Night Bird's Reign (26 page)

The arch-shaped chamber had a square window in the center of the far, rounded wall. A bed with a woolen spread of azure and green stood against the left wall, while a tiny wardrobe stood against the right. A small table was set beneath the window. On the table was a pitcher of wine and a golden goblet chased with emeralds. The floor of black stone was dotted here and there with rugs woven in shades of green.

With a sigh Gwydion put his saddlebags on the bed.

“Would you like to rest a while before seeing Cathbad?” Aergol asked.

“No,” Gwydion said. “I think a quick visit now would be better. I’ll have a quick wash before dinner.”

“As you wish,” Aergol said quietly. “Come with me, then.”

They returned to the corridor and turned left, passing the stairs. They came to a massive door of oak and Aergol knocked lightly then opened it.

A massive hearth covered the curved, opposite wall. All across the remaining walls hung tapestries of black, worked in silver, each showing a different portion of the night sky above Kymru. Just below the tapestries, which hung halfway down the wall, were massive oak tables, all covered with papers, books, and scientific instruments.

The highly polished floor of black stone was covered with huge carpets woven in green and brown, showing the many fruits of the earth—apple trees and vines, plum trees and wild-flowers. Jeweled vessels of gold and emerald were strewn throughout the room—bowls and cups, combs and necklaces, plates and pitchers.

Cathbad sat in a massive oak chair set before the hearth. He was dressed in a rich robe of green with brown trim. Around his neck was the massive Archdruid’s Torque of gold and emeralds, clasped at the center with a square inside a circle. Cathbad’s hair was a thick, silvery gray and his eyes were dark.

When Aergol ushered Gwydion in Cathbad rose with a smile on his benevolent face. “Gwydion!” he exclaimed and moved forward to embrace Gwydion. “You are well?”

Gwydion returned Cathbad’s embrace. “I am well, Archdruid,” he replied.

Cathbad gestured for Gwydion to sit. “Be sure you have a place set next to me at the table tonight for Gwydion,” he said to his heir.

Aergol nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Well, now, Gwydion, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Cathbad asked with a genial smile. “And how long can you stay?”

“Just tonight, I’m afraid,” Gwydion said. “I must leave in the morning for Neuadd Gorsedd.”

“To visit Anieron?” Cathbad guessed. “Be careful, Gwydion, of Anieron, unless you want him to know your thoughts themselves before you even have them.”

“How do you mean?” Gwydion asked, startled.

“Well, you know how he is. If there is anything happening in Kymru he doesn’t know about—often even before it happens—then I’d be surprised.”

Gwydion would, too, which was why he had some concerns about talking to Anieron. But there was no way around it. He would never be able to find Rhiannon without Anieron’s help.

“I must go to him. For the same reason I come to you. I must find Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. And I must do it before Ysgawen Mis.”

Cathbad’s silver brows shot up. “That is quite a task, Gwydion, considering that we’ve been looking for her for eleven years.”

“I know,” Gwydion said tiredly. “But it must be done.”

“Tell me why.”

When Gwydion hesitated, Cathbad shrugged. “Well, of course you don’t need to. I simply thought—”

“You are right,” Gwydion said with a sheepish smile. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“Yes,” Cathbad said, his mouth twitching. “I can see that.”

Gwydion laughed. “Very well! I must find Rhiannon because she holds the key to a clue left by Bran many years ago. A clue to the location of Caladfwlch.”

“The sword of the High Kings? Why, that means . . .” Cathbad’s voice trailed off as he understood Gwydion’s message. “I see. A High King for Kymru.”

“Yes. And I must find Rhiannon. She alone knows the clue to the sword’s whereabouts. And without the sword—”

“The High King can’t fully utilize his powers,” Cathbad finished.

“That’s right,” Gwydion agreed.

“I wish I could help, Gwydion,” Cathbad said. “But I have no idea where to begin to look for her. But I feel certain that Anieron knows something.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gwydion said.

Alban Awyr, Cynyddu Wythnos—late morning

A
S
G
WYDION DREW
closer to Neuadd Gorsedd, the college of the Bards, he saw that it seemed to be in an unusual state of activity. Apprentices in plain, white robes scurried in and out of the huge, triangle-shaped three-level building. The light reflected off the blue-hued stones and the huge silver doors. On the left side of the door two crossed lines had been carved, the symbol of the birch tree, the tree sacred to Taran, King of the Winds. The right door was studded with sapphires that outlined the shape of that god’s constellation. The sapphires danced before his eyes as he dismounted and looked upon the stone steps that approached the doors.

Elidyr, the Master Bard’s heir, came hurrying down the steps to greet him. Elidyr was a pleasant looking man with sandy hair and light brown eyes. “Gwydion,” he said, smiling, “what a delightful surprise.”

Somehow, Gwydion doubted that his arrival was a surprise, nor was he certain it was delightful. “What’s everyone running around for?” he asked, as he removed his saddlebag from Elise’s back. An apprentice came scurrying up to take his horse.

“Preparations for the festival,” Elidyr replied as they mounted the steps leading up to the keep. “It’s Alban Awyr today, remember?”

“Sorry. I just lost track of time. How’s your wife?”

“Elstar is well, thanks. As a matter of fact, she got leave from her duties at Y Ty Dewin and she’s riding over today for the festival.”

They passed through the sapphire studded doors and entered the main corridor that led to the Great Hall. The corridor was dim to Gwydion’s sun-blinded eyes, and the cool air revived him enough to make him realize how tired he was. He walked very slowly. “How’s Elstar coping these days?” he asked.

“Well, switching from Myrrdin to Cynan was difficult at first. You know Cynan—kind to a fault, not really made for leadership. But it’s worked out all right. Elstar’s just got a little more responsibility than an heir normally would. By the way, Elstar’s bringing another guest with her that I think you’ll be interested in seeing.”

“Who?”

“Don’t want to ruin the surprise. Come on, I’ll take you to Anieron.”

Perhaps Elstar was bringing Dudod with her, Gwydion thought. Now that’s the man he would really like to see. Slowly he followed Elidyr up the winding stairs to the second story. “Is your father here?” Gwydion asked casually.

“No. Dudod’s traveling. Anieron likes to use him to keep track of things, you know. And my Da loves to travel.”

“Speaking of traveling, is there a place I could rest for a few minutes before I see Anieron? I’m all done in.”

“Of course. I should have realized. I’ll take you right to your room. Do you want a bath first?”

“Just a quick wash with a bucket of water would be fine for now. Do you have a few moments to talk?”

“I’ll make the time. Here we are,” Elidyr said as he opened the door to a small but pleasant chamber. The triangular window faced east, with a view of the huge birch grove where the festivals were celebrated.

Within the chamber a narrow bed was pushed against one wall. Small rugs in blue and white dotted the white stone floor. A narrow oak wardrobe stood next to a small table that held a basin and pitcher. Gwydion was grateful to see that the pitcher was full. He poured the water into the basin and splashed his face, drying it with a towel that lay next to the basin. Meanwhile, Elidyr poured wine into two blue glass goblets from a silver decanter that stood on a small table next to the door.

Gwydion took a small sip of the wine. His brows shot up. “Good stuff! Is this from Prydyn?”

“Straight from King Rhoram himself. Anieron said you’d be along soon, and he thought you might like it.”

“And how,” Gwydion asked carefully, “did Anieron know I’d be here?”

“You’ll have to ask him that yourself. But he probably won’t answer you.”

“I sometimes think that man knows everything there is to know about everything,” Gwydion said lightly, disguising how disturbed he was. “Tell me, have you heard from your cousin Rhiannon lately?”

Elidyr stared at Gwydion in surprise. “Rhiannon? No, have you?”

“Of course not. But I am looking for her.”

“Why?”

“I had a dream,” Gwydion said shortly. It was all that the Dreamer had to say to anyone to ensure full cooperation. Well, almost anyone. He had a hunch that Anieron would probably be another matter. But not Elidyr, of that he was sure.

“If you’re asking do I know where she is, the answer is no. No one does.” Elidyr frowned. “Except—”

“Except maybe your father?”

Elidyr shot Gwydion a sharp look. “Possibly. But I doubt you’ll find her. She’d sense you were coming and run.”

“Would she? Maybe she’s ready to be found.”

“You don’t know her,” Elidyr said shortly.

“Tell me about her. What’s she like?”

“I can tell you what she was like. What she might be like now, I wouldn’t even be able to guess.” Elidyr paused, then sat down on the hearth. “Rhiannon was anxious to please, and naturally kind-hearted. It made her easily hurt, her tender heart.”

“I hadn’t heard she was that tender,” Gwydion said shortly.

“Oh, but she was. That was the problem. When she gave her heart to Rhoram, and when he mangled it—as anyone but her expected him to do—she had no defenses.”

“I heard from Myrrdin she had quite a few defenses.”

Elidyr waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Surface only. Not even skin deep. A hard shell, certainly, but a thin one.”

“With you, perhaps.”

“Oh, yes, perhaps just with me. I loved her like a sister, you know.”

“Did you?” Gwydion had his own opinion about that, seeing the look in Elidyr’s eyes when he spoke of his cousin. “I understand she’d come here to try to see her father.”

“As much as she could that first year she was at Y Ty Dewin. She was only seven years old and would walk all the way here. She’d show up, usually in the middle of the night, and Wind-Speak to wake me up. I’d sneak out of the dorm and let her in. We’d raid the kitchen, then try to get Hefeydd to open his door and talk to her.”

“And did he?”

“Never. I used to beg her not to try. But she insisted. She always said that if he could just see her, he’d know what a good girl she was, and he’d love her. But after a while she realized it was useless and she stopped coming.”

Elidyr got up restlessly and went to look out the window. Without turning around he continued, “I can’t tell you what it was like to see her fight that losing battle. She’d show up exhausted, dirty, blisters on her feet. And when Hefeydd refused to see her, she would weep. I’d hold her until she stopped crying. If my Da were here, I’d take her to him. And he’d take her back to Y Ty Dewin in the morning. If Dudod wasn’t here, she’d sleep in his empty room. Anieron always knew that she was there—you know how he is—and he’d send her back in the morning with some other Bard who could be spared.”

“How often did she come here?”

“Every week,” Elidyr said tonelessly. “Every week for one entire year. I was so glad when she stopped coming. I missed her, but I was glad.”

“For her sake,” Gwydion said.

“Yes, for her sake,” Elidyr repeated.

“But not for yours.”

Still staring out the window, Elidyr said, almost dreamily, “I loved her, you see. But I never told her. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, I suppose. She didn’t love me, probably never would have.

“But sometimes, I think that if I had told Rhiannon that I loved her, maybe she wouldn’t have fallen in love with Rhoram. And she wouldn’t have been hurt so badly; she wouldn’t have run away, she would have become Ardewin one day, instead of Elstar. Maybe I could have saved her, if I had tried.” Elidyr trailed off and there was silence.

Abruptly, Gwydion said, “It was her choice to run away, to play the coward.”

“Coward? Is that how you see her?”

“Don’t you?”

“You don’t understand anything.” Elidyr said flatly. “She was a brave little girl, and a brave woman. And she gave herself away to a careless man.”

“She ran away,” Gwydion insisted, just as flatly. “Ran and hid like a child when things didn’t go her way.”

“Oh, and you haven’t done that yourself in your own way?” Elidyr asked, his voice heavy with contempt.

Gwydion opened his mouth to say that of course he had never run from tragedy, to say that he had never been a coward. Yet his denials of cowardice died in his throat.

“Rest,” Elidyr said quietly, his brown eyes cool. “I’ll be back in an hour to take you to Anieron.” With that, Elidyr was gone, leaving Gwydion to the silence.

W
HEN
E
LIDYR RETURNED
an hour later, Gwydion coolly intimated that he was ready. Elidyr said nothing, merely motioning for Gwydion to follow him down the corridor. Elidyr knocked on Anieron’s door, waited a moment then opened it.

Anieron’s room where he received visitors was large. An oak table stood in the middle of the room with an ornate wooden chair behind it. Rows and rows of bookshelves jostled for place against the walls covered with large parchments containing the genealogical tables of the four royal houses of Kymru, as well as the House of Llyr.

A large, glass-fronted shelf held musical instruments—harps, pipes, and drums of all shapes and sizes. The floor was covered with a tapestry-like carpet woven to show blue nightingales, the symbolic animal of the Bards, in flight on a plain, white background.

A fireplace occupied most of the far wall where a fire burned cheerfully. Before the hearth two chairs stood, both cushioned in the white and blue of the Bards. A small table stood between the chairs, holding a silver decanter and blue-tinted goblets.

Anieron rose from his chair before the hearth. He was a tall man, and, although in his mid-sixties, he did not stoop. He wore a robe of blue and the ornate Master Bard’s torque of sapphires studded over a triangle of silver. His hair was a distinguished gray and he was clean-shaven. His green eyes were alert and piercing. He had a genial smile and a razor-sharp mind. Anieron radiated charm, as did his brother, Dudod. Unlike Dudod, however, he also radiated a sense of power.