Cry of Sorrow (8 page)

“Don’t be sorry; be careful. Understand this—I will not watch your father’s face when they tell him you died because you were careless.”

Gwen opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it. Few people argued with Achren. And Gwen had been wrong. She had walked too far from the caves, and she should have heard someone coming, even someone who moved as quietly as Achren. So she bit back what she was going to say.

“Wise,” Achren said. “Very wise.”

Achren ur Canhustyr, King Rhoram’s Captain, was dressed in a tight-fitting leather tunic and trousers of black. Her long, dark hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders. Her dark eyes flashed, and her wide mouth was set in a firm line. “Come,” Achren continued, “it’s past time to return.”

“I hate the caves!” Gwen blurted.

“I know,” Achren replied shortly. “And you know that it is unimportant, compared to the safety of our people. Come.”

“Achren …” Gwen began, then trailed off uncertainly.

“At last we come to it. You’ve been holding something back for over a week now. Let’s hear it.” And though her tone was not particularly sympathetic, Gwen knew Achren very well.

“I had a dream,” Gwen whispered, her mouth dry.

“So, you have become a Dreamer now? What will Gwydion ap Awst say to that, I wonder?” Achren’s wide mouth quirked.

“The Dreamer was there. I remember that.”

“Was your mother?”

“No,” Gwen spat, diverted from her terror. “Since when has she ever been there for me?”

“Since the day you were born,” Achren said firmly. “But we won’t ever agree on that subject, so let’s not start again. Go on.”

“There was a wood and a pool of water. And Cerrunnos and Cerridwen were there. And, oh, Achren, the Protectors were dying!”

Achren gripped Gwen’s arm fiercely. “They were dying?” Achren asked, her voice thin and taut.

“Yes,” Gwen whispered. “Oh, yes.”

Achren released her grip, but her face was tight. “What else?”

“There was a golden bowl, a bowl with emeralds on the rim. And then I felt as though the earth was covering me. It was dark, and dirt was smothering me. I couldn’t breathe.”

“And then what?”

“And then I woke up. That was all.” It lost something in the telling, of course. How could she ever convey in mere words the fear that she had endured in those moments? Who would ever understand her terror that there would be no one to rescue her this time, if the earth tried to claim her again? Her mother was no longer here.

“Achren,” she went on. “Do you think it was a true dream? And if it was, how could I have done that? I am not the Dreamer.”

“No, but you have perhaps been caught in his dreams. It happens, sometimes.”

“I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what I might have to do.”

“Yes, you should be. But when the task comes to you, you must do the best you can. It will be enough, I think. Now come.”

Illogically reassured by Achren’s cool compliment, Gwen fell in step beside her as they began to walk back to the caves.

“The Protectors were not dead yet, in your dream,” Achren said thoughtfully, after a moment. “Then it is not too late.”

“No, not too late,” Gwen replied softly. Not yet.

A
A ALWAYS, WHEN
she entered the caves, Gwen’s fear fell heavily upon her. But, as always, she concealed it as best she could. Bending slightly, she followed Achren through the narrow fissure in the rock face. Momentarily blinded by the shadows, she blinked and went on, knowing that her eyes would soon adjust. She nodded to Aidan, her father’s Lieutenant, who was stationed just inside this entrance. There were many entrances and exits in Ogaf Greu, and they were guarded at all times by Rhoram’s warriors. Rhoram, though he always had Dewin and Bards watching and listening, had learned to be very cautious in these troubled times.

“You are late for the council,” Aidan said gleefully, a grin on his handsome face. “Which means I win the bet.”

“And who,” Achren replied, “was foolish enough to bet that Gwenhwyfar would not have gone too far?”

“The King.”

Gwen winced inwardly. Achren glanced back at her, then said, “So he believed your promise, I see. He thought you would keep your word. He thought you had grown up, all evidence to the contrary. That was foolish of him, now, wasn’t it?”

“I said I was sorry,” Gwen snapped, knowing she was in the wrong. But she hated being told what to do and how to do it.

“And I told you, sorry wasn’t good enough.” Without another word, Achren turned away, striding through another narrow fissure in the cave wall. Aidan gestured grandly for Gwen to go next, then followed.

Torches lit the narrow passage, casting flickering shadows. They passed another guard, who was coming up to take Aidan’s place. They walked through cavern after cavern, each one filled with people. Some were warriors of Rhoram’s who had survived that last, terrible battle. Others were warriors who had come after, led to this place by Rhoram’s people. Gwen saw the men and women of Hywel’s band, from Penfro, and from Lluched’s teulu of Creuddyn. The warriors from the bands of Anhuniog and Pennardd were absent, sent to the east and south on raiding parties.

The band of Cerddorian here in Ogaf Greu, commanded by her father, was the largest but not the only band in Prydyn. Far to the southwest in the forest of Coed Gwyn lurked another group of fighters, led by Achren’s sister, Marared, the Lady of Brycheniog, and Dadweir Heavy-Hand, Lord of Bychan. Dadweir, the father of Sabrina, the former Druid to King Urien, was very difficult to get along with. But Achren said that Marared had her ways, and Dadweir did what King Rhoram wished him to do.

They reached a small cave branching off from the main cavern. Achren lifted the curtain that served as a door and strode in, with Gwen following and Aidan behind. People sat in a ring on the floor of the cave, but Gwen had eyes only for her father.

Torchlight illuminated Rhoram’s golden hair and blue eyes, playing off the emerald ring he wore and the hard angles of his taut face. It had taken him many months to recover from the physical wound the traitor, Erfin, had given him during that final battle. Even now, two years later, those lines of pain were still chiseled into his oncesmooth face. The other wounds—the wounds he had suffered because Erfin was his brother-in-law, because he thought he had failed his people, because he had survived that last battle—were still raw. Perhaps, Gwen thought, they always would be.

Gwen took her place in the heavy silence, sitting on the rock floor to the left of her father. As she crossed the circle, her halfbrother, Geriant, sitting at Rhoram’s right, gave her a smile. Geriant was always kind to her, even when she didn’t deserve it.

Dafydd Penfro, Rhoram’s chief counselor, sat on Gwen’s left. His dark eyes, taking in Gwen’s torn skirt and slight limp, were quietly amused and not surprised. Next to Dafydd, his brother, Hywel, Gwarda of Penfro, sat stolidly, waiting for his orders. Cian, Rhoram’s Bard, sat on Hywel’s left. His green eyes were distracted, and he seemed restless. Clearly he had news from the Master Bard he was eager to share.

Aidan had taken his place on Cian’s left, with Achren next to him. On Achren’s other side sat Cadell, Rhoram’s Dewin. Cadell’s face showed his habitual worried frown as he nervously plucked at the ragged sleeves of his undertunic. Next to Cadell, his sister, Lluched, Gwarda of Creuddyn, sat, quietly fingering her dagger. Her dark hair was woven into a cluster of tiny braids, secured with small bands of brass, and her almond-shaped dark eyes flickered to Aidan, who returned her glance with a smile.

There was a heavy silence, until Rhoram took something from his tunic, and flipped it across the circle to Aidan. The torchlight flickered off the gold bracelet as it arced through the air. Aidan caught it, one-handed. “It seems, Aidan, that you have won,” Rhoram said coolly.

The bracelet soared across the circle again, this time thrown by Aidan into the hands of Lluched. She, too, caught it one-handed, not even dropping her dagger. “It seems, my King, that is it Lluched who has won,” Aidan said smoothly.

“You two had a bet? What was it?” Geriant asked curiously.

“A private matter, Prince Geriant,” Lluched said gravely, sliding the bracelet up her slender arm. “And bracelets, Aidan, won’t buy as much as you think.”

Aidan grinned. “A man can dream, can’t he?”

At the mention of dreams, Gwen’s own smile faded, and Achren cast her a quick glance. Rhoram, so very quick, caught the brief look and turned to Gwen, his blue eyes grave, waiting.

But before Gwen could speak, Achren said quickly, “Well, Rhoram, let’s begin.”

Rhoram looked over at his Captain, and what he saw in her dark eyes forestalled the comment he had been about to make. Smoothly, Rhoram began. “Within a few weeks, it will be time to start this year’s Plentyn Prawf and test the children. Cian, what says the Master Bard about that?”

“He does not warn against it,” Cian replied. “But he reminds us that he still does not know what happened last week in the meeting at Eiodel. He urges caution.”

“And what do you say to that?”

Cian grinned. “I say, I love to travel.”

“Very well. Achren, when he leaves, go with him. I want the best to guard him.”

Achren nodded. She had expected this assignment, Gwen knew.

“Anything else, Cian?” Rhoram asked.

“I have received word from the Master Bard there is a tribute caravan coming our way,” the Bard said gleefully. “Goods from Gwarthaf bound for Erfin’s use in Arberth.”

“I have sighted the caravan, my King,” Cadell said. “It will be within our provenance by tomorrow.”

“How many warriors guarding it?” Rhoram asked.

“Forty.”

“Forty?” Rhoram raised his eyebrows. “How insulting. Only forty.”

“Erfin always did underestimate you, Rhoram,” Achren replied. “It amazes me how slow he is to learn.”

“Oh, come. Do you think Erfin is giving orders to the Coranians? It is the other way around,” Dafydd Penfro remarked.

“A trap, then,” Achren offered, her black eyes gleaming. “For General Penda surely does know better.”

“And just as surely he knows how dangerous this area is,” Hywel of Penfro put in.

“And hopes to pinpoint our location,” Dafydd said smoothly.

“So, what do we do?” Cadell asked. “Do we let it go by?”

“We do,” Rhoram said firmly.

“What? How can you—” Lluched began, always loathe to miss a fight.

“And attack it three days after it has gone by,” Rhoram continued. Gwen caught Rhoram’s glance at Aidan. Aidan gave a brief nod.
Now what
, Gwen wondered,
was that all about?

“I will be happy to follow them,” Achren said, smiling. “Who goes with me?”

“You do not go, Achren,” Rhoram said. Achren opened her mouth to argue, but Rhoram held up his hand and she subsided.

“The band will be led by Geriant,” Rhoram continued.

“Thank you, da,” Geriant replied, grinning. “Anything special?”

“No, just the usual. Kill them all and bring back what you can comfortably carry.”

“Yes, da.”

“Hywel, you and Dafydd are to go, also.”

Now that was a surprise. Not the choice of Hywel, but to send Dafydd. Dafydd was a counselor, not a warrior. But Dafydd himself seemed to understand and simply nodded.

“That’s it?” Achren said in surprise. “What about Aidan?”

“Aidan stays. Oh, and one more thing,” Rhoram went on, turning to Gwen. “You may go, also.”

“Oh, da, can I really?”

“Why not? Three days’ journey from here is about as far as you walk every day anyway.”

Gwen flushed. “Da—” she began, then stopped, for she noticed that her father’s eyes were kind. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When do we leave?” Geriant asked.

“Now,” Rhoram answered crisply. “I want you far ahead of them. Two days from today, stop and wait for them. Once they pass this area unchallenged, they will think themselves safe.” Rhoram rose, signaling that the meeting was over. “Oh, and one other thing. I want you to leave without mentioning your destination or purpose. Hywel, just tell your warriors to be ready to leave within the hour. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

“Why, da?” Gwen asked curiously.

“For reasons of my own,” he replied shortly. “Geriant and Gwen, Dafydd will be happy to help you gather your weapons.”

Dafydd nodded, his eyes serene. Gwen opened her mouth, then shut it quickly, seeing the look in her father’s eyes. Any questions she asked would not be welcomed. They filed out of the stone chamber in a puzzled silence. Gwen, who trailed last, was the only one who heard the words that passed between Rhoram and Aidan.

“Tonight,” Rhoram said quietly. “Be ready.”

A
CHREN TOSSED RESTLESSLY
on her pallet. It was no use. She absolutely could not sleep. Rising, she put on her tunic and trousers by the light of the fire in the brazier, now burned down to glowing embers, for it was very late.

Shaking her long hair out of her face, she lifted the curtain to her sleeping chamber and stepped out into the cavern. It seemed that everyone else was able to sleep. Carefully, she picked her way around the sleeping pallets spread throughout the cave. She needed to walk, to think, so she made her way to the south exit, which led to the beach. Silently, she glided through the tunnels, thinking hard.

Rhoram’s behavior this afternoon had been, to put it mildly, peculiar. Such an odd choice, to send Dafydd Penfro on a raiding party. And dinner tonight had been very strange, with so many undercurrents. When Efa had asked where Gwen and Geriant were, Rhoram hadn’t even bothered to answer her. He had pretended not to hear, and concentrated on talking with his daughter Sanon. And Sanon had not asked one single question about Geriant’s or Gwen’s whereabouts. Aidan had flirted with Lluched, as he always did, yet his eyes had flickered constantly to Efa. And Efa, her dark red hair elaborately braided, her slender arms hanging with bracelets, her rich gown of amber shimmering in the torchlight, scrutinized Aidan with her large, beautiful brown eyes as covertly as she could. Rhoram had not seemed to notice. And that was odd, for Rhoram noticed everything.