May Earth Rise (38 page)

But they would not be spared. For Owein had a debt to collect. And he would not rest until that was paid.

A
FEW HOURS
later Owein and his warriors had secured the southwest quadrant of the city and were advancing the last few feet to Caer Erias, the fortress of the rulers of Rheged. Trystan came riding up, with his lieutenant, Teleri, right behind him.

Trystan dismounted and came to stand before Owein. His tunic and trousers were torn and bloody, but he moved easily, and Owein concluded that the blood belonged to now-dead Coranians. Trystan gave Owein a jaunty salute. “My King, your city is secured. All quadrants are once again under Kymric control.”

“And the wyrce-jaga were given no quarter, as you ordered,” Teleri said. The diminutive lieutenant smiled and her gray-green eyes were bright.

“She says that with such relish, doesn’t she?” Gwarae Golden-Hair asked as he, too, rode up. “It’s one of her nicer traits.” He dismounted and grabbed Teleri around the waist, and kissed her exuberantly.

“What are your orders, my King?” Sabrina asked quietly as she led the other four brown-robed Druids to stand before Owein.

Trystan stepped forward toward Sabrina but was halted by the arrival of Esyllt, Owein’s Bard. She flung herself into Trystan’s arms. “You are safe!” she breathed.

Trystan put his arms around Esyllt, for if he had not done so he would have fallen. He gave Sabrina a pleading look, but the Druid turned away and again addressed Owein.

“My King?”

The horse’s head, etched on the closed, golden gate of Caer Erias, glittered in the noonday sun. The opals scattered throughout the horse’s mane danced in the fierce light.

“Bring the gate down, Sabrina,” Owein said quietly. “Bring the gate down, and may the Shining Ones soon have the task of dealing with Morcant’s black soul.”

Sabrina nodded and turned toward the gate. She and the other four Druids raised their faces to the sky, their eyes closed.

“Arthur,” Sabrina whispered. “High King, send us your aid.” The Druids instantly stiffened, feeling the power of the High King uniting them, guiding them, knitting them together to bring their power together as one. The gate shook, then burst open. As it did, Owein’s golden stallion reared high, his deadly hooves beating the air. Then the animal leapt forward and was through the gate, screaming his challenge to the Coranians.

Owein and his people followed, bursting into the courtyard. Coranians lined the perimeter, their weapons ready, and the fight began afresh.

Owein saw Sanon swing her blade and a Coranian went down in a welter of blood. Teleri, Trystan, Gwarae, and the rest engaged the enemy, Owein’s name on their lips as they shouted their war cries.

And then Owein saw him. The man he had wanted to kill for so long. Morcant was pressed against the side of the stable, obviously looking for his chance to take a horse and flee. His black hair and dark eyes flashed like shadows beneath the golden sun as he crept forward. His sword was in his right hand, while a sack was clutched in his left. The bag, no doubt, contained whatever treasures Morcant had managed to gather up before the fortress was overrun.

“Morcant!” Owein cried, as he sprinted toward the man who had betrayed Rheged. “You are a dead man!”

Morcant whirled to face Owein. He threw the sack on the ground and brought his blade up, just in time to deflect Owein’s blow.

And so the fight began. Their blades sang as they clashed. The swords moved so swiftly that the blades seemed blurred, trailing fire. Suddenly Owein felt a pain in his right leg, just below the knee. A dagger was protruding from his calf and he staggered.

“Finish it, Morcant,” Bledri called out from just behind Owein, for it was he that had thrown the dagger. “Kill him!”

Morcant raised his blade as Owein went down on one knee. Owein tried to bring his sword up in time, but he knew he would be too late. Morcant was going to kill him. His family had once again been betrayed at the hands of Bledri, his father’s false Dewin. Owein heard his wife cry out his name, but he knew she was too far away to help him. It was over for him. His only comfort was in knowing that though he would die today the Kymri had won this battle.

He made his peace with fate in that moment and so, when the blade came out of nowhere and deflected Morcant’s killing blow, he felt only a dull surprise. He stared at the blade, then focused on the hand that held it. It was a slim, white hand that held the hilt so competently. So, she had come after all.

He looked to his right and saw that Bledri had been disarmed and was held securely by Gwarae. The gwarda’s blade was pressed against the Dewin’s throat while Trystan and Sanon stood on either side, holding Bledri’s arms tightly.

Enid smiled as she thrust her blade forward, forcing Morcant to withdraw his and step back. “Husband,” she said formally. “You seem surprised to see me.”

Morcant licked his lips, his face ashen. “I did not think to see you in a place where decent people gather,” he said stiffly.

Her brows quirked as she smiled slowly. “You think I am not decent?”

“You know what you are,” he hissed.

“The things you and Bledri did to me do not make me dirty,” Enid said softly. “They make you dirty. Foul. Polluted. Poor, poor excuses for men.”

Owein smiled, for that was what he had been trying to tell her for so long. Enid saw his smile and smiled back. It had been so long since he had seen a smile on his sister’s face that he almost wept for the joy of it.

“High King Arthur spoke to me,” Enid went on, “as I waited outside the city. I had thought, husband, never to enter Llwynarth again, never to return to the place of my humiliation. I did, indeed, feel the shame you think I should feel. But no more. For the High King Wind-Spoke to me and he said many things, but none so profound as the last thing. He said that, at the last, it is up to a prisoner to escape his own chains. He said that we can all be prisoners of our past. Or we can escape it. And that the choice is up to us.”

Enid smiled again, but this time at Morcant. And this smile was so very different than her first. For this one held a promise of death in it. Morcant saw it clearly and shivered, even as he gripped his blade tightly.

“So you see, husband,” Enid said gently, “I chose.” In a flash she raised her blade and leapt forward. The blade glowed like fire as it dove past Morcant’s defense and parted his chest, eagerly drinking his blood.

O
WEIN MOUNTED THE
dais in the Great Hall and took his seat upon his father’s throne, a massive chair with a canopy of red and white brocade stitched with opals. The Coranian banner had been torn down and replaced with the banner of Rheged depicting the head of a golden horse with opals in its shining mane.

The hall was packed with Owein’s warriors, all laughing and talking, drinking ale and telling stories of the battle. On Owein’s right stood what had been Queen Ellirri’s chair. Sanon occupied that chair and Owein reached for her hand and kissed her palm. Sanon’s face glowed and she smiled at him, her golden hair unbound and flowing down her slender shoulders, framing her beautiful face.

Enid mounted the dais and took her place standing to Owein’s left. She moved with the same grace she always had but now she held her head high and walked proudly.

Truly, Owein thought, she was indeed free.

As was all of Rheged. For he had just received word from his Dewin that their plans had gone well throughout the kingdom. In Penrhyn the forces led by Anynnas ur Menw, sister of King Rhoram’s Bard, had been successful. In Gwinionydd Hetwin Silver-Brow and his son, Cynedyr the Wild, had routed the Coranians. In Ystrad Marchell Teleri’s brother, Brys, had rescued Lord Rhun and the two had led their warriors to victory. In Maelienydd Lady Atlantas, Trystan’s sister, had defeated the enemy and in Breinol warriors led by Feina, Gwarda of Llannerch, were victorious. Lastly, in Gwent forces led by Tyrnon Twryf Liant had freed the cantref.

His beloved Rheged was now free and his throat ached at the thought. For he had not dared to hope for this day. Not until love had come into his life.

At the bottom of the dais stood Sabrina. Owein’s Druid stood quietly in her robe of brown and green. Her dark hair was pulled back from her flawless face and her blue eyes were serene. Across from her stood Esyllt, Owein’s Bard. Her robes of blue and white set off her white skin and her blue eyes flickered continually to Trystan.

Trystan and Teleri approached the dais and bowed. “King Owein,” Teleri called, “I am pleased to report that all the wyrce-jaga have been killed. Not one is left alive in Llwynarth.” At this the warriors cheered, for the black-robed witch hunters had been much hated.

“Even better, Teleri herself has rid the world of the Master-wyrce-jaga, Saebald,” Trystan said with a smile.

“That’s my girl,” Gwarae said as he went to Teleri and took her hand. He picked her up and mounted the dais, setting her on her feet in front of Owein. “My King,” he said with a grin, “it is only right that you be the first to greet my wife.”

“You got married?” Sanon asked with delight. “When?”

“Just now,” Teleri replied, smiling. “Sabrina married us. I didn’t think it a good idea to give Gwarae time to change his mind.”

“Ha!” Gwarae said. “I’ve only been begging her to do this for weeks.”

“My congratulations to you both,” Owein said heartily. “We just have a few more things to take care of, and we will celebrate.” He motioned for Trystan to bring in the prisoner. At Trystan’s nod two warriors marched in Byshop Oswy. The man’s green robe was torn and dusty and his fair hair, turning to gray, was disheveled. His hands were tied behind his back, but he walked calmly and stood quietly at the bottom of the dais. At Owein’s nod Trystan escorted the Byshop to stand before Owein.

“Byshop Oswy of Gwyrin,” Owein said, “your life has been spared today.”

The Byshop said nothing, merely looking at Owein, waiting for what would come.

“Spared by the wish of High King Arthur. Spared so that you may take a message to the Golden Man.”

“And the message?” Oswy asked.

Owein hesitated, for he knew that the message was useless.

Nonetheless, Owein, you must give it.

Owein was startled to hear Arthur’s voice so clearly. And he was awed, for though he had witnessed the power of the High King today, he still could scarcely believe that Arthur could Wind-Speak from so far away.

“The message, Oswy,” Owein answered, “is that Havgan must leave Kymru. If he does not leave, he will die.”

“I will deliver that message, but I do not think Havgan will care for it.”

“Havgan will soon be hearing a great many things he does not care for,” Owein said. “He will soon learn that Prydyn slipped from his grasp three days ago. And that he lost Ederynion two days since. And that Gwynedd slipped from his grasp yesterday. And he has lost Rheged today. Small, rag-tag bands of what is left of his army are attempting to make their way to his stronghold in Eiodel, but very few, I think, will get there. And no wryce-jaga are alive to go to him, for them we slew with no quarter—in the same way they killed our Y Dawnus.” At Owein’s signal two warriors led the now-pale Byshop away.

Owein’s next task would be more satisfying to him, he was sure. He nodded to Trystan and his captain signaled to the warrior at the door. Within moments they brought in Bledri. Next to him Owein heard Enid suck in her breath at the sight of him.

The traitorous Dewin walked slowly, his head down. His silver and green robes were dirty where Gwarae had flung him to the ground after Morcant was killed. His sandy blond hair had come undone from its pearl clasp and hung loosely around his powerful shoulders. As he came to stand at the bottom of the dais he raised his gray eyes to Owein. Although Bledri had known there would be no quarter, he had, perhaps, still hoped. When he saw the martial light in Owein’s dark eyes he knew that this last hope was denied him.

Owein glanced over at Enid and saw that his sister’s face was still and pitiless. Owein thought nothing would give him more satisfaction than the words he would say next. But he was wrong.

“Bledri ap Gwyn, for your crimes you are to be—”

No.

The single word had been uttered in the heads of all the Kymri gathered here. It echoed in their minds, implacable, unquestionable, final.

“High King—” Owein began, “this cannot be.”

No. You may not put Bledri to death.

Enraged, Trystan stepped forward, his sword drawn from its sheath and murder in his bright green eyes.

“No!” Enid cried, moving swiftly to stand before Trystan. “The High King’s word is to be obeyed.”

Slowly Trystan lowered his raised sword, returned it to its sheath, and stepped back.

Bledri ap Gwyn, one-time Dewin of Kymru, I pronounce a doom on you today. A doom that has been given to me by Cariadas ur Gwydion, the Dreamer’s heir, who has dreamed well and true. You are to be exiled Beyond the Ninth Wave. You will be set in a boat with no oars, sails, or rudder. You will be given a knife and fresh water. The boat will be set adrift on the open sea. And the Shining Ones alone know why they require this.

“Will you not kill me now, King of Rheged?” Bledri rapsed. For Bledri knew as well as the rest that exile Beyond the Ninth Wave was nothing more than an extended death sentence. He would die on the ocean, alone, of starvation and thirst. It would be a long death. “Think, Owein, of what I have done to you and yours. I betrayed your mother and father, giving out to the forces of Amgoed that they were not to come to their rescue. I served Morcant, another traitor. And even worse, I raped your sister as she stood bound in the cells beneath Caer Erias. I raped her not once, but several times, each time more brutal than the last.”

“No, Trystan!” Owein cried as the captain leapt forward. “Can’t you see it’s what he wants?” And indeed, Bledri was smiling as he thought Trystan would kill him. But Bledri’s smile faded as Trystan stopped in his tracks.

“Don’t you see how the Ninth Wave is worse?” Owein asked Trystan quietly. Trystan nodded thoughtfully, then took his hand from his sword hilt.