Dreamer's Cycle Series

by Holly Taylor

“That you would bring my Da to see me one day,” Arthur whispered.

  “Yes. And so I have.” Slowly Arthur and the guard came to stand before each other. The guard’s eyes were misted as he uncertainly held out his arms.

  “Da?” Arthur whispered. “Oh, Da.” As he hurled himself into Uthyr’s arms, he began to weep.

  Uthyr held his son close to his heart, tears streaming down his drawn face. After a few moments he grasped Arthur’s thin shoulders and drew back slightly to look at his son. He spoke to Myrrdin, but his eyes did not leave Arthur’s face. “You’ve done well, Myrrdin. Thank you. Thank you for bringing up my son.” He stopped for a moment, unable to go on. “My son,” he repeated. “My boy.” And then they were again holding each other close.

  “Perhaps,” Myrrdin said gently to Arthur, “you would care to show your father our fine flock of sheep. And perhaps he would care to take a little walk with you.”

  “Would you like to?” Arthur asked Uthyr, a little uncertainly, dashing his sleeve across his eyes.

  “Oh, yes. You must show me everything, tell me everything of how you live.” Uthyr said, smiling through his own tears.

  Arthur smiled back and took Uthyr’s hand. “We’ll be back for supper,” he called over his shoulder, pulling Uthyr out of the back door.

  After they were gone, Myrrdin turned to Gwydion. His face was drawn with both sadness and joy. “Will you be able to bring Uthyr back here again?”

  Gwydion shook his head. “No. It was risky enough as it was.”

  “So, what have you been doing for the past eight years?” Myrrdin asked.

  “Sitting,” Gwydion replied shortly. “Sitting in Caer Dathyl, refusing to go anywhere near this place. Once a year I attend the graduation ceremonies, and that is all.”

  “Still being watched, eh?”

  “Not so closely, I believe. I sent Dinaswyn off to Tegeingl last month with a letter for Uthyr, telling him when and where to meet me. Then Arianrod and I had some problems, and she left in a huff. When the time came to meet Uthyr, I slipped out of Caer Dathyl in the dead of the night, appropriately blurring my image. Nobody saw.”

  “But if someone’s watching Caer Dathyl they’ll know you’re not there.”

  “No,” Gwydion shook his head. “The steward has orders to light my rooms every night. They’ll think I’m still there. And with both Dinaswyn and Arianrod leaving, they might have chosen to follow their movements, just in case.”

  “How did Uthyr get away without being followed?”

  “He said he was going on a hunting expedition with Cai. They left Tegeingl alone and made sure they weren’t followed. Cai’s waiting for Uthyr in Coed Dulas and, hopefully, hunting up a storm.”

  “How long can you stay here?”

  “For tonight only. Then I must go. Uthyr will meet up with Cai and return to Tegeingl loaded with the spoils of the hunt.”

  “Well,” said Myrrdin brightly, “How about that new pot? I need to make dinner. You had best take care of the horse.”

  Gwydion led his horse to the small stable. There was no sign of Arthur and Uthyr. He hurriedly curried and watered his horse, anxious to return to the house for a long talk with his uncle. But Elise was in a bad mood, sliding out from under the brush, stepping on Gwydion’s foot once or twice, dribbling water onto Gwydion’s sleeve. Elise did not like to be left alone in the stable, with no one to talk to.

  “Try talking to the sheep,” Gwydion advised. But sheep, it seemed, were too stupid for decent conversations. “Next time I’ll tell Myrrdin to get a horse for you to play with,” Gwydion said sarcastically. Offended, Elise ignored him and began chewing nonchalantly on the hay. Gwydion shrugged and opened the pack to produce a new cast iron pot for Myrrdin. When he returned to the house he said, “It’s a real bargain. As far as Uthyr’s concerned you can keep it as long as I’m not the one who does the cooking.”

  “Well, make yourself useful and cut up some bread and cheese,” Myrrdin said, gesturing to the two brown loaves and the wheel of creamy cheese on the table. As Gwydion began to slice, Myrrdin filled the pot with water and began to toss in various vegetables and herbs.

  “Tell me about Arthur,” Gwydion said as they worked.

  “He’s a good lad. Smart. Works hard. Takes good care of me.”

  “Any problems?”

  “Everyone’s got problems.”

  “You’re hedging. Out with it.”

  “Well,” Myrrdin said thoughtfully, “he’s shy.”

  “Shy? Bursting in on the crowd like that, ready to defend you against all comers?”

  “Cowardice and shyness are two different things. He thought I was in danger.”

  “Can’t you fix that? What are people going to think of a High King who’s shy?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Gwydion. He’s shy because he prefers not to let others get to know him, or to get close to others. And that’s because he thinks it will be less painful for him when they are taken away from him. It’s what happened with his mother and father. They were taken away.”

  Gwydion said nothing, but he began to slice the bread savagely. “I didn’t have a choice,” he muttered.

  “I didn’t say you did,” Myrrdin went on serenely. “But you can’t separate a boy from his parents at such a young age and not expect an effect of some kind.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, he doesn’t trust many people.”

  Gwydion sighed. “All right. What else?”

  “Um, he hates you.”

  “He can join the crowd,” Gwydion replied flatly.

  “He sees all this as your fault. You took him from his parents.”

  “To protect him. To make him High King.”

  “Oh, but he doesn’t want to be High King.”

  Gwydion stopped slicing bread and stared at his uncle. “Doesn’t want to?” he repeated blankly.

  “No. Certainly not.”

  “Let me get this straight. Arthur is shy and slow to trust. He hates me and he doesn’t want to be High King. Fine. I can deal with all that, one way or another. But will he do as he’s told?”

  “Depends on who’s doing the telling. Will he do as you tell him? Probably not. Will he do as I tell him? Perhaps. But that’s the thing. Don’t tell him. Explain, don’t demand. He’s highly intelligent. He won’t follow what you say just because you say it, but he might if you explain why and if he agrees you have good reason.”

  “Oh, great. That makes everything just perfect.”

  “Gwydion, all I’m saying is that you can’t treat him as a tool. I know that’s how you think of him. That’s how you think of everyone. But you can’t do that. Not with him. It will get you nowhere.”

  “Uncle, I don’t want to get anywhere. If it were my decision, I never would have taken him away in the first place. If it were my decision, I would live a life where I could go to sleep and not fear my dreams. But it’s not, and it never has been and it never will be. I’ve got the burden, the duty, to do what I must, use who I can. And I tell you that I will use Arthur as a tool—with or without his cooperation.” Gwydion clutched the bread knife tightly, his eyes glittering.

  “You’ll be making a mistake.”

  “He doesn’t have to like it,” Gwydion said grimly. “He just has to do it.”

  “I want you to remember someone,” Myrrdin said quietly. “Someone from long ago. Once there was a boy. He was shy and awkward. It was hard for him to trust others. He knew he would grow up to shoulder a burden he didn’t want. Do you remember that boy?”

  Gwydion said nothing, merely looking down at his suddenly clenched hands.

  “And all that boy really wanted was to love and trust someone. He just wanted someone to help him. Someone to be kind to him, to show him how to bear his burden. Someone to keep him from being so alone. Do you remember?”

  “Yes,” Gwydion said slowly.

  “Yes, of course you do. Remember that boy when you look at Arthur. Remember he bears a burd
en, as you did. And be kind to him.”

  “Tell me about Rhiannon ur Hefeydd,” Gwydion said abruptly.

  Myrrdin was startled. “Why do you want to know about her?”

  “I had a dream.”

  “Tell me,” Myrrdin said quietly.

  So Gwydion told his uncle everything, ending with, “She holds the clue to the sword’s whereabouts. I tell you it turns my stomach to think of having to even speak with such an impossible woman.”

  “Well,” Myrrdin said slowly, not quite masking his delight, “as I recall, Rhiannon had absolutely no use for men. Until she met King Rhoram, that is. If I know her, she now despises men more than ever.” Gleefully, Myrrdin looked over at Gwydion. “But I’m sure that you can change her mind. A nice man like you.”

  “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Gwydion said sourly.

  “Gwydion, she’s as impossible as you are.”

  “She doesn’t have to like me. She can hate me, for all I care. But I need her.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it will work out. You can talk about how terrible women are and she can tell you how men are pigs. You’ll keep each other amused.”

  “Are you laughing at me, perhaps?”

  “Oh, gods, yes. I love this.” Myrrdin seemed truly delighted. “Oh, I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall at that first meeting.”

  “I’m thrilled to give you some amusement,” Gwydion said sourly. “Perhaps you could see your way clear to helping me find her. If it’s not too much to ask.”

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Myrrdin mused. “No one’s done it yet. Still . . . I wouldn’t put it past Dudod to know her exact whereabouts.”

  “Do you really think he knows?”

  “I’m not sure. But it would be just like him to guess and never say a word.”

  “I’ll get it out of him,” Gwydion said grimly.

  “I doubt it,” Myrrdin replied. “I think you’ll just have to begin the hunt on your own. Maybe eventually Dudod will take pity on you.”

  “Tell me about her. Maybe I can figure it out for myself.”

  “All right. Just keep quiet and I’ll tell you everything I can remember.”

  Obediently, Gwydion sat on the hearth and kept quiet. Myrrdin sank onto a stool in front of the fire, occasionally stirring the simmering stew. Then he began to speak quietly, lost in his reminiscences.

  “I first saw her when she was just a little lass of seven. She was a pretty child, with wide, green eyes and black hair. Her aunt, Llawen, Dudod’s wife, had recently died, drowned in a lake while little Rhiannon was sleeping. I don’t think she ever got over that.

  “Rhiannon’s father, Hefeydd, never liked the child, never even saw her until the day that Llawen was drowned. He lost his head that day. Accused the child of killing everyone he loved. Sad, that was, and horrible for the child. Dudod said that she just seemed to close up within herself that day.

  “Just a month after that Dudod brought her to Y Ty Dewin. She was clairvoyant and telepathic, you see. At that time I had just become Ardewin. I was busy with my new duties, and didn’t make the time I should have to watch over her.

  “She slipped into the life at the college as best she could. She was quiet and shy, never making any trouble. But soon I began to hear that she was disappearing for a few days at a time. She always turned up eventually, never saying a word of where she had been. I discovered that she was slipping off to Neuadd Gorsedd in the hopes of finding her father, who was a teacher there. But he always refused to see her. Finally, after about a year she stopped going. I never tried to stop her. I kept hoping that one day Hefeydd would consent to see her. But he didn’t, and she gave up.

  “When she was seventeen she graduated to journeyman. She was still shy and awkward, and felt herself to be plain—although in truth, she wasn’t. She had the most extraordinary eyes. But she was frightened to death of men, and used no arts to attract them. When she returned five years later to graduate as Dewin she had gained some outward confidence but she was still somewhat shy. On the outside she was tougher than ever. And more frightened.

  “The day of the graduation, Rhoram was there. He was only the heir to Prydyn then, for his father was still alive. Rhiannon was alluring that day, for she was happy and excited, and she forgot to think that she was plain. Well, you know how Rhoram looks at women. You know how much he likes them. He can make them feel at a glance as though they were the most desirable women in the world. And I saw it happen. She fell in love. He stared at her through the entire ceremony.

  “Up until that moment I had planned to send Rhiannon to Rhoram’s court as the Dewin there. But I changed my mind right in the middle of the ceremony, after I saw what was happening. She was too young, too untried to understand that a man like Rhoram would only want her for a short time. You know Rhoram. There’s no harm in him but he’s not the faithful kind. I could see what would happen to her in Rhoram’s court. So I assigned her to another post. To protect her.

  “Just after the ceremony word came from Neuadd Gorsedd that Hefeydd was dying and that he had asked to see his daughter. But Rhiannon refused to go. That night Hefeydd died, and the next day a Bard came from Neuadd Gorsedd bearing Hefeydd’s harp. He had left it for her. She took it, stowed it in her saddlebags and left for her new post in Brycheiniog, without a good-bye to anyone.

  “Well, she was gone, and I thought I had arranged things so cleverly by sending her out of danger. But I reckoned without Dinaswyn. Unfortunately, the bloodlines of the House of Llyr dictated that Rhiannon should have a child by Rhoram. Believe me, I argued with Dinaswyn long and hard about that. But there was no stopping her. I knew it would be a disaster.

  “I tried to help by sending word to Rhiannon that after she became pregnant she was to begin training as my heir. I wanted her to understand that there was a future for her as Ardewin of Kymru when it was over with Rhoram, as I knew it would be, one day.

  “Well, she went to Rhoram’s court, as Dinaswyn ordered her to. Rhoram was King by then and his wife had recently died. And you know what happened then. I think Rhoram truly meant to marry her, as he said he would. I really do. But Rhoram wasn’t a one-woman man. Eventually he fell in love with someone else. When Rhiannon found out she left Arberth with the baby. And she hasn’t been seen since.”

  Myrrdin sighed. “I realize now that I should have gone to Arberth myself, before she discovered that Rhoram had tired of her. I should have been there to remind her that there was life after the death of love.”

  THE TWO MEN were silent for some time. Gwydion was disgusted with Rhiannon and her behavior. Her story had given him no feeling for her pain, only contempt. Did she think she should have been happy? No one was happy. She had thought that love would last and had been angry when it failed. When did love ever last? Love was of no use to anyone. It clouded the mind, it weakened a man. He had done without for many years, and he hadn’t run away like a spoiled child. He had stayed in the world and faced up to his duty.

  “Where did she grow up?” Gwydion asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

  “Geneur. It’s the chief town of cantref Gwarthaf, in Prydyn.”

  “She would know the area well, then?”

  “Probably. But when she first disappeared, Rhoram searched that area thoroughly. Are you open to suggestions?”

  “From you, yes.”

  “You should go to Neuadd Gorsedd. Speak to Anieron. Dudod’s his brother, and if Dudod really does know anything, maybe Anieron can convince him to speak.”

  “I’d rather stay out of Anieron’s way. I never know what he’s up to.”

  Myrrdin shrugged. “I don’t share your suspicions of Anieron. But if you want to find Rhiannon you’re going to need his help. No way around that.”

  “True enough,” Gwydion admitted.

  “While you’re there, talk to Elidyr. He’s Dudod’s son and Anieron’s heir. Before he was sent to Neuadd Gorsedd he and Rhiannon both lived with Llawen. When she used to slip away to
Neuadd Gorsedd she would talk to Elidyr. He might know something.”

  “All right.”

  “You should probably consider stopping by Caer Duir, also,” Myrrdin went on. “Cathbad knows a great deal and might have some good advice for you. And, Gwydion, one last word that I am sure you will ignore. When you find her, go easy. Her life has been very difficult. Try charm. If you’ve got any.”

  “Why, Uncle, you know that women love me,” Gwydion laughed bitterly.

  “Not that kind of charm,” Myrrdin said sharply. “I’m just suggesting you try to understand her. If you need her, it would be foolish to antagonize her.”

  “I’ll do my best, Uncle.”

  “That’s just what I’m afraid of,” Myrrdin muttered under his breath.

  UTHYR AND HIS son walked slowly up the mountainside beneath the gathering dusk. The moon had not yet risen, and they picked their way up carefully to rest upon an outcropping of rock halfway up the rough hillside. From their vantage point, they could see the fitful lights emanating from the tiny village. One by one, the stars began to come out. In the gathering gloom Uthyr could just make out Arthur’s young, fresh face.

  “So every day I take the sheep up the hillside. And I have to be careful with them because sheep are very stupid, you know. They can get themselves in the stupidest situations. I remember one time . . .” Arthur hadn’t stopped talking the entire time, but Uthyr was content. Just to hear his son’s voice was enough for him, after listening to the silence in his heart for so many years.

  When Arthur had first been taken away Uthyr had buried his own grief to keep his wife from going mad. Night after night he had held her as she wept. Day after day he had comforted her by his very presence, his calm demeanor. He had rarely left her side for months. The responsibility of holding Ygraine together had helped him through that terrible time when he felt as though his right arm had been torn away from his body. As a man with a missing arm feels the phantom pain from a limb that is no longer there, so he had sometimes thought he heard Arthur’s bright laughter from far away. He had sometimes thought, while riding home to Caer Gwynt after a day of hunting, how pleasant it was going to be to take Arthur hunting when the boy was old enough. He sometimes woke in the middle of the night, wondering if Arthur was warm enough and almost getting out of bed to go to his son’s empty chamber to see. But then he would remember that Arthur was no longer there.