The Two Tanists (A Bard Without a Star, Book 2) (8 page)

Gwydion waved him on, and
Bran took charge, moving them all at a much faster pace towards Dyfed.

A fine steady drizzle set in
as they rode, cold and draining. They encountered no more armed men, but
shepherds watched them suspiciously as they pounded past. Gwydion listened to
all the winds he could, and tried to keep an eye on the road as well. He knew
that the Tanist was catching up to them, but he also knew that Gwynedd was
being roused, with Math leading forces from the north. Fortunately his
strength had returned faster than he could have hoped for, but the race was
taxing them all.

In the end, it was still the
heifer that slowed them too much. Even as a mare, she tended to amble more
than run, and could not be persuaded to move faster. The men cursed her, but
it did not help, and Gwydion began to wonder if they would make it through this
adventure alive.

They crested a low hill and
saw the Dyfi River ahead. Gwynedd was on the other side, not that Gwydion
thought Kyrnin would stop at the river’s edge. He had been counting on the
fact that he wouldn’t. But Bran yelled, “Almost there!” and spurred his horse
towards the water.

Halfway down the hill, they
heard a great bellow behind them. Gwydion turned and saw Kyrnin coming over
the ridge, whipping his horse with the flat of his naked sword. “Bran!”
Gwydion yelled as they entered the water. “Get everyone, including that
blasted cow on the other side of the river!”

Bran hesitated. “What are
you going to do?”

“Meet my destiny,” Gwydion
said, drawing his sword, and adjusting his shield. “Math is ahead, bringing
the armies of Gwynedd. I’ll hold them here as long as I can.”

Bran just nodded, and kept
the rest of the party moving even as Gwydion stopped and faced his foe. Kyrnin
looked like a demon in his headlong flight, and Gwydion felt a great fear wash
over him. The icy water lapped at his legs, and he could not feel his toes.
He fought back both the cold fear and the cold of the water, and suddenly he
had a shift in his sight, where it seemed that all of Dyfed stood upon Kyrnin’s
shoulders. He could feel all of Gwynedd on his, and he knew the coming fight
would do much to determine the fate of the two cantrefs.

Kyrnin plunged into the river
with a cloud of spray, slowing despite his best efforts. Neither man spoke,
but began attacking as soon as they could reach one another. Kyrnin’s first
blow felt like a tree falling on him, but Gwydion cleared his mind of emotion
and began analyzing each stroke that rained down on him. He caught many on his
shield, and tried to counter as best he could. Kyrnin’s advantage in size and
weight were difficult to overcome, and Gwydion’s horse began to falter.
Sensing weakness, Kyrnin pressed harder. Gwydion tried to move out of reach,
and found himself being pushed back towards the Dyfed side of the river. He
could see the Dyfedians at the top of the hill, and he knew it would not be
long before he had more than Kyrnin to fight.

He slipped his feet from his
stirrups. Without the leverage, he could feel himself slipping off his horse,
and Kyrnin pressed forward to finish the fall. Gwydion reached out and stabbed
Kyrnin’s mount through the neck, then leaped clear.

Kyrnin, feeling his horse
die, struggled to get free before he fell. Gwydion slapped his own horse on
the rump to get him out of the way, and attacked Kyrnin even as he fell into
the water. There was a brief moment where it seemed that air and river mixed
together. Gwydion could barely breathe, and he struck out at the flailing man
in front of him again and again, while avoiding the silver flashing blade that
flickered all over the place.

The two Tanists broke apart,
dripping and panting as they faced each other. Gwydion tried to raise his
shield, and discovered that he could barely lift it. He could smell his own
blood seeping from his shoulder. Kyrnin saw it, and grinned as Gwydion let the
shield fall in the water.

Kyrnin attacked again, and
Gwydion began to fall back again, but he had turned so that he was moving
closer to Gwynedd, and into deeper water. The river pulled at them, and
Gwydion knew he would only have one chance. Kyrnin smelled victory, and
pressed forward in a flurry of blows that Gwydion barely fended off.

His haste made him fearless,
and reckless. Kyrnin stepped on a river rock that rolled under his foot,
putting him momentarily off balance. Gwydion saw the surprise in his face, and
responded quickly. He stepped inside Kyrnin’s guard, and using his shield
hand, drew his belt dagger and stabbed it into Kyrnin’s neck.

Blood sprayed, and Kyrnin
tried to gurgle out a curse, but could not. His eyes dimmed as he fell to his
knees. Gwydion backed away and watched as he fell forward. The river pulled
at the body, hauling it downstream.

Gwydion looked up and saw
Gwillim on the bank, staring at his son floating lifelessly away. A great sob
escaped his lips, and the captain beside him said, “Lord? What would you have
us do?”

Gwillim looked at Gwydion,
who felt the caution melt away in raw hatred. “Kill them all,” Lord Dyfed
said. “Lay waste to Gwynedd, steal their daughters and cattle, and make them
pay for the life of my son. And start with that one there.”

Gwydion raised his sword in
futile defiance as the army of Dyfed entered the river. “Uncle,” he said into
the winds, “I am perished without you.”

Behind him, as if in
response, a horn sounded. Gwydion whipped around and saw Math in golden armor,
his beard tucked into his belt, coming down to the river with hundreds of men
spread out behind him and on either side. The Dyfedians saw them and gave a
loud war cry, rushing even faster across the river.

“Fly, nephew!” Math cried.
“Fly!”

Gwydion didn’t understand at
first, being more concerned with the warriors almost upon him, but then he saw
a carrion crow winging towards the armies, and comprehension dawned. He threw
his sword like a spear at the closest Dyfedian, then jumped up and took a
raven’s shape. His wounded shoulder made it hard to fly, but he got up and
away, and with a cry to his uncle, began his slow, painful way to Caer Don.

Gwydion flew along, trying
not to think, when he saw a small ragged group down below. He recognized Bran,
and dropped lower, landing in front of them and shape shifting back to human
form.

“By the Gods!” Bran said,
pulling up hard. “Don’t do that!”

“I was wondering if I could
ride with you a bit,” Gwydion said.

“I suppose the
heifer—mare—whatever would work as a mount,” Bran said. As Gwydion moved
towards the animal, he heard the lieutenant gasp. “How bad is your shoulder?”

“Bad enough I suppose,”
Gwydion said.

Bran had him lying down in a
moment, with Dirgan making a fire and Llygad sent for fresh water. Bran pulled
back the tunic slowly, breaking away dried blood and causing fresh blood to
seep through. Gil said, “I can’t tell. How bad is it?”

“He’ll have limited use for a
few months,” Bran said, probing gently. He looked at Gwydion’s face, clenched
in pain. “You’re damned lucky. And brave, too.”

“You saw the fight?”

“I wasn’t going to just leave
without knowing your fate,” Bran said. “Math would have killed me.”

“Math would know if I died,”
Gwydion said.

“But you didn’t,” Gil said.
“You killed that bastard instead! It was incredible!”

Gwydion and Bran shared a
look. “I’ve been instructed to take the two of you to Caer Dathyl,” Bran
said. “When Math told me that, I never thought you would actually join us, but
I guess Math did.”

Gwydion grunted. The fire
helped him, and Bran and Llygad dressed his wound. Gwydion heard them talking
about him after everyone had fallen asleep that night. “He’s not really in
good shape to travel to Caer Dathyl,” Llygad said.

“He’s tougher than he looks,
obviously,” Bran said.

“He would be better left at
Caer Don to rest.”

“And if the Dyfedians push
that far into the cantref?” Bran asked. “Then what?”

“Then he gets moved after
getting some rest,” Llygad said. “You know I’m right on this one.”

Gwydion held his breath as
Bran considered. “Alright,” he finally conceded. “But I’m leaving you and
Dirgan to look after him. I want men I can trust nearby.”

“And the chieftain?”

“He goes home to defend his
dun,” Bran said. “It’s only right.”

The next day they arrived at
Caer Don, where the small band was warmly welcomed by a few guards. “Where is
Tewared?” Bran demanded.

“He left yesterday to help
Math,” said the lead kern, who looked young enough to be Bran’s son. Bran shook
his head. “I need to leave the Tanist here. He’s been wounded, and needs to
recuperate.”

“Yessir,” the young kern said
with nervous respect.

“I’m leaving my two
lieutenants with him, and they will only follow his commands, is that
understood?”

“Yessir.”

Bran turned to Gwydion. “I’m
not sure I’m comfortable with this.”

“I’ll be fine,” Gwydion
said. “Don’t forget, I can hear if danger is coming to the Caer, and I can get
out.”

“But will you?” Bran said.
“I’m worried about you trying to play the hero, and defending the Caer against
an army.”

“It’s not going to come to
that,” Gwydion said. “Math is a great warrior, too. It’s just been a long
time since he’s had to prove it.”

“I suppose,” Bran said.

“Take Gil to Caer Dathyl,”
Gwydion said. “I’ll be fine.”

Bran gave the young kern
another hard look. “I will hear if you are disrespectful to the Tanist, or
allow anyone else to disrespect him, and I will be very upset. So upset that I
will return to take care of it. Do you understand me?”

In a very small voice, the
kern said, “Yessir.”

Bran sighed heavily, and gave
pulled a Dirgan and Llygad aside for some instructions. Seeing that he wasn’t
paying attention, Gil said to Gwydion, “It looks like everything is working out
the way you planned.”

Gwydion smiled bitterly, and
tugged at his sling. “Almost.”

“What are you worried about?”
Gil said. “Most of the Caer has left, and we didn’t need to do anything
special. You should have all the time you want, at least until Math finishes
Gwillim off.”

“I don’t know,” Gwydion
said. “It’s what I planned, but it’s all happening like it was going to
whether I planned anything or not…”

“And now I’m off to see
Goewin,” Gil said, oblivious. “Hopefully you’ll have as much luck with Ari as
I intend to have with her.”

Gwydion grabbed his arm.
“You be careful. Bran is smarter than you know.”

“Bran’s going to have his
hands full with running Caer Dathyl,” Gil said. “He’s not going to notice me
or Goewin.”

“I hope you’re right. Here
he comes.”

Bran was shaking his head. “I’ve
done all I can to make sure you’re taken care of, but I still don’t like it.”

“I am not a child,” Gwydion
said. “I’ll be fine, and able to take charge in a few days.”

“I certainly hope so.” He
grasped Gwydion’s good arm. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Gwydion watched
Bran and Gil mount up and ride out of the gate. When he was sure they were
gone, he placed his forehead on the mare’s forehead, and concentrated on her
eyes. The world spun for a moment, but the heifer resumed her normal shape while
Gwydion sank to the ground.

“Tanist!” Llygad said,
putting an arm around him. “Why did you do that? Bran told you to take it
easy!”

“I’m fine,” Gwydion said.
Turning to Cofach, he said, “Chieftain, this fine cow is yours. Thank you for
your help.”

Cofach bowed low. “Thank
you, Tanist. I am honored by your gift.”

“You should go home to your
Dun now. You have hidden it well, but I know you are concerned about your
people.”

Cofach smiled. “You know me
well, Tanist. But are you sure you’ll be okay here?”

“It’s my ancestral home, and
I have these two fine warriors that have been charged with babysitting me,”
Gwydion said.

“We’re not babysitting you,”
Dirgan complained.

Cofach grinned. “No one is
going to believe this story, you know.”

Gwydion grinned in return.
“Just tell it well, or soon people will want you to embellish it.”

“Tanist,” Llygad said, “will
you please come inside and rest now?”

“Very well.” Turning to
Cofach, he said, “May you have luck and many fine calves, Chieftain.”

“Thank you,” Cofach replied.
“May you have a swift recovery.”

Gwydion allowed Dirgan and
Llygad to lead him into the hall, where Mari and Arianrhod met them. “What
happened?” Ari demanded.

“A minor fracas,” Gwydion
said.

“The Tanist is wounded,”
Llygad said. “Is a chamber ready for him?”

“This way,” Mari said.

Ari stood rooted, and Gwydion
said, “I’m fine, really.”

She said nothing as Mari led
them to a warm chamber where Dirgan and Llygad laid him on the bed. “His
bandage needs to be changed,” Dirgan said. “Is there a physician available?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Mari
said, surprising Gwydion. “Would you two like to get cleaned up while I do
this?”

“We’re to keep an eye on
him,” Llygad said.

“Very understandable,” Mari
said. “But I can handle things for an hour or so. Please, the two of you
stink of horses and blood.”

A maidservant came in as the
two men left, bringing hot water and clean linen. Together they stripped
Gwydion of his mail, padding, and tunic, leaving him feeling cold and exposed.
It didn’t make him any more at ease when the maid left.

Mari washed him, saying
nothing. It took all of Gwydion’s self-control not to break the silence, but
wanted her to be the first. He tried to catch her eye, but could only see the
top of her head as she worked.

She got to the area around
his wound, making him grimace. Her hands were gentle but sure, and she said,
“It’s a relatively shallow puncture wound. It didn’t hit anything major or
important, but you will be sore for quite some time.”

“That’s what everyone keeps
saying,” Gwydion said. “Where did you learn to be such a physician?”

“I’m the younger daughter in
a house full of rough and tumble men,” Mari answered. “And I have learned to
love it.” She finished washing his wound. “Okay, I’m going to have to stich
it up. Do you want anything for the pain?”

“Just do it,” Gwydion said.
He ground his teeth while the needle went in and out a score of times.

Mari finished it up and
knotted the thread. “You handled that better than many grizzled veterans.”

Blinking away sweat and
tears, Gwydion said, “Thank you.”

She wound his shoulder in
clean linen. “I’ve never seen Ari this anxious before.”

“What?” Gwydion said.

“You heard me,” Mari
replied. “She’s as giddy as a girl with her first crush, and she’s never
giddy.”

Gwydion studied her face.
“Do you disapprove so strongly, then?”

“Oh, you know,” Mari said.
“You and she just are the way you are. What I think will change nothing.”

“And yet?” Gwydion prompted.

“And yet I see nothing but
grief between you in the end,” Mari blurted, and then blushed. “I’m sorry,
it’s not my place to say anything.”

Gwydion put his hand over
hers. “But you do, because it is the way
you
are. Have you spoken to Arianrhod about this?”

Mari shrugged. “She doesn’t
listen to me.”

“Then that is her loss.”

Dirgan and Llygad returned
just then, interrupting whatever response Mari might have made. Instead, she
gathered her things and excused herself. Gwydion watched her go, and said, “I
think I’d like to sleep now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Tanist,” Dirgan
said. “One of us will be in the outer chamber if you need us.”

“My thanks,” Gwydion said.
When they were gone, he listened to the winds for a bit getting a feel for the
way the war was going. His head began to ache, though, and he soon fell
asleep.

Arianrhod came to his room
that night, slipping in so quietly that Gwydion almost thought she was a
ghost. She wore a robe belted tightly around her, but she moved confidently,
sitting at the edge of his bed, near his feet, saying nothing.

Gwydion said, “I told you the
next time I visited it would be different.”

“That you did,” she said.
“Somehow, I didn’t think you meant that you would be wounded.”

Gwydion studied her for a
moment. “You’re afraid that I am too injured to be able to do much.”

“It had occurred to me,” she
said.

Gwydion gestured to his
sling. “I was going to play my harp for you, but I can't. And I cannot throw
you through the air, or even carry you across the room. But I can still be
tender, and I can still love you.”

“And why would I want that
from you?”

Gwydion sighed. “Ari, we've
known each other for a while now, as cousins and friends, and as something
more. I could play games with you, trying to elicit sympathy or pity, or even
love, but I am tired of the games. You know the way I look at you, and I am
well aware of the way you look at me. Here and now, we have both time and
privacy.”

“What are you suggesting?”
she said. Her tone was severe, but her eyes shone.

“We should make love,”
Gwydion replied. When she didn't respond, he added, “If I have misjudged the
situation, or insulted you, then I will leave this Caer, and spend the rest of
my days paying your honor price.”

“You've done neither,” she
said softly.

“Then what is it? Why do you
sit there, rooted like a tree?”

She leaned forward. “I—I am
in shock, I think.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “We have played the game
with each other for so long, that I forgot that it could end, with each of us a
winner.”

Gwydion stretched his good
arm towards her, and she touched his fingertips with hers. “We can, and we
should.”

Their fingertips twined
together, and began pulling her forward. “And your injury?”

“I will be careful, and I
will let you know if it bothers me.”

“You really are a horrible liar,”
she said, stretching out beside him. She pressed in close to him, and he could
feel the heat of her body. “You would probably say nothing unless it was
falling off.”

“You may be right,” Gwydion
said. He untied the knot that held her robe closed. “But I have done
everything but move mountains for this time with you. It will take more than a
small wound to keep me away from you.”

She stared into his eyes.
“That,” she said, “I believe.” She sighed as he unbound her hair and ran his
fingers through it.