spears. Some had helmets on their heads, while others were bareheaded. Yet, though the inhabitants in the street stirred in the mist-shrouded darkness, no candles were lit, and no torches blazed. Even the dogs, which should have bayed at the sound of knocking at such an hour, were quiet. Stilled by an instinct, or, possibly, by the recognition of what the day would surely bring or, perhaps, by something else all together.

As each silent, armed man or woman emerged from their houses, they raised their hands in greeting to the two that had knocked, then moved out of their houses and into the streets.

And waited.

O
UTSIDE THE CITY
walls Angharad, PenAethnen of Ederynion, Queen Elen’s captain, stood silently before the southern gate, her eyes scanning the misty sky overhead. Her dyed white leather breeches clung to her slender body. She wore a sea-green, close-fitting tunic decorated with the white swan badge of her queen, and her arms were bare. Her red hair was tightly braided and bound to her head. A sword was belted around her waist and daggers gleamed at the cuffs of her leather boots.

Behind her, hundreds of Cerddorian fanned out, waiting silently. She knew that Rhiwallon, the Prince of Rheged, was armed and ready to lead more Cerddorian through the west gate. Alun Cilcoed, the Lord of Arystli, was likewise ready with more warriors outside the northern gate of the city.

To her left a Dewin stood silently, his eyes slightly glazed as he Wind-Rode inside the city. And to her right stood Madryn, one of Aergol’s Druids. Madryn’s eyes were closed and her hands clenched into fists. Beads of sweat gleamed at her temples, as she and her fellow brown-robed Druids concentrated, linked with High King Arthur, to maintain the heavy fog that masked the Cerddorian’s army from Coranian eyes.

Yet though the work was obviously strenuous, Angharad had no fear that the Druids would not be able to fulfill the tasks they must fulfill today. For Madryn’s competent air had already reassured Angharad that the Druids would be able to do all that was required.

Talhearn, Queen Elen’s Bard, made his way slowly through the ranks of silent warriors. His silver hair was misted with droplets and his shrewd, brown eyes glittered in his weathered face. He did not speak, but he did not need to. He knew better than anyone what this day meant Talhearn had been her friend for a very long time and they had faced danger together many times in the past three years.

The Dewin next to her stirred then blinked rapidly. He turned to Angharad and said quietly, “Queen Elen and Prince Lludd have roused the populace. The Coranians suspect nothing. Everything is ready.”

At last the day had come when they would begin to take everything back. Or die trying.

All they needed now was the signal that High King Arthur had promised.

Angharad nodded and continued to scan the milky-white sky. Emrys, her lieutenant, made his way to her.

“Angharad, I must speak with you,” he said quietly.

“Can’t it wait?” she asked absently, still eyeing the silent sky.

“No, captain, it cannot,” Emrys replied, an edge to his voice she had never heard before.

Jolted by his tone she turned to him. His handsome face was stern and set. His dark eyes were fastened on hers. His face had a pale cast to it and his mouth twitched as though he was in some sort of pain.

“What is it, then?” she asked, alarmed.

Emrys took a deep breath. “Today we go into battle. And today, I know, I am to die.”

“Nonsense, Emrys,” she said irritably. She was astonished that Emrys would interrupt such an important moment with such patent foolishness. She did not for one minute believe that what he said was true.

“It is not nonsense,” Emrys replied firmly. “It is the truth. I have dreamed it.”

“Are you a Dreamer, then, that you should know the future?” she asked acidly.

But Emrys continued, as though she had not even spoken. “And so the time has come to speak other truths to you. Truths that you never wished to hear from me.”

“Emrys—” she began sternly. But Emrys would not be stopped. Would not, she saw, be reasoned with.

“No, Angharad. You cannot stop me from saying what must be said. For I love you,
cariad.
I have loved you for years beyond counting. I loved you when I was only a warrior in Queen Olwen’s teulu. I loved you when you chose me to be your lieutenant. I have loved you these past years when we have lived hand to mouth, hunted by the Coranians. I have loved you every day, have longed for you every moment. And have never told you so. For I knew it would be useless.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to please—for the love of all the gods—please stop this. For she wished to hear none of it. Had, indeed, successfully avoided this for longer than she had ever thought possible. For she had thought that, someday, Emrys feelings would change. But they had not.

And she could not help him. She did not love him, and would not pretend as though she did. Or that she ever would. Amatheon, Gwydion’s murdered brother, had once held her heart for a brief time. But though he was gone now, her heart had not yet wholly returned to her. She didn’t know if it ever would. Deep inside anger began to stir, born of guilt and of her bitter loss, that Emrys should choose this moment to distract her from the momentous task at hand. She would tell him so, right this moment. She would—

Effortlessly, as Talhearn did everything, the Bard caught her eye. The tiny shake of his head, the pity in his eyes, warned her to be silent and let Emrys finish.

And so she would. But when this battle was over she would have a new lieutenant.

“For,” Emrys said, continuing on, “you never wanted to hear it. You never wanted to acknowledge that I loved you. And you knew.” His tone was not accusatory. Only certain, knowing he was right beyond the shadow of doubt.

“What would you have me do, Emrys?” she asked between gritted teeth, for she was becoming very, very angry now. “Would you have me lie to you?”

Emrys shook his head. “No. For then you would not be the woman I love. You are not a liar and never could be. I want only one thing. Only one little thing today as I stand in the shadow of death.”

“And that is?” she asked.

“A kiss,” he said simply.

She stared at him, scarcely able to credit what she had heard. He thought to trick her into kissing him with some stupid story that he would die today? Did he think her a fool? “Emrys ap Naw,” she said sternly, “you are impertinent. You have a job to do here, and I expect you to do it. Return to your warriors. Now.”

Emrys paled even further and remained rooted to the spot. For a moment she thought he would not obey her. But Talhearn stepped forward and laid a hand on Emrys’ shoulder. Emrys swallowed hard, but Angharad would not relent. At last Emrys saluted and turned away, swallowed up by the mist.

“You did what you had to do,” Talhearn said, for he knew Angharad well. “Let it go.”

She suddenly heard the rush of huge wings beating against the sky overhead. A flash of brilliant white in the fog, a drift of white feathers, the fierce call of an angry swan, and she knew they had come at last.

The signal: the signal High King Arthur had promised had come. In that moment the fog rolled away, lifted completely as though it had never been. The sky was stained red by the rising sun as though a battle had already taken place in the heavens overhead. Hundreds of white swans, with their mighty wings spread wide, dove down from the now-clear sky into the city.

Angharad brought her horn to her lips and blew.

And the Druids brought the gates down.

T
HE FIGHTING INSIDE
Caer Dwfr, the fortress of the rulers of Ederynion, was the fiercest. For all that long morning the Cerddorian had been driving the Coranians back, and those enemy warriors who had been able to had escaped into the gleaming white citadel.

All morning Angharad had kept the queen in her sight as Elen cut through the Coranians like a scythe through wheat. Elen’s white leather tunic and trousers were blood splattered, but the blood was Coranian blood and she moved easily through the melee. She wore the silver and pearl helm of the rulers of Ederynion that was fashioned in the shape of a swan with outstretched wings, and it gleamed in the daylight as the sun reached its apex.

Angharad had last seen that helm on Queen Olwen’s brow the day she had been killed by the invading Coranian force. Today Angharad had no intention of burying another queen, so she stuck with Elen like a burr.

And Emrys stuck to Angharad like bark to a tree, tirelessly guarding her back all morning. In spite of herself Angharad was touched, for she had thought that after their last interview Emrys would stay out of her sight. But he had stuck doggedly behind her throughout the battle.

Smoke billowed into the sky from the southwest portion of the city, for Elen had commanded that the temple to Lytir, built over what had once been the sacred grove of aspen trees, Nemed Aethnen, be burned to the ground. Overhead, flashes of white shone through the smoke as the swans continued to attack the enemy. Their fierce screams blended with the ringing sound of blade on blade and the moans of dying warriors.

As they neared the citadel, ready to bring this day’s grisly work to its conclusion, the separate bands of Cerddorian began to catch sight of each other, meeting finally before the closed doors of Caer Dwfr.

Alun Cilcoed, who had led the forces in the northern quarter, hailed them. He appeared to be unwounded and still had a good number of warriors with him. Prince Lludd, too, appeared just then from the east, for he had led a great many of the townsfolk to push the Coranians from the docks and into the sea. His arm was bandaged, but his grin and jaunty salute convinced Angharad that his wound was not serious.

It was Rhiwallon’s arrival that caused Angharad the most amusement, for, when the Prince of Rheged, who had led his forces through the western quarter, caught sight of Elen, he threw whatever discretion he had (and it was never very much) to the winds and rushed to the queen. Without so much as a by your leave he picked her up in his strong arms and swung her around, whooping exuberantly.

To no one’s surprise—except, perhaps, to Elen’s—Elen did not reprimand Rhiwallon. She simply demanded to be put down. But her tone was not as commanding as usual and there appeared to be a smile in it. Lludd caught Angharad’s eye and grinned.

Then the swans gathered in the sky above and hovered over the citadel, their fierce cries cutting through the rising smoke. Elen eyed the closed gate of Caer Dwfr. The silver gate shimmered so that the image of the swan, outlined in pearls with emerald eyes, seemed to shiver as though anxious to launch itself into the sky to join the others.

“Madryn,” Elen called, and the Druid appeared instantly at Elen’s elbow.

“What is your will, Queen Elen?” the Druid asked, as the other four Druids Madryn had brought with her crowded around.

“That you should open the gate of Caer Dwfr,” Elen replied, “so that the last of the men who killed my mother shall die.”

Madryn bowed her head. “It shall be done, then.” The five Druids lifted their faces to the gate and closed their eyes. The gate began to shiver slightly, and then to groan as the will of the Druids focused on it. The outstretched wings of the incised swan almost seemed to spread even wider, as though straining to break the bods that kept it from the firmament.

It almost seemed to Angharad as though the swan itself cried out fiercely in triumph as the gate burst open. At Elen’s battle cry the Cerddorian poured into the stronghold, calling out fiercely to the enemy to fight. Overhead the swans folded in their tremendous wings and dove, arrowing into the courtyard and attacking the Coranian warriors who had taken shelter there.

The fighting in the courtyard was the fiercest Angharad had ever known. For the Coranians were cornered, and losing. And they knew it. They fought like madmen, to kill as many Kymri they could until they, themselves, were killed. Fighting was hand to hand, for the quarters were too close for bowmen to do any good.

It was when Angharad had plunged her sword into what seemed like the hundredth Coranian that it happened. Elen was to her right and somewhat ahead. Angharad never knew what impelled Elen to look back at that moment, but something did.

“Angharad!” Elen cried. “Look out!”

Angharad whirled. Yet as she turned she knew, somehow, that she would be too late.

And she was.

But she did not die that day. For Emrys was on time.

He leapt forward, using his body as a living shield between Angharad and the blade that the Coranian warrior had thrust at her back. The sword plunged into Emrys and he stiffened as his chest parted beneath the gleaming blade. The Coranian withdrew his weapon and blood poured from both Emrys’ wound and his mouth as he went down.