Night Bird's Reign (36 page)

Gwydion knew better than to reply. After they had eaten a meal—which Dudod had cooked—they settled down on a convenient log placed before the fire.

“How did you find out where she was?” Gwydion asked. “Did she contact you?”

“No. She doesn’t even realize that I know where she is. Once, when Rhiannon was only a little girl, and when my wife was still alive, we traveled to Neuadd Gorsedd to see Elidyr. Rhiannon hoped to catch a glimpse of her father—a forlorn hope, as usual,” Dudod said with bitterness. “Anyway, we stopped for an afternoon rest in Coed Aderyn by a tiny lake with a small waterfall. And Rhiannon went exploring and found a cave behind it. After Rhiannon disappeared, I remembered that place. I went there once, many years ago, to be sure. And she was there.”

“Did she see you?”

Dudod gave Gwydion an affronted stare. “Are you mad? Nobody sees me if I don’t want them to. I,” he said with mock dignity, “am an accomplished sneak.”

“I’m sure you are. All those years of knowing where she is, and you never let on. And now, I spend months going to every kingdom in Kymru, asking useless questions and getting saddle sores, and you knew where she was all along.”

“Do I sense a bit of irritation?”

Gwydion thought about that seriously for a moment. “Actually, no. The trip was useful after all, even if I didn’t discover her whereabouts for myself.”

For some time the two men were silent, staring into the flames and lost in their own thoughts. At last, Gwydion said, “Years ago I asked you to tell me where Rhiannon was. And you pretended that you didn’t know. What made you decide to take me to her now?”

“Anieron. My brother can be very persuasive. That’s why he’s the Master Bard.”

“Anieron may have asked you to do this, but only you decide what you will do. So why did you?”

Dudod sighed. “It was time. For over eleven years Rhiannon has hidden herself and her daughter away. That can’t go on forever, and I’m sure Rhiannon knows it. If nothing else, she must return Gwenhwyfar to the outside world. Her refusal to do so is ruining that child’s life.”

“I could point that out, I suppose.” Gwydion mused.

“I wouldn’t,” Dudod said sharply. “You can’t simply descend upon the woman and tell her what to do. You must be gentle. You must appeal to her higher instincts—not to her mistakes.”

“But to point out her mistakes would have the merit of being true.”

“The more truthful the accusation, the angrier we get. Don’t you know that?”

“So,” Gwydion continued, “how do you suggest I handle Rhiannon?”

“Very carefully,” Dudod warned. “No accusations. Be sure that you explain yourself. She won’t respond to bullying, but she will respond to reason.”

“You surprise me there,” Gwydion said dryly. “I wouldn’t have thought she would respond to reason.”

“Why ever not?”

“Well, she’s a woman, isn’t she?”

Dudod looked at Gwydion for a long time. Finally, he spoke, “Indeed she is. I fear, however, that your experience with a limited number of women has led you astray. They are not all so emotional and irrational.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“Yes, I imagine you can be easily fooled into seeing only what you expect to see,” Dudod said shortly. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

“You guessed.”

Gwydion shrugged. He was used to that. His mind turned instead to the important question on how best to handle Rhiannon. Perhaps he could appeal to her sense of duty. Except that she didn’t appear to have any. Yet something Myrrdin had said could help. “Myrrdin says that Rhiannon and I are a great deal alike,” he repeated absently.

“Myrrdin is a wise old man. But I am wiser still. I won’t even bother to ask you when you talked to him last.”

Swiftly, Gwydion raised his keen gray eyes to Dudod’s glittering green ones. “Why bother to ask what you already know?”

“Why indeed?”

Meirgdydd, Disglair Wythnos—early morning

D
UDOD ROUSED
G
WYDION
early the next morning. After a hasty breakfast they rode into the forest of closely packed trees and lush undergrowth. After a few leagues they reached a large clearing. The forest floor was dotted with wildflowers of glistening white, bright red, deep blue, and lemony yellow. A small waterfall played lightly over a rocky slope and fed into a blue, jewel-like pond. The sunlight turned the drops into tiny diamonds. The water bubbled exuberantly in the bright, clear, summer morning.

“Let me go first,” Dudod said in a low tone. He dismounted and, walking up near the waterfall, gave a shout. For a moment nothing happened. Then Rhiannon, dressed in a plain black gown, appeared suddenly from behind the waterfall. With a cry, she hurled herself into Dudod’s arms.

As Gwydion worked his way closer, leaving his horse behind the trees, he saw that her long, wavy black hair was unbound, falling below her waist. She was slender and her feet were bare. Her back was to Gwydion as she clung to Dudod and he could not see her face, buried as it was in Dudod’s shoulder.

Tears were running down Dudod’s face as he gently held Rhiannon to him. “Child,” he whispered. “Niece. I missed you so.”

“Uncle Dudod, I can’t believe you’re here. How did you find me?” she wept.

“I knew you’d come back here.”

“And you never told anyone,” Rhiannon marveled.

“Oh, well, not until very recently.”

Rhiannon stepped back from Dudod’s arms. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply. “Who have you told?”

“Ah,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “Just one person.”

“Who?”

Behind her, Gwydion cleared his throat. As she whipped around, he bowed low. “Gwydion ap Awst, Dreamer of Kymru. And I know how to keep secrets, too, never fear.”

She stared at him, the tears of joy drying on her face. Her green eyes were enormous. She had a snub nose, a pointed chin, and, at the moment, a most forbidding expression.

“Why have you done this to me, Uncle?”

“That will take some time to explain. Perhaps we may go up to the cave and sit and talk for a while.”

“Yes,” Rhiannon said shortly. “Let’s do that. By all means, please share the hospitality of one you have betrayed.”

“Rhiannon,” Dudod pleaded, “just calm down.”

“Calm down?” she asked, her voice rising. “You bring that—that schemer to my home, and you tell me to calm down?”

“Yes I do,” Dudod replied with some heat. “We have come a long way to speak to you, and with very good reasons. Do you think I would have done this unless I judged it to be of the greatest importance?”

Rhiannon studied Dudod, ignoring Gwydion completely. “I’ll be the judge of what’s important.” She turned back to the waterfall without another word.

They followed her over the rocks and slipped behind the gentle waterfall. Parting a woolen curtain, she led them into her cave. A fire crackled atop the hearth, over which a pot of water steeped in herbs was boiling.

To the left of the entrance were books and a small harp resting upon wooden shelves. “That’s Hefeydd’s harp,” Dudod said in surprise.

“Yes,” Rhiannon said shortly.

“Don’t play it much, do you?” Gwydion said, taking in the dust that covered the beautiful instrument.

“No.” She gestured for them to sit at the table and made her way to the back of the cave that was hidden in shadow. “Gwenhwyfar,” she called. “You can come out now.”

Slowly, a young girl with long, blond hair came out of the shadows. She had widely spaced blue eyes and wore a plain gown of brown cloth. She, too, was barefoot. Shyly she smiled at Dudod. “Great-uncle Dudod?”

Dudod nodded, smiled, and held out his arms. Without hesitation, Gwen launched herself into Dudod’s embrace. “Mam talks about you sometimes. I have always wanted to meet you. Did you bring your harp?”

Dudod laughed. “I did indeed. Why don’t we go out by the pond, and I’ll play some songs for you? Would you like that?”

Rhiannon cocked a sardonic brow at Dudod. “Leaving me alone with the Dreamer? Thanks a lot.”

Gwen looked over at Gwydion. Pulling her dignity about her, she said, “We do not know each other.”

“I am Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon, Dreamer of Kymru,” he bowed.

“I am Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon, Princess of Prydyn. I am also clairvoyant and psychokinetic.”

“Are you now?” Gwydion said with interest. “Can you Fire-Weave?”

Gwen glanced at Rhiannon, who was standing stiffly by the hearth. “Um, not yet,” she replied.

“But you can Wind-Ride? And Life-Read?” he asked.

“I Wind-Ride very well. And Life-Read a little.”

“Ah. But the psychokinetic abilities—not quite familiar with them yet?”

“Mam doesn’t have them, so she can’t teach me.”

“Would you like to learn?”

“Oh, yes,” Gwen replied, her eyes shining.

“Well, perhaps I can arrange something.”

“Perhaps you could leave the arrangement of my daughter’s education to me,” Rhiannon said sharply.

Dudod rose and took Gwen’s hand. “Well, you two have a great deal to talk about—”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Rhiannon broke in.

“So Gwenhwyfar and I will be on our way,” Dudod continued smoothly. “Come, child.”

Gwen hesitated, waiting for Rhiannon’s response. Rhiannon reluctantly nodded at her daughter, and the two left the cave.

Rhiannon went to the hearth and poured two steaming cups of chamomile tea. She placed one in front of Gwydion and sat down at the table opposite him. Holding her mug with both hands, she took a few careful sips, frowning into her cup.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” Gwydion began.

“Have you?” she said in a disinterested tone.

“I have,” he replied mildly, and supped his tea. He waited for Rhiannon to ask him the next, obvious question. But she did not. She drank her tea, ignoring him.

“I went a lot of places looking for you. One place I went to was Arberth.”

Her eyes cut to him, her green gaze sharp. “And they didn’t know anything there, did they?”

“No. But I talked to Rhoram. He gave me a message for you.”

Rhiannon’s hands tightened on her cup until her knuckles were white. But her voice was cool. “Did he?”

“Yes. He said that he hoped to see you again. He said that he wanted to see his daughter, too, very much.”

“Is he—is he well?” she asked hesitantly.

“He wasn’t, no. But he seems to be better now.”

“For having seen you?” Rhiannon laughed harshly.

“No.” Talking to this woman was hard work. He felt as though every word he uttered could be turned into a trap, a snare. He took another sip of tea, wishing for something stronger. “It was something that Achren did. He had been very unhappy for a long time. It seems that Queen Efa didn’t turn out to be all that he thought she was.”

“I could have told him that,” Rhiannon said.

“So Achren mocked him, you see. She mocked his—what shall I call it—his living death, the living death he fashioned out of his regret. And it woke him, brought him back to life.” He was silent for a moment. “Perhaps the time for living death has passed for you also. Perhaps it is time for life for you as well.”

Rhiannon sat back, eyeing him sardonically. “What a lovely sentiment. And how kind of you to be concerned. You have been looking for me, you say.” The subject of Rhoram was apparently closed. “Why?”

Now for it. He took a deep breath. “You hold a memory. A clue.”

“Do I?” she said flatly.

He spoke slowly, clearly, and firmly, as though to a child of erratic temperament. “Yes, you do.”

“And?”

“And I must get it. It is a clue, handed down through certain descendants of Bran the Dreamer. It has come to rest in you, in your subconscious.”

“I see.”

Her palpable disinterest, her monosyllabic replies, stung him. But he attempted to keep calm. “And that is not all.”

“No?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The dead High Kings of Kymru themselves have told me that you must accompany the rest of us on a quest.”

“The rest of us?”

“The captains of Kymru. Cai of Gwynedd; your friend Achren from Prydyn; Angharad of Ederynion; and Trystan from Rheged.”

“And the quest is?”

“To retrieve Caladfwlch from wherever it now lies.”

“The sword of the High Kings? To give, presumably, to the next High King of Kymru.”

“Yes.”

“So you want to hypnotize me to retrieve a memory. Then you want me to leave my home and my daughter and go with you on a quest for the sword. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. So you see, I did understand you. Thank you for using little words so that I could do so.”

“I’m just trying to explain,” he said patiently, perhaps a little too patiently.

“You’re treating me like a child, Dreamer,” she said sharply. “But I am not.”

The skepticism in his face was unmistakable. As soon as he had done that, he knew he had made a mistake. Her face continued to harden. Gwydion had not thought that possible.

In a dangerously calm tone, she went on, “And what, may I ask, do you suggest I do with my daughter while I go off with you?”

“How should I know? Why don’t you take her to Y Ty Dewin? It’s where she belongs, after all. She needs training. Training she can’t get living in a cave. She’s psychokinetic as well as clairvoyant. She—”

“And what right do you have to tell me what to do?”

“You asked me,” he replied, his voice rising.

“It was a rhetorical question, idiot.”

Idiot. This was enough. “Oh, that’s typical. Just like a woman. Doesn’t surprise me at all. Blame the man for what you started. Of course.”

“Oh, I like that. Just like a man. Come in here demanding things from me. Saying I must do this, I must do that. Men always want something. And they never want to give anything in return.”

“I’ll be giving something in return, all right,” he shot back. “I’ll be enduring your childish temper tantrums.”

“Oh no you won’t. Because I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Of course you’re not. What ever made me believe that you would think of anything other than yourself?”

“You’re a fine one to talk. Since when does the Dreamer care about anyone else?”