Tumult without peer. Even I was stunned. As for Arthur, he looked as if he had been gralloched; and half the room, I could see, was wondering immediately and loudly if he would permit this at all. For Donah, you will remember, was Arthur’s firstborn; his adored daughter by the Jamadarin of the Yamazai, Queen Majanah of Aojun. I tried to recall if Donah was still in Keltia: I had not seen nor heard word of her in the few hours of my return, but that meant little. Before my enforced absence, she had been very much present at her father’s court; Majanah had left her here a while, so that she might come to know and love the Keltic half of her high heritage, before being called back to Aojun to begin to learn queenship from her formidable mother.
But would that formidable mother even hear of such a thing?
"She is too young, surely," said Betwyr aside to Morgan. "And Janjan will never allow it."
"She is older than Gerrans," returned Morgan equably. "And he too goes upon this quest. And none knows duty better than Majanah."
I suddenly felt much as Arthur had looked. "Oh, does he now? There may be a thing or two to be said about that, lady."
Morgan shook her head. "There will not, then. I know your fears, cariad, but they are meant to go, both of them, though that may be small comfort. But listen."
"The Jamadarin of Aojun has seen and recognized the necessity," Gweniver was saying, her voice cutting clear above the murmurs. "And has consented full willing; indeed, she it was who first spoke to me on the matter, for it seems that they have had magical tidings of this on Aojun also… Though it will be for Taliesin and me to make up the rest of the companies, I shall name now two questers more, and they are Geraint Pendreic ac Glyndour, and with him his cousin… Gwain Pendreic ac Locryn, youngest child of the Princess Marguessan."
Well! Trust Gwennach to end on such a hai atton—if she had flung a thousand gauntlets in their faces she could not have given greater challenge. With perfect timing, she nodded to Tarian to close the meeting, bowed to Arthur and to the room at large, and was out the doors before anyone else could even think to stir. But Morgan, as usual, seemed to know all about it, and she was tugging at my sleeve to follow before Arthur was full out of his chair.
"What then?" I snapped at her, for I was vexed and feared together. It seemed to me rashness beyond even the bound of daring to allow three young members of the blood royal to go on such a venturing as this. "Are you pleased that Gerrans and Donah should go on this errand? Not to mention Gwain, of whom I know little; but he is your sister’s son, and of her we know much—" And all of it evil, though I did not need to say so; I was too lately escaped from Marguessan’s hospitality to wish even to think of her.
Morgan was pulling me along the corridors of the palace at a quick pace, and I realized from our surroundings that we were headed again for Gwahanlen, the chamber of the Table. Probably Gwennach was there by now, and Arthur and the rest would not be far behind us…
"Not pleased exactly, nay, Talynno; but like Janjan I know the necessity of this. It is ordained that they should go, and there’s an end on it. We cannot forever keep them coddled in tree-wool against all haps or harms of the world. Thus, and they do not learn; and if they do not learn they do not grow; and if they do not grow they will die."
I shivered once, for her words were hard; but if hard they were also most correct. As parents, our overriding instinct is to protect; but our equally compelling duty is to push our cherished chicks from the nest. It is up to them to fly; but we must adequately fledge them first. I felt distantly comforted; this I knew we had done for Gerrans, and done well if I may say so—and for witness I had only to glance back a few days to Oeth-Anoeth. Donah too: another fine flying hawk, well-managed and well-made by her mother and Arthur, who had made her between them in the first place… As I had said to Morgan, Gwain I did not know at all; and what Marguessan and Irian may have made of him was yet to be seen.
"Is there not some risk in naming Gwain?" I asked as we took our places at the Table, I in the Seat Gwencathra and Morgan beside me (though this she would not make a practice of down the years). "Will Marguessan not be able to read our plans and actions through his very presence, and alter her own to thwart us in our search?"
"She may think so," said Morgan grimly, "but I myself think my sister will be surprised to find what she shall find… More than that, I have not been given to See."
I sank down into the depths of my chair, and watched the rest of the Table fill up. There was room at Rhodaur for twelve times twelve Companions, but we did not make up anything near those numbers, not after the years of Edeyrn and the outfrenne reivings and the fighting for the Protectorates those reivings had unexpectedly won us; so many had been lost, too many. And so when Arthur called the Table to order there were perhaps seventy souls in the tapestried chamber. I knew and loved them all; but I worried, and I wondered.
"As the need is clearly paramount and the nature already determined," Arthur was saying, "I put it to Gweniver and Taliesin, who are tarq-hijarun of this riding, that they let us have their plan and listing in no more than three days’ time. There is much to put in order before so great a quantity of the best blood of Keltia rides off on this search."
Tarq-hijar… That was a Yamazai word, an old term for the leader of a hunting party; Arthur must have picked it up from Donah. I glanced up and caught Arthur’s eye, and spoke to the chamber.
"If the Ard-rian is ready, I say we begin now. More delay in choosing means more delay in setting forth."
Gweniver nodded, and for the next four days, with the help of the Companions, she and I hammered out upon the Table a list of seekers; drawn, as Gwyn had bidden, from all ranks of Keltic society. All talents were included, and no clann (save only the righ-domhna) seemed overrepresented. When Elen Llydaw raised this very point—for besides three royal offspring, there were Gweniver, Morgan and myself, not to mention Loherin who was kin by cousinage, his father being nephew to the Queen-dowager Ygrawn—it was Arthur himself who dismissed her doubtings.
"Whether it be so or no," he said with some asperity, "it is also dan. I will explain to the folk, if indeed explanations are warranted."
So we arrived at our forty-nine names—no fear that any would decline our asking, and so we had chosen no alternates—and messages were sent to those who dwelled away from Caerdroia, that they should come with all speed to Turusachan, and come prepared for an absence of unknown duration. They were given a fortnight’s grace to set their personal affairs in order, and told to bring no weapon with them, according to the instruction received from Gwyn.
That, as you may well imagine, did not sit well with many, least of all with Arthur, and he visibly chafed under it. "I like it not at all," he complained later, when the Table had largely dispersed and our inner circle of Companions was lounging casually around the board. "Who knows what you may not encounter?"
Morgan shaded her eyes with one hand, spoke in a weary patient voice. "As we were told, so we tell you: Only those who are lawful Fians, or who have been given other license, may go weaponed upon this quest. That is why Gwennach and Talyn have included at least one Fian in each seven; also a sorcerer and a bard. All possibilities are thus provided for."
I thought about this for perhaps the thousandth time. Though according to Gwyn’s instruction we had relied chiefly on women and men of art—aes dana, ollaves, masters of the work—our own group seemed perhaps over-heavy with sorcerers. Morgan and Gweniver were both Ban-draoi Dominas (and Morgan greater even than that), I was Druid as well as bard, and Roric, Daronwy’s mate, was a sorcerer among his own folk, if a warrior also. Loherin, though untested as knight, was yet Fian, and Daronwy, of course, was Fian and Companion from the earliest days. My concerns were more for those who seemed not so well trained or gifted in magical art: Donah for one, though at least with us she would be as safe as we were allowed to keep her; and Gerrans and Gwain in a company led by a Ban-draoi I did not know.
And others of our friends, too, had young kin upon thi
s quest: Betwyr’s niece Keira; Shane and Sioda, children of Tarian Douglas… But for the most part the chosen Seekers were unknown to us, had been revealed through various magical means, and we had to trust that the magic knew what it was doing. I am the last one to give short shrift to sorcery; but all the same I wondered if we had chosen correctly…
"We cannot know that until the thing is done with; either achieved or failed," said Morgan later, when we had at long last quitted Gwahanlen, the Quest settled, and retired to our rooms.
That seemed reasonable; still—Suddenly Morgan went rigid beside me.
"Donah and Gwain and Loherin," she said in a drowned voice, and I looked keenly at her, for Sight had taken her far from me just now. "They shall be of those who achieve the Cup—"
"And us?" I asked, scarce daring even to breathe, though it seemed the height of vainglory to wish what I now was wishing.
"We shall be with it. But we shall not be of it…" Morgan gave a little gasp, and seemed to sag all over. "Oh Talyn—do you think…"
I drew her into bed beside me, cuddling her against me, and kissed her neck and breasts and shoulders, more by way of calming and comforting than as prelude to lovemaking, for it was afternoon after all, and we were expected for the nightmeal in Mi-cuarta in a few hours, though this was our first real chance for quiet privacy since my return. Also I was thinking furiously, and not of love…
"When I was in Oeth-Anoeth—" I began, then halted.
"Aye?" murmured Morgan.
"Something I saw—something I remember—" I stopped, confused, angry that I could not bring it to focus.
"Another time," said Morgan. "Another seeing. Let it be."
We awoke stupid and dazed from our nap—I have never understood those who seem to find short untimely sleeps restful, to me they merely clog the brain and throw the day off track—and only barely in time for the nightmeal. Plans had altered while we so fitfully slept, and now we would dine not in Mi-cuarta (thankfully! I was not yet ready, not yet ‘back’ enough for that) but in the Queen Ygrawn’s small private hall, just the family and a few close friends—some of our soul-kin as we call it, those who if not of blood bound are bound of love, more than friends and more even perhaps than most blood-kin.
Before we dined I was introduced at last to the new Tanist of Keltia, Arawn, a well-grown faunt of just over one year, with the most alarming look of amused intelligence to him. He looked unnervingly as if he already knew all about us that he needed to know, and more than we should like… Apart from that, he greatly resembled Gweniver, save that he had Arthur’s hair and fine peat-dark eyes—Amris’s eyes, Ygrawn said, with a faraway look in her own. He was a fine fearless lad too, for he fussed not at all when I lifted him from his little ffridd, but peered round so as not to miss anything. I kissed the damp hair—how amazingly warm and alive he was—and sang him a soft song in the suantraim ode, calculated to charm sleep into him. Gweniver laughed to hear it.
"It takes more than a sleep-strain, Pen-bardd, to put my son out when he would stay up with company! Have you forgotten how it was with Gerrans?"
I smiled and set the young prince, not in the least bit sleep-charmed, down again in the well-padded ffridd.
"Long time indeed since I have held a babe… He is a fine lad, my dears."
Arthur reached out for his wife’s hand, and I nearly wept with joy to see this; so long, too long, it had not been so.
"If we can do as well by him as you and Guenna with Gerrans," he said gravely, "we shall have done well indeed."
Now it was my turn to take my lady’s hand. "Did not Uthyr say it best: The more bearing branches of the House of Don, the better rooted the stem—But what of that branch we have never dared trust our weight to?"
Gweniver looked distasteful and chagrined all in one. "Since your return from Gwynedd we have had no word of Marguessan or Mordryth. Irian remains at his seat of Lleyn, as he seems ever to do, and I think Galeron is with him. Gwain was off in training with the Fianna, and is now on his way to join us here. To Marguessan’s great annoyance, I am sure."
Ygrawn entered just then from her solar, and I turned to greet her gladly. She and I had shared a tender reunion the day before, but in the hours since we had had no chance for private speech, and I had keenly felt the lack. Ygrawn Tregaron, onetime lady of Prince Amris Pendreic, latterly Queen of Keltia when wed to his brother Uthyr, was the only mother I had ever known. My true mother had died when I was an infant, and her grave was with the Shining Folk; my father’s wife, Medeni, who had given birth to my six half-sibs and who had loved me as her own, had followed her two years later. Only Ygrawn, whose foster-son I had become at the advanced age of not yet six years, and who had reared me equal in love and law with her only son Arthur, had ever been to me the mother dan had denied. She had not been a usual sort of mother, right enough, but she was to my mind perfect in all ways, and I loved her dearly. Just as well, perhaps, as she was also my matemother, and even in Keltia that relationship has not yet been worked out to the joy of all…
It was with more than surprise that I noticed she had aged somewhat in the two years of my absence; not so much as a stranger might have seen, but there was a definite silvering in the blue-black hair, a small tightness around the violet eyes, a first faintest creasing across the high forehead. Now we have ways in Keltia to avoid such things that are eventualities on outfrenne worlds; even those among our midst who achieve the double century seldom, if they so choose, need appear older than latter mid-age. But Ygrawn, I might have known, would disdain such methods just yet, if indeed she ever took them up. We take no shame to don our years, to let them wear us in plain view, for among us age is prized for wisdom and insight that youth cannot match, and our elders are valued as highly as our young folk. We do not scorn the marks the acquiring of wisdom puts upon us; like marks of the sword, they are reminders of victories and defeats, and they are needed. But the first reminders can often come as a surprise; more so, perhaps, to our nearest than to ourselves.
As usual, Ygrawn wasted no time cutting to the heart of it. "No matter they," she said, curtly dismissing her daughter and that daughter’s mate and get. "What I wonder is where may be Malgan Rheged ap Owein?"
A tight tense little hush fell over us all at the name: Artos, Gwen, Morgan, myself, Grehan, Tarian, Roric and Daronwy, Gerrans, Donah, Tryffin and Ysild in with Loherin from Kernow. I took advantage of the silence to glance round but saw naught of import, smiling when my glance crossed Donah’s, who was doing the same. She had not been among the others last night when I came home, and so far today there had been no time for private talk; only a tearful rapturous hug, utter gladness that her uncle was safely home. In the months before my prisonment, she and I had found again the special close bond we had shared in her childhood on Aojun, and she had become to Morgan and to me the lass-child we had never had. She had grown in the two years I had been gone more beautiful even than her mother; but when Ygrawn spoke Malgan’s name I all at once remembered…
There was a school of thought in Keltia, not very discreet nor yet very well concealed, that held, despite all claims and evidence to the contrary, that Malgan Rheged ap Owein (as he was properly styled), the son of Arthur’s first and utterly unlamented wife, the late vile Gwenwynbar, was not Owein Rheged’s son at all but Arthur’s. Gwenwynbar, having dissolved her brehon marriage with Arthur in circumstances I have explained elsewhere, took up immediately with Owein, at that time master of Gwynedd and heir of the Marbh-draoi Edeyrn, like the faithless trull she was.
And she had borne Malgan a scant seven months later… Gwenwynbar had ever maintained that the boy was Owein’s come-o’-will, two moons aforetime, and Owein had apparently believed her; more to the point, Edeyrn had made Malgan his heir after Owein—though that might have been read two ways, now I thought on it. If Malgan were Arthur’s, and Edeyrn knew it, what better and more final vengeance than this could there be on the House of Don, to adopt and twist one of its own seedlings to his own bla
ck will…
And Donah… Otherwise her father’s firstborn, she had a lawful claim to Keltia that none could gainsay; but as heir to Aojun, future queen of the Yamazai, Jamadarin to follow her mother, her future was already assured. And now too there was Arawn, already named as Tanist—But still the question of Malgan’s true paternity had never been settled to anyone’s satisfaction, no matter who benefited therefrom. Of course there were many ways in which this could be done, medical as well as magical; but it had never been put to the test, chiefly, I presumed, because Arthur himself wished it so. Still, it would have to be tried one day… Though not this night.
Ygrawn’s question had gone unanswered all this while, and now Arthur seemed to shake himself.
"Malgan is a man grown," he said, his voice carrying no inflection whatsoever. "He goes where he will; but last word we had of him, he was at Saltcoats on Gwynedd, and he was there alone."
Saltcoats! Now that brought up memories, and not a one of them good: The streppoch Gwenwynbar had ostentatiously set up court and household of her own there, in the most royal of state, during Malgan’s childhood. He had spent much of his youth there, before going into hiding with his mother once Arthur openly challenged Edeyrn and Gwynedd was taken by the Counterinsurgency. On Gwenwynbar’s death (at the fair hand of Ysild tonight here present; and far too merciful a death it had been, to my way of thinking), Arthur had brought the boy to Court as a royal ward, and he had made his quiet way among us. I came to know and like him; but he never seemed at ease here, and I could well understand his present retreat to a place of happier memory.
But I knew too why Ygrawn was worried. "Think you he has thrown in with Marguessan and Mordryth?" I asked quietly, and was rewarded by the familiar dark purple glint in the violet eyes.
The Hedge of Mist Page 8