The Pendragon's Challenge (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 7)

by Sarah Woodbury

  Cade gave Hywel an approving nod. “Oswin came to Chester to destroy Penda. He doesn’t want to garrison the city.”

  “Why not?” Dafydd said.

  “For the same reason I’m going to convince Penda to leave it. It isn’t defensible,” Cade said. “Trust me.”

  Hywel chewed on his lower lip. “We men are one thing, but I must point out that the women are safer outside than in.”

  “I don’t know that any place is safe.” And Cade told the two men about the fall of Dinas Bran.

  Hywel stared at his king. “What is happening? Is it the end of the world?”

  “Not the world,” Cade said, “but maybe the end of our world as we know it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Goronwy

  “How do you want to handle this?” Goronwy said. “Straight up to the front door and knock like at Caer Ddu or go in the back way like at Caer Dathyl?”

  Taliesin chewed on his lower lip as he studied the castle, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Which do you think turned out better?”

  “Both have their merits. I think the straightforward approach is preferable to sneaking around, but this isn’t my world, and I’ve never been here before.”

  “Neither have I,” Taliesin said.

  All three of Taliesin’s companions gaped at him. “Then—then—” Catrin started to speak but immediately gave up.

  “I have never been here before.” As he spoke, Taliesin’s voice deepened and grew scratchy, as if he’d spent too much time in a room full of thick smoke. “I didn’t say that that I didn’t know the way.”

  Goronwy felt a chill run through him. He didn’t know very much about who or what the bard was, but from the few comments Cade and Taliesin himself had made about Taliesin’s past, Goronwy had inferred that he’d lived many lives, as impossible as that sounded, as if his soul had been transferred from one body to another as soon as the physical shell had worn out.

  It was an uncomfortable thought, though no different in principle from the idea that Cade was the return of King Arthur. Which was a known fact.

  “I’m not going to ask what you know that we don’t, Taliesin,” Goronwy said, “because you’ll only say everything, so instead I’ll ask to whom that castle belongs.”

  Taliesin didn’t respond immediately—and this time it wasn’t as if he was lost in thought. Goronwy would have recognized that particular vacant expression if it were on Taliesin’s face. Instead, it was as if he’d suddenly aged a hundred years. His back curved like an old man’s, and his steps shortened.

  Mabon was oblivious to the undercurrents and to Taliesin’s physical transformation—or at least he was ignoring it. He kicked a rock out of the path and sneered, “Caer Wydr belongs to my grandmother. I cannot believe you brought me here.”

  “Dôn isn’t here just now,” Taliesin said.

  “I know that, but she could return at any moment!”

  “I imagine she has other concerns—or at least I’m hoping she does,” Taliesin said.

  “You’re hoping?” Goronwy said.

  Taliesin canted his head, and for a heartbeat he was his young self again. “I have had no vision of this moment. It was one of the reasons I came. It seemed to me that something has been directing my sight—masking it, rather—and it was time to confront that power.” Then he looked directly at Goronwy. “I would ask you to try again and see. Your abilities go beyond the strength of your arms. Catrin and I both sense the magic here, but you can see more than we can in this instance.”

  “How can you possibly think that?” Goronwy said.

  Taliesin stepped closer and lowered his voice, so that his words were for Goronwy’s ears alone. “I knew you as a boy, though you don’t remember it. You can see auras, not only around people but around things. You can tell me if Mabon is who he says he is, and if this castle is where we need to be.”

  Goronwy wanted to shake his head and deny Taliesin’s words, but instead he asked, “Why can’t you?”

  “There is a power here that is actively opposing me, but it doesn’t know about you.”

  Goronwy groaned. “I don’t—” He stopped as Taliesin continued to study him. “I don’t know what you want. I walked away from anything that had to do with the world of the sidhe a long time ago.”

  “Try.”

  As if it had ever been that simple. But Goronwy could not say no to the bard. He closed his eyes as he had before and quested towards the source of power in the center of his being. The first time, he’d shied away, and he’d known he was doing it, even as he claimed that he’d tried.

  But he hadn’t really.

  Taking in a deep breath, he imagined putting both hands on the lid of the box that contained his power and lifting it. As if it had been waiting for just this moment, the light at his center didn’t hesitate. It blew off the lid in a glorious rush which had him seeing stars before his eyes, even with them closed.

  “Goronwy?”

  He felt Catrin’s gentle hand on his arm, and he opened his eyes to find her gray ones assessing him. He was almost surprised that his surroundings looked exactly the same as they had a moment before, though he himself felt like he was on fire, with light bursting from his fingertips and from the top of his head. He wondered if, to Catrin and Taliesin, he looked a bit like Cade did when he allowed his power to show.

  “Deep breath,” she said.

  He obeyed and felt the power receding to a more manageable level. He sensed more than outright saw the shimmer of gold surrounding Catrin. Taliesin’s aura was deep indigo, of course, as befitting one with the third eye. Goronwy turned to Mabon, expecting to see him surrounded by black—and instead was surprised to see a healthier pinkish-red, admittedly somewhat muddied and combined with brown and orange. It had been nearly thirty years since Goronwy had allowed himself to see auras, but his mother had forced him to memorize the meanings of the colors, and those he would never forget. Mabon was angry, dishonest, and lazy, but he was also strong-willed and passionate.

  Mabon glared back at Goronwy, no more contrite than he’d ever been. “You understand so little.”

  “He really does have no magic in him in this form,” Goronwy said.

  Mabon pouted and huffed like a five-year-old who’d just been told it was bedtime. “I could have told you that.”

  “What about the castle?” Taliesin said.

  Goronwy wrenched his attention away from Mabon and looked where Taliesin pointed. Castles weren’t people, though it was Goronwy’s experience that buildings could take on something of the personality of their owner. To the naked eye, the castle was a silver shimmer in the sunlight. To Goronwy’s inner eye, that silver was still there. Given that this was Dôn’s home, an ingrained spiritual depth was to be expected. The aura was overlaid and diminished, however, by that blackness Goronwy had expected to see around Mabon. “Someone with a deep-seated hatred as well as grief is trying to capture Dôn’s energy, even twist it to his own ends.”

  As the words left Goronwy’s mouth, the wind picked up, and clouds began to skid across the sky. The temperature dropped precipitously. In another ten heartbeats, the companions were trembling from the cold—even Mabon, who cursed his human weakness and pulled his cloak closer around himself, and then the first flakes of snow began to fall.

  “Someone defends,” Mabon said, “but it isn’t my grandmother’s way to use cold.”

  “It could be Caillech,” Catrin said. Caillech was the goddess of winter and servant of Dôn.

  “No,” Taliesin said, and then he added:

  The mountain snows sweep over us

  A knife sharpened to a thin edge

  Cold indistinguishable from fear.

  “Comforting,” Goronwy said.

  The others bent into the wind, which was blowing into their faces so hard that they could barely move, but they started forward anyway. Goronwy kept his head up, however, his eyes never leaving the tiers of ramparts and ditches that surrounded the castle, and somehow t
he storm wasn’t affecting him like it was the others. Even as he wondered at what was happening to him, though preferring not to question it or his instincts, he pulled Catrin close to his side.

  The moment her arm came around his waist, she stopped shivering, so he reached out a hand to Taliesin, who’d been forging ahead. As the bard came within the circle of Goronwy’s other arm, Goronwy gave the power within him a little more leeway, and a warm bubble of air projected out from his center, enough to cover even Mabon. “Stay close to me.”

  None of them, even Mabon, whose sour expression was more firmly fixed on his face than ever, needed to be told twice. Yesterday, the wind and the cold wouldn’t have affected him, but he was human today, and he hated the fact that he was reliant on a mortal—especially Goronwy—for his survival.

  The snow grew thicker around them, but the ball of warmth floated through it untouched. They trudged along until they reached the rampart and the first gatehouse. As they pulled up before the twelve-foot high doors, the snow stopped.

  Taliesin shook out his cloak. “The first test.”

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Goronwy said.

  Taliesin shot him an amused look. “It could have been if you hadn’t been here. And don’t think there won’t be more.”

  “What are we even doing here?” Catrin said.

  Mabon craned his neck to look up at the gatehouse tower for signs of life. “My grandmother has not been collecting the Treasures. Why should she? She has no need of the power they bring. I’m not sure that they would even work for her.” That was the most sensible speech Mabon had ever made. He seemed to know it too, because then he added, “Did my mother tell you to come here?”

  “She did not. No,” Taliesin said, “but I have come nonetheless.”

  He stepped back and raised his arms as if he was about to command the doors to open. Goronwy motioned that the others should retreat. Instead, Catrin darted forward and pulled on the door.

  It opened easily—which seemed like a miracle until Goronwy saw the carnage behind it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cade

  Penda was there to greet them as they entered the city, which was a dignity Cade hadn’t expected. Still, the King of Gwynedd and his men were known for their martial prowess, and Penda was facing a determined Northumbrian army. He had to be thinking that it might pay to be respectful.

  “You should evacuate the city,” Cade said by way of a greeting. “Chester isn’t defensible. Its walls are too long, and you have too few men, even with the addition of the twenty I’ve brought. If you leave now, Oswin will march into Chester, discover it empty, and march right back out.”

  “He will make it his seat!” Penda said.

  They were standing in the former Roman principia, the headquarters building. It was built in stone and consisted of a large central courtyard, which was surrounded on the south, east, and west sides by a covered walkway fronting storage and sleeping rooms. On the north side of the cloister was the meeting hall with its central aisle and nave, resembling nothing less than a small church, though the Romans who’d built it hadn’t yet been Christian.

  “He won’t, but even if he does, Oswin will find himself in the same position you are in: defending a too large city with too few men, facing a surrounding army with plenty of food and time.”

  “I have already sent the women and children to Westune,” Penda admitted, “but my ancestors have held this city since the Romans left. I will not abandon it to Oswin of Northumbria!”

  Cade scoffed. “Do not speak to me about ancestral lands. Your ancestors’ right to this city comes from taking it from mine. No Saxon had yet reached Chester when the Romans abandoned us to your people.”

  Penda looked venomous, but he didn’t argue. Perhaps he’d been telling himself about his rights for so long he’d started believing his own tales. “Nevertheless, Chester is defensible.”

  “How?” Cade said. “Northumbria has ladders and battering rams. They are coming over those walls; we will be forced to fight hand-to-hand before nightfall. You will lose everything and everyone to your pride.”

  “You can leave if you want to. I’m staying.”

  Cade narrowed his eyes at the Mercian king. “Just because my mother is your sister does not mean that I owe you my life. I came because you called, to discuss bringing my armies to fight alongside yours. I don’t have an army today, and from what I’ve seen you barely do either. Why do you insist on fighting a battle you cannot win?”

  Penda glowered at him, but when Cade didn’t back down, he said, “I thought Peada told you why back at Dinas Bran.”

  Cade remembered—it was hardly as if he’d forget about the existence of a Treasure in Chester—but he wanted to hear it from Penda’s own mouth. “Dinas Bran crumbled into ruin within hours of your leaving, so I am in no mood for evasions. Have you found the dish?”

  Penda’s jaw clenched, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “No.”

  “What makes you think you will find it before the Northumbrians come? Better to retreat and fight another day.”

  “We were hoping that you might be able to find it.” Penda had the grace to look abashed.

  Cade guffawed. “That’s why you invited me here? To find the Treasure when you could not? Why do you think I would have any better luck in one hour than you’ve had in a lifetime?”

  “You’ve collected many already,” Penda said matter-of-factly. “Like calls to like. I know for a fact that Caledfwlch and Dyrnwyn alone could defend Chester.”

  “Two men cannot be everywhere at once, and Chester is a big city, as I said.” Cade studied his uncle. Penda wasn’t entirely wrong, at least about the Treasures being drawn to one another, and the sense of power that emanated from them. When Cade and his people had entered the city and then the great hall where Penda had his seat on the dais, the Saxons had cringed away. Cade had initially attributed their fear to him being Welsh, but now he wasn’t so sure. Saxons were the least spiritual beings Cade had ever encountered, but even they could sense the way Cade’s company was bristling with power.

  Cade carried the mantle and his sword, Caledfwlch, on his person. Dafydd wore the sword, Dyrnwyn, belted at his waist. And Hywel kept the knife among his possessions. Since it was his family who’d protected it all these years, it seemed appropriate for him to be the one to decide when to use it. Not that it was any use against the Northumbrians, since it’s purpose was to feed the multitude, as Christ had done, and the moment the blade had pierced Jesus’s side, it became useless as a weapon. Taliesin had borrowed it during his recent journey and used it often.

  At one time, Rhiann might have had the chess piece on her, since Mabon had given it to her, but she said it repulsed her, and thus had entrusted it to Taliesin.

  Cade shook his head. “I will say this only once more: I am leaving, and I’m taking my people with me. This is a fool’s fight, and one you can’t win. If you choose to lose your life over a Treasure, that is your decision—and your delusion—not mine.” He spun on his heel and headed back down the hall, the others following in his wake.

  He had just put out a hand to open the doors, because the two men who guarded them weren’t moving, when Penda called, “Wait!”

  Cade stopped and looked back.

  Penda was loping towards him. “All right, all right. You win. We will all go.”

  But then a bell tolled above their heads. Hearing it, Cade pushed open the doors, and everyone who’d been in the hall spilled into the courtyard. Cade crossed it to reach the main gateway to the street.

  As he stepped out from the colonnade, Peada reined in amidst a small company of men. “They come! They come!”

  “How many and how far?” Penda moved to hold the bridle of his son’s horse.

  “You can see their banners.” Peada pointed north and then swung his arm to indicate the east as well. “Another quarter of an hour and they’ll surround us completely.”

  Cade cursed and turned on Penda. “You
and your pride will be the death of us all.”

  Penda firmed his chin. “I always meant to stand and fight.”

  “Are your men ready? Have you prepared oil and fire? Where are your archers?”

  “I have them,” Penda said defensively. “They’re on the walls.”

  Cade narrowed his eyes as he looked at the Mercian king. To become an expert archer took long practice from childhood, and while all Welshmen high and low were so trained, most Saxons never valued archery enough to put in that kind of effort. If Penda was telling the truth, he deserved some credit for planning ahead. “We cannot win with the numbers we have now. You do realize this?”

  “I am prepared to die for Mercia.”

  “Well, I am not.” Cade spat out the last word.

  “From what we saw earlier, they’re predominantly on foot, my lord,” Hywel said in Welsh in an undertone. “We should make use of the little time we do have.”

  Cade turned to Dafydd. “Take Angharad, all our horses, and whatever of Penda’s strays who will go with you, and go now through the southern gate across the Dee to Caer Gwrlie. It is defensible, and your arm will keep it so.”

  “My lord, no! I will stand and fight with you!”

  “If we wait any longer, it will be too late. It’s already too late for the bulk of Penda’s men.” Cade gestured to Dafydd’s sword. “That is enough to defend your retreat all by itself.”

  “What about you? How will you escape without horses?” Angharad said.

  “We’ll take the western tunnel,” Cade said.

  Dafydd subsided, nodding, but when Cade turned back to Penda, his brow was furrowed with puzzlement. “What tunnel?”

  Cade studied his uncle, surprised that he didn’t know. “The Romans built tunnels under every city and house in Wales—maybe throughout the whole empire. The tunnel from Chester runs from just inside the western wall under the river and to the watchtower on the other side.”