Night Bird's Reign (12 page)

“I asked him not to,” Gwydion broke in.

Ygraine turned her cold stare to Gwydion. “Why?”

Gwydion took a deep breath. “This must be a secret for now. No one else must know.”

“What?” Ygraine’s voice was shrill. “How dare you? My son,
my
son is to be the High King. And you want to stop it? You can’t stand the idea of a High King in Kymru again? Someone that might prevent you from doing exactly as you please? You—”

Gwydion face was pale with anger. “Shut up,” he hissed. “You stupid fool, I’m trying to keep your son alive.”

“You lie,” Ygraine snapped.

Uthyr raised his hand and silence abruptly descended. “Susanna,” he said quietly, “please take Arthur to the kitchens and get him something to eat. And please take Morrigan to her nurse.” Ygraine handed Morrigan to Susanna as Uthyr went on. “And, until I tell you otherwise, what happened here today did not happen.” Susanna nodded. Uthyr looked down at his son. “Arthur, do you understand? Not a word to anyone.”

“Yes Da.”

“All right. Go with Susanna. And, Susanna, not a word—not even to Griffi.” Susanna nodded again and held out her hand to Arthur. The three left the room quietly.

Stern, Uthyr turned to his wife. “You will not speak again, Ygraine, until Gwydion explains himself.” Gwydion had never heard Uthyr speak in that tone to his wife before. Apparently, neither had Ygraine. Her hands tightened on the arms of her chair until her knuckles were white, but she did not speak.

“All right, Gwydion. Explain. And it had better be good,” Uthyr said grimly.

Gwydion hesitated, and then chose his words very carefully. “You know that the special talent of a High King is that he acts as a focal point. For instance, telepathy is limited in distance. A telepathic Bard can comfortably talk to another Bard up to fifteen leagues away. Beyond that, the conversation becomes garbled. Clairvoyant Dewin can see events that are happening at that moment up to thirty leagues away. And psychokinetic Druids can move objects only in their immediate vicinity—they have to actually see what they are moving. And the largest limitation of all is that groups can’t act together. A group of Dewin all trying to see one event can’t reach out any farther than thirty leagues.” Gwydion paused, then went on.

“But a High King makes all the difference. Alone, he has none of these powers. But his presence augments all of them. He can direct and amplify these powers through those that possess them. A High King could empower a group of Dewin to see events many hundreds of leagues away. Or allow Bards to communicate, in concert, all over the country. He can augment the powers of a group of Druids to move or to set fire to objects many leagues away that they can’t even see. With his help, Druids can bring a storm or fog. That’s why a High King acts as the warleader for Kymru. He can coordinate communication across the land, direct a battle taking place many leagues away, even start a fire in the enemy camp, without getting anywhere near the place.”

Gwydion paused again, looking down at the floor. “This is why a High King has been born to us now. Because sometime soon, we will have need of one.”

Ygraine, who had never taken her eyes off Gwydion, stirred slightly. “You have told us there will be a need for a High King. Why, then, must it be a secret?”

“The Protectors have come to me in my dreams. They tell me that there are traitors among us. If Arthur’s true nature is known, he will be in great danger. He will die.” Gwydion leaned forward in his chair, willing them to understand. “He must be protected. I beg you, let me hide him. Let me protect him.” He paused again, searching their faces. “I beg you,” he whispered.

“You think that Uthyr cannot protect his own child?” Ygraine asked coolly.

Gwydion’s gaze fell under Uthyr’s stare. “No,” Gwydion said softly. “He cannot. I must do this. The Protectors have given me the task.”

“You are telling me that I must send my son away? For you to bring up? You will teach and care for him? You?” Ygraine asked bitterly.

“No, not I. Myrrdin will.”

“Myrrdin? How can that be? He is the Ardewin. You can’t hide Arthur at Myrrdin’s side!” Ygraine exclaimed.

“I will persuade Myrrdin to step down as Ardewin and take up this task.”

“And where will Myrrdin take him should we agree to your plan?” Ygraine asked.

“There’s a small village that I know of, in Eryi. Myrrdin will take him there.”

“To do what?”

“To herd sheep,” Gwydion said simply.

“You want to raise my son as a shepherd?” Ygraine asked in outraged tones.

“For a time, yes.”

Uthyr, who had not spoken a word, suddenly stood. He strode to the window, opened the shutters and leaned out, his hands resting on the windowsill, his back to his wife and brother. The room was silent as Ygraine and Gwydion waited for Uthyr to speak.

“And will you tell him who he is?” Uthyr said quietly. “Will he forget us?”

“Myrrdin will be sure that Arthur doesn’t forget you.”

“And if we do not agree to let you do this, what then?” Uthyr asked.

“Then Arthur will die. The Protectors have told me so. In my dreams there is a figure of darkness that menaces Arderydd, the symbol of the High King. Only because I protect him is the eagle still alive,” Gwydion said simply.

Ygraine and Uthyr looked at each other. “I say no,” Ygraine said firmly. “Uthyr can protect his own son. We will see to it that Arthur will be safe.”

“Ah, Ygraine, you always did have such faith in me,” Uthyr said, a sad smile on his face. He turned to Gwydion, with anguish in his eyes. “Take him.”

“What?” Ygraine cried, stunned. “How can you—”

“I say yes. Gwydion dreams true. You seem to forget that, Ygraine. Whatever else you think of him, he dreams true.”

“Maybe,” Ygraine spat out. “But he doesn’t tell all he knows. I don’t trust him.”

“But I do. And I trust Myrrdin, too, to bring up my beloved son.” Uthyr’s voice broke. Clearing his throat, he went on. “It shall be done as Gwydion wishes. And what happened here today will never be spoken of.” Uthyr went to Ygraine and took her hand, kneeling down by her chair. “Ygraine,
cariad,
it breaks my heart, too, to send my son away. But if we don’t he will die. I believe this.”

Ygraine gazed at her husband, tears in her eyes. She swallowed hard, and placed her other hand on top of his. She nodded slightly, but did not speak. Uthyr lightly touched her face, then stood. “When?” he asked Gwydion.

“When Susanna and Arthur go to Gwytheryn for the graduation ceremonies I shall go with them, to talk to Myrrdin. Three months from now I will return here, and take Arthur with me to the village where Myrrdin will be waiting.”

“Three months,” Ygraine said in a toneless voice.

“I’m sorry, Ygraine. But the sooner the better.”

“I just had a thought,” Uthyr said. “What about the Plentyn Prawf? How can we excuse Arthur not being tested publicly?”

“Oh, he will be,” Gwydion said easily.

“But you just said—”

“Leave that to Susanna and I. Arthur will be tested this afternoon like everyone else. And his test will show that he has no special talents.”

“But how?” Ygraine asked.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just say that I will be assisting Susanna very closely this afternoon. And leave it at that.”

L
ATER THAT AFTERNOON
, the children of Tegeingl were tested by Susanna, assisted closely by Gwydion ap Awst. In an unusual move, Susanna handed the tool to Gwydion to hold after each test was completed as she spoke gently to each child. Two clairvoyants and one telepath were identified, but Prince Arthur proved to have no special talents.

Nobody noticed that Greid, the chief smith of Gwynedd, watched the Plentyn Prawf with a quizzical look on his face. But some people did comment that Gwydion ap Awst must have been mad to wear long sleeves in such hot weather.

No remarked, for no one there knew, that the Dreamer of Kymru had always been good at sleight of hand.

Chapter Five

Cadair Idris and Y Ty Dewin Gwytheryn, Kymru Draenenwen Mis, 486

Gwyntdydd, Disglair Wythnos—mid-afternoon

I
t was a small party that left Tegeingl a few weeks later; just Gwydion, Arthur, Susanna and Cai. Susanna left her baby son behind with his father, Griffi, and, although Gwydion tried to ignore it, he was aware of Susanna’s anguish. He had felt it himself when he left Cariadas behind at Caer Dathyl. He tried not to think too closely about how this would be nothing to what Uthyr and Ygraine would feel just a few months from now.

Arthur, young as he was, had proven himself to be his father’s son. Every day he rode stoically on his small pony. Weary with travel, he fell asleep each night right after dinner, while Gwydion stared into the campfire each night, trying not to remember the look in his brother’s eyes at the news that his son was to be taken from him.

Four days from Tegeingl they reached Gwytheryn, the High King’s country located in the center of Kymru. When they came to the junction of Sarn Gwyddelin and Sarn Ermyn they turned eastward, making for Caer Duir, where the first of the three annual graduation ceremonies would be held. The route they were taking would lead them just past Cadair Idris, the shuttered mountain fortress of the High Kings of Kymru.

In mid-afternoon they exited the forest of Coed Llachar and reined in their horses to gaze in wonder at the mountain that loomed above them. The fortress rose majestically from the sea of wildflowers that covered the plain. Purple cornflowers, blue delphiniums, white snapdragons, and bright yellow tansy waved gently in the light breeze. Daisies and golden globeflowers bent and twisted under the hooves of their horses. The breeze sighed in remembrance of loss and sorrow, of loneliness and failure, of the death of dreams. But the mountain itself seemed to reach up and pierce the sky, as wild hope pierces the heart, and sets it to beating again.

To the east of the mountain the standing stones of Galor Carreg, the burial mounds of the High Kings, rose from the carpet of wildflowers, dark and silent. In their depths rested the bodies of Idris, the first High King and his High Queen, Elen of the Roads. Macsen, the second Brenin, also rested there, as well as Lleu Silver-Hand, the last High King of Kymru.

White alyssum and red rock rose twined over the once white stones of the eight steps leading up to Drwys Idris, the huge Doors that guarded the silent mountain, opening only at will of the Guardian. And the Guardian would open only to the one who brought her the lost Four Treasures of Kymru—the Cauldron, the Stone, the Spear, and the Sword. These Treasures would test a person who claimed kingship. And, if he survived the testing, he would be acknowledged as High King.

Gwydion glanced to his right, where Susanna and Cai had reined in, Arthur between them. The boy seemed even smaller and frailer within the dark shadow of the mountain. “Do you know what this is?” Gwydion asked him.

Arthur nodded. “Cadair Idris.”

“Yes, the fortress of the High King. Come, let’s go talk to the Doors.”

“Talk to the Doors?” Arthur looked carefully at Gwydion to see if he was being teased. “How?”

“You’ll see.” Gwydion dismounted and helped Arthur down from his pony. Taking the boy’s hand, he curtly ordered Susanna and Cai to stay where they were. Susanna’s lips tightened and Cai’s face darkened, but they did not follow.

Gwydion helped Arthur mount the broken steps to the huge Doors, then pointed at the jeweled patterns that glittered and swirled. “Do you know what these mean?”

Arthur shook his head, never taking his eyes from the designs.

“These patterns represent the constellations named for The Shining Ones, and for the Four Treasures of Kymru. These are the Treasures,” he went on as he pointed to each pattern. “Here is the Spear of Opals. And here is the Stone of Pearls. This is the Cauldron of Emeralds. And this is the Sword of Sapphires. The Treasures represent the four elements that come together to make all life: fire, water, earth, and air.”

Arthur said nothing as he studied the designs. Gwydion continued to point out the constellations of the Shining Ones. Modron outlined in emeralds. Sapphires for Taran and pearls for Nantsovelta. Opals for Mabon. Rubies for Y Rhyfelwr, the Warrior Twins, Agrona and Camulos. Diamonds for Sirona of the Stars. Garnets for Grannos the Healer. Topaz for Cerrunnos and amethysts for Cerridwen, the Protectors of Kymru. Black onyx for Annwyn, the Lord of Chaos and bloodstone for Aertan, Weaver of Fate. “And this last one, Arthur, is made of emeralds, pearls, sapphires, and opals. It is the constellation of Arderydd, the High Eagle. The sign of the High King.”

As Arthur stared at the last pattern a humming sound came from the air around them, building in intensity, and the jewels began to glow.

Startled, Arthur stepped back quickly, but Gwydion held him still. “It’s all right, Arthur. It’s just the Guardian.”

A voice, light and musical, coming from nowhere, from everywhere, began to chant softly.

Not of mother and father,

When I was made

Did my creator create me.

To guard Cadair Idris

For my shame.

A traitor to Kymru,

And to my Lord and King.

The primroses and blossoms of the hill,

The flowers of trees and shrubs,

The flowers of nettles,

All these I have forgotten.

Cursed forever,

I was enchanted by Bran

And became prisoner

Until the end of days.

An empty silence descended, broken only by the moaning of the wind. Then, the voice spoke again, “Who comes here to Drwys Idris? Who demands entry to Cadair Idris, the Hall of the High King?”

“It is I, Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon, Dreamer of Kymru, who comes.”

“The halls are silent. The throne is empty. We await the coming of the High King. He shall be proved by the signs he brings,” the voice went on.