"And that is, uncle?" asked Gerrans, who had been listening in silence all this while, mouth well agape.
"To keep Keltia while the Ard-rian goes on quest for all our lives. No more, but also no less." Arthur laughed suddenly. "Gwennach kept it well enough for me when I went off reiving, Talyn, as you will recall; now it is my turn, and Goddess only grant I do as fine a job."
With that, we seemed to be finished for the night. I was weary past all imaginings; Gerrans too, from his wound and his exertions—even Arthur seemed drained, though that was no surprise, considering the magical work he had done that day. Yet of that we had not even spoken, nor of Morgan; and she was the one who had been general of all which this day had seen. But I felt her presence now, as indeed I had felt it all through my days in Oeth-Anoeth, though I had been too deeply ensorcelled by Marguessan’s evil tricks to know it save in dreams; and as I snuggled down into my furs and groundleathers I let her image form before my eyes against the banked fire…
"Oh, Talyn," came Arthur’s sleepy voice from the other side of the flames, "I was forgetting… Gwyn left somewhat for you in Gweniver’s keeping: things that belonged to your mother. You left Dun Aengus in such haste he had no time to give you them, and they are very precious, and you should have them—
I had sat up again, sleep and even Morgan momentarily forgotten. "That is what I could not puzzle out! In the cell at Oeth-Anoeth you spoke my mother’s name to me—Cathelin—you even knew she was of Earth. But I only learned that myself at Dun Aengus! I had not yet reached Caerdroia to tell you; how could you know?"
"Truly," said Arthur, and wonder was back in his voice. "Gwyn told us himself, when he came to Turusachan and gave us your message, and gave Gweniver your mother’s gear; and Birogue confirmed it. It is a mighty thing, not so? To know that your own mother came from Earth, was a Terran lady by her bloodline and her birth…"
I was silent again. Truth be told, I had always envied Arthur a little the glamor of his parentage: to be the child of the Lady Ygrawn and the Prince Amris Pendreic. Indeed, I had often thought it a little like being the offspring of gods, or at least of the Shining Ones. Now it seemed that I myself had a parentage equally glamorous: My father, Gwyddno, had gone to Earth seeking help for Keltia, and had come away, not with that sought help, for Earth had desperations of her own just then, but with a bride—that fair brave lady, who went with him for love and who would one day give birth to me among stars she never dreamed of…
"She left you books, athra!" That was Gerrans, a thrill in his voice that I had not heard there since he was a little lad given a garron for his birthday. But he had ever been mad for books… "We have not looked, but Gwyn said there were all her writings—songs, poems, journals from Earth—and she my own grandmother!"
"And you shall read them and share all her legacy, amhic," I promised; though as bard I was myself scarce less thrilled than as Cathelin’s son, or indeed than my own. "We shall read them together, you and your mother and I, and we shall know. But precisely what we would know must wait its proper time; just now, sleep was the only knowing, or rather unknowing, I wished for. I turned over again and settled down; but something dug sharply into my ribs, and with a swart oath—was I never going to get any sleep this night?—I fossicked through the folds of saddlecloth and sleeping-fur until I found the offending point.
It was protruding from the mouth of the green leather pouch I had so hastily snatched up from the floor of my cell in Oeth-Anoeth and had as swiftly forgotten. In the heat of our escape I had not paused to examine the bag’s contents, and due to my mindclouding I had never even noticed it while still captive. But I had surely noted it now.
I did not break the seal on the drawstrings, but pulled on the pointy thing until it came out into my hand, and gasped aloud. Arthur and Gerrans, better warriors than I, both surged upright, full awake and weapons drawn, at my cry.
"Talyn?" and "Father?" came in the same breath, and I shook my head in sheepish denial of danger.
"What is it?" asked Arthur, sheathing Llacharn once more and peering at me keenly over the top of the grieshoch.
"A gift I did not know I had been given," I said with a strange note in my voice. Nay, no more did Marguessan know either, it seemed, else she had never have let it remain with me… I held it out for them to see: a bronze dagger, forged all of a piece haft and blade, gold-bronze on the blade-edges and the rounded bosswork ornament, black-gold in feathering watery streaks all elsewhere. It was double-edged, with a cutout for the thumb, and quite surprisingly heavy for its size and slimness, with a presence and a heft to it that had naught whatever to do with weight.
"It is a blade of the Shining Folk," said Arthur reverently. "They do not use steel; or indeed cold iron of any sort, save for that thunderbolt-iron we do sometimes see applied… Did Gwyn give you this, under the hill, or the Lady Birogue?"
"Under the hill, aye," I said with certainty, and with a kind of awe also. "But not, I think, from either of them."
I could tell by the weight and irregular contours of the leather pouch that other things were contained therein, doubtless with significance of their own, but by now I was too weary to care. My sorrow, I apologized to the unknown tokens, but you must wait a bit… I kept the seal intact, and tucked the pouch into the compartment for carrying valuables or secret things that was cunningly built into the high square pommel of my saddle. But the bronze dagger I kept beside me, and fell asleep with it clasped in my hand.
For any gift from Merlynn Llwyd was sure to have purpose indeed; and, over and above this day’s events, I was taking no more chances with dan.
* * *
Chapter Five
Arthur and Gerrans, naturally enough, had been wild to bring me home in triumphant splendor to Morgan and Caerdroia, indeed in full sight of all Keltia; and when I would have none of it, were considerably deflated.
Though Gerrans, in filial feeling, or perhaps simply prudence, soon gave over the pressure when he saw how it stood with me, Arthur went right on cajoling without letup, or even shame.
"The folk long very much to see you safe home again, Tal-bachgen, I do not think you know how they do feel about you, they have missed their Pen-bardd sorely…", that sort of softsauder, you know by now how Arthur was wont to do to get his own way; though you would think that long years as my fostern would have been long enough to teach him better, at least where I was concerned…
"Missed me sore, have they?" I was remembering well by now how little it sometimes had taken for Arthur to exasperate me to snapping point. "Well, they can manage to go on missing me a day or two longer. All that their Pen-bardd wishes in the way of triumphal welcome home is the arms of his lady, and maybe some quiet words after with his methryn and his Queen."
Arthur sulked and muttered a while longer, like a little black cloud over on the other side of the campment fire, but gave in at last; most like for that he knew full well I was quite capable of leaving him and Gerrans right there and finding my own way home without them… So we departed Gwynedd in secrecy aboard an unmarked ship of the Royal Flight, and came again to Tara half a day later.
It was late summer here in the north of the Throneworld, and we flew into weather as soon as we came to atmosphere in our small shuttle. My old fear of flight had by no means been diminished by my stint of forgetfulness in Oeth-Anoeth, and it was beside me like a brother as we fell toward the clouds. But even in my disquiet I found wondrous the sight that met my eyes: We were descending toward a massive slow-moving thunderstorm that was blundering its way through Pass of the Arrows just south of the Loom. We were already a mere ten miles up, moving through a clear starry dark-blue night just above the tops of the towering, moon-silvered clouds. It was magical, in all senses of the word: no thunder, only the explosions of blue flame, the sullen shuddering bursts of the lightning—great silent concussions of cloud-fire, all aimed downward. Here above the cloudroof we were safe; we were as gods, hurling down the levin on the cowering world beneath.
>
Suddenly we were deep into the storm, for a few very unpleasant tossing moments, and as suddenly out from under it, gliding in to land quietly at Mardale Port in the soft rain. From here it was but twelve miles to Turusachan on its hill-crown above the City, I would be with my Morgan again in a matter of minutes… I looked eagerly for the usual aircar transport, but Arthur had other plans, and to that end directed my attention to the horses and Fian escort that waited patiently off to one side.
I protested long and bitterly and most blistering eloquent—sometimes, as Gweniver often put it, it can well repay one to have a tongue that was trained to kill—but Arthur ignored me; and, though it near killed me to admit it, we had not ridden two lai in the cool rainy darkness before I knew that he had been right. This was a way for me to temper down, to decompress as a ship must after travelling the overheaven; I had long time been as stressed as any metal—two years at Oeth-Anoeth under ensorcelment, the high drama of my liberation, the gnawing urgency of my message that had gone so long undischarged—and I was after all not findruinna but mere flesh… So I lifted my face to the rain and threw back my hood and breathed deep of the air of my home, letting the wind and the water and the smell of the rain on trees in heavy leaf cleanse my heart of any lingering trace of Marguessan’s evil miasms.
We entered Caerdroia not through the great main Wolf Gate, but passed on and came instead to the smaller Seagate, little used save by those going down to the empty shoreland by the mouths of the Avon Dia. The Seagate opened on a broad paved way leading past government buildings and town maenors straight up to Turusachan, and when the gate had swung wide we saw that three cloaked figures were there to meet us, on horseback, under torches in the deep shelter of the arch. By their stance and seat and stature I would have known them anywhere, save of course in Oeth-Anoeth where I did not: Morgan, Ygrawn and Gweniver the Queen.
You may well be thinking that Morgan and I did fling ourselves upon each other right then, kissing madly; but that was not how we did things, my Guenna and I, and if you think a little further you will most likely agree that you yourself would not have done so either, not just then… But Morgan came forward, reaching one hand to me and the other to Gerrans who rode on my right. I cannot speak what was on her face or in her eyes. She said no word to either of us, her mate and her son, and I knew she had not truly thought to see either of us again in this life. But she only looked, as we on her, and then she turned to her brother who sat his horse on my other side, watching the byplay approvingly but with most of his looks for his Queen.
"Well, Arthur," said Morgan then—even in this moment of all moments forbearing to address him as did all the world else, almost never was the High King ‘Artos’ to the younger of his two sisters—and Arthur bowed his head, one deep nod of acknowledgment, but made no other reply.
I pulled Morgan out of her saddle and caught her up before me into my own; my arms held her fast, but they shook, and my face was but inches from her rain-damp hair. But still we did not speak aloud… Ygrawn and Gweniver, who had watched all this with somber relief—well, that is what it looked like to me just then, in truth they were too wrought to allow of a reaction—now turned their horses’ heads uphill, Morgan’s mount following unled after, and we went clattering up through the empty, windswept, rain-shining, sea-scented streets, up to Turusachan which flamed with lights on its high ridge above the dark sleeping City.
So I came again home.
For all that Morgan and I wished naught more than to be as alone as we could get, just as quickly as we could get so, other matters were more pressing; and though we did manage a brief few minutes to, if no more, simply stand and look at each other, with sight and Sight, we were still royal, we still knew how to stand by and let duty prevail…
Once we were all dry and warm inside Turusachan, Gweniver had greeted me rapturously, as beloved friend as well as her son’s godsfather (though young Arawn Amris Taliesin Gorlas was well asleep; I would have to wait till the morrow for my first sight of Keltia’s new prince). As for Ygrawn, she had contented herself with looking silently upon me and touching slim cool fingers to my cheek. But in those greetings I saw all the pain and fear and dull throb of loss that my two years’ absence had cost them, and I knew that now was perhaps not the best and proper time to inform them I had not remembered either one of them only a day or two since…
But none of us had forgotten that great evil was afoot, and the sooner we addressed it the better for all. To that end, Gweniver had called a small council of friends to meet the instant we came to the palace; but Arthur had some moments ago drawn her aside and whispered somewhat, and she had nodded and smiled and altered her order.
So that now I was following docilely along—Ygrawn had taken me by the sleeve, like the lad I would ever be to her in her mother’s heart—down palace hallways to a tower I did not recall ever having visited.
"Come," said Ygrawn. Nothing loath, I passed the door, and stopped dead.
It was a spacious chamber in the oldest part of the palace, its proportions the perfect double cube of felicitous design. Many feet above my head there was a vaulted glasswork ceiling, through the stained panels of which, on sunny days, the light must blaze in glory. Even now, more than a century after, the scene still glows in my mind as if freshly painted: the warm ruddy stone of the walls, the jewel richness of the wovencloths upon them, with their depictings of figures from Keltic history. I recognized Athyn of the Storms with Morric Fireheart her mate, and their beloved companions and dire foes alike; Saint Mirren; Siriol the great ally of Brendan; the Battle of the Angabharna; King Cadivor and Juthahelo his fell enemy; the Grey Graham and the Lion of Badenoch at Caranagreisha; and more whom I did not know or recollect—all was red and blue and green and ivory and shaded gold, figures of arrowstitch and featherstitch and sheafstitch.
The chamber the tapestries lighted was not empty but full of folk, I saw with another shock; after my long solitude it was hard suddenly to be back among people again, and especially those who were so full of gladness at my return, who wished only to embrace and kiss and hold and pound on… Morgan’s hand slipped into mine when she felt me shivering under my cloak; and though I did not turn to look at her I felt her thought, like a deep calm river to bear me past the moment, and I took a steadying breath as we moved forward together.
Well—now that I looked more closely, the room was not entirely packed with folk as I had thought; perhaps three dozen. But it was full of another thing: a great table of carved ironoak that went clear round the walls, a table in shape of a wainwheel, its center hollow like a ring, spokeless, hubless; upon its outer rim were set high-backed chairs in spaced lines, and at each place stood one of my friends, though not all the places were filled.
"The Hall of the Table," said Arthur behind me as I stared. "This is Gwahanlen, the Veil of the Temple. Be welcome to Rhodaur, the board of the Companions, you who were first among equals, and first at my side; who should have been first to sit here."
I remember moving blindly into the room—blindly for the tears that burned in my eyes—sensing the loving familiar presences all around me, tears on their faces as well. Dimly I saw Morgan and Gerrans and Gweniver and Ygrawn taking places around the table’s rim in no particular order or rank; felt Arthur lead me halfway round to where an empty chair stood with its back to the great tapestry of Athyn and Morric above.
"Cader Taliesin," he said. "The Seat Gwencathra, the White Stanchion of Truth; whoso is chaired here can speak naught save what is so. It has been vacant for you all this time, for none other was ever meant to occupy it. Not that any would have dared try, even in this company—
From her own seat across the hollow space between, many feet away, Daronwy smiled and brushed tears from her cheeks. Which troubled more than almost anything else, for never before in all our time could I recall having seen Ronwyn weep…
"It is the only designated seat at all this table, Talynno," she said, and love and humor went together in her voice
. "And if any had been so ill-advised as to try to fill your seat, dear Tal-bach, be very sure it had been the last seat they had had in this life… Indeed, I am not at all sure Morgan did not hallow it about, so that whoever might presume to sit in your place would vanish in thunder and flame."
But Morgan only smiled, and said nothing, and raised eloquent brows.
I smiled at Ronwyn, gestured vaguely, but it was no good; my tears overflowed, pouring down like silver, and I leaned my head against Arthur who still stood beside me and wept and wept and wept. It was too much joy, too much wonder, too much lovingness, to be safe home again: all my dearest ones, all the best and bravest in Keltia, the innermost Company from of old—faces from Daars, from Coldgates, from Llwynarth, from the Taran campaigns, from the outfrenne reivings, from the wars following that had earned us the Protectorates (of which more later), that had earned Arthur the shining new title of Imperator, Emperor of the West… All the loved faces thought lost until my next life: Betwyr, Alannagh, Daronwy, Roric, Tarian, Grehan, Ferdia, Elenna, Tryffin, Ysild, Keils, my sister Tegau…
I put my face in my hands, felt Arthur’s grip upon my shoulder, the care and anxiety in it.
"Talyn?"
I shook my head and presently took my hands away. "Nay—but it is most well with me, I tell you."
Reassured, he took the chair beside mine, though I knew that was not his ‘customed place; at this Table, all were of a ranking, and when this Company was summoned to Rhodaur, sat wherever a place was empty. But I was glad this night that Arthur was beside me…
"No business before the Table tonight, Talyn," said Gweniver from her place a few yards down to my left. "This is just by way of welcoming home, to see Gwencathra filled at last—but know that your message is long since brought, your charge well discharged."
"I would speak it here even so, Ard-rian." I rose unsteadily to my feet; Arthur looked up with sharp attention but allowed me to do so unassisted. And it mattered much to me that I did so; and, as bard, spoke so—for symmetry’s sake, and history, and for honor, in payment of duty and debt of my own…
The Hedge of Mist Page 6