Night Bird's Reign (30 page)

“Gwydion, do you remember my son?” Rhoram stretched out his hand and motioned Geriant to his side. The young man smiled and bowed his head slightly.

“I remember, you,” Gwydion said smiling, “but not as being quite so tall!”

Geriant grinned. “It’s been a while then!”

“It has indeed.” He turned to Rhoram. “He makes me feel so old.”

“We are old, Gwydion,” Rhoram said quietly.

“Come on, Rhoram,” Achren said sharply. “Efa’s ready to scream. Time to eat.”

“Efa’s always ready to scream,” Rhoram muttered, but he followed Achren though the crowd toward the dais motioning for Gwydion to follow.

As they neared the fireplace, Rhoram stretched out his hand and a beautiful young girl came running to him. She clasped his hand and kissed his cheek lightly. “Gwydion, you remember my daughter, Sanon.” Like her father and brother, Sanon had golden hair. But her eyes were dark. She looked to be about fourteen years old. “This is Gwydion ap Awst, my dear, the Dreamer,” Rhoram explained. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve seen him.”

Sanon’s eyes widened, their pleasant light replaced by a young girl’s instant infatuation as she took in his handsome face and air of authority. She blushed and curtsied slightly.

“Come, my treasure,” Rhoram said pretending he hadn’t noticed Sanon’s reaction. “It’s time to eat.” He motioned for Sanon to precede them. Rhoram kept pace next to Gwydion. Softly he said to Gwydion, keeping the smile plastered on his face, “Touch her and you’re dead.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gwydion said sincerely.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

They reached the King’s table, now almost full as Rhoram’s chief officers took their places. “Efa, you remember Gwydion ap Awst,” Rhoram said in a neutral tone.

The Queen smiled brilliantly. “Indeed I do remember you, Gwydion. It’s been years. How is Cariadas?”

“Perfect,” Gwydion answered smiling.

“Yes. I’m sure Cariadas is as charming as her mother,” she said. Gwydion remembered that Efa and Isalyn had disliked each other intensely. She went on, “Of course you remember my brother, Erfin.”

“Can’t say as I do,” Gwydion said smoothly. “Was he here when I was?” Actually, Gwydion remembered Erfin quite well—well enough to want to irk him.

Like his sister, Erfin had fiery red hair, and his eyes were brown. But while Efa’s eyes were large and beautiful, Erfin’s were small, almost shifty. Erfin forced himself to smile and nod pleasantly, but he was indeed annoyed, as Gwydion had intended.

Rhoram, smothering a smile, motioned for Gwydion to take a seat to his left, while Dafydd Penfro, Rhoram’s counselor, sat on Gwydion’s other side.

“Gwydion,” Dafydd exclaimed. “It’s good to see you, man.” Dafydd Penfro was shrewd, highly intelligent, and devoted to the Rulers of Prydyn. He had been Gwydion’s friend during that terrible time when he had stayed in Arberth against his will. Gwydion smiled with genuine pleasure. “Good to see you, too, Dafydd!”

“But not good to be back here, is it?” Dafydd’s eyes were keen as he sat down.

“No,” Gwydion said shortly. “Not good at all.”

“Well, now, Tallwch and I will take good care of you. See if we don’t.”

At the end of the table, Ellywen, Rhoram’s Druid, sat in cool, self-imposed isolation. She nodded distantly to Gwydion when she saw him staring at her. Achren, who sat a few places over, was laughing with Geriant, but her eyes were wary. Sanon was stealing glances at Gwydion whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.

Up and down the hall people were taking their places at the tables. When the hall was relatively quiet, Ellywen stood up and solemnly intoned the evening prayer.

The peace of lights,

The peace of joys,

The peace of souls,

Be with you.

“Awen,” the people responded in unison, momentarily subdued. Ellywen had a delightful way of making a blessing sound like a curse.

Servants began to bring in heaping platters from the kitchen. Steaming potatoes, still in their jackets, slabs of venison flavored with sage, great wheels of rich yellow cheese, and crusty loaves of bread were brought to their table. Gwydion loaded his plate, for he had been on the road a long time.

When the meal was done, and the goblets filled, he sat back in his chair, anticipating the nature of the evening’s entertainment. He assumed it would be a continuation of the earlier part of the evening—wrestling, dice, and music. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—it was Achren who took it upon herself to provide the night’s merriment. Years afterward, he was never sure exactly why she had done it. To enrage Efa, certainly. To jolt Rhoram, definitely. To irritate Gwydion, possibly. Perhaps all of the above.

“Gwydion is looking for Rhiannon ur Hefeydd,” she said in a penetrating tone. “Anybody have any ideas?”

Gwydion choked on his wine. Efa stiffened and dug her nails into the arms of her chair. And Rhoram slowly lowered his goblet set it gently on the table. He turned to Achren. “What did you say?”

“I said, Gwydion’s looking for Rhiannon,” Achren answered calmly, as though she had said nothing of great importance.

Blankly, Rhoram turned to Gwydion. “Why?”

“A dream I had told me to find her,” Gwydion said between gritted teeth.

“Why ask here? Why ask us?” Rhoram’s voice rose until he was almost shouting. “Do you think I know anything? Do you think that if I knew where to look I’d still be sitting on my backside in this gods-forsaken hall?”

“A miracle,” said Achren, her voice cutting through the air like a dagger. “It actually speaks. Just like it was alive.”

In fury, Rhoram turned to her, his once dead eyes glittering with rage. “You dare to mock me?”

“It even talks,” Achren went on, her tone was full of inexpressible contempt, “like it has a backbone. This is truly amazing. I wonder how it’s done?”

Rhoram threw his goblet at her, but she ducked. The goblet crashed against the far wall and rolled away. Everyone in the hall froze, staring at Rhoram. “You will pay for this, Achren. I promise you,” Rhoram said, his tone deadly.

“It speaks,” Achren repeated calmly. “Like a King. Finally. After all these years.”

Rhoram, quick as thought, grasped a knife from one of the empty platters. He leapt across the table, grabbed Achren by the arm and twisted her around, until his dagger was at her throat.

“What, Achren, do you think the payment should be for mocking me? You’re death, perhaps?” Rhoram asked, coldly, clearly, implacably.

“If I die, Rhoram,” she said calmly, as though she did not have a knife at her throat, “it will be payment enough just to know that Prydyn has its King again.”

For a long moment, it hung in the balance—Achren’s life and Rhoram’s living death. In the end, what happened in that moment was forever burned into Gwydion’s memory. For he saw the King of Prydyn choose to return to life.

Rhoram’s blue eyes began to glitter. Color returned to his face. He released Achren, spinning her away from him. She straightened then faced him, her head high.

In a carrying tone Rhoram said, “Achren ur Canhustyr, Captain of my
teulu,
PenCollen of Prydyn, you forget your place. I shall remind you. Tomorrow, at dawn, you will lead my warriors in a hunt. And you will bring back to me the heads of five wild boars. Five, mark you. I will accept nothing less. You will bring them to me by noon, tomorrow. Or you will leave Prydyn and never return.”

Rhoram turned to Gwydion, “Come with me, Gwydion ap Awst, we have business to conduct.” Then he firmly strode out of the now silent hall.

Gwydion followed swiftly. He looked back behind him as he went out the door. He saw that Achren was smiling with genuine pleasure, and that Queen Efa was looking at her husband’s Captain as though wishing her dead.

G
WYDION HURRIED AFTER
Rhoram, who marched down the steps of the Hall and suddenly stopped by the well in the deserted courtyard. Rhoram lowered the bucket into the well and pulled it up brimming with cold, clear water. Then, without further ado, he plunged his face into the water and came up again, gasping. “Gods that’s cold,” he said, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Gwydion asked in bewilderment.

“Waking up,” Rhoram replied. “Waking up after years and years.” He began to hum a little tune, still mopping at his wet face.

“Rhoram, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what Achren did. What did you think I was talking about?”

“What exactly did she do?”

Rhoram’s smiled faded. His eyes were very blue and very serious. “She made me see myself and I didn’t like what I saw.” Rhoram returned to the hall steps and sat down, motioning for Gwydion to sit down beside him. The ceaseless song of the crickets could be heard in the distance. Overhead the stars gleamed impossibly bright in the night sky.

“Eleven years ago,” Rhoram said quietly, “I lost the woman I loved. The woman I still love. But I didn’t know it, not until it was too late. I made a horrible mistake. A mistake I can’t fix. And I let that mistake tear me to pieces. And that was the worst part. People make mistakes, you see, and live with them the best they know how. But my best wasn’t very good. Achren made me see that tonight. And so,” Rhoram went on, his voice firm, “from now on I shall do better.”

Gwydion hardened cynic that he was, believed that Rhoram would, indeed, do better. He had a fleeting thought that he hadn’t done any better than Rhoram had in living with the past. That thought flashed through his mind, and then was gone. “Can you talk about her?” he asked.

“All you want. But truly, I don’t know anything.”

“Tell me, Rhoram, what if you saw her again? What if she came back to you? What would you do?”

Rhoram was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “She won’t come back to me, Gwydion. She’ll never trust me enough to give her heart to me a second time. Believe this, for I know her. Once trust is broken, it’s gone for good.”

“Rhoram,” Gwydion said abruptly. “I need something.”

“It is yours, Dreamer, if I can make it so.”

“I need you to send Achren to Caer Dathyl. She must be there by Suldydd, Cynyddu Wythnos, in Ysgawen Mis.”

“Because?” Rhoram asked, his brows raised.

“I’d rather not say.”

Rhoram looked at Gwydion for a long moment. “Very well,” he said. “Come,” he went on lightly. “Let’s go back inside. I feel a need to play.”

“Play?”

“The harp. I’m very good at that.”

“What about Efa?” Gwydion said suddenly.

“What about her? We’ll go on together, as always. She has what she wants. She’s the Queen.”

“And you?”

“Ah, well. I’m the King. And there are some beautiful ladies in my court, don’t you think? I get by.” Rhoram grinned and stood up, reaching down a hand to help Gwydion to his feet. He stood there for a moment, looking at Gwydion. Then he said quietly, “If you find her, tell her I miss her and hope to see her again. And tell her I’d like to see my daughter, very much.”

Gwydion nodded. “Anything else?”

Rhoram shook his head. “I think not. It’s better that way.”

As they mounted the steps, Gwydion said quietly, “It’s good to see you again, Rhoram.”

When they reentered the hall the crowd was silent, listening intently to Sanon as she stood before the hearth, singing in a clear, sweet voice. Rhoram made his way through the crowd, picking up a harp that was sitting on one of the tables. He sat on the hearth, and played the tune to Sanon’s song. Sanon smiled at her father and kept singing.

What evil genius, Gwydion wondered, had prompted her to sing that song? She was singing of Cuchulainn, one of the kings of lost Lyonesse and of his doomed love affair. Cuchulainn had fallen under the enchantment of Fand, one of the Danans, the magic folk of that realm. Cuchulainn’s wife, Emer, had found out about the affair, catching the lovers together. Sanon was now singing Emer’s words to Cuchulainn.

What is red is beautiful,

What is new is bright,

What’s tall is fair,

What’s familiar is stale.

The unknown is honored,

The known is neglected.

We lived in harmony once,

And could do so again,

If only I still pleased you.

Gwydion eyed Rhoram as he calmly played the harp, shocked that the King had not even winced at the words. For one moment, Sanon almost faltered, but Rhoram’s smile encouraged her to go on. Gwydion made his way to where he saw Dafydd standing against the wall. “Where’s Efa?” Gwydion asked softly.

“She left as soon as Sanon started singing.”

“She’s still alive, then.”

“Right. If Efa had taken a swing at Achren, as she had wanted to, she wouldn’t be,” Dafydd grinned.

“Where is Achren?”

Dafydd jerked his head over to the dais. “Over there.”

“Thanks.” As Gwydion made his way toward Achren, Sanon was finishing up her song. King Cuchulainn had decided to stay with his wife, and Fand, the enchantress, was leaving.

It is I who will go on a journey,

Though I like our adventure best.

Alas for one who gives love to another

If it be not cherished;

It is better for a person to be cast aside

Unless he is loved as he loves.

Gwydion sat down on the empty chair next to Achren. She turned her head slightly to look at him out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing.

“Rhoram looks much better, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Better than I’ll look tomorrow after hunting down five wild boars,” she said dryly.

“It worked,” Gwydion replied.

Achren smiled slowly. “Yes. It did.”

“When was the last time you saw Rhiannon?” he asked suddenly.

Her dark eyes became distant with memory. “The night she left. I was on guard duty that night, near the outer gates of the city, when I saw her riding up. She had Gwen in a sling around her neck.”

“So she rode up to the gates,” Gwydion prompted. “What did she say?”