The Two Tanists (A Bard Without a Star, Book 2) (5 page)

Gwillim nodded, but Kyrnin
snorted. “You’re asking for a life. We need more than your word.”

“Shall I contact the Pen
Bardd, and have him send a bardic company to judge the situation?” Gwydion
asked. “I think their verdict might be harsher than what I am asking.”

Kyrnin took a step forward.
“Is that a threat?”

“I want peace between our cantrefs,”
Gwydion said. “I will do what it takes to accomplish that goal.”

“Including razing this caer?”

“Enough!” Gwillim stood, and
after giving another stern look to his son he addressed Gwydion. “We too seek
peace between our cantrefs. Assure Math that the Rules will be observed in the
South as they are in the North.”

“And Deykin?” Gwydion
prompted.

“Tell your uncle to listen to
the winds,” Gwillim said. “I will make sure that justice is done.”

Gwydion cocked his head as
though he were listening to something. After a moment he nodded and bowed
low. “Your word is accepted, and binding, my Lord. Lord Gwynedd awaits the
results of your justice.”

Gwydion saw several people
making warding signs against him, and even Neith was looking at him nervously.
Gwillim did not act as if anything unusual had happened. “Will you share a
meal with us?”

“The hour is getting late,”
Gwydion said. “We would be happy to sup with you tonight, but we must leave
first thing in the morning. One last winter storm is coming, and we would like
to be home before it arrives.” Another, wider ripple of warding signs went
through the assembly.

Gwydion and his companions
were invited onto the dais, with Gwydion being seated on the left of Lord
Dyfed. Kyrnin sat on the right of his father, but not before glaring at
Gwydion.

Inside, Gwydion felt a bright
hatred for Kyrnin, but he kept his demeanor calm and even friendly. Servants
set done platters of beef and steaming oat cakes, followed by jugs of cold milk
and mead. A young woman took the seat across from him, and he worked on
charming her into a conversation. Kyrnin glowered the entire time.

Gwydion also talked to Lord
Dyfed, asking about such things as they had in common: weather, herds, and
harvests. “Is it true that you listen to the winds like your uncle?” Gwillim
asked at one point.

“I am learning to, yes,”
Gwydion said. “I’m nowhere near as good as he is, though.”

“And knowing about the
storm?”

“Part of the winds. I keep
hearing little bits of it, letting me know it’s on its way.”

“That must be a convenient
skill,” Gwillim said

“That it is, especially when
travelling.”

A servant came and whispered
something in Gwillim’s ear. He nodded, and then turned to Gwydion. “If you
would excuse me, there are some matters that need my attention.”

“Of course,” Gwydion said.

Without anyone between them,
Gwydion could feel the heat of Kyrnin’s gaze. He turned to meet it squarely.
“Yes, Tanist?”

Kyrnin said, “When you and I
have become Lords, don’t think that I will forget this and try to make peace.”

“I wouldn’t entertain the
thought for a moment,” Gwydion said. “I think that when that happens, we will
find out who is the better man.”

“
You
will. I already know.”

“It’s generous of you to
acknowledge the superiority of a younger man,” Gwydion said. “I was willing to
put it to the test.”

Kyrnin’s face reddened. “If
my father hadn’t specifically forbid it, I would challenge you right now.”

Gwydion shrugged. “I guess
we’ll just have to wait, then.”

Kyrnin stood and said to the
table, “I bid you all goodnight.” He left before anyone could respond.

Gwillim returned a moment
later, looking troubled. “Kyrnin didn’t offend you, did he Tanist?”

Gwydion said, “My Lord, if I
took offense at every harsh word I heard, I would spend my life in battle. My
cousin here might prefer that kind of life, but that is why I do the talking,
not him.”

Gwillim smiled, but his eyes
were still troubled. The meal ended soon afterward, and as Gwydion rose to
leave, Gwillim touched his arm. “I know that my son is a bit hot-headed,” he
said. “All I would ask is that you remember that your people and my people are
not that much different. We all want to raise our families without fear and to
live in peace.”

Gwydion wanted to reassure
him that he would work towards peace, but he knew that it would be a lie he
could not hide. Instead, he said, “I hold you no ill will, Lord Dyfed. I just
want justice.”

Gwillim nodded. “You shall
have it, I promise.”

Gwydion, Gil, and Neith were
given a comfortable chamber to share. Neith and Gil talked strategy,
fortifications, and armament they had seen, and Gwydion listened to it all with
half an ear. He made a note of all the points they raised, but he felt it was
all somehow futile. During dinner he had felt the pieces falling into place,
locking them into a destiny that some would welcome and some would try to
defy. Long after Gil and Neith were snoring contentedly, he was still trying
to decide which he might do.

The next morning, Gwydion
still had no answer, and was irritable from a lack of sleep. He thanked
Gwillim formally, and had his men mount up for the journey back to Gwynedd.
They were about to ride out of the gate, and Gwillim had already gone back into
the Caer, when Kyrnin stepped in front of Gwydion and grabbed his horse's
bridle, bringing the group to a halt.

“We are not done, Tanist,” he
said.

“Are you challenging me now?”
Gwydion asked.

“No,” Kyrnin said. “Not
today. But I swear by the Three Queens that the next time we meet, I will see
your life’s blood spill at my feet.”

Gwydion almost responded in
kind, but something clicked within him, and he laughed instead. “Is that the
worst you can do to me? Because here is my oath in return: the next time we
meet, I will humiliate you so badly that you will not dare show your face
outside the walls of this caer.”

Kyrnin turned a darker shade
of red than Gwydion had yet seen, and his free hand hovered above the hilt of
his sword. He swallowed his anger with effort, and dropped both hands to his
side. “Until next time, then.”

“I can’t wait,” Gwydion
replied, and spurred his horse forward.

The trip back to Caer Dathyl
was uneventful, although Gwydion’s actions caused lively speculation among the
kerns. Gil was the worst in some ways, wondering aloud more than once if the
Tanists would drag their cantrefs to war even before inheriting the title of
Lord. Gwydion said little; he felt caught in a spiral of events that had
slipped beyond his control, even though they were sweeping him towards his
goal. He constantly wondered if he were truly the master of his own fate.

They arrived in Caer Dathyl
just as the first fat flakes of snow began swirling thorough the air. He
immediately went to Math’s tower and gave his report. He left nothing out of
what he had said or done, although he had no idea how Math would take any of
it. The old man simply said, “Have you heard what justice Gwillim visited on
Deykin?”

“I did,” Gwydion said. “He
has been exiled from Dyfed, and stripped of his rank and possessions. I tend
to think my punishment would have been less severe.”

“Possibly,” Math said. “And
do you think the Rules will now be enforced?”

“For a season, perhaps,”
Gwydion replied. “Then I think that Kyrnin will be back to encouraging the
lairds to break them.”

“You and Gwillim’s Tanist are
quite the pair,” Math said.

“He’s hot headed, and I am
proud. If we are Lord’s at the same time, I don’t think the Rules will be
enforceable on either side.”

“Do you have any thought of
how to resolve the tension?”

“Not in a peaceful manner,
no.”

Math regarded him for several
quiet minutes. “You must choose the course that you feel is right,” he said at
last.

“I don’t think there is a
right in this case, Uncle.”

He left the tower and went
outside on one of the outer walls. The grey stone matched the grey sky, giving
him a sense of being in between the worlds. Winds tugged at his hair and his
cloak, demanding attention, and he felt suddenly irritated. He hadn’t been to
his chamber to retrieve his harp, and all the tricks Math had been teaching him
to control the intrusion of the winds were ineffective. He gave a cry of
frustration, which became the screech of an eagle as he launched himself into
the storm. He beat his powerful wings, climbing higher and higher until he
broke through the clouds into the bright sunlight.

The winds that had plagued
him at the caer were gone, replaced by a high keening that Gwydion could just
barely hear. He felt drawn to it, climbing even higher, until his lungs burned
with a lack of oxygen. The winds he heard were higher still, sounding like raw
power. They carried no voices but their own. Gwydion turned back into a human,
and as he began to fall, he called out to them.

The winds heard him and
answered his call, wrapping him in an icy gale. He felt like a mote being
tossed about by dust devils, being thrown hundreds of feet upwards and then
forced even further down. His fear was tempered by the exhilaration of it all.

He continued to talk to the
high winds until they knew his voice, and carried it within them. He released
them finally, and began falling towards the clouds below. He spent a minute
wondering what might happen if he kept his current shape, but just before he
hit the clouds, he shifted back to an eagle. He skimmed along the top of the
storm, unwilling to get caught up in it again. After a while, he saw a break,
and dipped down to a bright snow filled world. It took a few minutes to get
his bearing, but was soon flying back into the snow, heading for Caer Dathyl.

In his chambers, he grabbed
his harp and began to play, hiding away from all the winds for a while. He
didn’t even think about what he was playing at first, but soon began to wonder
what his next moves were, and he began playing the story of Pryderi and his
pigs.

The story was not told as
often in Gwynedd as he thought it must be in Dyfed, but he was still familiar
with it: Pryderi ap Pwyll was given a herd of pigs by Arawn, the Lord of the
Dead, the first domestic pigs ever seen in Glencairck. Arawn warned him not to
let any of the pigs out of his possession until the herd had at least doubled
in size, and Pryderi agreed. It seemed like an easy enough condition, but
neither of them had figured on Gwydion the Bard.

The bards were new then,
founded by Taliesin just a decade earlier. Gwydion had been one of the first
to earn the star, but he was not strict in his observance of the Bardic Code.
He heard of the pigs, and travelled to Caer Arberth to see the unusual animals
for himself. They seemed to him to be very fine, and he began plotting to
steal them. He disguised himself, and went to Caer Arberth as a traveling
musician. He charmed Pryderi into trading the pigs for twelve fine horses and
twelve fine greyhounds, all with gold and jewel trappings. But even before the
illusion had faded, Pryderi’s mind cleared, and he tried to rouse the men of
Dyfed to give chase to the rogue bard. But his men were still bedazzled by the
finery before them, a treasure more fit for the Ard Righ than a cantref Lord,
and he was forced to go alone. He caught up to Gwydion as he was about to
cross back into Gwynedd. Their battle was fierce, but Gwydion slew Pryderi and
left his body on the border.

He brought the music to a
close slowly, and still protected from the winds, he wondered about the choices
he was making. His desire for Arianrhod made it easy to rationalize his
actions, but Math’s lessons also let him understand that he was rationalizing.
He grimaced at contradiction, but despite his fears, he knew where his heart
lay.

He began playing again, this
time practicing new magic that he hoped would balance his need to start a war
with his greater need to stay alive.

Three weeks later, Gwydion
and his cousin went hunting again, but this time, he led them to a small cave
high on a mountain. “I think we'll be safe here,” he said by way of
explanation.

Gilventhy lit a fire and put
the rabbit they had caught on a spit of green wood. “I think you worry too
much.”

“And you don't worry
enough.” Looking out over the distant forest, Gwydion said, “You can't just go
through life with no thought of tomorrow, Gil. There are plans to be made, and
dreams to be fulfilled. And if you just wander along where the wind takes you,
you won't ever be the type of man who is remembered.”

“Oh, you're one to talk,” Gil
said. “You might not be led by the wind, but you're certainly led by your
loins.”

“And that brings us to why
we're in this damp cave,” Gwydion said with a smile. “Both of us want a woman,
and we need the other's help.”

“So how are you going to
start a war?”

“I won't confuse you with the
details,” Gwydion said. “Suffice it to say that you'll be going with me back
to Dyfed when we get a chance, and when we leave we should have an army chasing
us.”

“When do we leave? Are we
going to get to fight?” Gil asked, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Will you make up your mind
what you want?” Gwydion asked irritably. “Either you go to war or you get
Goewin. You can't have both.”

“Oh.” Gil poked at the fire
and turned the rabbit. “Well, I guess Goewin is what I really want.”

“Good. We'll leave when I'm
confident that Math doesn't suspect that we have ulterior motives. Now, about
your sister...”

Gil shrugged. “I wish you'd
go after Mari. She really likes you, and I think that you could have a good
time with her.”

“Why do I feel like we have
the same conversation over and over?” Gwydion said. “I told you that I'm
interested in Arianrhod.”

“Well, I'm not sure how to
help you. I really don’t know my sister that well.”

“No, but you know your
family. How do you think they will react when we show up at Caer Don with an
army chasing us?”

“There’s no question,” Gil
said. “They’ll fight.”

“But will they go out and
fight, or defend the Caer?”

Gil narrowed his eyes. “What
are you after?”

“I want to get Ari alone,
without a bunch of chaperones,” Gwydion explained patiently.

“Oh, is that all?” Gil said.
“In that case, I’m sure we could encourage them to go out to fight. I can
think of a half-dozen strategies that would call for it.”

“So can I, but this needs to
come from you, and be believable.”

Gill scratched his ear. “I
don’t see any problem with that. But will it be enough?”

Gwydion smiled and cut into
the roast meat. “It's more than enough. And if we can arrange to have a harp
handy…”

“You're good, but you're not
a bard.”

“Maybe not. But it gives me
a foothold, and that's all I need.”

Gil stuffed a piece of hot
meat in his mouth and immediately began puffing to try and cool it down.
“You're too cocky,” he said when he could use his tongue again. “You're going
to fail one of these days, and I hope I'm nowhere even close.”

“Why? I thought you loved to
see me humiliated.”

“Only when I'm the one doing
it.”

Several days later, Gwydion
approached Bran. “How would you like to take part in a little trickery on Lord
Dyfed?”

Bran narrowed his eyes. “What
are we talking about? Harmless fun, or something more serious?”

“Serious,” Gwydion said. “I
want to teach them a lesson about messing with our border caers.”

“And you think you can?”

Gwydion shrugged. “I have to
try.”

“Do you?” Bran asked.

Gwydion took a deep breath.
“I swore that I would humiliate Lord Dyfed’s son. He’s very full of himself,
and has been goading his lairds and chieftains to do more that steal cattle.
We are very nearly at war down there, and if Kyrnin has his way, we soon will be.”

“Full of himself, do you
say?” Bran smiled. “Don’t you think the same charge could be made against
you?”

“Obviously. But this is my
time to prove myself, not just to the people of Gwynedd, but to the whole of
Cairnecht.”

“It’s a very big challenge you
set,” Bran said. “Who else is going with you?”

“So far I’ve asked Gilventhy
and you, and I’ll bet you know what Gil’s answer was.”

“I’ll bet he asked how much
fighting there will be.”

Gwydion grinned. “You know
him well. But even after I told him that we weren’t going to fight if we could
help it, he agreed to come.”

“He’s betting that you’ll
screw up.”

“And I’m betting on his
prowess if I do,” Gwydion said. “It’s a delicate balance, but I have made it
work so far.”

Bran pursed his lips,
thinking. “Who else will be going with us?”

Gwydion let out a sigh of
relief. “I was actually hoping that you could recommend some people. I don’t
want too many with us, but I have to be able to rely on their loyalty and their
discretion.”

“Tall order,” Bran said. “Let
me think about it, and I’ll get back to you.”

“And if Math says no?”

Bran grinned. “Then you’ll
be on your own, I guess.”

They met together a week
later, in the upstairs room of a public house. The landlord laid the table
with wine and beef, and then bowed himself quietly out. Gwydion looked around
at the men he would lead, and although he felt nervous, he did not let it show.
Gil looked bored, picking at
his meat with a dagger tip. Bran had adopted an air of relaxed interest,
although his eyes were bright and sharp. The two men he had brought with him,
Dirgan and Llygad, looked at him suspiciously. Taking a deep breath, Gwydion
said, “We are met to discuss the problem of Dyfed.”

“Don’t be so pretentious,”
Gil said. “We know why we’re here. What we want to know is whether or not you
have a plan.”

“I do, actually,” Gwydion
said. “But it involves illusion and deception, and I want to make sure
everyone is okay with that.”

“What do you mean, illusion?”
Dirgan asked. “Are you talking sleight of hand or real magic?”

“Real magic,” Gwydion said.

“And we’re going to deceive
who, exactly?” Llygad asked.

“The entire court at
Arberth,” Gwydion said. “But I am especially interested in making Kyrnin
looking as foolish as possible.”

Dirgan and Llygad looked
sideways at each other. “It is said that the Tanists of Gwynedd and Dyfed have
no love lost between them,” Dirgan said.

Gwydion gave a short laugh.
“I have sworn to humiliate him. He has sworn to see my life’s blood at his
feet. Is that clear enough?”

“Quite,” Llygad said. “But
why should we follow you? Why not Bran?”

Gwydion looked at the
lieutenant. “Do you want to answer that one?”

“Nope,” Bran said. “You’re
doing fine.”

“Thanks,” Gwydion said
sarcastically. “I want you to follow me because you believe in me and my
abilities. And because you respect my Uncle’s decision to make me Tanist.”