Perhaps it was hubris for Taliesin, who could occasionally straddle the divide between the world of the sidhe and this one, to set himself this task, but his travels these last months had shown him that the Treasures were in motion. While Cade would become High King with or without the remaining items, the honor would be a hollow one if the Treasures were still in play.
For they wanted to be together, and to gather them under Cade’s dragon banner was worth any cost. Even Taliesin’s life. With only four days left until Cade’s crowning, it was looking more and more like such sacrifice might be necessary.
That was one future Taliesin saw. There were others.
The possible avenues of what might be came to him in a mass of impression, though he could make out individual scenes too. In one thread, he saw Cade putting his sword through Penda’s belly. In another, he saw Goronwy sweeping Catrin into his arms—and the possibility made Taliesin smile. At one time Catrin had fancied him, but Taliesin knew that his path diverged from hers. A dozen other possible futures, all equally likely and unlikely, spread out before him. He’d spoken to Cade and Rhiann of the worst future, but there were many others in which the enemies of the Welsh rolled over Wales like a cart downhill. What faced his people was bad enough even if Cade did succeed in uniting the Treasures. Without them, it would catastrophic.
Initially, Cade had gathered the Treasures to him in order to prevent the child-god, Mabon, from gaining complete power in the world of the sidhe. The fact that Cade had succeeded in stopping Mabon didn’t mean the threat was over, however. Mabon still sought power, but Taliesin had seen no sign of him these last months. In fact, he hadn’t seen any sign of any sidhe, benevolent, malicious, or otherwise. Even the woods had been devoid of demons. Cade’s war band had killed many monsters in the months before Caer Fawr, but still, their absence was almost more worrying than their presence.
In the lines of the future that continued from this moment, Taliesin saw mostly loss and failure. What made him put one foot in front of the other, however, were those few instances of joy, of laughter, and of genuine happiness. He held onto those visions. It mattered not that they were few and far between. As long as there was hope, he would keep fighting. It went without saying that Cade and his companions felt the same.
Out of thirteen Treasures, they currently had knowledge or possession of seven. Perhaps the most powerful lay beneath Dinas Bran. This was the Cup of Christ, known to the druids as a drinking horn. At one time Taliesin had refused to acknowledge that the horn and the Cup were one and the same, though he saw that truth plainly now. Because of its location, to Taliesin’s mind, it belonged to Cade, and both men were content that it should remain hidden forever. The Christian god—Cade’s god—had combined with Taliesin’s own efforts to hold back the darkness beneath Dinas Bran. He’d meditated long on this fact but had come to no satisfactory conclusion as to the how or why of what had happened in the cavern. His only recourse had been to accept, for now, what was.
Cade also possessed the mantle, which allowed him to walk unharmed under the sun, though it also made him invisible to the mortal eye; Caledfwlch, his healing sword taken from Castle Ddu; Dyrnwyn, the flaming sword Arawn himself had once borne; the knife; the whetstone; and a single chess piece with which Mabon had teased Rhiann. The last of the seven, the cauldron, resided in the caverns beneath Caer Dathyl in the possession of Cade’s cousin, Gwyn. As Gwyn himself had said, he was bound to the cauldron and it to him, and his allegiance was to Cade. Like the cup, Taliesin believed it safe from all comers.
That left six remaining to find: the hamper, the crock, the dish, the halter, the chariot, and the chess set, the gathering of which might be a Herculean task all by itself. Taliesin mocked himself at the thought. He’d lived lifetimes of men, but it seemed that all would rise or fall on this one.
As he’d warned Cade and Rhiann, someone was gathering power to himself. Taliesin hadn’t given Cade the name because names had power—and in this case, naming the god Efnysien would do more than call down his wrath—it would strike fear into the heart of every soul who heard it. Efnysien’s long list of atrocities made the activities of Mabon look positively benign.
“You’re leaving too?” Catrin stepped from behind a post near Dinas Bran’s wicket gate. Peada’s men had moved on, away from the gatehouse towards the stable and barracks, so she and Taliesin were alone.
“I am.”
“I’m coming with you,” Catrin said.
“My dear, you are not—”
“Why would you stop me? You’ve had so much luck all alone that you think repeating the same mistake will bring a different outcome, even at this late hour?”
It was a cool day for June, and Catrin was dressed appropriately for a journey, with a cloak and pack of her own. Her soot-black hair, lithe body, and gray eyes seemed to penetrate to Taliesin’s core at times. He didn’t know that he could have said that of any other person, man or woman—not even Cade, who shared Taliesin’s connection with the world of the sidhe.
“I like talking to myself,” Taliesin said, latching upon the one item in her list she couldn’t counter.
“And you sleep with one eye open?” Catrin said.
“I’m not defenseless just because I don’t bear a sword.”
“I would never suggest—”
But another voice cut her off before she could finish. “One woman, no matter how courageous, will not be enough to protect you, Taliesin.” Goronwy stepped out of the shadows where he’d been standing by the gatehouse. “I’m coming too.”
Goronwy, a warrior-prince in his own right and Cade’s right-hand man, was dressed as usual in mail and cloak, girded with a sword and bristling with who-knew-how-many other weapons. At a minimum, he had a knife up each bracer and down both boots. His fair hair shone in the light of the torches in the courtyard, newly lit with the waning of the day. Although he wasn’t as tall as either Dafydd or Taliesin, Goronwy loomed over Catrin. The only unusual addition to his appearance was the pack slung on his back.
“My friends—” Taliesin looked from Catrin to Goronwy, barely controlling his expression of dismay. He had thought that the work that he and Cade had done beneath the earth had restored his sight, but he hadn’t had any inkling before this moment that these two would waylay him at the very start of his journey. In fact, in all of his visions of his future, he had never seen them at his side. He’d prepared himself for a solitary journey, whether or not that was what he’d wanted. “In the past, your company has not been unwelcome, but where I’m going now, you cannot protect me.”
“I have never held Dyrnwyn,” Goronwy said, “but that does not mean I am not worthy to travel with you. There are few things that frighten me, and no place that I will not follow you.”
Taliesin felt uncomfortably besieged. He understood people’s minds without conscious thought, but he’d never been very good at talking to them. “You—” He hesitated without finishing the thought. Goronwy wasn’t wrong in the sense that, of all of Cade’s companions, his lineage was the most ancient, since it adjoined with Cade’s own, and his latent abilities as a seer would stand him well in the Otherworld, which was of course where Taliesin was going.
“If you won’t let us come with you,” Catrin said. “We will trail behind and protect you anyway.”
“It won’t be that easy to keep up with me,” Taliesin said.
“That does not mean, however, that we wouldn’t try,” Goronwy said, “and if you lost us, you’d worry about us. Much better to consent to let us tag along.”
Were they right? Were the sidhe playing him for a fool again? Taliesin gazed at his two friends. As they looked back at him, he pulled apart their personalities, their wants, and their desires. He had believed that he could see right through them, and yet, they had surprised him.
“You do realize that we’re going to walk?” Taliesin said.
Goronwy let out a snort of disbelief. “Why would you do that?”
“Walking is slow, but it conne
cts me to the earth. My mistake before was in thinking that I needed to hurry, and I allowed myself to become distracted. If I am to find the Treasures, I must feel them the only way I know how.”
Catrin and Goronwy shared a brief glance, and then Goronwy shrugged. “So be it. He stuck out one foot. “I’ve had these boots for a while. They’re worn and perfect for walking. Though,” he added, “if you had a mind to ride, I wouldn’t object.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for horses,” Taliesin said. “The Treasures straddle the human world and that of the sidhe, and it is in the world of the sidhe that I have not yet looked.”
Goronwy’s chin firmed. “If you cross into the Otherworld, it is of no matter. I will follow you anywhere you lead.”
Taliesin looked at Catrin. “And you?”
“I know I can be of some use to you,” she said. “I have gifts that might aid you, even if they are weaker than your own.”
“Different,” Taliesin said, though he wasn’t sure what made him clarify. “Just different from my own.”
Catrin bowed her head in acknowledgement and then reached for the latch on the wicket gate that allowed travelers to pass in and out of Dinas Bran without opening the big double doors underneath the gatehouse.
“Just as long as you don’t disturb my thoughts,” Taliesin said.
“When have I ever?” Catrin said.
Without actually giving his assent, Taliesin passed through the wicket gate and stepped onto the path that wound down from Dinas Bran. The village of Llangollen lay at its base. Goronwy was right, of course, that riding would be faster. It would take them an hour to reach the valley floor, rather than a quarter of that time by horseback. But Taliesin knew that he was right too. He needed the hum of the earth beneath his feet as he walked.
As a child he’d gone without shoes as part of his training. His adult form was heavier, however, and though Taliesin was loath to admit it, the soles of his feet had softened since last summer. He promised himself that when he completed this task, if he ever completed it, he would find a cottage in the mountains and run barefoot every day.
Taliesin eyed Catrin. She might be a barefoot person too. In fact, at that very moment, a vision came to him of her dancing in a meadow, arms wide, with mountain flowers beneath her feet and her dress spinning out around her. He allowed the vision to draw him in for just a moment before suppressing it. He knew without question that it was a true seeing and one of the moments of joy that pulled him forward. Then he looked past Catrin to Goronwy, who was bringing up the rear, trying to imagine him barefoot. It was impossible, and Taliesin had a moment of amusement to think that if anyone could transform Goronwy it was Catrin.
The trio stumped along down the road. At first they encountered a dozen common folk returning to the castle after working in the fields or pastures for the day, but by the time they were halfway down the mountain, it was nearing full dark, and they passed no other soul. Taliesin muttered the incantation that lit the end of his staff, putting enough into it so all three of them could clearly see the path ahead.
Mostly they walked in silence, except for occasional mutters from Goronwy—complaints of one kind or another, jokes for Catrin’s amusement, or comments on the day. Such was his way. Throughout every journey Taliesin had experienced with Goronwy, he and Bedwyr, who more often than not was Goronwy’s foil, had maintained a near constant stream of humor and goodwill, belying their outward gruffness.
It didn’t take long, however, for Goronwy to need a response from someone other than himself. “How, by the way, are we going to reach the Otherworld?”
“That wasn’t a question you thought to ask before you decided to come along?” Taliesin said.
Grumble, grumble. “I’m asking it now—”
But Goronwy was unable to finish his sentence because the earth shifted beneath their feet. Between one heartbeat and the next, instead of standing on the beaten dirt of the path, Taliesin found himself in a bowl-shaped cavern. Before him rose a light that blinded him at the same time that it pierced him to his core. Out of the light stepped the raven-haired goddess, Arianrhod. Her brother Gwydion, Taliesin’s patron, stood beside her. They were siblings—and looked it—with black hair and blue eyes, but to describe them thus was to do them a disservice. For their hair and eyes—and entire beings—were indescribable in their beauty. Taliesin’s mind, once given the task, shied away from it.
He bowed. “My lady. My lord.”
“Taliesin,” Gwydion said.
Arianrhod held out a hand to the bard. Tentatively, Taliesin stepped forward, not daring to think that she wanted him to actually touch her. She didn’t drop her hand, however, and continued to regard him steadily, so he touched the tips of his fingers to hers. A shock passed through him, and his body vibrated from head to toe.
Arianrhod nodded and dropped her hand.
Taliesin bowed again, shivering though the evening air wasn’t cold. “Is it possible that I may serve you?”
“You may,” Arianrhod said.
Dread surged through him. Taliesin had said the words out of obedience, allegiance, and awe of the moment, hoping against hope that she would not take him up on his offer. What could a sidhe ask of a human, even one as old as Taliesin? Then, from within the light, another figure formed and stepped out from behind Arianrhod and Gwydion. Like his mother, he had transformed himself into the human conception of beauty, with the same black hair and blue eyes that marked him as a Celt, though he was no Celt. He was the god, Mabon.
Taliesin’s jaw clenched. One could hardly speak of a god as having character—certainly Mabon was without a soul—but the absence of both in Mabon was a pronounced and dangerous weakness. Cade despised him, and Mabon knew of this disdain—and knew too that Cade’s companions shared his opinion. If Taliesin had allowed himself an opinion, he would have felt the same. As it was, he was a bard and a gweledydd, a seer, and such opinions were not a luxury he could afford. Still, few greater sins existed in the eyes of a sidhe than for a human to be anything but worshipful.
Behind him, Taliesin heard Goronwy snort under his breath.
Taliesin couldn’t see the knight, since Goronwy and Catrin stood together, somewhere near rim of the cavern, but Taliesin didn’t have to see Goronwy to feel the less than subtle mockery he was directing at Mabon. Taliesin would have turned and made a cutting motion with his hand, but he didn’t dare move or lift his eyes from the ground.
“The council has spoken,” Arianrhod said. “My son must leave our world for a time and walk among you as one of you. I would ask that you look after him, Taliesin.”
Indescribable horror filled Taliesin, and he lifted his head to gaze at the goddess, a protest on his lips. Goronwy could mock and make snide comments as he wished, but Taliesin could feel the power coming from Mabon and knew what a terrible threat to the human world he represented. In that moment, Taliesin couldn’t imagine a worse fate that being responsible for this wayward son of Cade’s patroness.
Sidhe didn’t live by the same rules as humans did. Some genuinely cared for humanity, but they were ultimately accountable only to the ruler of the gods, Beli, and his council, upon which both Gwydion and Arianrhod sat. For most, the threat of banishment was the only thing keeping them in line and had to substitute for an actual sense of morality. Mabon had defied them and was now paying the price for his ambition. For reasons Taliesin didn’t understand, Efnysien was in another category entirely. Like Mabon, he was Beli’s grandson, though by his daughter Penarddun. Unlike Mabon, however, the council never punished him, no matter how grievous his offenses, murder and betrayal among them.
Either Arianrhod didn’t notice Taliesin’s horror, didn’t care, or had spent too little time in the human world to read Taliesin’s emotions. He struggled to control his expression so she wouldn’t guess what he was thinking.
“Furthermore, my father has decreed that the human world must be punished for its lack of faith. No longer do the people look to us, we w
ho have provided for and aided them for so long. No longer do the old ways hold true. None of us are permitted to consort with you until my father deems the time has come to lift his ban.”
“But—” Taliesin took an involuntary step towards Arianrhod. She didn’t reject him, but her face turned as fixed as iron. Taliesin had been going to say that this was a completely wrong step. Humans craved guidance. If they couldn’t get it from the sidhe, or if the sidhe were deemed capricious or unhelpful, they would turn even more to the Christian God, whom Cade said always listened, even if the answer wasn’t necessarily what the petitioner wanted to hear.
Taliesin’s eyes went to Gwydion. His patron was gazing straight ahead, but in a single instant, his eyes flicked to Taliesin’s face, and he canted his head a tiny degree to his right. Taliesin tried not to gape at him. What is he trying to tell me?
Taliesin gritted his teeth and stepped back. “My lady.” But even as he prepared to be dismissed, his eyes were drawn to the wall of the cavern, which Gwydion had indicated a moment before. The stylized images of a queen, a castle, and a rearing horse were drawn on the wall. If the rearing horse was meant to represent a knight, the three images could be chess pieces.
Then Arianrhod, Gwydion, and the cavern vanished, taking their illusion with them, and leaving Mabon standing alone in the road. The god placed his hands on his hips and grinned. “So, we’re going to be together for a while. I think this sojourn in the human world might turn out to be quite fun!”
As Mabon smirked at the companions, Taliesin’s stomach twisted yet again. It wasn’t, however, because Arianrhod had foisted her son on them. By comparison to what Gwydion had just shown him, it was a small thing. What had him staring back at Mabon in dismay was the realization that the rearing horse was indeed meant to represent a chess piece, but it was also the personal badge of Efnysien.
Chapter Four
Cade
Cade had suggested to Rhiann that she not make herself a target of Peada’s scorn. Since she had no desire to be in the same room with the feckless Saxon ever again, she had willingly forgone the opportunity and departed for their quarters. Dinner was still a while off, and she could nap beforehand. Because nighttime was Cade’s purview, he tended to keep her up late. Whether because he knew Cade’s habits by now or by pure accident, Peada had arrived with the setting sun.
The Pendragon's Challenge (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 7) Page 3