“Our son, if I am not mistaken that this child is to be a son, is going to have enough to live up to—or live down to—without being burdened by an inappropriate name.”
Rhiann eyed him. “How likely is it that you are wrong about the child being a boy?”
Cade looked down at the ground. Rhiann knew that stance. He looked down when he was struggling with himself—in this case because he didn’t want to appear arrogant, even though he would be lying if he said that there was a possibility he didn’t know for certain.
She made a huh sound at the back of her throat. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a son. While she knew that Cade would be pleased by a daughter—and would say so if asked—every man needed a son, especially a man who would soon be crowned High King of the Britons. Not even three months in the womb, and the child was already burdened with the kingship. “Then I suppose Cadfael won’t work. I would so like to name our son after my father.”
Cade glanced up, his face paling, but then he saw the smile twitching on Rhiann’s lips. “You had me worried for a moment.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to Cadwallon,” Rhiann said.
“It may come to that, though Cadwallon ap Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon is quite a mouthful to foist on a child.”
“I’m sure we’d manage. We’d call him Wally.” Rhiann grinned outright at how Cade’s face paled again. “Then again, he will be born at Christmas. We could call him—”
A knock came at the door, interrupting Rhiann’s next suggestion. It was probably just as well, because Cade wouldn’t have liked the name on her lips any more than he’d liked any of the others.
“Come in,” Cade said.
Taliesin pushed the door open wide enough to poke his head in the space between the frame and the door. At Cade’s impatient wave, he shoved the door open fully. The bard was wearing his ratty old cloak and traveling boots—and a pack on his back.
Rhiann frowned. “We aren’t leaving until tomorrow. Why are you already dressed for a journey now?”
“Because I’m going away,” Taliesin said. “Alone.”
Unhappiness rose in Rhiann’s chest. Catrin had just informed them that she couldn’t stay another hour at Dinas Bran, and now Taliesin looked to be telling them the same thing. Cade, however, seemed completely unsurprised by this news. “I will not try to stop you. May God show you the straight path.” He canted his head. “Or the gods, if you prefer.”
“I can guarantee you that my path will not be straight.” Taliesin released a puff of air. “Up until Caer Fawr, we were luckier than maybe we deserved or was warranted, but everything I’ve discovered since then has only made me more fearful of what we face.”
Cade nodded. “A moment ago, Catrin told me that she sensed power shifting within the mountain. Is that what is sending you away?”
“I was leaving already.” He looked directly at Cade. “You should too.”
“I had planned to leave for Caer Fawr tomorrow night,” Cade said.
“No. Now.”
That was unusually straightforward speaking for Taliesin. Cade looked at him for a heartbeat, but then he nodded, accepting his bluntness as urgency. “All right. We will.” He grimaced. “After I speak to whoever is coming to see me from Mercia.”
Rhiann rose to her feet and put her arms around Taliesin in a quick embrace. He didn’t respond, just stood where he was planted, unbending as a tree. “Thank you,” she released him, “for everything.” She hadn’t expected him to hug her back. It wasn’t his way, and she didn’t take offense.
“I will return, my dear.” Then Taliesin smiled—that joyful, child-like smile that made him look younger than she was, even though she knew he was very old inside. “I already promised your husband that I would.”
“I know that too,” Rhiann said. “I expect to see you again, but sometimes you get lost, and I didn’t want you to go without telling you how I felt.”
Taliesin had left them shortly after the battle at Caer Fawr and spent the intervening months searching for the Thirteen Treasures of Britain. Everywhere he went, he found other men ahead of him or just behind, but in every case, he’d found no sign of the remaining Treasures. On one hand, that could be construed as a comfort, but on the other, if the Treasures were being moved or hidden, then the one doing so was growing more powerful by the day.
Taliesin kept the smile on his face, though it became a little fixed at her frank expression of emotion. But then he bowed. She’d thrown in the comment about getting lost to let him know that he hadn’t deceived her with his assurances. He was worried—about them, about Wales, and about the darkness beneath their feet.
His arms folded across his chest, Cade had continued to study Taliesin throughout his exchange with Rhiann. “Cariad, will you excuse us?”
Rhiann nodded and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. Cade and Taliesin communicated on a level that left her out, but after everything she and Cade had been through, she’d learned to trust that he would tell her what he and Taliesin discussed when she needed to know.
She entered the great hall and pulled up short at the sight of the party of Mercians entering from the other direction through the front doors. They must have galloped up the mountain to have reached the castle already.
Striding ahead of his troop of ten men was Peada, the son of Penda, the King of Mercia. At her appearance, he stopped too, halting just past the central fireplace. The fire was burning brightly and drawing well, thanks to the blessing Taliesin had bestowed upon it—as well as the newly cleared vent in the right hand wall that brought air into the room and encouraged the smoke and ash to draw upwards towards the hole in the ceiling.
The glow of the flames lit Peada’s face. “I would speak to your lord.”
Rhiann found it difficult to even look at Peada. She was beyond angry at his father, who’d caused the deaths of so many Britons. The Mercians had been deceived by Mabon’s whisperings, as had many men over the years, but the battle at Caer Fawr had been only one of a long string of outrages against the Welsh committed by Peada’s people.
“Why?” she said, unwilling to even make the attempt to be polite.
Peada blinked. He hadn’t expected to be challenged.
Rhiann took in a breath, reining in her temper, and gestured towards several small tables arranged near the fire. “Please, sit. The time for the evening meal has not yet come, but I will arrange for food for you. My husband is in close conference with his advisors, and I will let him know that you are here.”
Peada’s expression cleared at her explanation, and he bowed. “Thank you, Madam.” Then he gestured to his men that they should fill in the benches on either side of the table.
Rhiann spun on her heel and marched back the way she’d come, heading towards the kitchen. She needed to let the cook know that a prince of Mercia and his men had entered the hall. It would be courteous, as Queen of Gwynedd, for her to serve him with her own hands, but she couldn’t stomach the thought.
Fortunately, just as she reached the doorway, Cade and Taliesin appeared, coming from the side corridor, and Rhiann hastened to intercept them before they entered the hall. “It’s Peada who has come!”
Cade put his arm around her waist and guided her around a corner, farther from the great hall. But when he spoke, his words were for Taliesin. “If you’re going to go, my friend, you should go now, quickly, before we get bogged down in whatever bad news Peada has brought.”
“If you need me to stay, my lord—”
“Of course I need you to stay,” Cade said, “but your task is urgent—more urgent than anything Peada could need from me. I don’t know what you can accomplish in the four days before my crowning, but if something is to be accomplished, it has to be now. There is nothing more important than that. If you really have pinpointed the force that has sent Mabon questing for the Treasures, we need to be the ones to get to them first.”
“That’s what you had to say to him?” Rhiann looked from Taliesin to Cade and back again. �
�You finally know who’s behind this game that isn’t a game?”
Taliesin looked directly at Rhiann, something he didn’t very often do. She thought it was because he was wary of seeing into the eyes of any mortal, since in so doing, he would see far more than the mortal intended, and it would be a violation of his or her privacy. She didn’t fear him knowing about her, however. She had secrets, as every woman did, but none were so terrible that she couldn’t share them with him.
“Throughout the centuries, many have sought to gather the Thirteen Treasures of Britain. Mortals and immortals alike reach for power, but this time is different. It might be hubris on my part, but I trust myself with them more than anyone else.”
“It isn’t hubris, Taliesin,” Rhiann said flatly. “None want, as you and Cade do, simply to protect them.”
Cade’s arm was still around her, and he squeezed her waist. “I’m glad you’re so sure, cariad, though I am not.” He gave a somewhat disparaging laugh—not directed at her but at himself. “I intend to use them as well. I would cut off my right hand before I’d give up Caledfwlch.” He put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “It is a treasure as much as any of the others. Of course, I intend to use it only for good, to heal and protect, but I have killed with it too. Who’s to say that my motives are purer than another man’s?”
“They are,” Rhiann said. “Your people attest to it.”
“So I tell myself. So Taliesin tells me.”
Taliesin pressed his lips together, thinking again before speaking. “I have never told you the full power of the Treasures, Rhiann, for the truth isn’t for all ears. But you will be queen, and you carry Cade’s heir, and perhaps it is time you knew the truth too.”
“Too?” Rhiann glanced at Cade, who was looking very grave. This moment was exactly what she’d told herself that she trusted Cade and Taliesin enough to wait for—the moment when they told her what she needed to know.
“If we do not find the Treasures, Cade will be able to unite Wales for a time. But then, like all kings, no matter how great, he will fail and his kingdom will fall. Death is a fate accorded to all men, of course, but your husband is special. He is the heir to Arthur, the successor the stars have foretold for over a century. Even more, Wales faces many challenges in the coming years. If we do not gather the Treasures now, while they are in play, they will disappear again.” With uncharacteristic ferocity, Taliesin clenched his right hand into a fist and pounded it into his left. “Hundreds of years from now Wales will suffer grievously—”
“At the hand of the Saxons?” Rhiann said, horrified to hear that all their sacrifices would come to nothing.
“By them, yes, but they will be in the service of a new invader, a powerful overlord whom the world does not yet know. If we have the Treasures, their power will still protect us. Even at the last end of need, they will remind our blood that we are Welsh, and through their power, we will always find the strength to rise again.”
Rhiann looked at him closely. She didn’t know that she’d ever seen such a determined look on his face. “You mean that, don’t you?”
Cade grimaced. “He has seen many things.”
“Defeat?” Rhiann said.
“Of course,” Taliesin said. “Defeat is always on the horizon. What I fear more, however, is the black hand that attempts to wipe our people from the earth: our language, our culture, our laws … there is no future where that hammer does not fall on us. But if we have the Treasures, he might take our lands from us, but he will never take our hearts.”
Rhiann’s face was pale, and she put her hand on her belly, fearing for her unborn child and what he would face.
“The next four days are critical because I sense my opponent’s power growing. He wants that future to come to pass, and he fears Cade and his crowning.”
“Why?” Rhiann said.
“Because the crowning of a High King becomes a locus of all the powers of the ancients.” Taliesin spoke as if it were obvious. “I despair to think that the old ways are so forgotten that men today think the purpose of naming a High King is to choose a battle leader.” He scoffed.
“Do you think this power will try to disrupt my crowning?” Cade said.
“I’m certain of it,” Taliesin said. “It is why I have not named him and won’t. Not until I’m sure it is really he.”
Cade let out a sharp breath. “You don’t comfort me.”
“Good, since I didn’t mean to.” Taliesin bobbed his head. “I’ve had a vision of what you are facing at Peada’s behest. I’m leaving because, in the vision, I was there instead of elsewhere, and the outcome was—” he paused, searching for the appropriate word, “—undesirable.”
Rhiann and Cade stared at him. It was strange to hear of their tumultuous future standing in a simple corridor.
“Goodbye for now, my lord. My lady.” Taliesin turned abruptly and strode away from them.
Rhiann tried not to gape at the words he’d left them with, and then caught between horror and disbelief, she looked up at Cade. “What did he mean about undesirable? And who is this powerful being he fears so much? Who has been driving Mabon all this time?”
“I don’t know. I think Taliesin desperately wants to be wrong, and he fears the power of the name. To speak it would draw our enemy to us.” Cade made a motion with one hand, not dismissing their conversation with Taliesin, but moving on from it. “Now … why is Peada here?”
“I don’t know what he wants. Taliesin didn’t tell you what future he saw regarding these Mercians either?”
Cade laughed. “Of course not. The man prides himself on being obscure, though he has been more frank with us today than he ever has. That alone should tell us how dangerous the path we walk is. Then again, seeing the future—or many possible futures—is a burden I wouldn’t want to carry. He left because the future he saw when he stayed was worse.”
Rhiann shook her head. “It was clear that going was hardly better.”
Cade reached for Rhiann’s hand and squeezed. “I don’t need Taliesin’s foresight to know what Peada wants. Uncle Penda wants my help. He has reconsidered what I told him on the battlefield at Caer Fawr—that I will not fight at his side—and decided that he cannot take no for an answer. It was only a matter of time before Oswin of Northumbria made another foray into Mercia. Penda defeated the first attempt, but that was due to luck more than skill.”
Rhiann canted her head. “I’ve heard you say that wise men make their own luck.”
“They do.” Cade’s arm came around her as he guided her towards the great hall. “But Peada is here because his father is wise not to think he can rely on luck a second time, and that his luck might have finally run out. I’m thinking that he wants a bit of mine.”
Chapter Three
Dyrnwyn, the flaming sword, lost for centuries beneath the earth.
A hamper that feeds a hundred, a knife to serve twenty-four,
A chariot to carry a man on the wind,
A halter to tame any horse.
The cauldron of the Giant to test the brave,
A whetstone for deadly sharpened swords,
An entertaining chess set,
A crock and a dish, each to fill one’s every wish,
A drinking horn that bestows immortality to those worthy of it,
And the mantle of Arthur.
His healing sword descends;
Our enemies flee our unseen and mighty champion.
―Taliesin,
The Thirteen Treasures of Britain,
The Black Book of Gwynedd
_________
Taliesin
Taliesin checked his pack one more time, taking note that it still contained the green cloak he’d worn to Cade and Rhiann’s wedding. The color matched his eyes, and while he might pay later for that bit of vanity, he didn’t leave it behind. Even a seer might need extra warmth on a cold night.
He slung the pack over his shoulder and allowed the side door of the keep to hit his back as it swung gentl
y closed behind him. He stood in the shadow of the wall, testing the currents in the air for the menace that Catrin had spoken of. Now that another had felt it, he knew he couldn’t dismiss it another moment, and his stomach clenched. Though he had been leaving already—he’d told Cade the truth about that—the evil was pushing him out the door, even when he feared what might result from his leaving.
Taliesin had seen desolation overtake the world if he didn’t renew this quest. But that didn’t mean that the immediate danger to Cade was any less significant. Everywhere Taliesin turned he saw carnage, death, and despair. Navigating through his visions along a path that brought the least danger and the best outcome was taxing him to the limits of his ability.
Still, he took in a breath as the sweet evening air wafted through the fort. No evil twisted on the currents. Neither was there a sign of any immediate threat—not even from the Mercian men and horses that filled the courtyard and hall. The kitchen workers would be run off their feet between now and when Cade’s company left for Caer Fawr later this evening. The last thing they needed was more mouths to feed, but Cade would deal with Peada as a king’s son deserved. That task was not beyond him or Rhiann. Of that, Taliesin was sure, even if he was certain of little else. Cade would be faced with equally dangerous allies for as long as he ruled Wales.
Despite the danger that lay ahead and the urgency that pressed on him, telling Taliesin to get on with it, his heart lifted. In his mind’s eye, he saw the road beckoning to him once again. He had spent most of the last three months since the battle at Caer Fawr chasing rumors of the Treasures. Back in March, he’d set out with high hopes, but as the weeks of travel had worn on, his failure had begun to weigh on him, to the point that he’d eventually retraced his steps and returned to Dinas Bran. The news that the Treasures had surfaced had spread far and wide, and many men dreamed of the power even one item could bring them. Fortunately, most only knew of the rumors, not of the reality, and more of Taliesin’s time had been spent putting rumor to rest than in actual searching.
The Pendragon's Challenge (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 7) Page 2