Cry of Sorrow (63 page)

Arthur turned to Rhiannon, Gwydion, and Gwen, his face still wet with sweat and tears, his dark eyes filled with pain and wonder. “Give me the rings,” he said, his voice hollow.

Without comment, the three took the rings off their fingers and handed them over. Arthur took the rings, and stripped off his own ring. He turned to the throne, then stopped, facing the shades of the Great Ones of Lleu Silver-Hand who still watched. “So now will I return to the High King’s Torque the jewels taken from it by you four long ago.”

Arthur strode to the throne and lifted the Torque. One by one, he plucked the jewels from the rings, setting them within the Torque. Then he laid the Torque down, and went back to the fountain. He plunged his hands into the clear water, and grasped the sword that lay at the bottom. When he pulled the sword out, it was dry and gleaming in the golden light. The hilt, made of silver and gold, was an eagle’s head with eyes of bloodstone and wings studded with onyx. The scabbard was etched with the sign for each of the four gods and goddess of the elements—the sign for Modron, the Great Mother, in emerald; for Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, in pearl; the sign for Taran of the Winds in sapphire; and the sign for Mabon of the Sun in opal.

Arthur hooked the scabbard to his belt, then returned to stand before the throne. He held the Torque in his hands, and said to the people gathered there, “I have survived the Tynged Mawr, and the powers of a High King are now mine. That which was once closed in me is now opened. I can harness the power of the Druids, and call fire and fog to confound the enemy. I can direct the power of the Dewin, scouting out the enemy across all of Kymru at a moment. I can bring together the power of the Bards, and speak mind to mind on the wind. I am your High King. And I stand in Cadair Idris, my home, at the heart of my country. I will lead you in this fight to free our country from the enemy that crushes us beneath their heel.

“My first command is for the Great Ones to depart,” Arthur went on, turning to face the four men and women from the past, who had guarded the Treasures for so long, for love of the last High King of Kymru. “Go now,” he said softly, “to your rest. You have served your High King well. May I have friends as loyal as you.”

And the shade of Bran, his gray eyes at rest and calm at last, answered, “You have, Arthur ap Uthyr var Ygraine.”

“So I have,” Arthur agreed with a smile. “Go now.”

And the four shades, smiling and at peace at last, faded away.

Then Gwydion began to sing the song of Anieron. And the others took up the song, until they were all singing, as Arthur stood before the throne, the High King’s Torque in his hands.

“Shall there not be a song of freedom

Before the dawn of the fair day?

Shall this not be the fair day of freedom?”

A
RTHUR RAISED HIS
Torque, and clasped it around his neck. And as he did, from some unknown source, all the lights within the mountain of Cadair Idris began to glow.

H
AVGAN AND
S
IGERRIC
, weary from battle, neared Cadair Idris. Overhead, the storm had begun to abate. A full moon rode the sky. The mountain was in their sight, when they heard the fierce, undaunted cry of an eagle, and the faint shimmering of hunting horns in the sky.

“Their Wild Hunt,” Sigerric said quietly. “It rides.”

“It is nothing,” Havgan replied shortly. “Their gods cannot stand against our God.”

As they neared the silent mountain, they saw, by the light of the moon, the dead guards, scattered on the broken steps.

“They have, indeed, been here,” Sigerric said. “And gone into the mountain. Drwys Idris has opened for them.”

Havgan did not answer. He was staring up at the Doors, which stood closed and implacable, as they had always been for him. Again, they heard an eagle’s cry and the faint sound of hunting horns from overhead.

Then suddenly, shockingly, the Doors lit up. The jewels scattered there began to glow and shimmer. A low hum filled the night sky, and the once dark and silent mountain shimmered in the night, empty and forsaken no longer.

And at the sight, Havgan threw back his head and cried out in rage to the uncaring sky.

Gwaithdydd, Disglair Wythnos—night

A
rthur ap Uthyr var Ygraine sat in Taran’s Tower, the topmost level of Cadair Idris. In the past three nights since he had survived the Tynged Mawr, Arthur had come to this chamber to be alone, to plan for the freedom of his country, to come to terms with his own imprisonment.

For never again would he be simply Arthur, a shepherd of Dinas Emrys. Never again would he spend his days in the clean, clear air of the mountains of Gwynedd, guarding his sheep against danger, eating his simple meals perched on a rock, watching hawks wheel high overhead on the wings of the wind.

Never again. For he was High King of Kymru now, and any freedom he had once had was gone, never to return. But he thought that he could live with that. If that were the price of freedom for the Kymri, then he would pay it. He had not always been able to say that. But now he thought he could.

He remembered what Gwydion had told him of the dream his uncle had the day before Arthur was born. How Cerrunnos and Cerridwen, the Horned God and the White Lady, who led the Wild Hunt across the skies, had taken from Gwydion a young eagle, and had chained him with links of silver and gold. How they had said that it was not for the eagle to be free, but rather for him to take his place on the Wheel.

He remembered the look in his mother’s eyes when she had made Neuad tell Arthur of his father’s last battle. He remembered the pinched look on his sister’s face when Morrigan spoke of Uthyr. He remembered Dudod’s despair when he had whispered farewell to his brother the night Anieron, Master Bard, had died. He remembered Anieron’s song, heard the length and breadth of Kymru that night, and the call to freedom.

And he knew that the price of freedom for Kymru was only his happiness. And that did not matter. It never had, though he had not always known that.

For now Cadair Idris was alive again. The mountain, deserted for so long, was once again home to the High King of Kymru. It astonished him, this mountain. Built by High King Idris over four hundred years ago, it was a mystery. For the air was still clean and fresh, somehow circulating after all these years. More wondrous still, all over the mountain there were lights that mysteriously went on and off when one passed a hand over a kind of metal plate set in each chamber, except for Brenin Llys, the hall of the High King. The glowing, golden lights, which shone from some unknown source, never went off in that room.

Perhaps the most astonishing thing of all had been how the Stewards of Cadair Idris had simply entered the throne room that night. An old man had introduced himself as Rhufon ap Casnar, a descendent of Illtydd, the Steward of Lleu Silver-Hand. He had brought with him his entire family, some fifty or so men and women. Just how they had entered, Arthur was still not entirely sure. They had brought with them foodstuffs, as well as other supplies, and had set to work ensuring that the rooms throughout the mountain were habitable. It had been Rhufon who had given Arthur his first tour.

There were eight levels within the mountain, and each level was perfectly round, the level below always slightly larger than the level above it. The first level, the level of Cerrunnos, contained Brenin Llys and the corridor that led to it from the Doors.

The second level, the level of Cerridwen, was a huge banqueting hall, surrounded by kitchens and storerooms. The walls of the hall were hung with the banners of the four kingdoms—the white horse of Rheged, the black wolf of Prydyn, the silver swan of Ederynion, and the brown hawk of Gwynedd. There were banners, too, of the four Great Ones—a silver dragon for the Ardewin, a blue nightingale for the Master Bard, a brown bull for the Archdruid, and a black raven for the Dreamer. Over the main table hung the banner of the High King. It was an eagle outlined in dark onyx, with sapphire eyes, wings of pearl, a beak of fiery opals, and emerald wing tips. Just looking at the banner—his banner—as it had shimmered in the sudden, golden light had made him shiver.

The third level, the level of Aertan and Annwyn, was a garden, and this was truly a marvel, for the trees, the shrubs, the flowers that had been planted there had not died, but had remained as fresh as they day they had been planted. A bubbling fountain sprang in the middle of the chamber. Seven small chapels outlined the indoor garden, each chapel marked with the sign for the god or goddess to which it was dedicated—Mabon of the Sun; Taran of the Winds; Y Rhyfelwyr, the Warrior Twins; Aertan, the Weaver, and Annwyn, Lord of Chaos; Cerridwen and Cerrunnos, the Protectors of Kymru; Modron, the Great Mother; and Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters.

In the garden were small tables set with musical instruments and board games. A particularly fine chess set had caught his eye there. The pieces were made of gold and silver. And he was quite sure that the face carved for the High King was his own. And the face of the High Queen? Arthur had thought he had recognized her. But he had said nothing to the others, and, if any one of them thought the features familiar, they did not say.

The fourth level, belonging to Y Rhyfelwyr, the Warrior Twins, contained apartments for the High King’s warriors, his teulu, as well as training rooms and an armory. The armory had, indeed, yielded some fine swords, daggers, and spears that he had given to the rulers of the four kingdoms before they left.

The fifth level, the level of Modron, was made up of the High King and High Queen’s apartments. A formal reception room stood in the middle of this level, and, once again, the eagle banner that stood above a high-backed chair canopied in purple and gold had confronted him. A huge, round table stood in the center of the room.

The sixth level, the level of Mabon, contained apartments for important visitors, each apartment decorated with the colors of those for whom it was reserved—the rulers of the four kingdoms, as well as the Ardewin, the Dreamer, the Master Bard, and the Archdruid.

The seventh level, the level of Nantsovelta, was made up of further apartments for the High King’s officials, servants, and other guests. A glorious fountain stood in the center room, and the iridescent walls were sheathed in mother-of-pearl.

The chamber where he now stood, the eighth level, the level of Taran, was small in comparison to the other levels. It stood at the peak of the mountain, and the smooth walls, covered in silver, were incised with the constellations that wheeled over Kymru. One section showed the spring sky, and another the summer sky. One was for the autumn sky, and the last for winter. The constellations were perfectly executed, and the stars that belonged to each one were represented by twinkling jewels.

But that was not the wonder of Taran’s chamber. For the roof was made of a glasslike substance, and the starry night sky streamed in. Gwydion said that there was a roof just like it at Caer Dathyl, set in the ceiling of Ystafell Yr Arymes, the Chamber of Dreams. And as Gwydion had said that, Arthur caught the longing in his uncle’s voice for the Dreamer’s home. Once he might have taunted Gwydion with that loss. But such things were past. He had no time for them now.

He was grateful to be alone with his thoughts. The others were in the garden room, resting for a few moments, waiting for the next move in this game. There were not many here now; it was nothing like it had no doubt been in the days of the High Kings. Not including the Stewards, only eleven people were still here. There were Gwydion and Rhiannon and Gwen, of course. There were Cariadas, Gwydion’s daughter, and Dinaswyn, Gwydion’s aunt.

The two Druids, Sinend and Sabrina, had also stayed. Sabrina had not wanted to stay, had wanted to follow Trystan back to Coed Coch. But Arthur had insisted that she stay because he needed the Druids. He needed Sinend and Sabrina and even Gwen’s raw and untrained talent. He needed to learn to harness the High King’s power, and he could not master it without Druids to help him.

Rhodri, the one-time King of Gwynedd, along with Dudod the Bard, had also stayed. Arthur knew that soon Rhodri would be on his way to Gwynedd to deal with his traitorous son. But Arthur had told the old man that the time was not yet. He wanted nothing to upset the precarious balance until he had learned his new powers. And Rhodri, too, had obeyed without protest.

The Ardewin, Elstar, and her husband, Elidyr, Master Bard, had also stayed at Arthur’s orders. With Rhiannon and Elstar for the Dewin, and Elidyr and Dudod for the Bards, he could practice mastering that part of the powers. So the Ardewin and the Master Bard had stayed, making Cadair Idris their headquarters. The web of Bards and Dewin that spanned Kymru was back into place, and there was little information that Arthur did not know.

The four rulers had begun their journey to return to their headquarters—Rhoram to Haford Bryn in Prydyn, Owein to Coed Coch in Rheged, Lludd to Coed Ddu in Ederynion, and Morrigan to the new place at Cemais in Gwynedd. He had not wanted to say goodbye to Morrigan, or to his mother. But he had understood, and so had they, that they needed to return to Gwynedd with their warriors and prepare for the final battle.

He knew there would be one. And he even thought he knew, now, when it would be—almost six months from now, on Calan Llachar. It was his name day, and he would be eighteen years old. But the fact it was the day of his birth was not the reason he knew that would be the day when Kymru made its bid for freedom. It was because, this year, on Calan Llachar, there would be a total eclipse of the sun, as there was on the day of his birth. The eighteen-year cycle would come to a close then, and he felt deep inside, that this would, indeed, be the day.

He sat cross-legged on the floor of Taran’s chamber, the High King’s sword, Caladfwlch, resting on his thighs. He gazed above him at the night sky. He saw the five constellations that always rode the sky—Math, named after the first Master Bard, and Llyr, named after the first Dreamer. He saw Draig, the Dragon. He saw Beli, named for the doomed husband of Don. He saw Llys Don, the Court of Don, named after the woman who had been creator of Llyr and mother of Penduran, the one who had made the four Treasures.