Night Bird's Reign (5 page)

“We’ll go to the hall first,” Gwydion replied, for he was eager to see Uthyr.

As Duach opened the doors to the Great Hall, bright lights and cheerful noise spilled out. The hall was filled with people, some sitting at the long tables, some standing in front of the roaring hearth fire, some dicing in the far corners. Most of the people were the men and women of the King’s
teulu,
dressed in the brown breeches and blue tunics of Gwynedd’s warriors. They had bright daggers at their belts and brown leather boots to the knee laced with strips of blue cloth.

Bright banners of silk hung on the walls. The banner over the east wall showed the Battle of Naid Ronwen, when Queen Gwynledyr put to death the treacherous Coranian husband who had tried to steal her throne.

The banner of the Hawk of Gwynedd, shimmering brown on blue silk and worked with sapphires and silver thread, hung on the west wall. Under the banner the dark, polished wood of the King’s table shone in the firelight.

Surrounded by people, King Uthyr sat at the table, his massive oak chair tilted back precariously, his legs stretched out and crossed negligently at the ankles, resting on the table’s surface. He was paring his nails with a knife and laughing at something, his even, white teeth gleaming in his tanned face. His brown hair with just a touch of red was tied back with a thin silver chain, and his auburn beard was closely cut. Around his neck he wore the silver Torque of Gwynedd, studded with sapphires. He wore a huge, sapphire ring on his right hand. His blue tunic was embroidered with silver and worked with sapphires, and his breeches were brown. His leather boots were turned down at the top to reveal a lining of blue cloth. Uthyr’s deep set, dark eyes under heavy brows glanced toward the door and widened at the sight of Gwydion and Amatheon.

“Brothers,” he roared as he leapt from his chair and over the table. His long strides ate up the distance between them and, as he reached them he enveloped each brother in a fierce bear hug, actually lifting them off their feet and swinging them around.

“Little brothers!” he said, setting them back on their feet with a thump. “The Shining Ones bless you both for coming.”

“Uthyr, you’ve got to get over this shyness of yours,” Amatheon said, grinning, while Gwydion tried to set his rumpled tunic to rights. “And your tendency to treat important men like the Dreamer with overwhelming respect. It gives the wrong impression.”

Uthyr grinned back and flung his arms around their shoulders. “We’re just about to eat. Come, you two sit with me.”

As they made their way through the press, the warriors of Uthyr’s
teulu
shouted greetings and a few good-natured, rude remarks. “Hey, Gwydion,” someone shouted from the back of the crowd. “Learned to use a sword yet?”

“No,” Gwydion shot back. “Have you?”

“Amatheon,” a warrior called, “ready to lose at dice?”

“Ready to take your money,” Amatheon retorted with a grin.

Amid the laughter and jokes, they slowly made their way down the length of the hall. As they neared the King’s table, a young man with curly red hair and an engaging grin in a freckled face rose from the table and bowed. His brown, hooded robe, embroidered in green around the hem and sleeves, proclaimed the man to be a Druid. The pendant on his slender golden torque was a circle inside a square, with an emerald glittering in the center. “Griffi ap Iaen,” the Druid said, offering a slightly exaggerated bow, along with an impish grin.

A young woman in a sleeveless gown of blue over a snowy white smock rose from a graceful curtsy. Her girdle was a fine silver chain, wrapped once at the upper waist and doubling back over her hips. The front of her bodice was laced with white silk ties, and her torque had a triangular pendant from which a sapphire dangled. Her long, red-gold hair was loosely wrapped with a blue ribbon. She had a generous mouth and bright, blue eyes under slender red-gold brows. She held out her hand to Gwydion. “Susanna ur Erim, Uthyr’s Bard.”

“Been here long?”

“No, I just arrived last month.” Her eyes cut to Griffi. “I haven’t been here much longer than he has.” As she looked at the young Druid, her eyes glowed, finding an answering glow in Griffi’s fresh face. She bowed to Amatheon. “You are both most welcome here.”

A tall, older man with dark hair lightly silvered and mild gray eyes stood by diffidently, patiently waiting to be noticed. He wore a sea green tunic and his torque was silver with a pentagon-shaped pendant, a single pearl dangling from it. Amatheon caught the man’s eye and grinned. “Uncle Cynan! You look well,” he said, slapping the man’s back. “Being Dewin here must agree with you.”

“It does, Amatheon, it does.” He smiled, and made a slight bow to Gwydion. “Greetings to you, Dreamer,” he said.

“So formal, Uncle Cynan? I remember when you dawdled me on your knee and fed me sweets.”

“Oh, yes. That always made Celemon angry.” At the mention of his mother, Gwydion froze. Amatheon’s eyes cut sharply to Gwydion, but he did not speak. Cynan colored slightly and looked to Uthyr. Absorbing Amatheon’s more relaxed stance, Uthyr laid a light hand on Gwydion’s arm. “Come, I have somebody else for you to greet.”

Uthyr led Gwydion to a man waiting at the other end of the table. The man stood stiffly, a fixed smile on his face. His reddish gold hair hung in curls to his shoulders. His red tunic and leggings were embroidered with silver-threaded hawks. His boots were red, dyed to match the tunic and the tops were turned down, showing flashing rubies. His blue eyes were cold.

“Madoc,” Gwydion murmured. “That popinjay! What’s he doing here?”

“Why he’s here for the birth.”

“He hoping for a still born?” Gwydion asked, bitterly.

Uthyr froze and turned slowly toward his brother, his eyes wide with shock. “Is that what you have dreamed? Is there something wrong with the child?”

“Oh, Uthyr, no. No.” Gwydion put his hand on his brother’s arm, gripping it hard. “It’s just, it’s only . . .”

“It’s only that you hate Madoc? He’s my half brother, Gwydion. The same as you and Amatheon are. He is Lord in Rhufonoig and serves me faithfully. You will treat him politely. Come, do as I bid you.”

Gwydion raised one eyebrow, his mouth tightening.

“All right, Gwydion,” said Uthyr in an exasperated tone. “Do as I beg you, then. Greet him and try to be polite. His wife just gave birth to a daughter, and died doing so.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Gwydion said quietly. “Bri was a lovely woman. And she deserved better than the husband she got.”

“Most of them do,” Uthyr said dryly. Together, Uthyr and Gwydion approached Madoc, who had been watching them narrowly.

“Madoc,” said Gwydion, as he briefly inclined his head.

Madoc smiled even more widely, but his blue eyes were cold. “Gwydion. How very, very good to see you!” He nodded toward Uthyr. “Perhaps, Gwydion, you can calm him down. He’s as nervous as a cat about Ygraine. I keep telling him that nothing will go wrong. Women have babies every day.”

“I was sorry to hear about Bri,” Gwydion said quietly, his eyes never leaving Madoc’s face.

Madoc’s smile faded slightly. “Yes, poor Bri. I miss her sorely. But the child does well, so we must be thankful for that.”

“Hear anything from your father?” Gwydion asked casually.

Madoc’s eyes narrowed. “Not a thing. Just after the Queen died he went to Prydyn and stayed there for a little while with his nephew, King Rhoram. And then he was off. Wouldn’t say where he was going, just that he wanted to be left alone. Of course, my father’s bitterness isn’t really surprising. After all, he had just had final proof that his wife did not love him. A pity that she died of grief over the murder of your father. And such a murder! Dead at the hands of his own—”

“Madoc,” Uthyr cut in with a tone of steel. With one look at Gwydion’s white, set face, Uthyr took Gwydion’s arm and led him away from Madoc, who was smiling again, this time with a hint of satisfaction.

“Sit down,” said Uthyr, steering Gwydion to the chair next to his at the King’s table. Uthyr nodded to Griffi who raised up both hands and said, in a carrying tone, “Be seated, all.” The crowd took their places and the room began to quiet down. Griffi lifted his hands again and intoned.

The peace of lights,

The peace of joys,

The peace of souls,

Be with you.

“Awen. So let it be,” the crowd replied in unison.

“Just a few announcements,” Griffi began. “For those of you who have been inside a wine jug for the last week or so and don’t know what day it is—”

“He means you, Cai,” someone yelled. Amid the catcalls and laughter, Griffi grinned, and again raised his hands for (relative) silence.

“Tomorrow is Calan Llachar Eve. The hunt for the stag begins at noon. Since Ygraine’s not feeling up to leading it this year—”

“Can’t blame her for that,” a warrior called out.

Griffi continued, “She has appointed the Bard, Susanna ur Erim, to lead this year.”

“Go get him, Susanna!” someone called as she rose and bowed slightly to the crowd. “How about we call the stag ‘Griffi’? Then she’ll be sure to lead us to it.” Susanna, blushing bright red, abruptly sat down.

Griffi, his face an interesting shade of mauve, cleared his throat and valiantly continued. “On Calan Llachar itself, there will be a full eclipse of the sun beginning at midday. We’ll be running the race to choose the King of the Wood in the morning, so it shouldn’t interfere with that. We should be dancing around the tree by the time the sky begins to darken.”

As he sat down, the servers began to bring in heavy platters to each table. Gwydion speared a few slices of venison with his belt knife and laid them on his plate, passing the platter to Uthyr on his left. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he did not notice his other companions, but ate in silence.

Finally satiated, he took a deep breath and glanced up. Susanna was leaning forward slightly to talk to Griffi who sat opposite her. Uthyr had turned to say something to Madoc. He glanced across the table. Arday ur Medyr, Uthyr’s steward, sat directly across from him. At his glance, she smiled slowly. Her black hair had a blue sheen in the firelight. A green ribbon held her hair back from her face. Her arched black brows cut startlingly into her milky white skin. Her lips were full and her pointed chin emphasized the heart-like shape of her face. She was dressed in a forest green gown, the bodice tightly laced, clearly outlining her firm breasts.

“Arday,” said Gwydion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you before.”

She laughed lightly. “That was obvious! I was making sure that this magnificent feast got to the tables. How goes it, Gwydion?” Her dark eyes, full of promise, held his.

Gwydion smiled quite ready to take the lady up on the offer in her eyes.

Amatheon, who was sitting on Arday’s right, chose that moment to speak. He gestured to the lean, brown-haired man sitting next to him. “Gwydion, you remember Cai, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Gwydion said pleasantly, hiding his annoyance at being interrupted. “How goes it, Cai?”

Cai’s dark brown eyes brightened. “It goes well, Gwydion. And you? Any good dreams lately?”

Gwydion’s smile froze. “No,” he said harshly.

Taken aback, Cai glanced quickly at Amatheon. Stepping into the sudden silence, Amatheon said, “Cai’s hoping the Shining Ones sent you a dream about him! He’s just been named Captain of Uthyr’s
teulu.”

“Congratulations, then, to the PenGwernan,” Gwydion said, recovering swiftly from his blunder. “Here’s to the Head of the Alder!” Gwydion lifted his cup and drank, while Amatheon and Arday did the same.

Cai grinned somewhat uncertainly at Gwydion, his face flushed.

“Ah,” Gwydion went on. “I remember the dream now. You see, a weasel was leading Uthyr’s
teulu
and they got lost in the forest—”

Uthyr’s laughter soared above the rest. “He’s got you on that one, Cai. You do look like a weasel. Lean, brown, shifty-eyed.”

“Shifty-eyed!” Cai retorted. “I’ll have you know that my wife says my eyes are my best feature.” He batted his eyes rapidly at Uthyr.

“And you’re sitting on your second best—your brains,” retorted Uthyr.

“That’s not fair. Everyone’s against me.” Cai leaned forward to call to the end of the table, “Trachymer! Help me out here.”

Trachymer, Uthyr’s chief huntsman, a taciturn man with a leathery face, didn’t even glance up from his meal. “Whatever it is, you deserve it, Cai.”

“What’s he mad at you for?” asked Amatheon curiously.

Cai looked at Amatheon in surprise. “Oh, he’s not mad. If he was mad, he’d be smiling.” Trachymer merely grunted, and kept on with his meal.

Susanna abruptly turned to Gwydion. “Tell me, what do you hear about Rhiannon ur Hefeydd?”

“Rhiannon?” he said in surprise. Rhiannon was a woman of the House of Llyr, and a cousin of his. She was the Ardewin’s heir, and would replace his uncle, Myrrdin, when the time came. But Gwydion barely knew her, for they had been at different colleges throughout their training. “What do you want to know about her?”

“Surely you knew that just a few months ago Dinaswyn sent Rhiannon to Prydyn to have a child by King Rhoram. I just wondered if you knew how she was, that’s all.”

“Dinaswyn didn’t mention it. The bloodlines of Llyr were still her responsibility at that point. Has Rhiannon conceived yet?”

“Not yet, I don’t think. But I heard Rhoram was quite taken with her. Things have been pretty rough with him since his wife died last year.”

“Then all appears to be as well as can be expected,” he said coolly. “Why are you concerned?”

“It’s just—well she’s a good person. A little quiet and shy. She went to Y Ty Dewin, of course, but I got to know her since she was always coming around Neuadd Gorsedd to look for her father. He was a Bard.”

“Why did she have to look for him at the Bardic college? He could have gone to Y Ty Dewin to see her anytime. It’s a school, not a prison.”

Susanna frowned. “Oh, he would never do that. He avoided her on purpose.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I never really knew for sure. Her mother died giving birth to her, and he always blamed Rhiannon for that, I think. And for something else, too, but I never knew what. Look, it’s just that . . . well . . .”