Night Bird's Reign (18 page)

Bran had found Lleu dying on the battlefield at the shores of Llyn Mwyngil. At that time Lleu still had Caladfwlch. Although it was known that Bran had spoken to the dying High King, it was not known what the two men said to each other. All anyone knew about the location of the sword was that it was no longer there by the time his murderers returned the next day to inter Lleu in Galor Carreg.

When Bloudewedd, Lleu’s wife, and Gorwys, Bloudewedd’s lover had murdered Lleu and taken over Cadair Idris, they had also taken the other Great Ones prisoner. They put Arywen, the Archdruid, Taliesin, the Master Bard and Mannawyddan, the Ardewin into the cells located beneath the throne room. They had collared the three Great Ones with
enaid-dals,
and the necklaces had effectively cut off their ability to use their gifts to free themselves. Bloudewedd and Gorwys had thought themselves safe.

But the next morning they had awakened to find that the Great Ones were gone. For Bran had freed them, fueling Gwydion’s suspicions that there was more than one way into Cadair Idris. Worse still for Bloudewedd and Gorwys, they discovered that the Four Treasures were missing also. These Four Treasures—the Spear of Fire, the Stone of Water, the Sword of Air, and the Cauldron of Earth—were the implements needed to make a new High King, and their loss was a blow to Gorwys.

The four Great Ones each went to rouse the four kingdoms. Arywen went to Queen Siwan of Prydyn. The Queen was more than willing to march on Cadair Idris, for Gorwys was her husband, and Bloudewedd was her own sister. Taliesin went to Gwynedd and enlisted the aid of King Meilir. He, too, was eager to avenge Lleu, for his Queen was Lleu’s younger sister. Mannawyddan went to Ederynion and returned with King Llywelyn. And Bran went to Rheged where it was easy to convince King Peredur, Arywen’s longtime lover, to lend his aid. At the appointed time these Great Ones returned to Gwytheryn at the head of an army.

Gorwys, knowing they could not win, nonetheless marched with his tiny following from Cadair Idris to meet them on the plains of Gwytheryn. After a battle that lasted mere moments, Gorwys was captured. Bloudewedd opened the Doors of Cadair Idris and flew to stand with her lover.

The two were brought before the four Rulers, and the four Great Ones. There, Bran pronounced their doom. Bloudewedd was not to be allowed to die. Her spirit was to be infused in the Doors of Cadair Idris, thus allowing the previous spirit, that of Gilveathy the Traitor, to be released. Gorwys, too, was not to be allowed to go to the Land of Summer. Instead, Bran set his spirit to guard the shores of Kymru, charging him to rise and ride the length and breadth of Kymru to warn the Kymri should danger approach.

King Llywelyn alone dared to protest such measures, saying that death was punishment enough without binding the spirit beyond death. But Bran answered quite gently that he had promised Lleu he would not kill the High King’s murderers. He had smiled softly when he said it, but even Llywelyn did not dare to question Bran’s decision further.

The Rulers then asked Bran the location of the Treasures. Surely, they said, they could now be returned to Cadair Idris. But the four Great Ones shook their heads, saying only that the Treasures were safer where they were. And Bran proclaimed that the Doors to Cadair Idris were to remain closed and none would be allowed to enter there unless they came with the Four Treasures in their hands.

The four Great Ones then took Lleu’s Torque that Gorwys had worn and removed the pearl, the sapphire, the emerald and the opal. They had the Master Smith make rings for each jewel and gave them to the Rulers as thanks for their support. The pearl went to King Llywelyn and the sapphire to King Meilir. The emerald was given to Queen Siwan and the opal to King Peredur.

And in all that information there was not one clue to the location of the sword.

Gwydion had even traced Bran’s later years, hoping to find something. Ten years afterward, Bran’s mistress Princess Regan of Ederynion and their son were involved in a plot to murder King Llywelyn. Bran was forced to sentence the two to their deaths. Taliesin, Arywen, and Mannawyddan all died before Bran. In every case Bran visited them on their deathbeds. He insisted on being left alone with each of them just moments before the end. When Bran died in Caer Dathyl his daughter, Dremas, at his insistence, was left alone with him just before he died. But what was said or done in those last few moments remained a mystery.

Yes, Gwydion was an authority on Bran. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to get him any closer to the information he was seeking.

Gwydion sighed as he sipped his wine. If only he wasn’t cut off from the ones he loved. If only he could see Uthyr, talk to Myrrdin, be with Amatheon, spend time with Cariadas, his loneliness would not be so hard to bear.

But he could do none of those things. Not now.

He had seen his older brother rarely in the last eight years since taking Arthur away. Ygraine, still so bitter, would never even acknowledge Gwydion’s presence in the few times he had journeyed to her court. Her cold, midnight eyes would look right through him, as though he was beneath her notice. She never even allowed him to speak to her daughter, Morrigan.

Like her mother, Morrigan had dark eyes and auburn hair. Her tiny features were a pitch-perfect replica of Ygraine. But the warmth in her eyes, her ready smile—these things she had inherited from her father. In those times when Gwydion had allowed himself to go to Tegeingl, he had watched Morrigan watching him in fascination, torn between her father’s love for Gwydion and her mother’s hatred, contenting herself with an occasional shy smile when she thought her mother wasn’t looking.

But it wasn’t Ygraine’s hatred that made Gwydion stay away from Tegeingl. It was Uthyr himself that stopped Gwydion. For when he looked in his brother’s eyes the complete absence of reproach broke Gwydion’s heart. It shamed him that his brother gave him so much, and he had given Uthyr nothing at all, except pain.

Nor could he see Myrrdin although his uncle was only one day’s ride away. For Gwydion did not even dare to ride through Dinas Emrys, did not even dare to Wind-Speak to Myrrdin. He occasionally felt he was being watched. What the watcher—or watchers—hoped to gain was not clear. He could not be sure that they had completely believed the story of Arthur’s death. And, if not, he did not dare risk drawing their gaze to the one place he most wanted them to avoid.

He rarely saw his younger brother now, for Amatheon was still with Hetwin Silver-Brow in Rheged. Occasionally Amatheon would get leaves from his duties to visit Caer Dathyl. But those times were few and far between.

On six occasions in the past eight years, the Archdruid, Cathbad had visited Gwydion and made the tedious journey to Caer Dathyl. Gwydion was grateful for the visits and always sincerely welcomed Cathbad. When Gwydion was a boy, Cathbad had been the Druid at the court of Gwynedd and he had always been kind to Gwydion when they had met at Caer Gwynt. Cathbad was good company—wise and serene, as well as always ready with a good story or two to wile away the hours.

Though Gwydion did not truly believe Cathbad had ulterior motives for his visits his innate caution always came to the fore. He was very careful never to mention his nightmares, never to breathe a word of the true state of affairs, never to so much as hint that a High King had been born to Kymru.

He was less sure about Anieron’s motive. The Master Bard was always appallingly well informed and he, too, would occasionally come to Caer Dathyl. Although Anieron had never even bothered to hint that he had questions, Gwydion sometimes worried that Anieron did not ask him anything because the Master Bard already knew everything there was to know.

He frowned, staring into the fire. The flames reminded him of the red-gold hair of his daughter, Cariadas. He missed her so much. She had been tested four years ago and he had seen what he had expected—that Cariadas would be the next Dreamer of Kymru. She was nine years old now, and studying clairvoyance at Y Ty Dewin. She would remain there for the next two years and after that she would be sent to the Bards to learn telepathy, then to the Druids to learn psychokinesis. Then she would return to Caer Dathyl and learn precognition from Gwydion himself.

Maybe her dreams would be better than his had been. He hoped they would be, for her sake.

But now he must find a way to keep his promise and allow Uthyr to see his son again. Although he knew he was still being watched, he had thought of a way he could elude these potential spies, and still keep his promise.

He frowned, thinking of how best to get a message to Uthyr. He dared not relay a telepathic message, however innocuous, for it would have to filter through to Susanna, Uthyr’s Bard. Though Susanna had been one of the people that had helped him to spirit Arthur away, he did not completely trust her. First, she was a Bard and he did not trust Anieron. Second, she was a woman. And there was no telling what a woman might do. Women were so unreasonable. He should know—he lived with Dinaswyn and Arianrod, two of the most unreasonable women in Kymru.

His aunt, Dinaswyn, had never gotten over being supplanted. It wasn’t his fault that he had become Dreamer so early in his life, leaving her feeling displaced and useless. He had done all he could to lessen the sting but she was not the Dreamer any more, and he could not pretend that she was. He had no idea why the Shining Ones had chosen to send the dreams to him, but he was hardly in a position to argue with them. It was just like a woman, he thought sourly, to blame something on a man that wasn’t his fault.

Arianrod, his cousin and sometime lover, was a far worse problem. She still lived at Caer Dathyl at Dinaswyn’s insistence, although often she would travel to other courts, seeking new men, seeking diversion, seeking things that she was not perhaps even aware she was looking for. But she always returned to Caer Dathyl, and to Gwydion’s bed.

And that was the problem.

He always told himself that when she returned he would end it. But when he saw her again he always succumbed to the temptation to take refuge from his pain and loneliness, in her glorious body. He knew that it was wrong, because he did not love her. He could not, he thought, truly love any woman. For to do so he would have to trust them first and that was impossible. He knew that he was using Arianrod, and the knowledge made him wince inwardly, ashamed.

Yet she, too, played a part in the wrong. She knew that he did not love her. And he did not think she had ever loved him. He often wondered why it was then that she would not just let him go.

Arianrod had returned to Caer Dathyl just a few days ago. So far, Gwydion had been able to avoid her—no mean feat in a fortress this size. But this would not last. She was sure to try to force a confrontation. And this time his mind was made up.

He twisted his thoughts away from Arianrod. For now he had to think of a way to get a message to Uthyr. And he had to be careful. Ah. Of course. Dinaswyn was the key. He Wind-Spoke to her.
“Dinaswyn?”

“Coming,”
she replied quickly. A shade too quickly, he thought. She must have been hoping for such a summons.

He heard light footsteps on the stairs, and then Dinaswyn opened his study door. The passing years had contented themselves with bleaching the color from her face and hair, for while her skin was unlined, her hair now shone silver in the firelight. Her gray eyes, cool and watchful, surveyed him calmly. She was wearing a long, white robe, and her feet were bare.

“Found what you were looking for?” Dinaswyn inquired in a cool tone, gesturing to the book-laden table.

“No,” he said, just as coolly. “Did you expect me to?”

“As I don’t know what you are looking for, I hardly know what to expect.”

Yes, he thought, trust Dinaswyn to pry. “I’m not sure myself, really,” he lied. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Her gray eyes hardened. “I see.” Gwydion thought she probably did indeed.

“Dinaswyn, I wondered if you might do me a favor.”

“Tell me how I may serve you, my dearest nephew.”

Gwydion sighed inwardly. All conversations with her were like this. “Will you take a letter to Uthyr at Tegeingl for me?” he said mildly.

“That’s it? A letter?” she asked in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I miss him,” Gwydion said shortly.

“Gwydion, you never do things for sentiment’s sake.”

“Will you take it or not?” he asked impatiently.

“I will,” she replied crisply. “When?”

“You leave tomorrow.”

“The weather is a little difficult for traveling, Gwydion. You do know that it’s winter, don’t you?” she asked with some asperity.

Gwydion grinned. “I’ll back you against a blizzard any day.”

For the first time in a long time Dinaswyn laughed. Gwydion was surprised at how pleased he was to hear that sound. “I suggest, my dear aunt that you think of a good excuse to be in Tegeingl just now,” he went on.

She frowned thoughtfully. “The Calan Morynion celebration is coming up in a few weeks time. As the most important woman there, I would lead the festival. Everyone at Tegeingl would say that I had really come to push myself to the forefront of the celebration, assuming it was the pride of a crotchety old woman shunted into the background before her time that brings me there.”

“I like it,” Gwydion said decisively.

“You should. It has the merit of being true,” she said with a bitter smile.

“There’s more to you than that.”

She cocked her head at him. “Too smart for your own good, or for mine. Do me one favor in return.”

“What?” he asked warily.

“When the time comes, when the test is truly upon us, don’t forget me. Use me. Promise.” Her gray eyes blazed and her voice held an urgency that he had never heard from her before. “Help me to make my life mean something. And my death.”

“I promise that I will give you a task,” Gwydion replied steadily. “But I will not let it lead to your death.”

“That’s my business, Gwydion,” she replied cool as ever. It was enough to make Gwydion think he had imagined the fire he had seen in his aunt’s eyes just a moment ago. “Write your letter then, nephew,” she continued. “I leave tomorrow.”