Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (6 page)

Cador grinned and patted the gray roan's arched neck. "Not necessary. Wyllt's temperament will serve me well in battle. And do not try to change the subject."

Yseult raised her chin in that stubborn way she had. "I do not need your men. I'm planning on taking the southern route to Dyn Tagell, despite the weather."

At least that. The roads were better on the northern route — but they passed closer to the coast. Nonetheless, she needed more protection than her honor guard. "Come, Yseult, we would all be happier to know you safe."

"I agree." They both turned at the sound of Kustennin's voice. Yseult's son drew up next to them, tall in the saddle of his black gelding. "Please, Mother, take some of the men Cador offers. You would want me to do the same."

Even without the powers of the Old Race, Cador saw the exact moment Yseult changed her mind.

"Good, I will take a dozen more," she said, glancing from Cador to Kustennin and back. "But first you must promise me you will each fight with the strength of ten men to make up their loss."

Kustennin laughed out loud, in that high, free way he had that was so reminiscent of Drystan. "I promise, Mother."

Cador did his best to bow in the saddle from the back of the dancing stallion. "Of course, Lady Yseult."

She threw back her damp, moonlight-colored braid, which through some native magic did not seem to grow darker in the rain like the hair of normal mortals. "Stay safe, both of you. For the sake of a mother and an old friend — not to mention for the sake of Britain."

"I will do my best," Kustennin said.

"As will I," Cador added. "I want to return to my farm." He was rewarded with a melancholy smile.

And then they were riding out of the gate, banners waving, motioning their men forward.

At the crossroads, Yseult drew up alongside Cador and Kustennin. "I wish you a pleasant trip to Caer Leon. Look out for each other."

Kustennin smiled. "We will. I hope your journey to Dyn Tagell is uneventful."

"Thank you."

Cador held out his hand, and when she placed her own in his, he lifted it to his lips. "Farewell, Yseult. I will do my best."

"I know you will, Cador. You always do."

With that, she whirled around on her mare and rode south, followed by her honor guard and the extra riders. Cador allowed himself a moment to watch her party, glad their numbers were now tripled. With a small army at her back, she was much less likely to run into trouble on the road.

"Thank you," Kustennin said.

"Thank
you
," Cador replied. "She wouldn't have taken the extra troops if you hadn't asked her to."

"You see? It isn't always an advantage to have a mother who's a lioness."

Cador smiled, wiping the rain out of his eyes with his forearm. "But most of the time."

Kustennin let loose that laugh again, and together they cantered north, to Arthur and war.

* * * *

In the early evening, Cador called a halt so there would still be enough daylight to set up the tents. Making camp for two hundred cavalry was no small chore. To their relief, the rain let up during the course of the day and the sun came out. In Cador's experience, there were few things more miserable than sleeping on wet ground.

Kustennin set to work alongside the seasoned warriors, eager to prove he was one of them. Cador wandered between his men as they prepared camp, inspecting their work. He asked Sinnoch about the health of his pregnant wife and stopped next to the fire where Brys was making stew. Cador accepted a bowl from the cook, tasted, approved, and moved on, dinner in hand. He hoped it all looked natural enough, hoped that no one could see the subterfuge behind his actions; that he was looking for Gildas, the boy Arthur meant to sacrifice.

He finally found Gildas on the outskirts of all the bustle, seated on a flat rock, eating his dinner alone. Without asking or waiting for an invitation, he sat down next to the boy. Gildas tended to be a loner — which was fortunate, given what Cador intended.

"You found a good spot," he said.

Gildas nodded.

"I hope the journey has not been too tiring for you?"

The boy drank down the rest of the broth and put his bowl aside. "No. Should it be?"

"I'm simply asking. The weather could have been better, and we've been riding hard."

Gildas lifted his chin. "I can keep up."

"I'm sure you can." Cador finished his own stew and laid the bowl on the ground between his booted feet. "You do know why we're riding for Caer Leon, don't you?"

"The Dux Bellorum has called his companions together."

"And why?"

Gildas looked away, his expression mulish. "The 'sons of Caw,' as everyone keeps saying, have taken Caer Custoeint and the Mount of Frogs. My half-brothers."

Cador leaned back on his hands, his posture deliberately relaxed. "That they are. Since you too are a son of Caw, Arthur will be very glad to see you, I suspect. Perhaps if we take you along on the campaign, you will have an opportunity to persuade your brothers to see reason and return north to Ystrad Clud."

The boy stared at him. "I hardly know my brothers. They did not often come to Bro Leon, and I have never been to Ystrad Clud."

"That's too bad," Cador said, shaking his head in an imitation of regret. "The Dux Bellorum will be disappointed."

Gildas shot him a sharp glance. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure what Arthur will do if you can't make your brothers see reason," he said softly. He hoped Gildas would understand now — he did not want to be any more specific. It was a game he was playing with himself, he knew, just as he knew that in warning Gildas even this much he was betraying Arthur's trust.

Cador wondered if he had lost the ability to hold on to his principles. First the sinful moment of passion shared with Gildas's sister, the attempt to give comfort that had turned into adultery — and now this. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't have the life of an innocent boy on his conscience, especially not a boy who had been living with him for most of the last four years. Cwylli's little brother.

Was that the true reason he was betraying Arthur, because of the guilt he felt regarding Cwylli? He didn't think so, but he doubted he would ever know for sure.

"How should I make
my brothers
see reason?" Gildas ground out.

"Perhaps you can get a personal message to them?" Cador pressed. "They are your blood relations, after all. And you are in Arthur's power."

As he watched Gildas's expression, the boy's eyes narrowed and the bitter line of his lips went thinner. It appeared he finally grasped what Cador was trying to tell him. He might be barely thirteen, but he was no fool; he lived in the world and knew its ways. As his effective taunting of Kustennin showed all too well.

Cador remained silent for a moment, giving Gildas a bit more time to consider the consequences of being in Arthur's power. Then he pushed himself up from the rock and stood, wiping dirt and moss off his breeches. "You know," he said, his voice quiet in the growing shadows of dusk. "There's a Christian monastery less than a day's walk from here to the east. It's too bad we don't have the time to make a slight detour. It never hurts to have the blessing of holy men for one's undertakings."

Gildas nodded slowly, but he was no longer looking at Cador; he was staring at the ground, his thoughts far away. He dropped his forehead into his hands. "I was looking forward to seeing my sister."

The boy understood!
"I'm sure you'll see her soon enough."

Cador picked up the empty bowls and returned to the fires of the camp without looking back. The darkness was now almost complete. He gave the bowls to Brys, complimenting him on the stew again, and waved away calls from his men to sit down and share a wineskin or some ale. Instead, he found a stump just far enough away from the fires between the tents that no one noted him and sat down, his hands clenched between his knees.

Was he now a traitor? Arthur had never allowed the council to name him high king after the disappearance of Ambrosius Aurelianus in Gaul, preferring instead his military title of Dux Bellorum, duke of battles. Even without the title, however, to all intents and purposes Arthur
was
the high king, the most powerful leader in Britain, the man who flew the Pendragon banner. Cador had never sworn an oath to serve him, being himself a king crowned, as opposed to his bastard cousin. Cador had inherited his lands in eastern Dumnonia from his father Geraint, while Arthur had inherited nothing from Uthyr. But Arthur was a legend, as much an idea as a person — the general who had dealt the Saxons the crushing defeat at the battle of Caer Baddon that had sent them slinking back to Ceint and the Isle of Vectis.

Arthur might not be king, but Arthur was Britain. And Cador had just done his best to subvert a direct order.

Why? Gildas was underhanded and unpleasant, with a deep-seated need to cut others down in order to feel a sense of his own worth. But he still was only thirteen years old. He didn't deserve to die simply because he had the wrong relatives.

And the Arthur Cador had once known would have felt the same way.

Chapter 4

He charged before three hundred of the finest,

He cut down both center and wing,

He excelled in the forefront of the noblest host,

He gave gifts of horses from the herd in winter.

He fed black ravens on the rampart of a fortress

Though he was no Arthur.

Aneirin, "Y Gododdin"

When Gildas was found to have gone missing the next morning, Cador dispatched half a dozen men to track him, while the rest of them continued on their journey to Caer Leon. They could not allow a missing boy to slow their progress north.

No one suspected. Cador's plan was working perfectly except for one thing: Kustennin could not be persuaded that it wasn't his fault Gildas had disappeared. Cador winced at the youth's self-recriminations —
if only he had kept an eye on the younger boy, had accompanied him when he went off by himself, had been responsible rather than relieved to be rid of Gildas for a bit!
With renewed guilt, Cador assured Yseult's son that they were doing everything they could to find his cousin; all they could do now was pray.

And lies begat more lies.

To Cador's relief, once they were within sight of Caer Leon, Kustennin forgot about being guilty, inspecting his surroundings with growing excitement. Cador gazed at the vibrant city spilling out past the walls of the former Roman garrison, wishing he too could forget his own feelings of guilt so quickly; there were more waiting for him within those wall, he knew.

"It looks as if it's market day," Cador observed. Colorful stands could be distinguished among the crowds. He raised a hand, and the two hundred cavalry halted. "I will go into Caer Leon to find out what arrangements have been made for us," he called out. "It makes no sense for us all to fight our way through those people at once."

"I will accompany you," Kustennin said in a tone of command.

Cador repressed a smile at his foster son's new kingly ways and nodded.

Kustennin appropriated Cador's standard from the young soldier who carried it and together they rode across the bridge over the River Usk. As soon as they reached the road to the eastern gate of the garrison, however, crowds choked their path.

"Let's ride around," Cador suggested. "Perhaps there will be someone at the training grounds to the southwest."

They turned their mounts to the south, skirting the booths and stalls set up against the city walls. As they came around the corner of the garrison, they found one of Arthur's soldiers riding to meet them.

"You are Cador?" the young man called out.

"Yes, and this is Kustennin."

"I am Peredur. Arthur has been expecting you."

Together they rode between the garrison and what was left of the Roman amphitheater, coming out on a large field that served as Arthur's main practice grounds in Caer Leon. Even above the cries of the market vendors, they heard the men training before they saw them: the whack of wooden weapons against each other, the grunts of hundreds of soldiers, the snorts and hoofbeats from hundreds of horses. The field was full of warriors, mounted and on foot, fighting one-on-one and in groups in mock skirmishes, a sea of men even more impressive than the crowds clogging the aisles of the market.

A dark-haired soldier stood on the sidelines, arms crossed in front of his tunic, watching the practice. As Peredur led them over, Cador recognized Arthur's nephew Medraut.

Cwylli's husband.

Why did Medraut have to be the first person Cador must face in Caer Leon? Perhaps it was a good thing — maintaining his facade with Medraut would prepare him for the half-truths to come when he saw Arthur.

Arthur's nephew looked up as they drew abreast. "Cador, greetings. We have been expecting you," he said, echoing Peredur's words.

"I will go in search of Arthur," Peredur said, wheeling his mount around.

"May I join you?" Kustennin asked — no longer commanding, Cador noted.