The Endless Knot (24 page)

“That is the least of our worries,” I said, “if something has happened—”

“If they are here, someone will have seen them,” Tegid interrupted calmly. The bard stepped away. A moment later he was standing on the table, his staff upraised. “Kinsmen! Hear me! I must speak with Goewyn and Tángwen. Quickly now! Who can tell me where to find them?”

He waited. People looked at one another and shrugged. Some inquired among themselves, but no one offered any information. Clearly, no one could remember seeing either of the women. Tegid asked again, but received no answer. He thanked the people for their attention and returned to where Cynan and I waited.

“We will search the crannog,” he said. Although he spoke quietly, I could tell the bard was worried. This did nothing to soothe my mounting anxiety.

And then one of the serving maids came to where we stood. “If you please, lords,” she said, clutching the beer jar tightly, “I have seen Queen Goewyn.”

“Where?” I did not mean to be curt with the young woman. “Please, speak freely.”

“I saw the queen in the yard,” she said.

I started for the door. Tegid caught me by the arm. “When was this?” he said; the maid hesitated. “Speak up,” he snapped. “When did you see her?”

“Early this morning,” the maid said, her voice quivering. She realized, I think, that this was not at all what we wanted to hear. “They were laughing as they walked—the two of them, the queen and Queen Tángwen. I think they were leaving the crannog to go riding.”

“It would have been dark still,” Cynan said. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, lord,” the maiden said. “I know who I saw.”

“And Tángwen was with her?” Cynan pursued.

“Yes, lord.”

“Thank you, Ailla,” I said, recognizing the young woman at last; she often served as one of Goewyn's handmaids.

Tegid dismissed her then and said, “Now we will search the crannog.”

On our way from the hall, Tegid snared Gwion, his foremost Mabinog, and whispered something in the boy's ear. Gwion nodded once and darted through the door ahead of us.

We searched, the three of us, each taking a section of the crannog. It did not take long. I ran from house to house, smacking my silver hand on the doorposts to alert those within, then thrusting my head inside. Most of the huts were empty—the people had gathered in the hall—and in those that were occupied, none of the residents had seen either woman. I also looked in the storehouses. As I hurried to rejoin the others at the hall, I knew that Goewyn was not in Dinas Dwr.

Upon returning to the hall, I met Tegid standing at the entrance with Gwion Bach beside him. “It is not good,” Tegid told me bluntly. “I sent Gwion to the stables. Their horses have not returned.”

My heart sank and my stomach tightened. “Then something has happened.”

Cynan approached, and I could tell from the way he walked—head down, shoulders bunched—that he had discovered nothing and was now more than concerned. “The trail will be difficult,” he said, wasting no time. “We will need a supply of torches and a change of horses. I will summon my war band.”

“The Ravens will ride with us,” I said. “Drustwn can follow a trail even in the dark. I will ready the horses. Go now. Bring them. And hurry!”

17
N
IGHT
R
IDE

W
e took up the trail at the place where I had seen it diverge from the lakeshore track. By torchlight the horses' hoofprints showed a staggered black line across the wide expanse of snow.

Across the valley floor we galloped, thirty strong, including Cynan, myself, and the Raven Flight. Tegid stayed behind. He would order matters at Dinas Dwr while we were away and uphold us in our search.

I wrapped the reins around my metal hand and clutched the torch with my flesh hand. The torch flame fluttered in the wind above my head, red sparks sailing out behind me as I raced over the undulating snow. The cold air stung my cheeks and eyes; my lips burned. But I did not stop so much as to draw my cloak over my chin. I would not stop until Goewyn was safely beside me once more.

Upon reaching the heights of Druim Vran the trail became thin and difficult to see. The wind had scoured most of the snow from the ridgetop, but some remained in the sheltered places, and we proceeded haltingly from patch to patch where we could find hoofprints.

It appeared they had ridden eastward along the ridgeway. The day was good. They had moved toward the rising sun. I imagined the two women making their way happily along Druim Vran with the silver-bright dawn light in their eyes. We, however, followed in Sollen's deep dark, a starless void above; no moon lit our way. The only light we had was that which fluttered in our hands, and that was fitful indeed.

I refused to allow myself to think about what might have happened to them. I pushed all such thoughts from my mind and held one only: Goewyn would be found. My wife, my soul, would be returned unharmed.

Drustwn pushed a relentless pace. He seemed to know where the tracks would lead and found them whenever he paused to look. Thus we followed the Raven's lead along the ridgeway—deep, deep into the dark Sollen depths on our night ride. We rode without speaking, urgent to our task.

Nor did we stop until the trail turned down into the glen. The facing slope was clear of snow, and though we spread ourselves along the brush-covered decline, we could not recover the trail in the dark. In the end, we dismounted to search the long downward slope on foot.

“It may be that we can find the trail again in the morning,” Drustwn suggested when we halted at the bottom of the glen to confer. “It is too easily missed on the bare ground.”

“My wife is gone. I will not wait until morning.”

“Lord,” Drustwn said, his face drawn in the torchlight, “daylight is not far away.”

At these words I raised my head. Drustwn was right, the sky was already paling in the east. Night had passed me in a blur of torchlight on glittering snow.

“What do you advise?” I asked.

“It is no good thrashing around in the dark. We could destroy the trail without knowing it. Let us rest until there is light enough to see.”

“Very well,” I agreed. “Give the order. I will speak to Cynan.”

Drustwn's call rang out behind me as I wheeled my horse and started back up the line. Cynan had been riding to the right of me when I had last seen him. Several of his men passed me, hurrying to Drustwn's call. I saw Gweir and asked him where Cynan was, and he pointed to two torches glimmering a little distance away. Cynan and Bran were talking together as they rode to where Drustwn waited. I reined in beside them. “Why has he stopped?” Cynan asked. “Have you found something?”

“We have lost the trail,” I answered. “There is no point in going further until sunrise.”

“Then it is best we halt,” Bran replied.

“No,” I told him tersely, “finding them would be best. But this is all we can do now.”

“It has been a cold night,” Cynan fretted. “They were not prepared.”

I made no reply, but at Cynan's remark I realized that I had not once considered the women having to spend the night on the trail. It had not occurred to me because I did not for one instant believe that they had merely lost their way. It was possible, of course, but the likelihood of intruders on Druim Vran had led me to assume otherwise.

Now Cynan's words offered a slender hope. Perhaps they had merely wandered too far afield and been forced to shelter on the trail for the night, rather than try to find Dinas Dwr in the dark. Perhaps one of the horses had been injured, or . . . anything might have happened.

We continued to where Drustwn and most of the other riders were now waiting. They had quickly gathered brush from the slope and had a fire burning. Others were leading horses to a nearby brook for water. I dismounted and gave my horse to one of the warriors to care for and, wrapping myself in my cloak, sat down on a frost-covered stone.

Shivering in the cold while waiting for the sun to rise, I remembered the beacon. I rose at once. “Alun!” I shouted. “Alun Tringad! Come here!”

A moment later, Alun was standing before me. He touched the back of his hand to his forehead. “Lord?”

“Alun,” I said, laying my hand to his arm, “do you recall the beacon we found on the ridge?”

“I do, lord.”

“Go to it. Now. And return with word of what you find.”

He left without another word, riding back up the slope to the ridge-way. I returned to the rock and sat down again. Dawnlight seeped into a gray-white sky. Darker clouds sailed low overhead, shredding themselves on the hilltops as they passed. Away to the north, white-headed mountains showed above the cloudline. The wind rose with the sun, gusting out of the east. Likely, there would be snow before day's end, or sleet.

I grew restless, rose, and remounted my horse. “It is light enough to see,” I told Drustwn bluntly.

Bran, standing with him, said, “Lord Llew, allow us to search out the trail and summon you when we have found it.”

“We ride together.” I snapped the reins and turned to the slope once more.

We were still searching for the trail when Alun returned. Cynan was with me, and Alun seemed reluctant to speak in front of him. “What did you find, man?” I demanded.

“Lord,” he said, “the beacon has been lit.”

“When?”

“Impossible to tell. The ashes were cold.”

Cynan's head whipped toward Alun at the news. “What beacon?”

I told him quickly about the beacon pile I had found on the ridge. “It has been burned,” I said.

His jaw bulged dangerously. “
Clanna na cù!
” he rasped through clenched teeth. “Beacons on the ridge and strangers in the glen—and we let them go riding alone!”

He did not blame me for my lack of vigilance, but he did not need to; I felt the sting of his unspoken accusation all the same. How could I have let it happen?

“We will find them, brother,” I said.

“Aye, that we will,” he growled, slapping the reins against the neck of his mount. He rode off alone.

As if in answer to Cynan's gruff affirmation, there came a blast on the carynx. Drustwn had found the trail. We raced to the place and took up the chase again. The sun was well up and the morning speeding as if on wings. The tracks led across the glen. After we had followed a fair way, it became clear that they had made for the far side of the glen. Why? Had they seen something to entice them on?

Across the glen and up into the low hills beyond, the way was straight; they had ridden directly without turning aside or halting. Why? I wondered. Perhaps they had raced.

I pounced on the idea. Yes, they had raced. That would explain the resolute directness of the trail. I expected that upon reaching the hill, we would find where they had stopped to catch their breath before turning back.

Once across the crest of the first hill, however, this certainty began to fade. The tracks did not alter. The double trail led up the hillside and over—without varying, without stopping.

I paused atop the hill to look back briefly. Druim Vran looked like a wall behind us, blank and unbreachable, with the glen flat as a floor below. The beacon fire would have been seen from every hilltop in the realm—though not, I reflected, in Dinas Dwr itself. It might have been lit at any time and we would not have seen it. I turned away and pursued Drustwn's lead, grim urgency mounting within me.

It was in the next valley that we found where the women had stopped.

Drustwn halted, stiffened in the saddle, and called Cynan and me to him at once. The rest of the search party were still behind us at a little distance. The Raven's eyes were mere slits as he scanned the tracks.

“What have you found?” Cynan demanded.

“They stopped here, lord,” he said, stretching a hand toward the marks on the ground.

I looked and saw what had upset him. My heart fell. “How many?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. “How many were there?”

“I make it three or four. Five at the most. Not more.”

“
Saeth du,
” Cynan muttered. “Five . . .”

I stared hard at the trampled snow. The confusion of tracks defied explanation. Clearly, the women had met someone. No one had dismounted; there were no footprints among the hoofmarks.

“They rode on that way,” Drustwn said, looking to the east. I could see that he was right. I also saw that a decision was required.

I waited until the others had gathered around us and showed them what Drustwn had discovered. There was much muttering and mumbling over this, but I cut it short. The day was hastening from us. “Garanaw!” I said, calling on the first man to meet my eye. “You, Niall, and Emyr will return to Dinas Dwr. Tell Tegid what we have found here, and then gather provisions and supplies. Cynan and I will ride ahead. Make haste and join us as soon as you can.”

Cynan was quick to catch the meaning of my words. He immediately ordered Gweir and four of his band to go with the three Ravens to help carry the provisions. He was evidently thinking, as I was, that we might well be on the trail longer than anyone intended. A depressing thought. Neither of us spoke a word of this to the other, however, and as soon as the riders had departed we pressed on.

The muddled tracks soon reconciled themselves: two horses going side-by-side close together—the two women, I assumed—with a rider on either side a little distance apart; one rider to lead the way and another to follow close behind. That was four strangers accounted for. If there were more, we saw no sign.

The trail led eastward, staying on the low ground, winding through the creases between hills rather than crossing them directly. Clearly, they were in no hurry, seeking instead to stay out of sight.

I had no doubt now that the tracks we followed were already a day old. I knew also that we would not find Goewyn and Tángwen sheltering in the heather somewhere, waiting for us to rescue them. They had been taken. Stolen. Abducted.