by Holly Taylor
“Let’s disappoint him, then, shall we?” Olwen brought the horn to her lips and sounded her last call.
OLWEN LOOKED AROUND calmly in the midst of the hopeless battle, trying to locate the Coranian commander. All around her, men and women were fighting. Killing and being killed. Dying on the bloody sands. Many of her warriors shouted her name over and over as they plunged into the melee. Almost absently, she deftly killed Coranian after Coranian, her eyes searching for Talorcan. She didn’t want to die at the hands of a common warrior. She would fight their commander. Let him, then, take her life today.
Ah, there he was. She dismounted, dropping the reins where she stood. As if in a dream, she walked through the battle, feeling as though only she and this man truly existed.
He had seen her. Talorcan pulled his bloody ax from the skull of a fallen warrior and turned to face her. She threw her spear aside and pulled her dagger from her boot without breaking her stride. The commander threw away his ax and pulled his own dagger. Slowly they moved to face each other. The din of battle seemed to fade far away as she came to stand before him.
Over his blue tunic he wore a metal byrnie trimmed with silver, now blood-splattered. His helmet was of silver, with the figure of a boar at the top. His green eyes looked at her gravely. “Queen Olwen,” he said respectfully. “You have lost the day. Surrender your city to me, and you will live.” “Commander, I cannot.”
“In that case,” he said regretfully, “I must kill you.” Olwen did not answer.
“You were prepared for us,” Talorcan said. It was not a question.
“The Dreamer warned us.”
“Gwydion. Yes, we know him. Havgan, our Bana, will kill him one day.”
“Havgan, your Bana, will try,” she corrected calmly. “Come. Let us begin.”
THEY FOUGHT FOR a long time, yet the end seemed so quick. His dagger flowed smoothly into her body, parting her flesh like water. She looked up into his green eyes, which seemed to be reflecting some inner torment she did not understand. She slowly sank down to the bloody ground.
As the darkness rushed to meet her, she thought she heard Kilwch’s voice, thought she heard her husband say, “I waited for you.” She thought she felt a warm hand covering hers, and then the light that burst upon her was so very bright. So she smiled. And died.
ELEN SCREAMED IN rage from across the bloody field when she saw Olwen fall. She dug her heels into her mount and struggled toward the spot, slashing those who attempted to impede her advance. Just a few feet from her mother’s body, she scrambled off her horse and leapt past the enemy warrior in her way. But the man grabbed her arm as she tried to dart past him, swung her about, and lifted his battle-ax.
The ax came whistling down, aimed for her unprotected, upturned face, but it halted abruptly in midair. The warrior stiffened, the ax falling from his now-numb fingers. He sank down just as Angharad came riding up. Without a word, Angharad dismounted, then reached down and pulled her dagger from the dead man’s back.
Elen stared down at the warrior who had almost killed her, and spat on him. “I think he broke my arm,” Elen said faintly, through gritted teeth, indicating her left arm, which hung at an unnatural angle.
“So he did. Come,” Angharad said. Swiftly she remounted her horse, then, grasping Elen’s good arm, pulled her onto the animal.
“No! No! Mam’s—”
“Olwen is dead, Elen. Dead.”
“You don’t know that,” Elen screamed. “Let me go to her!”
“He killed her. And she gave me an order last night, which I intend to obey.”
“No!” Elen screamed, still struggling. “I can’t leave!”
“You have to, you fool. You can’t fight,” Angharad said calmly, deftly parrying the swing of a battle-ax with her shield, then plunging her dagger into the man’s neck.
Elen stopped struggling. She realized that if she didn’t, she would get them both killed. Elen bowed her head, cradling her arm against her body. Tears slowly fell from her eyes and dripped down onto her injured arm. Mam was dead. The Coranian commander had murdered her. One day she would kill him. She would.
Slowly Angharad cut her way out of the hideous melee. When they reached the fringes of the hopeless battle, Angharad rode swiftly to the cliffs. They dismounted, for the path was too narrow for a horse. With Angharad supporting her, Elen began the trek up the cliff path.
She heard footsteps rushing up behind them. Wearily she lifted her head, as Angharad grasped her dagger. The man rounded the curve of the path and halted. When Elen saw her brother, she burst into tears.
“I saw you leave the battle,” Lludd said, panting. He was splattered with blood but did not appear to be wounded.
“She broke her arm,” Angharad said, as she handed Elen off to Lludd.
“Mam’s dead,” Elen sobbed. “I saw it. The commander killed her.”
Lludd turned white at the news. His brown eyes darkened, and he set his jaw. He suddenly looked much older than his seventeen years. “Take her up, Angharad.”
“And where do you think you’re going?” Angharad inquired acidly.
“To find that commander,” Lludd answered.
“Not without me, you’re not. Let’s get Elen up to Regan. Then we’ll both go back down.” Lludd hesitated. “Do as I say,” Angharad said sharply.
Reluctantly, Lludd picked Elen up, careful not to jostle her broken arm. Angharad followed as they made their way up the path to the cave. Lludd carried Elen in and set her down on an empty pallet. The cave was dim, the only illumination coming from the wide mouth of the cavern. In the dimness, Elen could just make out the bodies of a few wounded men and women. Regan came running, with Iago right behind her.
“It’s just a broken arm,” Elen gasped. “I’m not dying.”
“Chew on this,” Regan said, putting something between her jaws.
“What is it?” Elen mumbled.
“Willow bark for the pain. Go on.”
When Regan straightened the arm, tears spilled from Elen’s eyes. But she set her jaw and refused to scream. Swiftly, Regan bound the arm in a comfrey paste. Iago wiped her sweating brow and wrapped her up warmly. For some reason, she was very cold. Her teeth began to chatter.
“Shock,” Regan said calmly. “Give her some wine, Iago.”
Iago, his face pale, gently held her head and guided the cup to her lips. Elen tasted vervain within the wine. The pain began to recede a little. Someone entered the cave, and Elen looked up. “Talhearn,” she said weakly, trying to smile.
The Bard knelt down by her pallet and smiled. His silver hair shone in the light from the mouth of the cave. His blue eyes were gentle.
“Talhearn, Mam’s dead.”
“Yes,” he said gently. “I was watching from the cliffs. I saw her fall. And she gave you something before she died, I see.”
Elen looked down at her good hand. The pearl ring glowed softly in the dim light. “She did. She gave me this. And said I had to live.”
“My Queen,” Angharad said softly. “We must go. The battle is not over.”
Elen started. That was her mother’s title. Queen. No, that was her title now.
“Regan,” Angharad said, “you and Iago stay with Elen. Lludd and I must return to the battle.”
“And I will go with you,” Talhearn said.
“Ridiculous,” Angharad snorted. “You’re not a warrior. You’re a Bard. You’ll get yourself killed.”
“I have my reasons for going with you,” Talhearn said shortly.
Angharad shrugged. “Have it your way, old man.”
“Angharad, my dear, your graciousness is beyond compare, as always.”
Lludd knelt down beside Elen and kissed her brow. She frowned up at him. “Don’t get killed, Lludd. I mean it.”
He swallowed hard, then whispered, “As the Queen commands.” He stood up quickly, then turned and left the cave.
“Angharad,” she said, “look after him.”
“I will,
” Angharad replied, briefly bowing her head, “my Queen.”
“Good-bye, little girl,” Talhearn said. Then he, too, was gone.
ELEN CLOSED HER eyes. The light from the mouth of the cave danced over her closed lids. Then the light abruptly cut off. Elen opened her eyes, trying to focus. Enemy warriors poured into the cavern. Before Elen could even sit up, Regan was bound tightly. Iago was struggling to release himself from the grasp of two heavily armed warriors. The other warriors rushed upon the wounded and plunged their daggers into their hearts. The hot, coppery smell of blood pervaded the cave.
The commander stood silhouetted in the light from the cave mouth. Elen tried to rise, grasping her dagger in her good hand, but he came to her swiftly and plucked the knife from her hand.
Iago had stopped struggling. He stood stiffly, trying to gather his strength. The commander calmly walked up to the Druid. “Before you do anything rash, Druid, read this.” Talorcan held up a letter in front of Iago’s face. The letter was sealed with the imprint of a bull’s head. Elen recognized the seal of the Archdruid.
“This is a trick,” Iago said thickly.
“No trick,” Talorcan replied. “Open it and read it.”
Slowly, Iago took the letter, broke the seal, and began to read. As he did so, Talorcan’s gaze wandered over to Regan. Her arms were bound firmly behind her back. Warriors stood on either side, holding her upper arms tightly.
“My apologies, Lady Dewin,” Talorcan said smoothly, “for your discomfort.”
Regan glared at him, but did not answer.
Iago lifted his eyes from the letter. He was pale. “I don’t understand.”
Talorcan shrugged. “It’s very simple. Your Archdruid and my Warleader have come to an understanding. All Druids are to cooperate with us, by orders of your leader. Something, I believe, you have already guessed.”
Iago looked toward Elen, horror in his eyes. “Elen, I …”
“You can’t do this, Iago. You can’t!”
“I must,” he said miserably. “It is Cathbad’s command.”
“And my command is that you do not cooperate! I am your Queen!” Elen dragged herself unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the wall of the cave for support.
“You are more than that to me, Elen,” Iago said steadily. He let the letter fall from his hand. “But the Archdruid commands me. I am a Druid, and can only obey.”
One of the warriors guarding Regan asked, “Shall we take care of her now?” He gestured toward the Dewin.
Regan stiffened in their grasp, but refused to plead for her life.
“Don’t be a fool,” Talorcan said sharply.
“Lord,” the warrior continued, “those are the orders. We are to kill the witches. She’s one of them.”
“She is more valuable to us alive, for I feel quite sure that the Queen would not wish any harm to come to her Dewin. Isn’t this so?” Talorcan said, turning to Elen.
Elen’s eyes met Regan’s. The Dewin’s face was calm, and her eyes told Elen to do what she must. But Elen could not do it. Regan was her friend. Elen turned toward Talorcan. “Yes, that is so. As long as she remains unharmed, I will cooperate with you.”
“Elen, no!” Regan exclaimed, horrified.
“Yes,” Elen said firmly.
“The wyrce-jaga won’t like it,” the warrior warned.
“The likes or dislikes of the wyrce-jaga are nothing to me,” Talorcan said sharply. “Havgan has given me the authority to use my own discretion in such matters. Take them down to the beach. The battle is over. We will gather up Queen Olwen’s body with honor and take her back to my city.”
Elen stiffened. “It’s not your city.”
“It is now,” he replied.
ANGHARAD, LLUDD, AND Talhearn began to make their way down the cliffs. Talhearn had, for some reason, insisted on taking a different way down. It was easier, he had said. Angharad couldn’t see what was easier about it. About halfway down, Talhearn halted and gestured to them to peer down onto the beach.
“Look,” Talhearn said quietly. “It is over.”
The Bard was right. The battle was over. Enemy warriors were gathering up the bodies of the slain, creating two mounds for burning. Off to the west, Angharad caught sight of about twenty Kymric warriors, disappearing over the hill.
“Cowards,” she said sternly.
“Certainly not!” Talhearn said, shocked. “Those are men led by Emrys. Didn’t you see him? They are going around the cliffs to come up the other side. This battle is lost. They merely seek to gather others to fight again another day.”
“And what,” Lludd asked heavily, “do we do now?”
“You will meet Emrys and his men on the other side of the cliffs,” Angharad ordered. “Talhearn, you go with him.”
“And you?” Talhearn asked.
“I have business with the Coranian commander. I will go down.”
“You fool! They’ll kill you before you even get near the man.”
“What if they do?” Angharad demanded. “The Queen is dead. It is not right for her Captain to still live.”
“Look!” Lludd exclaimed. “It’s Elen.”
At the bottom of the cliffs, a procession was emerging. In front was the enemy commander, holding Elen firmly by her good arm. Elen walked stiffly, concentrating on keeping to her feet. Behind them followed Regan, her hands bound behind her. And Iago was there, too, but he was unbound. He walked with his head down, as though ashamed to meet anyone’s gaze. Twenty armed warriors followed.
“We must rescue them!” Lludd exclaimed. “Quickly, before they get too far!”
Angharad jumped to her feet. Talhearn instantly pulled her down by grasping both her ankles. She crashed to the ground, Talhearn holding her down firmly.
“Let me go, old man!” Angharad said, furious.
“No! This is not your task.”
“Talhearn,” Lludd said furiously, reaching out to break the Bard’s hold on Angharad, “what do you think you’re doing?”
The old man was panting. “Trying to get the attention of you two idiots. If I may just have a few moments of your precious time …”
Angharad pulled free as Lludd grasped Talhearn’s wrists in a grip of iron. She scrambled to the cliff edge. Looking down, she said bitterly, “It’s too late. Look.”
It was, indeed, too late to help Elen. The party had reached the city gates.
Angharad turned to Talhearn, who was sitting on the ground, trying to catch his breath while Lludd still grasped the Bard’s arms grimly. “You traitor!” she accused. “You wanted them to be captured!”
Talhearn’s fine, blue eyes turned cold. His face hardened. “You dare accuse me of that?” he said softly. “You dare? Now, listen to me. My orders from the Master Bard were to assist the Dreamer in any way possible. And I have done so. When he was here, Gwydion ap Awst left a letter with me, to be given to you and Lludd at the proper time. And this is the proper time.”
“A letter from the Dreamer? What do I care about that?” Angharad exclaimed.
“Don’t be stupid, Angharad,” Lludd said in a withering tone. “Here, Talhearn, give me that letter.”
Angharad turned to the boy in surprise. He had never talked this way to her before. Actually, he had never talked to anyone this way before. She looked at him closely. Never had she seen him look so much like his father. Maybe he wasn’t a boy, anymore, after all.
Talhearn pulled the letter from his tunic and handed it to Lludd. The Prince opened it and began to read. Angharad looked on over his shoulder.
To: Lludd ap Olwen and Angharad ur Ednyved:
By now Queen Olwen is dead, the battle is lost, the city has been captured, and Elen is a prisoner. You cannot help her now. Yet know that, when the time comes, she will be freed.
My heart goes out to you in the face of so many losses. But you must not give up. A great task awaits you both. You must gather the survivors and leave the vicinity of Dinmael, finding a safe place to shelter. By stea
lth and by cunning you must gather a teulu that will become a thorn in the side of the enemy. From this seed will come a mighty army. For one day soon the High King will come again. And when he does, he will lead us to take back our own. I command you, in the name of the High King soon to be, that you take on this task. Though you may wish to die, you are commanded to live. This is your duty to Kymru.
Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon
Dreamer of Kymru
Angharad looked up. Talhearn was watching them steadily. She was silent, not knowing what to say. With all her heart, she wanted to disregard this letter. She wanted to die fighting, to wipe out her shame that she was still alive while her Queen lay dead. Yet Gwydion had commanded her in the name of the High King.
“How can he be sure that a High King will return to us?” Angharad demanded.
“He is the Dreamer,” Lludd said absently, reading the letter again. “How could he not know?”
“He could be wrong,” she insisted.
Lludd sighed. “Leave off, Angharad, will you?” Angharad fell silent. Lludd said nothing. He stood up and gazed out to the sea, refusing to look at the sight of his sister as captive. Without turning around, he said, “Where shall we go?”
“To Coed Ddu,” Angharad answered promptly. She was shocked. She had no idea that she was thinking that way. But since she had started, she determined to go on. “My sister, Eiodar, rules the commote where that forest stands. It’s a huge forest. I suspect that many will take refuge there.”
“It would be a good base,” Lludd mused, “from which to be a ‘thorn in their side.’ I find that I like that idea very much.”
“Lludd—”
“You are the PenAethenen of Ederynion. And I am Elen’s heir. For now I command, as long as Elen is a captive.”
The air of authority, so new to the boy, nonetheless sat easily on his shoulders. This was something altogether new to Angharad’s experience. She supposed that, since Olwen had discounted Lludd all these years, she had fallen into the same habit. It looked like that might have been a mistake, after all.
“We will do as Gwydion says,” Lludd went on. “We will meet Emrys’s men and take them with us.”