May Earth Rise (36 page)

T
HREE HOURS LATER
Morrigan stood outside the closed gates of Caer Gwynt. The streets outside the fortress was full of Cerddorian and townsfolk, all with Coranian blood on their weapons, all waiting for the last act to begin. A pall of smoke hung over the city from the burning temple of Lytir, which stood on what had once been the sacred grove of alders. Nemed Gwernen would rise again, Morrigan had vowed, when she had ordered the temple burned.

Overhead the sky was thick with hawks, and their fierce cries mingled with the scattered sounds of battle as the Kymric warriors quashed the few pockets of Coranian resistance left. Most of the enemy still left alive had retreated inside Caer Gwynt.

Cai, who had not once left her side during the bloody morning, stood on her right. And Prince Rhodri, who had also been near her all day, was on her left. Behind her Susanna, Ygraine, and Tangwen stood, their weapons ready. Bedwyr suddenly pushed through the crowd and bowed before her, but not before reassuring himself that Tangwen was unharmed. Then Duach also came to stand before her. Her father’s former Doorkeeper grinned and bowed.

Gwyhar, Susanna’s son, ran up. “Queen Morrigan,” he said formally, his Bard’s voice carrying, “I bring you great news. Tegeingl is again ours. All other resistance is finished.”

“Then only Caer Gwynt, the Fortress of the Winds, remains,” Susanna said.

“What are your orders, my Queen?” Cai asked.

The silver door of the fortress glowed in the noonday sun. The figure of the hawk with outstretched wings, outlined in glowing sapphires, shimmered brightly. Overhead, the largest hawk she had ever seen spiraled down from the sky straight for her. Knowing what she must do, she stood still as the hawk landed on her shoulder. The bird’s claws dug into the leather of her tunic, but she did not move. She was Morrigan, daughter of Gwynedd, daughter of the hawk, and she would not flinch.

The hawk turned to look her full in the face and Morrigan returned the bird’s stare. The hawk’s bright, blue eyes glowed like sapphires and its fierce cry rang in her ears. Yes, she thought. Now it ends. Her own fortress was closed against her and she stood in the street outside the doors like a beggar. “Yrth!” she cried furiously.

The old Druid seemed to materialize at her elbow. “Yes, Queen Morrigan?” he asked, his voice calm.

“Bring those doors down!”

“As you wish,” he bowed. Four other Druids in their brown robes gathered before the doors, behind Yrth.

After a moment the door began to shiver. Then it burst open with a mighty crash. The hawk on Morrigan’s shoulder screamed again and launched itself into the air. With another cry it led the hawks over the wall and into the courtyard.

With a cry of her own Morrigan led her warriors into the now-opened fortress. With cool efficiency, in spite of her rage, she began to kill the Coranian warriors that were massed in the courtyard. One after the other she killed them, aided by Rhodri and Cai, who refused to move an inch from her side.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother plunge her sword into the chest of a Coranian warrior. And she saw one of her mother’s rare smiles light her face. Bedwyr stuck close to Tangwen as the two sliced their way through the courtyard.

“Morrigan,” Susanna called.

Morrigan looked over at her Bard. Susanna was standing in the doorway of the ystafell, her face pale. Gwyhar, her son, was at her shoulder, guarding her closely from harm.

“Arday is dead!” Susanna called.

Morrigan briefly closed her eyes. She had so wanted to reward Arday for the years of service. But someone had gotten to her first. And she knew who it was, as surely as if she had been there.

It was at that moment that she caught sight of General Catha through the press. His blond hair was soaked in sweat. Blood splattered his golden tunic. His axe flashed in the sun as he skewered a Kymric warrior.

As if he sensed her gaze he raised his head and looked at her across the courtyard. A cruel smile came to his handsome face and he held the axe before him and gave her a mocking bow.

But she needed no such invitation, no encouragement to meet him in battle. For this was the man who had killed her father. This was the man who had sent hundreds of Cerddorian to their deaths. This was the man who had held all of Gwynedd in his cruel grasp for so long.

This was the man who would die today.

She supposed he was not afraid of her, for her knew her to be no more than sixteen years of age. But she knew that, in all the ways that counted, she was no longer a girl. She was a warrior of Gwynedd. She was her father’s daughter. She was the PenHebog, the Head of the Hawk. And she would not fail.

She stalked across the courtyard in fury and warriors of both armies seemed to melt from her path. She was vaguely aware that both Cai and Rhodri stayed with her and that her mother, too, followed closely behind her.

She and Catha came to a halt in front of each other. Both held their weapons firmly in their hands.

“So, daughter of Uthyr, you have come to me,” Catha said, smiling. “I will do to you what I did to him.”

“I think not, General,” Morrigan said, her voice clear and calm. “For the time has come for you to pay for your crimes.”

“Ha! You are a girl.”

“No,” Morrigan said grimly. “I am justice.”

Without another word they began. His axe and her sword clashed so hard that sparks flew. The air between seemed to be woven of metal as their blades flickered in and out, as each sought to get through the others’ defenses.

For Morrigan it was as though every movement that anyone made in that suddenly still morning was unnaturally clear. She seemed to be aware of everything around her. She knew that her mother stood stiff and unmoving, and that Susanna had her arm around Ygraine’s shoulders. She was aware that Bedwyr and Tangwen stood close together, their hands clasped. She was aware that Cai and Rhodri were watching grimly, forcing themselves to stand back from the fray, leaving this to her.

She wondered briefly if her father was watching from the Land of Summer. She wondered if he knew that she was fighting his enemy here today. She wondered if he was proud of her.

The battle between the two of them went on and on. Her arm was getting tired and she kept wiping sweat from her brow. But the strength of Catha’s blows were also lessening, and he, too, wiped sweat from his face.

Then Catha leapt forward, his axe swinging viciously at her knees. She jumped in the air, allowing the blade to pass beneath her. As she came down to earth her ankle twisted beneath her and she stumbled. She recovered only just in time, rolling out of the way of the descending axe. She leapt back to her feet, panting.

Knowing that the time had come, she cried her father’s name and pressed her attack, beating him back with the onslaught of her repeated blows. But he recovered quicker than she had thought he would. He raised his axe and it began to descend more swiftly than she thought possible. She might have died then—would, surely, have—but the sudden harsh scream of a hawk and the beating of wings distracted Catha from fully completing the blow. He ducked to avoid the huge bird, and his stroke went wild, which was all that Morrigan needed. Her blade knocked his axe from his hand. Without hesitation, she plunged her sword into his chest with both hands.

Blood spilled from the wound and from Catha’s mouth as he sank to his knees, his hands clutching the sword that protruded from his heart. She stood in front of him, her hands still on the hilt as he stared up at her with shocked eyes.

“This is for my father,” she hissed, and she twisted the blade.

He cried out in agony and his cold, blue eyes shone with hatred.

“And this is for my mother’s pain,” she said, as she twisted it again.

“And this is for Arday,” she whispered, as she again twisted the blade in Catha’s dying heart.

And then Catha sank fully to the ground, sliding off her blade. She stood over him and watched his spirit flee, defeated.

And then the hawk, the huge hawk that had cried out, cried out again in triumph and shot up into the sky.

M
ORRIGAN SAT IN
her father’s chair on the dais in the Great Hall. The boar banner of Corania had been taken down and burned, and the banner that now hung on the wall behind her was the banner of the Rulers of Gwynedd. The banner showed a hawk with outstretched wings worked in blue on brown silk, outlined in silver with sapphire eyes.

Rhodri and Cai both stood stolidly on either side of her chair, neither one giving any indication that they would ever stop shadowing her. She hoped that, eventually, she could persuade them to leave her alone, but she was touched by their obvious devotion.

Rhodri kept his eye on his granddaughter, Tangwen, as she stood with Morrigan’s lieutenant, Bedwyr. Rhodri did not seem at all displeased at this, and he almost even smiled.

Cai, on the other hand, kept looking over at Susanna. But just when she would sense his eyes on her and turn to look at him, he would look away. Men, Morrigan thought with a hint of exasperation. They were so silly.

Her mother, who could not be persuaded to mount the dais, stood proudly at the foot of the stairs. Ygraine’s dark eyes held triumph at once again being back in the hall she had ruled for so long. But there was pain in her eyes, too, that Uthyr could not be here to witness this moment.

Susanna and her son, Gwyhar, stood on either side of Ygraine. Gwyhar kept looking up at Cai, as though waiting for something. Morrigan had a pretty good idea what that was, but privately thought Gwyhar would wait a long time for Cai to say what he should have been said a long time ago.

Morrigan gripped the armrests of the massive, canopied chair. She was Queen of Gwynedd. She ruled, not just here in newly freed Tegeingl, but throughout Gwynedd. For the past few days had seen success in every cantref. In Llyn, Lady Gildasa, Tangwen’s aunt, had been rescued and she and her son, Ydeer, had led the Cerddorian and common folk to victory against the Coranians. In Arfon, Lady Isagwyn who had led the Cerddorian in Coed Arllech for the past two years had also won her battle.

In Dunoding Dywel, Gwarda of Ardudwy had been victorious. He had begged hard to have that chance, for his brother was Bledri, the Dewin in Rheged who had betrayed his people to the enemy, and Dywel was always eager to prove himself. In Eryi, Lord Ciawn had escaped his prison, and freed his cantref. In Rhufonoig no lord or gwarda had been left who was not in league with the enemy, so Morrigan had dispatched Cynwas Cwryfager, the Gwarda of Aberffraw, to lead the Cerddorian there. And he had done so successfully, ensuring that Nerthus and Saranhon, the traitorous gwarda there, had been killed.

In Arllechwedd, Teregund ap Moren had also been victorious. Menwaed, the Lord of Arllechwedd, was dead, and at his sister’s own hand as they had discovered earlier. Morrigan had ordered that Menwaed’s body be burned without ceremony. And she had seen to it that Arday’s body had been treated with reverence and readied for burial. Tomorrow she would be present when Arday was buried in Bryn Celli Ddu, for her father’s former steward deserved all honor.

Of course, all this had only been able to happen because of Arthur, her brother. He had dispatched the Y Dawnus throughout Kymru, and had used his powers as High King to ensure victory throughout. Without Arthur they never would have won back their own.

She gestured for the prisoner to be brought in. Very few Coranians were still left alive at this point. Cai himself had killed the Master-wyrce-jaga in battle, and she had given orders before the battle had even begun that not one wyrce-jaga was to be left alive. And those orders had been faithfully followed. Most of the common Coranian soldiers had elected to fight unto the death, and she was not sorry, for she would have been loath to give quarter. But she had seen to it that a very important Coranian was spared, for her brother had told her to do so.

The prisoner was brought in. His hands were tied behind his back. His priests’ robe with the tabard of green was torn and dirty. But the prisoner held his head high and made his way without resistance through the crowd of Cerddorian gathered in the hall. At last he was made to halt at the bottom of the dais.

Morrigan leaned forward. “You are Ecgfrith of Deorby, self-styled Byshop of Gwynedd?”

“I am Ecgfrith of Deorby. I was sent here by my ArchPreost to be the Byshop of Gwynedd.”

“And do you wish to have your life spared today?” she asked.

“All my life I have faithfully served my God. Should He want me to die today, I will. Should He wish me spared, I will be. You must do as He sees fit.”

“Indeed?” Morrigan asked, her brows raised. For a moment she reconsidered what she was going to do, for though she was sure he was sincere, he sounded very pompous about the whole thing. But in the end she let it go. After all, Ecgfrith was only being loyal to his God, even if he was such a pain about it.

“I have a message for you to take to your Warleader,” she said. “It is a message from High King Arthur. Will you take that message?”

“I will,” Ecgfrith said.

For a moment she hesitated. The message was surely useless. Havgan would never—

Yes, sister, I am sure about this.

She smiled at the sound of the voice in her head, for it was so comforting to hear her brother’s voice, to know that the two of them, together, had avenged their father this day.

“The message, Ecgfrith, is that Havgan must leave Kymru. If he leaves, he will live. If he stays, he will die. This is the message.”

“I will carry it, Queen Morrigan,” Ecgfrith said. “But I do not believe Havgan will leave.”

“Neither do I,” Morrigan agreed. “Nonetheless, that is the message.” She gestured to the two men guarding the Byshop. “Let him rest today, and send him on his way tomorrow, with a fresh horse and supplies.”

The guards bowed and took their prisoner away.

Rhodri stepped up from his place beside her and bowed to her. “Queen Morrigan, I beg to give you news.”

“News?” Morrigan asked blankly. “What sort of news?”

“News that my granddaughter, Tangwen of Rhufonoig, is to be married.” Rhodri gestured and Tangwen and Bedwyr came to the bottom of the dais, holding hands. They bowed to her. Tangwen was blushing, but she was smiling and Bedwyr was grinning from ear to ear.