Night Bird's Reign (35 page)

“Who are you?” Olwen demanded.

But the man refused to answer, simply staring at the Queen. His eyes shifted to Gwydion, and narrowed when he saw the Dreamer was unharmed.

“That’s right,” Gwydion said softly. “The knife you threw was deflected by the Druid. You have failed your master.”

“What is your cenedl?” Olwen demanded. “Who are your kinsmen?”

“My kinsmen know nothing of this,” the man said. “And I will not tell you who they are.”

“You will tell me,” Olwen said, her tone deadly. “Believe that.”

“I do believe that I would if I were alive,” the man said with a grimace. “But I will not be.”

“Stop him!” Gwydion cried as the man broke free of Emrys’s grasp. The man brought his hand to his mouth and swallowed something. Angharad and Emrys took him in a fresh hold, Angharad forcing the man to his knees.

“What did you take?” Gwydion demanded as he knelt beside the man. “Tell me!”

“I will tell you,” the man rasped. “Because it is too late to help me. It was pennyroyal.”

“How much?”

“All that I have. I am a dead man, Dreamer. You will get nothing from me.”

“You would kill yourself rather than betray your employer?”

“It was in the terms. I do not make promises I cannot keep.” The man gasped and clutched his belly.

Regan also knelt beside the man and put her hand on his forehead. She shook her head. “He’s right. He’s a dead man.”

Even as she said that, the man stiffened and cried out. Then he went limp and slumped to the ground. Angharad gestured and four warriors picked up the would-be assassin’s body and left the grove.

“Take him back to the fortress, Angharad,” Olwen said coldly, gesturing to Gwydion.

“Yes, my Queen,” Angharad bowed.

Olwen turned to Gwydion. “Tomorrow you will be gone from my city. See to it that you make for the border as quickly as possible. I want you out of my kingdom.”

Gwydion held up his hand. “My safety, Olwen,” he said coldly, “was in your hands. Yet I almost died tonight while under your protection.”

Olwen flushed but did not answer, for she knew the truth of that statement.

“You owe me a boon.”

“Name it,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Your Captain, the PenAethnen, must journey to Caer Dathyl. She must be there by Suldydd, Cynyddu Wythnos, Ysgawen Mis.”

“Very well,” Olwen said stiffly.

Llwyd Cilcoed’s face darkened. “My love, surely you don’t mean to do as he wishes.”

“It is the law,” Olwen said shortly. “The safety of the Dreamer as my guest was compromised. He is within his rights to ask me for a boon. Go now, Gwydion ap Awst. I trust we will not meet again.” So saying she stalked off, with Llwyd close behind.

“Come, Gwydion,” Angharad said sternly. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one evening.”

Gwydion bowed to Iago. “My thanks for saving my life. If there is anything I can do in return, you may call on me.”

Iago, Angharad, Emrys, and Talhearn escorted Gwydion back to the fortress.

When they returned to him room, Angharad said, “I’m locking you in for the night, Gwydion. Both Emrys and I will be right outside your door. Iago, keep an eye on that secret entrance from Gwydion’s room. Have Talhearn stay up with you to watch. I don’t think there is another assassin here, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Yes, Angharad,” Iago said. “Good night, Gwydion.”

“Good night, Iago. And thank you.”

Angharad left, with Emrys right behind her. Gwydion got up from the bed and sat in front of the fire. Disdaining the chair, he huddled upon the hearth, watching the crackling flames. He held his hand out to the fire and did not flinch. For he had taught himself not to do that long ago.

He was psychokinetic and therefore could Fire-Weave, and he often did this elaborately, making a game of it. A necessary game, for, he thought bitterly, how people would laugh at him if they ever found out that the great Dreamer was afraid of fire.

He thought back then, remembering it all as if it had just happened yesterday, instead of years ago. He thought of the last time he almost died—the time when he would have died, if not for Uthyr.

G
WYDION AP
A
WST,
the future Dreamer of Kymru, rode nervously on his pony. He was a solemn boy of six years, thin and frail. He despaired of ever becoming as strong and handsome as his father. Awst rode next to him now, laughing and calling out greetings to the people he knew, as they rode down the streets of Tegeingl. They were very close to the fortress of Queen Rathtyen. Gwydion was so nervous he could barely swallow.

He had never met the Queen. And, he had never been out of Caer Dathyl on a trip with his father. His mother had always made sure of that. Of course, his mother had objected strenuously when Awst came to Caer Dathyl to take Gwydion away on this trip. But for once, his mother’s objections hadn’t done any good. Awst had been determined to have his way. Best of all, Gwydion had Awst all to himself, for Amatheon had been far too young to make the trip.

Gwydion worshipped his father, and had been euphoric at the prospect of traveling with him. But he was less happy about their destination. He didn’t think that he wanted to meet Queen Rathtyen. His mother had told him that the Queen was a wicked woman, that she had stolen Gwydion’s father and that was why Awst never came home. She even said that Awst and the Queen had a son—a boy named Uthyr that Awst loved more than he loved Gwydion or Amatheon. His mother even said that the Queen loved Uthyr more than her legitimate children by her husband, King Rhodri, and that was why she made Uthyr her heir instead of her other son, Madoc.

But on their trip Awst had explained very gently that his mother was mistaken. He had explained that he and the Queen were very good friends. It was true that he and the Queen had a son, but Awst loved all his sons equally. It was true that Uthyr was her heir, and that was indeed unusual. But Uthyr had been tested and was not Y Dawnus, and he was the first-born son of the Queen. The will of the Shining Ones was to be accepted, not questioned.

But Gwydion was frightened now. What if his mother was right? What if Awst did love this other son more? Then what would he do? The gates of the Queen’s fortress seemed to loom over the small, frightened boy. The sapphire eyes of the fierce hawk carved upon the closed gates glittered ominously at him.

Slowly, the gates swung open. A woman with rich reddish brown hair and kind blue eyes came forward. She was dressed in a gown of blue and a silver torque, studded with sapphires, hung around her slender neck. The woman smiled into Gwydion’s apprehensive eyes, and all his fears seemed to vanish in that instant.

She came up to his pony, followed by many people, but Gwydion had eyes only for her. “Welcome, Gwydion ap Awst, to Tegeingl,” she said in a rich, melodious voice.

Quickly Gwydion slid off his pony and bowed. Smiling, she held out her hands to him and raised him to his feet. “I am Rathtyen and I am so glad to meet you at last.”

Gwydion gulped audibly. This was the Queen! The Queen herself had greeted him as an honored guest. And he knew then beyond all doubt that all his mother’s harsh words about the Queen were lies.

Rathtyen turned to Awst, who had dismounted by then, and the two embraced. She then gestured to the man who stood a small distance behind her. The man was tall, with reddish golden hair and a stiff expression. “This is my husband, Rhodri. And this,” she gestured to a young boy, “is my oldest son, Uthyr.”

The two boys studied each other. Uthyr was taller and broader than Gwydion, for he was two years older. He had reddish brown hair and dark eyes. ‘You are welcome here, brother,” Uthyr said formally. “Do you like to ride?” he went on in a friendly tone.

Shyly, Gwydion nodded.

“I like riding, too. I have a new pony. But he’s not as fine as yours,” Uthyr said cheerfully.

Gwydion smiled tentatively at his half brother and an answering grin lit up Uthyr’s face. And that was the beginning for them of a bond that only death would break.

For the next few days the boys were inseparable. Gwydion met Madoc, the son of the Queen and her husband, Rhodri, but he did not like the boy. There was something sly about him. Madoc was only five and his little sister, Ellirri, was just three. Uthyr was unfailingly kind and patient with Ellirri, and the little girl worshipped her brother, following him everywhere.

The day Ellirri was left behind at the fortress with Madoc she cried and cried. For she was too young to take part in the hunting party. In truth, so was Gwydion, but Awst refused to leave him behind. So they set out—Awst, the Queen, King Rhodri, Uthyr, Gwydion, and many warriors from the Queen’s
teulu.
It was a real hunting trip and they would camp out in the forest of Coed Dulas for the night.

They had left early in the morning and reached their campsite by mid-afternoon. In the tumult of setting up camp, Gwydion and Uthyr were able to slip away. They played that they were mighty hunters, stalking their prey through the forest. So intent were they on their game that they strayed far away from camp.

In the middle of stalking through a thicket, Gwydion suddenly said, “Wait a minute. Are we lost?”

“Lost? Of course not,” Uthyr replied cheerfully.

“But I don’t hear any of the others.”

Uthyr stood still and listened hard. From far away they heard the muted roll of thunder. “Uh oh,” Uthyr muttered. “Storm. We’d better get back.”

“But which way?”

“This way.” Uthyr said, with feigned confidence, and they set off. The afternoon grew darker and through the trees they saw storm clouds piling up over the forest.

“We’re lost aren’t we?” Gwydion finally asked, fighting to keep his voice from trembling.

“Yes,” Uthyr replied seriously. “We are. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m—I’m not scared.”

“Oh, I know that,” Uthyr said. He took Gwydion’s thin, cold hand into his large, warm one. “Come on. Let’s keep walking.”

Overhead, thunder rolled and flashes of lightning split the sky. After each flash they were momentarily blinded, and had to halt until they could see again. The wild wind whipped the trees in a manic frenzy. But it did not rain.

Gwydion was horribly frightened. He was lost, and the storm was so fierce. And he was only six years old. At each flash of lightning, at each roll of thunder, he hunched his thin shoulders, and held more tightly to Uthyr’s hand.

They took what shelter they could beneath a large, spreading oak tree. Panting, they stopped to get their breath back. A flash of lighting, so bright they had to close their eyes, hit the tree cracking through the air like a whip. With a huge, tearing sound the tree split, and half of it came crashing down. Uthyr jumped out of the way, still holding Gwydion’s hand. But Gwydion did not move fast enough and, as the tree fell, he was trapped beneath the heavy branches. The tree was on fire, blazing up like a torch. Gwydion, blinded by the smoke, and baked by the heat sobbed in terror beneath the branches that pinned him.

And then Uthyr let go of his hand.

But Uthyr did not run. Instead, he grasped the burning trunk and, straining with all his might, he lifted it slightly, just enough to allow Gwydion to crawl out.

Gwydion scrambled away from the tree on his hands and knees, and Uthyr dropped the burning branches, nursing his scorched hands. Gwydion felt a horrible heat, a burning, and a blistering on his back. He leapt up to run but Uthyr, with a cry, jumped on him, beating out the flames that were consuming him.

And then, suddenly, oh blessed relief, their father was there. And the Queen and many others, besides. Awst grabbed both of his sons, hauling them far away from the burning tree. He held them close and hugged them fiercely with tears of relief flowing down his white, drawn face.

“Uthyr,” Gwydion sobbed. “Uthyr saved me. I was trapped. The fire—”

“Yes, yes,” Awst soothed. “It’s all over. You’re all right now.”

“It burns, Da. It burns,” Gwydion moaned.

“I know, I know,” Awst replied. “Hush now. You’re going to be all right.”

“It burns, it burns.”

S
OMEONE WAS SHAKING
him awake. He opened his eyes and blinked, recognizing the face of the man standing over him. It was Dudod, Rhiannon’s uncle. His face was lined with weariness. His green eyes were shadowed and subdued.

“Have you come to help me then?” Gwydion slurred, still half asleep.

Dudod smiled sadly. “I have come to take you to her. And may the gods forgive me for what I do.”

Chapter Fourteen

Coed Aderyn Kingdom of Prydyn, Kymru Gwinwydden Mis, 494

Gwaithdydd, Disglair Wythnos—early evening

G
wydion and Dudod left Dinmael early the next morning. Their hasty parting did not seem to break any hearts. Angharad was clearly glad to see him go. Olwen was, for her, ecstatic—she almost smiled.

Dudod had said they were making for Coed Aderyn. “But I went to Coed Aderyn,” Gwydion protested. “On my way to Arberth. And I called out to her. But there was no answer.”

“No,” Dudod replied shortly. “I’m sure there wasn’t. But that’s where she is, all the same.”

They traveled steadily for the next fifteen days. Dudod was silent and withdrawn. During the day he rode ahead of Gwydion, cutting off all chances for conversation. At night Dudod demanded they stop at the nearest farmhouse or village, where they played and sang for their hosts in return for meals and shelter.

On the fifteenth evening, Dudod, reining in his horse, announced, “We’re just a few miles away from Rhiannon’s place. We’ll just camp out tonight and be there first thing in the morning, before she’s had a chance to leave the cave.”

“She lives in a cave?” Gwydion asked in surprise.

“It’s got a waterfall in front of the entrance. If you didn’t know it was there you’d never find it.”

“How did you find it then?” For the first time Dudod was in a mood to talk about Rhiannon, and Gwydion was quick to take advantage of it.

Dudod dismounted and looked solemnly at Gwydion. Suddenly, he smiled. “You’ve been very patient, lad. Much more patient than I thought you would be. We’ll fix supper, then I’ll tell you what you want to know. And give you some advice, which you will doubtless ignore.”