by Holly Taylor
Dudod! That is why they have taken the Master Smiths.
To make more of these things. Yes. But, Anieron, think of this. What good does it do them to have these collars unless they know whom to put them on? They need a way to determine who is of the Y Dawnus.
They would need—
A testing device. As many as they could find.
And that is why Ellywen left Arberth, why Iago left Dinmael.
Yes. And why Sabrina left Llwynarth a few days ago.
They are looking for the Bards. They need the testing devices.
Dudod, come back as quickly as you can. Cut off all communication with me unless you want your head to be blasted apart.
Anieron, don’t try it! You—
But it was too late. He cut off his brother, and, turning to Elstar and Elidyr, he ordered them to shield their minds, saying he would answer questions later. At the look in his eyes, they did not question him, but did as they were bid.
Anieron gathered every bit of his considerable mind-strength. The message must go, and go now. With a silent prayer to Taran of the Winds, he crafted the Mind-Shout, the Shout that was used so rarely that few could do it. Books and scrolls had written that it could not be done. But it could. And he would prove it. Now.
The Shout shot away from him clear and clean, riding the winds, making nothing of the hundreds of leagues between the Master Bard and his people. The four Bards, scattered throughout Kymru, heard the call as though Anieron were right beside them.
Esyllt, Talhearn, Susanna, Cian! Turn back now! The enemy comes!
Chapter 7
Kymru
Bedwen Mis, 499
Addiendydd, Tywyllu Wythnos
Coed Addien, Kingdom of Rheged
Tight-lipped and uncommunicative, Trystan trudged through the forest of Coed Addien. He had not wanted to come on the Plentyn Prawf, but Owein had insisted, and Trystan had obeyed.
His eyes were on Esyllt’s slim back as she walked ahead of him. Unwillingly, he remembered all those times he had run his hands down that elegant spine, had kissed that lovely, long neck and those delicate white shoulders, had—
He forced his thoughts away from those memories. He almost winced when he thought of how many years he had been Esyllt’s dupe. Eight years? Nine? How in the name of all the gods had she been able to fool him for that long? Stupid question, really. He knew the answer to that.
She had been able to fool him because he had wanted her to.
All those years, she had managed to keep him on a string, promising to divorce her husband. But she had never delivered on those promises. March had been captured at the last battle of Llwynarth and had not been seen since. If she was concerned over his fate, she concealed it well. In the past two years, no one had heard her so much as speak her husband’s name.
Why only now, after all this time, had he realized the truth about her?
Another question to which he knew the answer. For the last two years had been sheer torment to him, and Esyllt had not been willing, or perhaps had simply not been able, to comfort him. For the first time since he had known her, he had turned to her for help, for guidance out of his anguish. But she had not even tried to understand the nature of the wound that was slowly killing him—the wound he suffered because he had been the Captain of King Urien’s teulu, and his King had died. Yet Trystan had not.
Grimly he hung on to the memory that sustained him these last two years—the memory of Arderydd, the eagle, whom he had seen in the forest the day he had determined to take his own life. The contempt in the eagle’s eyes—for there was no mistaking that—had stopped his blade that day. And the memory of it had stopped him many days since.
It was midmorning, and overhead the sun was shining through the leaves of the trees, splashing on the cold ground. Three days from now, it would be Alban Awyr, the time when the Kymri honored Taran, the King of the Winds, the time to celebrate the coming of spring. The day was mild, with just a slight breeze playing through the tree branches. Just ahead, the forest ended, and the misty hills beckoned. Over the hills lay Sarn Halen, the great northsouth road that extended the entire length of Rheged. Once on the road, they would travel south, away from Llwynarth, which lay a few days north.
Esyllt halted, waiting for him before stepping from the forest. Her gown was plain brown wool, and she wore a rough linen smock beneath it. Her abundant light brown hair was twisted loosely around a white linen cloth, spilling down her back. Her beautiful blue eyes caught and held him.
“You do not look at all like a farmer’s wife,” he said gruffly. And that was true. Her skin was too white, her hands too smooth—even after living in the forest for two years. Esyllt was always very careful of her fine, white skin. “I told you to dirty your hands and face some.”
“I will,” she said absently, scanning the hills. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“Safe? Of course not. No Y Dawnus is safe these days.” Seeing her flinch, he almost regretted his harshness. Almost.
“I—” she began, then stopped abruptly as his hand shot out to cover her mouth. He grabbed her arm and hauled her behind the nearest tree. Speaking so quietly he barely made a sound, he whispered, “Movement in the trees, to the north. Stay here.”
He crept to the source of the sound. Someone was moving through the forest. Silently he had made his way, not one twig snapping beneath his feet to betray his presence. There it was again, a slight rustle to his left. Drawing his knife, he put the blade between his teeth, then leapt into the thicket.
His captive’s struggles were quickly subdued. But not before she had delivered a kick or two to a very important place. By the time she realized it was useless to fight anymore, he was furious. The pain had not been pleasant.
“What are you doing here?” he growled.
“Looking for Owein,” Sabrina gasped. “What do you think? Take me to him.”
“You are mad if you think I will take a Druid into his presence. How did you know to come here?”
“Enid, of course.”
He gripped her arms even tighter, drawing her face within inches of his own. She was dressed in a leather tunic and trousers of black. Her dark hair was braided tightly to her scalp, and her blue eyes were wide with urgency, but not fear. He said nothing, searching her face. Her wide mouth quirked under his close regard.
“It’s nice to see you again, too, Trystan. But perhaps we could continue this some other time,” she continued.
A rustle in the bushes heralded Esyllt’s arrival. “You!” Esyllt cried. “Kill her, Trystan, and let’s get out of here.”
Trystan spun around to Esyllt, not certain he had heard her right.
“She must have brought others with her, you fool,” Esyllt went on. “She—”
“I did not bring anyone with me,” Sabrina snapped.
“Then why did they let you leave the city?”
“They thought I was going to find you, of course. They sent me to find you. They are looking for you everywhere—they want a testing device very badly. Now take me to Owein. I have news of Enid that cannot wait.”
“She admits that she is in league with the Coranians, and you just stand there, Trystan! What is the matter with you? I told you to kill her.”
Well, there were a couple of things wrong with killing Sabrina. And none of them, surely, had to do with Sabrina’s blue eyes and raven hair, or his memories of the way she used to look at him. “That’s Owein’s decision,” he said curtly, releasing his hold on Sabrina’s arms.
“I can’t believe this,” Esyllt cried. “Here stands a Druid, one who would give anything to know where the Cerddorian hide, and you invite her to—”
“They do know where the Cerddorian are,” Sabrina cut in. “That’s part of what I have to tell Owein. There isn’t much time. Two days at the most.”
“She talked,” Trystan said, his throat tight.
“She couldn’t help it,” Sabrina replied. “She held out as long as she could.”
The blood drained from Sabrina’s face, and her blue eyes clouded. “I couldn’t stop it. There was nothing I could do.”
Gently he reached out and touched her shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.” Before Esyllt could erupt again, he turned to the Bard. “So much for the testing. For today, at least. We must—”
But now it was Esyllt’s face that paled, her hands flying to her forehead. She gave a low moan, and dropped to her knees. Shockingly, Trystan heard the echo of a Mind-Shout as it reverberated through the clearing.
Esyllt, Talhearn, Susanna, Cian! Turn back now! The enemy comes!
“You see?” Esyllt whispered. “I told you so. She betrays us.”
Sabrina swiftly moved to Esyllt’s side. Motioning for Trystan to take the Bard’s other arm, she said, “Hurry, I must see Owein. If you believe that I have betrayed you, then kill me now. If not, we must go.”
The three of them returned to Owein’s camp just before dark. They had been spotted long before they reached the camp, Trystan knew, and he was not surprised when they were met by Owein and his Lieutenant, Teleri, the moment they entered the clearing.
Esyllt, who had not spoken a word since that morning, sank down with a sigh onto the blanket that was spread before the fire.
“Sabrina ur Dadweir,” Owein said, taking her hand. “I regret that I cannot fully say you are welcome here.” Owein’s eyes cut to Trystan. “We heard an echo of the Shout this morning. Why, I don’t know.”
“Because there were Bards around,” Esyllt said wearily. “The Shout was so strong it reached every single Bard in Kymru, no doubt. And spilled over to anyone else in the vicinity. To any other Kymri, I should say. A Coranian would hear nothing.”
“I didn’t know it could be done,” Owein said in awe.
“Neither did I,” Esyllt replied. “Neither did most of us. The Master Bard is full of surprises.”
“King Owein, this cannot wait,” Sabrina said urgently. “I must tell you—”
“Yes, you certainly must. Sit down by the fire. And tell us what you know.”
“All that you know,” Esyllt said harshly.
Trystan saw Teleri smother a grin. He remembered that Teleri and Sabrina had been good friends. And that Esyllt and Sabrina had always disliked one another. Just what the cause of the antipathy was, he never had known.
Sabrina sat, gratefully sipping the cup of warm wine Trystan had fetched for her. He had not really meant to do that. It had just happened.
“Owein ap Urien, var Ellirri, true King of Rheged,” Sabrina began formally. “I bring you news of your sister.”
“Is she all right?” Owein asked anxiously.
“No. But she is alive. First, you and your Cerddorian must leave Coed Addien. She has told them where you are.”
“Don’t be a fool, Owein,” Esyllt said harshly. “You have no way of knowing this isn’t a trick. Maybe they are waiting for you to move. So they can take you.”
“I have thought of that, Esyllt, thank you,” Owein replied, not taking his eyes from Sabrina’s face. “There is more. Tell us.”
“She is to wed Morcant in four months’ time. With her as his wife, he will have a true claim to the rule of Rheged.”
“Four months,” Owein said softly. “Why wait four months?”
Sabrina swallowed hard. “He must wait to be sure she is not pregnant with another man’s child.”
“And whose child might she be carrying?”
“Bledri’s.”
“I see.”
“I’m not sure you do,” Sabrina said sharply. “She is a prisoner. She has been forced to name your location, forced to agree to marry Morcant.”
“I know my sister. You don’t need to tell me that.” Owein’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping on his cheek. His blue eyes were bleak, and enraged. “Morcant will pay for what he has done to her. And Bledri, too. Neither of them will escape me.”
For a time no one spoke. The Cerddorian who were gathered around the fire began to slip away, one by one. Silently they began to gather their belongings. At first light they would go.
“Tomorrow we begin our move to Coed Coch,” Owein continued, turning to Sabrina. “You shall join us. We owe thanks for your warning.”
“Fool!” Esyllt spat. “You trust her?”
“Queen Ellirri did,” Teleri said coldly.
“The Queen is dead!”
“And I am very much alive,” Owein said. “And intend to stay that way.”
Sycharth, Kingdom of Ederynion
The rolling hills that surrounded the city of Sycharth were faded and brown. In any other year, Angharad remembered, the hills would be green by now. Tiny tufts of clover, bright primroses, rich blue forget-me-nots would have dotted these hills. But spring was slow to come this year. It had been the same the year before.
The people said it was because Modron, the Great Mother, had turned against the Kymri because the Druids now worshiped the god of the Coranians. And Angharad, for one, did not doubt it.
Her sharp green eyes scanned the hills ceaselessly, looking for signs of movement, for the glint of sun on weapons. But so far it had been quiet. She glanced behind her for a moment, to see Talhearn taking the last child on his lap as he sat on a convenient log.
“You see, little one,” Talhearn said soothingly to the tiny girl, “this is called the testing device.” He held out a little silver box that had a small opening at one end. The top of the box was covered with jewels. At the center was a group of onyx stones, arranged in a figure-eight pattern around a bloodstone. Grouped around these stones were a pearl, a sapphire, an emerald, and an opal. At the far corners, other jewels nested—amethyst, topaz, ruby, and a diamond next to a garnet.
“Now, this is how we tell if you have a special gift,” Talhearn went on. “You put your finger in this opening here, and the jewels will glow. The amethyst and the topaz will light up for you because you are one of the Kymri. Maybe one of the other stones will light, too. If they do, it tells us that you have a special gift. And if they don’t, it won’t matter, for you are a child of Kymru, and that’s the most important thing of all.”
The child stared at the box, then looked up at her father, who stood next to Talhearn. The father nodded, and the child put her finger into the opening of the box.
Instantly the amethyst and the topaz began to glow. Then the pearl started to shine with a luminous radiance. A low humming sound began, and Angharad stiffened. Quickly, Talhearn pulled the child’s finger out of the box. For a moment they were all still. The child stared at the box, astonished. The father had tears in his eyes. And the other parents and children who had made the secret, dangerous journey smiled, then began to murmur in delight.
Talhearn stood up, and handed the child to her father. “She is Dewin. In two years, when she is old enough, we will return here on Alban Awyr and take her. She will be safe with us. She will be loved and treated well. She will be happy. We will take her to the place where the Ardewin waits to greet her, and teach her how to use her gift for the good of the Kymri.”
The father swallowed hard, then hugged his little girl. “Her mother died not long ago. Could you not take her now? I will give anything for her to be safe. Anything.”
Talhearn glanced at Angharad, and she shook her head. He knew as well as she that they could not care for the child on their long, dangerous journey throughout Ederynion. And he knew they could not take the time to deliver the girl to the Ardewin.
“I am sorry, boyo,” Talhearn said gently. “We cannot take her now. But here now, she will be safe enough. No one else knows her for Dewin but those of us gathered here. Surely you can trust them.”
The man nodded thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said with no uncertainty in his tone. “It’s just that—well—you understand.”
“I do,” Talhearn replied. “Believe me, I do.”
“Talhearn,” Angharad said over her shoulder, still scanning the road. “It’s
time to move on. We must be leagues away from here by nightfall. And these people must return to their homes. Now, listen, all of you. Those who have to return to Sycharth, do so in small groups. Go back into the city by different gates. Those of you whose farms lie elsewhere must also split up. Everyone understand?” She knew her tone was preemptory, but she couldn’t help that. Too many years of ordering her warriors about, she supposed, left her unable to modify her tone now.
“You see, good folk, what capable hands I am in? Oh, if only I was!” Talhearn’s languishing glance behind her back (she knew perfectly well what he was doing) made the people chuckle. But they were Kymri, and knew the importance of what they did. And so they did not linger, but seemed to melt away in groups of two or three, until even Angharad would have been hard-pressed to show that a group of thirty men, women, and children had recently stood in this spot.
“Come on, old man,” Angharad said, making for the road. “As my grandfather and a barely successful peddler, you should at least try to sell some of your wares today.”
“My dear,” Talhearn said smoothly, “I believe we had agreed you would be my daughter, not my granddaughter. Far be it from me to point out that you are too old—”
“Keep your opinions to yourself.”
“But you do look very fetching in a skirt. I don’t believe I have ever seen you wear one.”
Angharad scowled. The skirt irritated her almost past bearing. “I consider it useful,” she said sourly as they stepped onto Sarn Uelia, the north-south road that bisected Ederynion. “If anyone who knew me saw me like this, they would never recognize me.”
“Unless, of course, it was your Lieutenant, Emrys. He would recognize you no matter what. For love looks with the heart, not with the—”
“I told you to keep your opinions to yourself,” she snarled. “I have no time for them.”
“Or for Emrys.”
“No. Nor for Emrys, either. He wants too much, and so must have none.”
Talhearn stopped and studied Angharad. “You know, my dear, I believe you are right. It’s astonishing to find actual wisdom in one of your impetuous nature.”