Cry of Sorrow (58 page)

Near the entrance to the cavern, Myrrdin stood, his dark eyes calm. He wore the sea-green robe of the Dewin and a simple Dewin’s torque around his neck. If he regretted that he was not wearing the Ardewin’s torque, which glittered around Elstar’s neck, he gave no sign. And Gwydion, knowing his uncle, knowing that Myrrdin, in his wisdom, did nothing that he would later regret, knew he had come to terms with his sacrifice of long ago.

Next to Myrrdin stood Arthur. He wore a tunic and trousers of black, tucked into plain, black boots. He wore no badge, no torque. The Sword of Taran rested in its scabbard around his waist. His left hand was clasped on the hilt, and his gaze was steady as he calmly waited for Gwydion to begin.

Gwen wore the brown and green robe of the Druids. She wore no torque around her neck, for she had never gone to Caer Duir to receive one. Her golden hair was braided and wound around her head like a crown. In her hands she held the golden Cauldron of Modron, and she looked at Gwydion with infatuation in her blue eyes.

And then, saving the best for last, his gaze met Rhiannon’s. Rhiannon, her dark hair falling down her shoulders like a shadow, was dressed in the Dewin’s robe of sea green. Around her neck she wore the Dewin’s torque of silver and a single pearl. At her feet rested the pearl-studded Stone of Nantsovelta.

For a long moment, he simply gazed at her and she returned his gaze with her emerald green eyes. He said nothing, not because there were things he could not say, but because he did not think he needed to. He could read in her eyes that she knew how much this moment meant to him. She knew that he had been working toward it for so many years. She knew how he had struggled and fought and even, sometimes, wept, waiting and working and dreaming toward it.

And yet, perhaps he was wrong about not needing to say any words to her now. For she had been a part of the struggle for years, and had never given up. She had never left his side in those dark years, no matter how much she might have wished to. And she might have, for he had not been easy to live with and he knew it. Perhaps, then, he did need to say something to her before he began. The torchlight played over the shadows of his black robe trimmed in red. The opal torque around his throat glittered as he left the center of the chamber to stand before her.

“Many times I would have given up,” he said quietly, for her ears alone, “had you not been there.”

“Not you, Gwydion,” she said. “Never.”

“You are wrong, Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. Had you not been there, this would not be happening now.”

A smile, beautiful as the dawn, came to her lovely face. Her green eyes glowed. He clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips, and kissed her palm, never taking his eyes from her.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, just as simply.

He let go of her hand and again strode to the center of the chamber. His eyes sought and found King Rhoram’s. And Rhoram was smiling, without the faintest shadow in his eyes.

“We begin our gathering here,” Gwydion intoned, “with the Oath of our people.”

As one, they recited the oath.

“If I break faith with you
,

May the skies fad upon me
,

May the seas drown me
,

May the earth rise and swallow me.”

   “You are here today,” Gwydion began, in a solemn, powerful voice, “to play your part in freeing our land from the enemy. We welcome King Owein; his heir and brother, Prince Rhiwallon; and his people from Rheged. We welcome King Rhoram; his heir and son, Prince Geriant; and his folk from Prydyn. We welcome Prince Lludd, heir to Queen Elen, and his people from Ederynion. We welcome Queen Morrigan and her folk from Gwynedd.” As he said this, Gwydion bowed to each ruler, and Owein, Rhoram, Lludd, and Morrigan gravely bowed back to the Dreamer.

“We welcome the Dewin—Elstar, Ardewin; Myrrdin of Gwynedd; Neuad of Gwynedd; and Cadell of Prydyn. We welcome the Bards—Elidyr, Master Bard; Talhearn of Ederynion; Esyllt of Rheged; Susanna and Gwyhar of Gwynedd. We welcome the Druids—Sabrina of Rheged and Sinend of Gwytheryn. We welcome the Dreamers—Dinaswyn and Cariadas of Gwynedd.” Again, Gwydion bowed in turn as he named them, and each one returned his bow.

“And we welcome those who have returned to Coed Aderyn bearing the Four Treasures, hidden away in the days of the last High King, Lleu Lawrient. We welcome Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon, who bears the Cauldron of Earth.” At this, Gwen stepped forward, holding the Cauldron high. She placed it gently on the floor of the cavern in front of Gwydion. The golden Cauldron glowed, and the emeralds set within its rim gleamed. From those watching came an intake of breath, a murmur, for the beauty of the bowl, and reverence for Modron, the Great Mother.

“We welcome Rhiannon ur Hefeydd var Indeg, who brings the Stone of Water.” Rhiannon stepped forward, carrying the Stone, and set it next to the Cauldron. Streaks of silver shot through the Stone. At each silvery junction the pearls that rested there glowed softly. Elstar, the Ardewin, whispered the name of Nantsovelta in awe.

“I beg you to welcome my humble self,” Gwydion began with a grin as he bowed.

“Humble!” snorted Myrrdin. “I beg to differ.”

The people laughed, just as Gwydion had intended. “I, Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon, have come bearing the Spear of Fire.” Gwydion flourished the Spear, and laid it on the floor, next to the Cauldron and the Stone. The twined silver and gold of the shaft of the Spear glowed in the torchlight. The opals at the base and top flickered with fire.

“And now, I most earnestly beg your welcome to the one who bears the Sword of Taran. Arthur ap Uthyr var Ygraine. The next High King of Kymru!”

Arthur strode up to Gwydion, removed the Sword from his belt, and held it over his head. The sapphires on the scabbard of gold and silver shimmered as Arthur stood, holding the Sword. With a belllike ring that reverberated throughout the cavern, he drew the Sword from its scabbard. The hawk’s hilt seemed to writhe for a moment, its sapphire eyes glowing. Arthur raised the Sword high, then plunged it, point down, into the earth.

The people gathered there began to cheer. Arthur bowed to them and nodded, acknowledging their welcome. But they would not quiet. The heartfelt relief, the hope they now felt, could not be suppressed. The cheering grew louder. Some of the people had tears spilling down their faces. They hugged one another in joy and hope.

Gwydion held up his arms and, at last, they quieted. “You have all been called here to take up your various tasks—tasks necessary to our freedom. Bands of Cerddorian from Prydyn and Rheged, from Ederynion and Gwynedd, are now secreted throughout Coed Aderyn. These warriors have been brought here to create a diversion. The purpose of this diversion is to draw Havgan and his warriors from his fortress of Eiodel, leaving the way open for us to approach the Doors of Cadair Idris. The Doors will open for us, for we have the Treasures in our hands. Once inside, we will make for the throne room, and Arthur will undergo the Tynged Mawr. And, if he passes the test, he will be our High King. With the powers of the High King, Arthur will lead us and take back our land!”

Again, the people could not contain themselves, and they erupted into more cheers. Arthur flushed, but did not look down.

“Now, each country has provided two hundred warriors for this diversion,” Gwydion went on. “The diversions will be led by the Captains and the Lieutenants of each country.”

“What?” Prince Lludd protested. “I lead my warriors!”

King Owein and Queen Morrigan vigorously agreed, but King Rhoram, wiser than they, held his silence.

“The rulers of the four countries may not be a part of this battle,” Gwydion said sternly. “For they have a different task. They must witness the making of the High King. This is the law.”

“But I am not a ruler,” Prince Lludd protested. “My sister rules Ederynion. I lead our people only against the day when Elen herself is freed.”

“Prince Lludd,” Arthur said quietly, “there is no one here who thinks that you seek to take your sister’s place as ruler of your country. But her place you must take, nonetheless, in this matter.”

For a moment Lludd did not speak. The two young men stared at each other, Lludd with defiance and Arthur with authority. Finally, Lludd nodded, and spoke. “It will be as you wish, High King. I am yours to command.” The Prince bowed to Arthur and stepped back.

After a moment, Gwydion continued. “It is also the law that the Ardewin, the Master Bard, the Dreamer, and the Archdruid witness this event. Elstar, Elidyr, and I stand ready. But Cathbad, the Archdruid, will be unable to attend.” There was some laughter at this, though Sinend lowered her gaze in shame.

Dinaswyn, Sinend’s grandmother, went to the girl and put her arm around her shoulders, for the traitorous actions of Aergol, Sinend’s father and Dinaswyn’s son, shamed them both.

“Sinend ur Aergol var Eurgain,” Gwydion said gently, as the girl lifted her startled eyes to the Dreamer. “Will you honor the ceremony as the heir of the Archdruid’s heir?”

Sinend blushed, and tears filmed her fine, gray eyes. But she held her head proudly, for, perhaps, the first time, and answered clearly. “I will.”

“In one week’s time, on Calan Gaef, the ceremony where we honor Annwyn, Lord of Chaos, and his mate, Aertan, Weaver of Fate, we will enter Cadair Idris.

“Four days from now, our warriors will move out of Coed Aderyn in small groups, moving at night, hiding during the day. It will take them three days to be ready and in position at the crossroads of Sarn Ermyn and Sarn Achmaen, south of Cadair Idris. At the same time, those who are to go to Cadair Idris will also leave Coed Aderyn, using the network of caves we have discovered. We will then wait, well hidden, less than a league away, for the challenge to be delivered. The day before Calan Gaef, Rhiannon and I will Wind-Ride to Havgan and deliver our challenge. Be assured that he will meet our warriors at those crossroads on Calan Gaef. Captains, remember,” Gwydion said sternly, looking at Trystan, Achren, Angharad, and Cai, “that this is a diversion only. Your purpose is to draw off the Coranians, allowing the rest of us to get into Cadair Idris. Your purpose is not to attempt to defeat the Golden Man and his warriors. We do not seek to sacrifice the lives of the Kymri. Later, you will lead and fight battles for that purpose. Is that understood?”

“If we meet the Golden Man,” Achren said, her dark eyes sparkling, “do we have to be nice to him?” The others laughed.

“You may damage him slightly, Achren ur Canhustyr, if you must,” Arthur said fiercely. “But he is mine, understood?”

“It is understood, High King,” Achren replied gravely.

“Now,” Gwydion went on. “I must—”

“You must welcome your late-coming guests!” a new voice called out.

As one, those gathered there turned to the entrance. Dudod stood there, travel-stained and weary. Yet his tone was jaunty as he continued. “Welcome two more wanderers, ready to take part in this bid for freedom! For we have news!”

“And who is ‘we,’ Dudod?” Gwydion inquired, gesturing to the man who stood next to the Bard. The man’s hood was up and his features unidentifiable.

“Welcome,” Dudod went on, “to Rhodri ap Erddufyl, one-time King of Gwynedd!”

The silence was complete as Rhodri removed the hood of his cloak. The old man stood quietly, his keen blue eyes surveying those gathered there. King Rhoram walked slowly up to him. “Uncle?” Rhoram asked hesitantly.

“It is truly I, Rhoram,” Rhodri said gravely.

“Uncle,” Rhoram repeated, then threw his arms around Rhodri. “You are most welcome here.”

King Owein, too, walked up to the old man, followed by his brother, Rhiwallon. “Granda?” Owein whispered.

“I saw you last when you were just a tiny lad,” Rhodri said softly. “You have the eyes of your mother.”

“My mam loved you,” Owein said slowly. “She said that you loved us all, even though you went away.”

“I was grieved to hear of Ellirri’s death,” Rhodri said softly. “And of your father’s. He was good to her.”

“They loved each other very much. Elphin, my oldest brother, died, too.”

“Those are deaths that will be avenged, Owein. We will see to it, you and I and Rhiwallon.”

“Rhodri has news for us,” Dudod said to the company. “News that, I am sure, will be welcome.” Dudod nodded at Rhodri.

“I know where the Smiths are being held,” Rhodri said mildly.

“What?” Arthur leapt in front of the old man. “Where are they?” he demanded.

“In Caer Siddi, the island off the coast of Prydyn.”

“I vow to rescue them,” Arthur said. “It shall be the second thing I do.”

“And what is the first thing?” Rhodri asked.

“The first thing is to kill Sledda, the Arch-wyrce-jaga. For he killed Anieron, Master Bard, and I have sworn to see him pay for that.”

“I felt it when Anieron died,” Rhodri said. “As did all of Kymru. And I heard his song. Together, we will make this a new day of freedom, as Anieron wished.”

“We shall,” Arthur agreed.

“Then,” Gwydion said, lifting his hands to the company, “we are ready. Our tasks are before us. From here we will go to Cadair Idris, and take back that which was once ours. For this task, we ask for the blessing.

“The peace of lights
,

The peace of joys, The peace of souls
,

Be with you.”

   
“And with you,”
the crowd sang out.

   
“Owein!”

Owein knew, as he knew nothing else so surely, whose voice it was that called him. Heart pounding, he stopped and turned on his way back up the passage from the cavern. He had been, he thought, the last to leave. She must have been hiding in the shadows, and he had passed her by.

Owein found himself thinking of the song by Gwyn ap Nudd, the Fourth Ardewin of Kymru, father of the last High King,

My golden girl, with the brow like the lily
,

Under your web of golden hair
,