Dreamer's Cycle Series

by Holly Taylor

  “He does not warn against it,” Cian replied. “But he reminds us that he still does not know what happened last week in the meeting at Eiodel. He urges caution.”

  “And what do you say to that?”

  Cian grinned. “I say, I love to travel.”

  “Very well. Achren, when he leaves, go with him. I want the best to guard him.”

  Achren nodded. She had expected this assignment, Gwen knew.

  “Anything else, Cian?” Rhoram asked.

  “I have received word from the Master Bard there is a tribute caravan coming our way,” the Bard said gleefully. “Goods from Gwarthaf bound for Erfin’s use in Arberth.”

  “I have sighted the caravan, my King,” Cadell said. “It will be within our provenance by tomorrow.”

  “How many warriors guarding it?” Rhoram asked.

  “Forty.”

  “Forty?” Rhoram raised his eyebrows. “How insulting. Only forty.”

  “Erfin always did underestimate you, Rhoram,” Achren replied. “It amazes me how slow he is to learn.”

  “Oh, come. Do you think Erfin is giving orders to the Coranians? It is the other way around,” Dafydd Penfro remarked.

  “A trap, then,” Achren offered, her black eyes gleaming. “For General Penda surely does know better.”

  “And just as surely he knows how dangerous this area is,” Hywel of Penfro put in.

  “And hopes to pinpoint our location,” Dafydd said smoothly.

  “So, what do we do?” Cadell asked. “Do we let it go by?”

  “We do,” Rhoram said firmly.

  “What? How can you—” Lluched began, always loathe to miss a fight.

  “And attack it three days after it has gone by,” Rhoram continued. Gwen caught Rhoram’s glance at Aidan. Aidan gave a brief nod. Now what, Gwen wondered, was that all about?

  “I will be happy to follow them,” Achren said, smiling. “Who goes with me?”

  “You do not go, Achren,” Rhoram said. Achren opened her mouth to argue, but Rhoram held up his hand and she subsided.

  “The band will be led by Geriant,” Rhoram continued.

  “Thank you, da,” Geriant replied, grinning. “Anything special?”

  “No, just the usual. Kill them all and bring back what you can comfortably carry.”

  “Yes, da.”

  “Hywel, you and Dafydd are to go, also.”

  Now that was a surprise. Not the choice of Hywel, but to send Dafydd. Dafydd was a counselor, not a warrior. But Dafydd himself seemed to understand and simply nodded.

  “That’s it?” Achren said in surprise. “What about Aidan?”

  “Aidan stays. Oh, and one more thing,” Rhoram went on, turning to Gwen. “You may go, also.”

  “Oh, da, can I really?”

  “Why not? Three days’ journey from here is about as far as you walk every day anyway.”

  Gwen flushed. “Da—” she began, then stopped, for she noticed that her father’s eyes were kind. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “When do we leave?” Geriant asked.

  “Now,” Rhoram answered crisply. “I want you far ahead of them. Two days from today, stop and wait for them. Once they pass this area unchallenged, they will think themselves safe.” Rhoram rose, signaling that the meeting was over. “Oh, and one other thing. I want you to leave without mentioning your destination or purpose. Hywel, just tell your warriors to be ready to leave within the hour. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

  “Why, da?” Gwen asked curiously.

  “For reasons of my own,” he replied shortly. “Geriant and Gwen, Dafydd will be happy to help you gather your weapons.”

  Dafydd nodded, his eyes serene. Gwen opened her mouth, then shut it quickly, seeing the look in her father’s eyes. Any questions she asked would not be welcomed. They filed out of the stone chamber in a puzzled silence. Gwen, who trailed last, was the only one who heard the words that passed between Rhoram and Aidan.

  “Tonight,” Rhoram said quietly. “Be ready.”

  ACHREN TOSSED RESTLESSLY on her pallet. It was no use. She absolutely could not sleep. Rising, she put on her tunic and trousers by the light of the fire in the brazier, now burned down to glowing embers, for it was very late.

  Shaking her long hair out of her face, she lifted the curtain to her sleeping chamber and stepped out into the cavern. It seemed that everyone else was able to sleep. Carefully, she picked her way around the sleeping pallets spread throughout the cave. She needed to walk, to think, so she made her way to the south exit, which led to the beach. Silently, she glided through the tunnels, thinking hard.

  Rhoram’s behavior this afternoon had been, to put it mildly, peculiar. Such an odd choice, to send Dafydd Penfro on a raiding party. And dinner tonight had been very strange, with so many undercurrents. When Efa had asked where Gwen and Geriant were, Rhoram hadn’t even bothered to answer her. He had pretended not to hear, and concentrated on talking with his daughter Sanon. And Sanon had not asked one single question about Geriant’s or Gwen’s whereabouts. Aidan had flirted with Lluched, as he always did, yet his eyes had flickered constantly to Efa. And Efa, her dark red hair elaborately braided, her slender arms hanging with bracelets, her rich gown of amber shimmering in the torchlight, scrutinized Aidan with her large, beautiful brown eyes as covertly as she could. Rhoram had not seemed to notice. And that was odd, for Rhoram noticed everything.

  As she neared the end of the last tunnel, she suddenly realized that something was wrong. The torches nearest the last exit were out, as they should be, for there must be no betraying lights to mark the exit. But just at the very end of the tunnel, she saw the glow of a torch, and heard the murmur of voices. Quietly she crept up to the last fissure. She recognized the voices instantly. Pure rage shot through her as she listened.

  “All is ready for me, then?” Efa asked, her rich voice low and seductive.

  “Ready, indeed, my Queen,” Aidan replied smoothly.

  “I do hope you picked good horses. I must be in Arberth within the week. And you have even farther to travel.”

  “Tegyr’s band is only two days away. It won’t take me long to persuade them to accompany me to Arberth.”

  “And then, cariad, we can be together. If, of course, you can truly tear yourself away from Lluched,” Efa said sharply.

  “As I explained to you before, Efa, Lluched is nothing to me. She is only a tool to further our schemes, and throw Rhoram off the scent.”

  “You play your part a little too well.”

  “Ah, Efa, there is no woman for me but you. Haven’t I told you that often enough?”

  “Told me, but never shown me.”

  “It is too dangerous here. You know that. But when we are together in Arberth, things will be different. You are sure that Rhoram suspects nothing?”

  “Nothing at all. He truly thinks I am going to Maen to buy things I can’t live without. And that you are going with me, to protect me.”

  So that was it. Achren had heard enough, and it shocked her to the core. Not that she was surprised Efa was running away to Arberth, deserting her husband and throwing in her lot with her traitorous brother. But that Aidan, her own Lieutenant, would be in league with her!

  Slowly she drew her dagger—for even when walking the caves she did not go unarmed. But before she could move, a hand shot out of the darkness, covering her mouth. An arm like a band of steel encircled her waist and pinned her arms to her sides. Before she could even begin to struggle, a voice she knew well whispered into her ear.

  “Do not make a sound,” Rhoram breathed.

  All at once, she relaxed and stopped struggling, as she began to understand.

  “What was that?” Efa asked shrilly.

  “Ssh,” Aidan said. “Keep your voice down. I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I swear, I heard something.”

  “Then go. Hurry.”

  As the footsteps receded down the tunnel and out the exit,
Rhoram slowly—a little too slowly, Achren thought, even in her distraction—released his grip on her. They stood in silence until they heard Aidan returning.

  “She is gone,” Aidan called out softly as he came toward them, a torch in his hand.

  “Well,” Rhoram said cheerfully, “at last! I thought she’d never leave.”

  “She’s going south, to Arberth! Is that why Dafydd Penfro went with them this afternoon? To be sure she isn’t stopped by Geriant and the rest?”

  “Of course,” Rhoram said. “Why else?”

  Aidan spotted the dagger she still held in her hand. His brows raised. “You were going to kill me, I take it.”

  “I still might! What is the matter with you two? How could you let her go?”

  “How not, Achren? Did you think I could kill her?” Rhoram asked quietly.

  “There are those who can,” Achren replied through gritted teeth, “if you are so squeamish. Don’t you realize what you’ve done? She’ll call the Coranians down on us.”

  “My dear Captain, we are moving first thing tomorrow. It will take her seven days to reach Arberth and give our location away. By then we will be long gone.”

  “Nonsense! She could very well stop on her way to Arberth and tell the next Coranian contingent that she sees.”

  “Fool,” Rhoram said with a smile. “She will not. She will tell only her brother, giving him the credit for capturing us. Of course, as far as she is concerned, I don’t have the slightest notion that she plans to betray us, so her absence will not alarm me. I gave my consent to her supposed trip to Maen, indulgent husband that I am. And my consent for Aidan to protect her.”

  “Then why,” Achren said acidly, “hasn’t Aidan gone with her?”

  “All appearances to the contrary, Aidan is even now traveling east in an attempt to locate Tegyr’s band. Aidan is quite sure that he can persuade Tegyr to fall in with his schemes to betray us.”

  Achren turned to Aidan. “And just where is Tegyr’s band?”

  “On their way to our new hiding place, of course,” Aidan said cheerfully.

  “Which is?”

  “Haford Bryn,” Rhoram replied. “And speaking of the new place, we’d better get moving. Come, Achren, and I will show you the plans for an orderly and secret dispersal.”

  “Why did you keep this from me?” Achren snarled. “Am I or am I not your Captain?”

  “You are the light of my life, dearest Achren,” Rhoram said with a grin, “but I did not like to test your ability for intrigue. Your solution to problems is usually to deposit a dagger into them. And,” his smile faded, “I could not have Efa killed.”

  “So instead of that, you make us all disperse? Rhoram, you are a fool!”

  “So you keep telling me. You are not the first woman to say so. And you will surely not be the last.”

  Llundydd, Tywyllu Wythnos—late afternoon

  GENERAL PENDA CLIMBED the stairs of the northwest watchtower in the city of Arberth, his brows knitted in thought. He did not return—indeed, he did not even notice—the salutes that his guards gave him. Reaching the top of the tower, he waved the guards down the stairs. He wanted to be alone to think about the messages he had received today.

  Instinctively, he gazed north to where the fugitive King Rhoram hid with his warriors—warriors who emerged from their hiding places long enough to ambush, to kill, to steal from the Coranians, then melted back into their holes.

  He turned west to see the sea rolling and glittering in the afternoon sun. If only he was taking to the sea himself. If only he was on his way home to Corania at last, on the way home to his father and son, leaving the land of Kymru far behind, then maybe he would be a happy man. If he could forget the things he had done here. But he doubted he ever would.

  His face, once so energetic and full of life, was stern and set. His dark blond hair whipped about in the wind off the sea. For a brief moment he closed his brown eyes, pretending he was on the deck of a ship, on his way home.

  He knew that it had been a mistake to come up to the tower, that it was always a mistake to stand still long enough to think. When he did that, he always found himself regretting the day he had first seen Havgan. How he regretted—oh, most bitterly of all—that he had ever given his blood oath in the brotherhood ritual. But he had. And his freedom to choose his own way was long gone.

  Enough of that, he told himself. He had serious matters to think about—such as the two messages he had received this morning. First came word that the caravan from Gwarthaf had been attacked four days ago. He had expected it. But the attack had come far from the place Penda believed Rhoram was hiding. They had known, somehow, that the caravan was bait. Rhoram’s people had waited until the caravan had left the hidden contingents of Coranian warriors far behind. For when the attack had not come, Penda’s Captains had called off the plan, thinking they would have to try again. So when the attack did come, the additional warriors were not there. The entire caravan had been stolen, and all his guards had died. Well, he would have to try something else next time, that was all.

  It was the second message, the one from Havgan, that had disturbed him even more. Penda had been ordered to arrest the Master Smith of Prydyn, Siwan ur Trephin, along with her family, and send them to the island of Caer Siddi under heavy guard under cover of night. He had not been told exactly why, only that the Archdruid had some kind of plan to neutralize the witches, and that the four Master Smiths of Kymru were to make some type of weapon. If they did not cooperate, their families would be slaughtered.

  That was merely puzzling. The second part of the message was the problem. He was to find, somehow, Cian ap Menw, King Rhoram’s Bard. The Bard would soon be traveling throughout Prydyn to test the children for witchery. Penda was to apprehend Cian and the testing device the Bard carried, without fail. The Druids would be happy to help in the search. The price for failure would be severe. Havgan, as always, left the details to Penda’s imagination.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. “You sent for me, General?” she asked, her voice cold and clipped, as always.

  Ellywen ur Saidi, the former Druid to King Rhoram, returned his gaze, her gray eyes cold as ice. Her brown hair was tightly braided and wrapped around the top of her head like a crown. Her brown Druid’s robe was trimmed with green, and her slender hands were hidden inside the sleeves of the robe. She would have been a beautiful woman had there been one iota of warmth in her, one hint of laughter. But there was not. Perhaps there never had been.

  “We have been given orders from Eiodel, Druid,” he said.

  “And they are?”

  “We must capture Rhoram’s Bard and the testing device he carries. Havgan seems to believe that Cian will be traveling soon to begin the testing, that the Bard will not consider the trip too hazardous and stay hidden.”

  “Cian will begin the Plentyn Prawf. He was always a fool.”

  “Where will he go?”

  “Everywhere.”

  Penda sighed. “I mean, where will he go first?”

  Ellywen thought for a moment. “Rhoram’s Cerddorian are somewhere in Aeron, we know. My guess is, Cian will bypass Maen and travel north.”

  “Then you must, also.”

  She nodded. “I will go upriver and be in Cil within the week. I will find him.”

  “You will take a guard of at least twenty.”

  “Very well.”

  “If you find him, take him directly to Eiodel. Havgan will be waiting.”

  “I shall. I—”

  Ellywen broke off, staring to the north. Startled, Penda followed her gaze. He saw a lone rider tearing across the vineyards, making for the north gate. The sun glinted off the diminutive rider’s red hair.

  “I can’t believe it,” Ellywen breathed.

  “What? Who is that?”

  “Queen Efa.”

  “Rhoram’s wife? Erfin’s sister?”

  “The same. By Modron—I mean, by Lytir—how could Rhoram have possibly let her go? What i
s he up to?”

  Penda shouted for the guards, sending some to alert Erfin of his sister’s arrival, sending others to escort Efa through the north gate and into Caer Tir. He had heard much of Queen Efa. He would be very interested to meet her at last, and find out exactly where she had come from.

  AS PENDA AND Ellywen reached the gate of Caer Tir, Erfin himself came hurrying out of the fortress, followed by Coranian guards. Under Penda’s orders, Erfin was not allowed to go anywhere without them.

  Erfin’s red hair flamed beneath the golden circlet the Coranians had given him to mark his kingship. He was dressed richly but gaudily in a tunic and trousers of dark green trimmed with orange and purple. Penda, though never fashionable himself, thought Erfin’s taste was excruciatingly bad. But, he reminded himself, that’s what you can expect when you take the dregs of humanity and make Kings out of them.

  Erfin’s shifty brown eyes were shining as he hurried through the gate. His face, still scarred by his battle with Rhoram two years ago, was gleeful. The Wolf of Prydyn, blazoned on the gate in emeralds, seemed to wink balefully at the upstart King.

  “Is it true?” Erfin asked breathlessly. “Is it really her?”

  “It is. I saw her myself, Erfin,” Ellywen said stiffly.

  “How many times,” Erfin said crossly, “do I have to tell you not to call me Erfin?”

  “It is your name, as I recall,” Ellywen replied caustically.

  “I am King here. You are to call me—”

  “Not now, Erfin,” Penda said tiredly. “Here she is.”

  Efa rode up on a fine, black horse, attended by several guards. She wore brown riding leathers and an undershirt of fine, white linen. The cuffs of her brown leather boots were turned down slightly to show a rich, golden lining. She wore several necklaces of gold and long, golden earrings with amber stones. Her hair was elaborately braided, fastened at the ends with golden clips. She must have stopped a few leagues from the city and freshened up, Penda thought. Nobody travels dressed like that.