Cry of Sorrow

by Holly Taylor

  Again, the people could not contain themselves, and they erupted into more cheers. Arthur flushed, but did not look down.

  “Now, each country has provided two hundred warriors for this diversion,” Gwydion went on. “The diversions will be led by the Captains and the Lieutenants of each country.”

  “What?” Prince Lludd protested. “I lead my warriors!”

  King Owein and Queen Morrigan vigorously agreed, but King Rhoram, wiser than they, held his silence.

  “The rulers of the four countries may not be a part of this battle,” Gwydion said sternly. “For they have a different task. They must witness the making of the High King. This is the law.”

  “But I am not a ruler,” Prince Lludd protested. “My sister rules Ederynion. I lead our people only against the day when Elen herself is freed.”

  “Prince Lludd,” Arthur said quietly, “there is no one here who thinks that you seek to take your sister’s place as ruler of your country. But her place you must take, nonetheless, in this matter.”

  For a moment Lludd did not speak. The two young men stared at each other, Lludd with defiance and Arthur with authority. Finally, Lludd nodded, and spoke. “It will be as you wish, High King. I am yours to command.” The Prince bowed to Arthur and stepped back.

  After a moment, Gwydion continued. “It is also the law that the Ardewin, the Master Bard, the Dreamer, and the Archdruid witness this event. Elstar, Elidyr, and I stand ready. But Cathbad, the Archdruid, will be unable to attend.” There was some laughter at this, though Sinend lowered her gaze in shame.

  Dinaswyn, Sinend’s grandmother, went to the girl and put her arm around her shoulders, for the traitorous actions of Aergol, Sinend’s father and Dinaswyn’s son, shamed them both.

  “Sinend ur Aergol var Eurgain,” Gwydion said gently, as the girl lifted her startled eyes to the Dreamer. “Will you honor the ceremony as the heir of the Archdruid’s heir?”

  Sinend blushed, and tears filmed her fine, gray eyes. But she held her head proudly, for, perhaps, the first time, and answered clearly. “I will.”

  “In one week’s time, on Calan Gaef, the ceremony where we honor Annwyn, Lord of Chaos, and his mate, Aertan, Weaver of Fate, we will enter Cadair Idris.

  “Four days from now, our warriors will move out of Coed Aderyn in small groups, moving at night, hiding during the day. It will take them three days to be ready and in position at the crossroads of Sarn Ermyn and Sarn Achmaen, south of Cadair Idris. At the same time, those who are to go to Cadair Idris will also leave Coed Aderyn, using the network of caves we have discovered. We will then wait, well hidden, less than a league away, for the challenge to be delivered. The day before Calan Gaef, Rhiannon and I will Wind-Ride to Havgan and deliver our challenge. Be assured that he will meet our warriors at those crossroads on Calan Gaef. Captains, remember,” Gwydion said sternly, looking at Trystan, Achren, Angharad, and Cai, “that this is a diversion only. Your purpose is to draw off the Coranians, allowing the rest of us to get into Cadair Idris. Your purpose is not to attempt to defeat the Golden Man and his warriors. We do not seek to sacrifice the lives of the Kymri. Later, you will lead and fight battles for that purpose. Is that understood?”

  “If we meet the Golden Man,” Achren said, her dark eyes sparkling, “do we have to be nice to him?” The others laughed.

  “You may damage him slightly, Achren ur Canhustyr, if you must,” Arthur said fiercely. “But he is mine, understood?”

  “It is understood, High King,” Achren replied gravely.

  “Now,” Gwydion went on. “I must—”

  “You must welcome your late-coming guests!” a new voice called out.

  As one, those gathered there turned to the entrance. Dudod stood there, travel-stained and weary. Yet his tone was jaunty as he continued. “Welcome two more wanderers, ready to take part in this bid for freedom! For we have news!”

  “And who is ‘we,’ Dudod?” Gwydion inquired, gesturing to the man who stood next to the Bard. The man’s hood was up and his features unidentifiable.

  “Welcome,” Dudod went on, “to Rhodri ap Erddufyl, one-time King of Gwynedd!”

  The silence was complete as Rhodri removed the hood of his cloak. The old man stood quietly, his keen blue eyes surveying those gathered there. King Rhoram walked slowly up to him. “Uncle?” Rhoram asked hesitantly.

  “It is truly I, Rhoram,” Rhodri said gravely.

  “Uncle,” Rhoram repeated, then threw his arms around Rhodri. “You are most welcome here.”

  King Owein, too, walked up to the old man, followed by his brother, Rhiwallon. “Granda?” Owein whispered.

  “I saw you last when you were just a tiny lad,” Rhodri said softly. “You have the eyes of your mother.”

  “My mam loved you,” Owein said slowly. “She said that you loved us all, even though you went away.”

  “I was grieved to hear of Ellirri’s death,” Rhodri said softly. “And of your father’s. He was good to her.”

  “They loved each other very much. Elphin, my oldest brother, died, too.”

  “Those are deaths that will be avenged, Owein. We will see to it, you and I and Rhiwallon.”

  “Rhodri has news for us,” Dudod said to the company. “News that, I am sure, will be welcome.” Dudod nodded at Rhodri.

  “I know where the Smiths are being held,” Rhodri said mildly.

  “What?” Arthur leapt in front of the old man. “Where are they?” he demanded.

  “In Caer Siddi, the island off the coast of Prydyn.”

  “I vow to rescue them,” Arthur said. “It shall be the second thing I do.”

  “And what is the first thing?” Rhodri asked.

  “The first thing is to kill Sledda, the Arch-wyrce-jaga. For he killed Anieron, Master Bard, and I have sworn to see him pay for that.”

  “I felt it when Anieron died,” Rhodri said. “As did all of Kymru. And I heard his song. Together, we will make this a new day of freedom, as Anieron wished.”

  “We shall,” Arthur agreed.

  “Then,” Gwydion said, lifting his hands to the company, “we are ready. Our tasks are before us. From here we will go to Cadair Idris, and take back that which was once ours. For this task, we ask for the blessing.

  “The peace of lights,

  The peace of joys, The peace of souls,

  Be with you.”

  “And with you,” the crowd sang out.

  “Owein!”

  Owein knew, as he knew nothing else so surely, whose voice it was that called him. Heart pounding, he stopped and turned on his way back up the passage from the cavern. He had been, he thought, the last to leave. She must have been hiding in the shadows, and he had passed her by.

  Owein found himself thinking of the song by Gwyn ap Nudd, the Fourth Ardewin of Kymru, father of the last High King,

  My golden girl, with the brow like the lily,

  Under your web of golden hair,

  I have loved you.

  Is there any help for me?

  Is there any help for me? he thought again. But, no, how could there be? For she did not love him. She, who was to have been the wife of his older brother. She, whom he had loved from the very first moment he saw her. She, who had never loved him.

  “Princess Sanon,” he said, somewhat stiffly, for he did not know what to say.

  Sanon ur Rhoram, Princess of Prydyn, gazed up at him with her dark eyes. Her golden hair flowed down over her shoulders to her slender waist, held back from her face by a black band sparkling with emeralds.

  “Owein, I—” she began. But she could not seem to finish.

  Fool! Owein thought. She stands before me and I can say nothing! If she turned away now, he would have only himself to blame. Whatever she wanted to say to him, and he did not think he could bear to hear it, she was his love, and he must help her.

  “Sanon,” he said softly. “I … I am glad to see you. Are you well?”

  Her pale face took on a rosy hue as she lower
ed her gaze. “Yes. Yes, I am well. And you? How do you and your people fare in Coed Coch?”

  “We do the best we can, Sanon. We waylay caravans; we steal our own food back from the enemy. We take back our gold and silver. We harry them, and we kill them when we can. But it is not enough.”

  “Da says the same. But, today! Oh, Owein, today we have seen the Treasures! We have seen the High King. The one to lead us back to freedom.”

  So, that was it. Arthur ap Uthyr. He who had lost Sanon first to his own brother, then to his brother’s memory, would now lose her to the High King. “Arthur will surely lead us back into freedom, Sanon,” he said stiffly. “But if you are looking for an introduction to him, you must look elsewhere. I do not know him any more than you do.”

  “An introduction?” Sanon asked, puzzled. But then she understood. Her eyes flashed. “Owein ap Urien,” she said sternly, “you are a fool!”

  “As I was just telling myself, Princess. Now, will you excuse me?” He turned and began to walk away, but was brought up short by her hand on his sleeve. She flung him around to face her. Her eyes were blazing.

  But then her gaze softened, and she said quietly, “Owein, I have called you a fool, and that was wrong. I am the fool.”

  “You? Do not dare to call yourself that,” he said fiercely. “Never.”

  “But I was. Ever since Elphin died, I have lived a half life, gnawing the bones of what might have been and never even seeing what could be. And now, I do see. Perhaps I see too late. If so, that is my punishment, and a fitting one. But, Owein, I must know. Once you offered me your hand in marriage and I scorned it, fool that I was. And yet, if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, perhaps we might begin again.”

  “Might begin again,” he said slowly, gazing into her eyes, trying to read and believe what he saw there. “My golden girl,” he said softly, “is there any hope for me?”

  And though she did not answer in words, Owein was satisfied.

  TRYSTAN STOOD AT the entrance to the cave where Rhiannon and her daughter had spent so many years. Many of the others were still gathered there, reluctant to retreat back into the forest for the night. Queen Morrigan stood next to her brother, Arthur. Their mother, Ygraine, stood to one side, smiling at her children as Morrigan chattered happily to her brother.

  Prince Lludd and his party were just leaving for the night, and the Prince stopped in front of Arthur and bowed. Morrigan smiled at the Prince, and Lludd, visibly shaken by the charm in that smile, retreated with his people beneath the waterfall and out into the forest. Prince Rhiwallon and his people followed, but there was no sign of Owein.

  King Rhoram and Prince Geriant seemed to have taken charge of Rhodri, and were doubtless catching up on the news. Myrrdin was talking quietly to Elstar and Elidyr, and their sons, Llewelyn and Cynfar, had the full attention of Cariadas and Gwen.

  Gwydion sat apart on the hearth in silence. But he was watching Rhiannon as she spoke quietly with Dudod. His gray gaze never left her, but his face was stern.

  And then Trystan saw her, talking quietly to Sinend, for the two Druids still felt awkward in the company of the others. Sabrina’s dark hair fell to her shoulders, and her startling blue eyes were kind as she listened to Sinend. He made a move to join them, when he felt a hand on his sleeve.

  “My husband, as you know, Trystan, is not here. He is too unwell to travel,” Esyllt the Bard said softly. He turned to look at her. Her luxurious brown hair glowed. And her beautiful blue eyes promised him a night of what she would no doubt call love.

  But he knew better. At last, he knew better.

  “You should have stayed with your husband, Esyllt,” he said wearily. “I brought him out of Caer Erias so that he might be with you again. He loves you. He needs you.”

  “As you do not?” she challenged with a slow smile.

  Trystan turned his head slightly, and saw that Sabrina was looking at him. She glanced at Esyllt, then looked away, but not before he had seen the shadow in her eyes.

  “No, Esyllt. As I have been telling you for some time, no. I do not.”

  “So you have said, Trystan, but your eyes follow me just the same.”

  “You are mistaken, Esyllt. But that is like you. For you never took any thought beyond what you wanted. Years I spent, waiting, hoping, begging, that you might divorce March and be with me. But you never did. You promised you would, and on every Calan Llachar, I waited and hoped. But each time, you did not. You wanted me as your lover, and I was. But you never wanted me as your husband. And what I once felt for you is gone.”

  “Gone,” she repeated. “Gone? Ah, no, Trystan, do not say that.”

  “It is true. Did you think you could toy with me forever?”

  “I never toyed with you! I was confused. But now I know you are the man I want. Calan Llachar is six months away. And I swear to you, on that day, I will divorce March. I swear it!”

  “Don’t, Esyllt. Because I am done with you. Done.”

  He walked away from her without even glancing back. He went to Sabrina and stood close to her. He smiled at her, and took her hand and kissed it. And thoughts of Esyllt did not even cross his mind as he looked into Sabrina’s blue eyes.

  GWYDION SAT BY himself on the hearth. He spoke to no one, for he did not trust himself to speak. Today he had taken one of the last steps in his task. Within the week they would be in Cadair Idris, and Arthur would undergo the Tynged Mawr. Surely the boy would survive the test. And he would be High King. And Gwydion’s task would be finished.

  Oh, he would continue to use every weapon in his command to fight the enemy and help drive them from the land. But the leadership of the Kymri would belong to Arthur. Was this not true even now? And his task, given him long ago by the gods, would be complete. And then, oh, then! Then Gwydion could follow his heart. He would lay down his burdens and tell Rhiannon ur Hefeydd that he loved her.

  But would he? Perhaps it would be too late by then. Perhaps it was already too late. Would she ever understand why he had forced the wall between them? Would she ever understand that his coldness had not been capricious, but rather devotion to his duty? Would she understand that, even when he had been his most cold, his most vile, he had done so only because his burdens could not be cast away?

  Now, after all this time, would Rhiannon find the knowledge of his love a burden? Something she would far rather never have known? Perhaps best, then, to say nothing at all, even when Kymru was free. Lost in these musings, he did not realize that someone had come to sit beside him on the hearth until the man spoke.

  “Gwydion ap Awst,” the man said, “are you perhaps lost in a dream?”

  “A dream that may never come true,” Gwydion said, before he even thought. “One that, perhaps, should never come true.”

  And then he realized whom he was talking to, Rhodri, the onetime King of Gwynedd. Rhodri had been married to Queen Rathtyen and had hated the man whom the Queen had truly loved—Gwydion’s father, Awst. The Queen had starved herself to death after hearing of Awst’s death, and Rhodri had left Gwynedd and hidden himself away so many years ago. Gwydion turned to look at Rhodri. The blue eyes reminded Gwydion of Ellirri.

  “I loved your daughter, Rhodri,” Gwydion said quietly. “She was kind to me.”

  “And my son?”

  “You know what Madoc has done.”

  “I do. It is one of the reasons I have returned to the land of the living. Who but his father could show Madoc the error of his ways?”

  “He was Uthyr’s death.”

  “A fact for which I am sorrier than I can say. Sorrier, perhaps, than you might ever believe. Which brings me to what I have to say to you. I hated your father, for it seemed to me that he had taken from me the woman I loved. But I know now that he took nothing from me. Rathtyen loved me. And then the enemy came. And my daughter died beneath their axes. And my son became a traitor. And the Smiths were brought to Caer Siddi and forced to make enaid-dals. And I knew I could no longer hide myself. An
d so I have returned. And I offer to you the Dreamer, and to Uthyr’s son all that is left of me. Saving only one task that I alone must complete.”

  “And that task is?”

  “To kill my son.”

  The stark determination in the old man’s voice startled Gwydion. “You would really kill him?” he asked.

  “Ah, Gwydion, I am not surprised that you do not believe me. Did you think that my hatred of your father would cause me to embrace the enemy? Only now, at the end of my life, do I see what my selfishness has led to. If I had not run away to nurture my wounds, perhaps I could have taught my son better. I have much to make up for, and not much time to do it.”

  “Rhodri—”

  “I understand I have a granddaughter in Gwynedd,” Rhodri broke in. “Queen Morrigan tells me that Tangwen is ashamed of her father. That she helps the Cerddorian as much as she is able.”

  “She does. A brave girl.”

  “Who needs her granda. I will see to her. And now, Gwydion, I must leave you. I go with Rhoram and Geriant to the forest to camp for the night. I have one thing left to say to you.”

  Rhodri stood and looked down at Gwydion. The blue eyes that Gwydion had always thought so cold were warm now. “The walls you have built, Gwydion, must come down. I have suffered from their building by my own hand. Do not let that happen to you. Tear them down. The gods do not mean for us to be cruel. Not for any price. This is what I have learned. Do not learn it too late, as I did.”

  Meirwdydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early evening

  HAVGAN DRANK DEEPLY of his wine. He had worked hard today—listening to the latest reports from his men, visiting the Doors of Cadair Idris, participating in war games with his soldiers, and making love to Arianrod all afternoon. Ah, he had earned his thirst. And, in truth, the thirstiest work had been his lovemaking.

  Of course, his wife had not been pleased. Not so much with his constant bedding of Arianrod, but with the deference he gave the Kymric woman in public. But what was Aelfwyn to him? What had she ever been? Merely a stepping-stone to power. Steorra Heofan, they called Aelfwyn, Star of Heaven, for her beauty. But her beauty was cold and distant. And she had never relished his bed.