“But it’s the same men we had when we fought the demons outside Caer Dathyl,” Dafydd said.
Hywel fingered the arrows in his quiver. “Yet this time, we fight against a far greater, and less stupid, opposition.” And with too few arrows, though he didn’t say those words out loud. They always had too few.
“What’s the accounting?” Bedwyr stepped up to the rampart to look east with them. Soon the sun would fall behind the mountains to the west. The last rays shone in the Saxons’ eyes. Cade would give the order to fire the moment the Saxons came within arrow range.
Hywel gestured to one of the baskets of arrows under the rampart. “Some two thousand of them. It will be hand to hand far sooner than I’d like.”
“At least the Saxons don’t have archers,” Bedwyr said.
“Or not many,” Hywel said. “They hunt with bows. They just don’t fight with them.”
“Nor horses,” Bedwyr said.
“Our advantage,” Hywel said.
“Not our only one,” Bedwyr said. “We have the high ground.”
Hywel turned to Bedwyr, trusting him more than he had ever trusted any man, barring his father and King Cadwaladr at times. “Were we fools to follow the king? We could have left and lived to fight another day.”
“And what of Rhys and his men?” Bedwyr said. “Should we have left them to fight unsupported?”
“Either way, the Saxons will be free to pillage our lands, kill our people, without any check,” Hywel said. “Penda will now happily pick off the other kings one by one.”
“You assume that we are going to lose,” Dafydd said. “King Cadwaladr doesn’t think so.”
“Doesn’t he?” Bedwyr said. “Or is he putting on a brave face?”
Hywel gazed again towards the Saxon force. Caer Fawr was protected by a system of ramparts. Two ran on each side of the fort (eastern and western) and as many as six on the southern and northern sides where the gates lay. Hywel and his friends stood on the rampart that formed the defenses for the lowest level, but was still a twenty-foot-high wall of mounded earth, with a ditch on the other side that meant the Saxons would have trouble going over it no matter what method they used to do so. This was where the first attack would come. Here and at the north-eastern gate.
Below him farther, Cade was marshalling an initial force of archers and swordsmen at the extension to the fort that looked southeast. The Saxons had to know that the Welsh numbers were reduced. Hywel hoped that they didn’t know how far.
Hywel turned around to find that Bedwyr was gone, replaced by Taliesin, who was looking at him gravely. “What, no bit of poetry to mark the occasion?” Hywel said.
“Is it necessary? Because I could find an appropriate word if you needed it.”
Hywel coughed on a laugh. “No.”
“I meant what I said in there,” Taliesin said.
Hywel sobered. “Am I going to die? Is that why you’re here?”
“We are going to live, whether in fact or memory,” Taliesin said. “I don’t look ahead that way with my gift. But I do have a task for you, one that is dangerous, but one I feel you are uniquely suited to.”
“What is it?” Hywel said. “And does it mean I’ll miss your fireworks?”
Taliesin gave him a small smile. “King Cadwaladr asks that you enter the Saxon camp to speak to Penda.”
Hywel stared at him. “What? Why? To what end? Penda smells blood. He won’t back off.”
“He might reconsider, if he knew what I know.”
“And King Cadwaladr wants me to deliver this message—one that Penda is sure not to like?” Hywel said.
“He needs someone who speaks Saxon, as you do, and is smart enough to get in without being seen and out without dying,” Taliesin said.
Hywel licked his lips. “King Cadwaladr knows I speak Saxon? Does he also know—” He broke off, reluctant to finish the sentence.
“That your father is also Saxon? That he was one of Penda’s staunch allies until the killing sickened him to the point that he fled to Wales? You forget that Cadwaladr’s own mother is Penda’s sister. There is little he doesn’t know.”
“If Penda discovers who I really am—”
“He might kill you,” Taliesin said.
“You’ve seen it?”
“It is one possible future, but I don’t think it likely.”
Hywel bit off a comment about how that was all well and good for Taliesin, but it was his—Hywel’s—life they were talking about. “That’s a relief.”
“I suggest you don’t tell him,”
“What am I to tell him?”
“What I have seen.”
“And that is?” Hywel said. It was like pulling teeth to get Taliesin to give him any solid piece of information. He could be so infuriating at times, as if everyone else could see too and he had only to allude to some future event and everyone would understand. Either that or he enjoyed the suspense. Hywel suspected that was just as likely.
“That Oswin of Northumbria has gathered an army on the northern border of Mercia. If Penda takes the time to fight here and loses many men, he won’t have a country left to defend or enough men to defend it, even if he defeats us.”
“King Cadwaladr thinks he might withdraw?” Hope sparked in Hywel’s heart, which he instantly suppressed. Penda would never withdraw. He would look a coward.
“No,” Taliesin said. “But he might think better of a fight to the death. He might see a thousand men fall to our arrows and believe that what I saw was true.”
“And is it true, in fact?”
“True enough,” Taliesin said.
Whatever that meant.
Chapter Eight
Dafydd
“You’re letting her fight?” Even as he clenched his hands into fists, Dafydd forced himself to back away rather than put his face right into Cade’s as he wanted. Cade’s office was so small that there wasn’t much room as it was. “Are you out of your mind?”
“She isn’t your wife, Dafydd,” Cade said. “This is not your decision.”
“I fought with her in Llangollen and at Caer Dathyl,” Dafydd said. “I know better than you she is capable of, and I don’t want her put at risk again. She shouldn’t even be here!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Cade said, “but she is here. Are you telling me that you don’t need another bow on the walls?”
“Of course we do—but not hers! She should stay with Angharad and Catrin among the wounded.”
“What’s gotten into you, Dafydd? You’ve never objected to her fighting before.” Cade folded his arms across his chest. Dafydd had been in love with Rhiann, but his behavior towards Angharad had become proprietary. What am I missing?
“What’s gotten into me?” Dafydd paced around the small room. “Why are the women here at all? They’ve no business near a battlefield, even if we have twenty-foot walls surrounding us. We should have sent them away while we had the chance. You should have sent them away.”
“And where would they go? Rhiann is the wife of the King of Gwynedd. Her father sold her to Penda once, and she ran away rather than marry Peada. Do you think any place in Wales will be safe for her if I fall?”
“What if the Saxons break through? How safe will our hall be then?”
“They won’t—”
“Damn right, they won’t!”
“Ah,” Cade said.
Dafydd glared at him, not liking the sudden knowing tone. “What?”
“You think this is your fault, don’t you?” Cade said. “It was you who brought Angharad here, and now you are afraid for a woman like you’ve never been afraid before.”
Dafydd stopped his pacing, glared at Cade, and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Cade barked a laugh that Dafydd heard through the door, but he kept going. He crossed the great hall at a trot, determined to get outside as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to talk about his disagreement with his king, and particularly not the role Angharad had played in it. As far
as Dafydd was concerned, King Cadwaladr saw far too much. If Dafydd had thought Rhiann was willful, she had nothing on Angharad. I sure can pick them.
Leave it to Angharad, however, to notice his flushed face and move to intercept him. He slowed and forced a calmer expression. But when she came abreast, she had something else on her mind. “Taliesin wants you on the ramparts.”
“Why?”
“They’re coming. Now.”
Dafydd picked up the pace. “I just left the king. Does he know?”
“Rhiann went to tell him.”
“So why does Taliesin want me?” Dafydd said.
“Something about you needing to shoot an arrow to start it off,” Angharad said.
Dafydd didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t argue, just hurried across the courtyard and through the gate to the place on the rampart where Taliesin waited, looking east at the oncoming Saxons. As it turned out, it wasn’t the main force, but a large party on horseback—a hundred men at least—looking to probe the Welsh defenses.
“What do they think they’re doing?” Dafydd said. “They’ll be within arrow range in a moment.”
“I’ve asked Cadwaladr to let them come,” Taliesin said.
“How close?” Dafydd said.
“You know exactly how close. You helped me set the traps.” Taliesin eyebrows practically met in a look that told Dafydd he thought Dafydd was an idiot but was too polite to say so.
“Rope and sticks were all I saw,” Dafydd said.
“Well, you’ll see more in a moment,” Taliesin said. “I’ll need you to shoot an arrow, one of my own design, exactly where I tell you to. We don’t have much time before it’s full dark.”
Dafydd gripped his bow, hoping Taliesin’s trust wasn’t misplaced. Angharad and Catrin hovered on the margins of their conversation. Taliesin looked over and waved them nearer. “There’s nothing to fear. At least, not for you up here.”
“I can feel your magic,” Catrin said. “It’s rising.”
For the first time ever, Taliesin actually looked discomfited, and then his expression smoothed. “As it should be. You might be a better judge even than I am of when I should release it.”
Catrin surprised Dafydd by nodding her agreement. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having both Catrin and Taliesin next to him. There were undercurrents here he’d last felt in Arawn’s cavern.
The Saxon cavalry neared the line of bushes that followed the little river. Dafydd split his attention between them and Taliesin, who brought out a three-foot long, slender stick and held it out across his palm. He muttered words in a language Dafydd didn’t understand, and he found himself growing dizzy watching the seer, as if the stick were wavering between the world of magic and the world he stood in.
“Dafydd!” Catrin caught his bow arm, and he jerked back to himself to find Taliesin gazing at him, a smile twitching at his lips. The stick had become an arrow with a golden point, which he handed to Dafydd.
“Press it into the bow.”
Dafydd didn’t ask him to say please. He fitted the arrow to his bow and prepared to loose it. Then Taliesin, his staff in his left hand and his right hand outstretched, pointed his index finger at the tip of the arrow and uttered a soundless incantation. It lit with a purple fire.
The ropes they’d positioned at Taliesin’s direction also glowed purple, and Taliesin pointed at a spot on the ground on the far side of the creek. “There!”
Dafydd loosed the arrow. It flew through the air and hit—
Boom!
The bushes exploded, and the concussion that followed had Dafydd on his knees with his hands over his ears. Angharad fell into him as the wave of power passed over them. With his arm around her, Dafydd staggered upwards to his feet.
The magic had torn the earth on the far side of the creek asunder, the trees and scrub that had lined it were in flames, and all but three of the Saxon cavalry were down, and those raced back towards the Saxon lines.
Cade ran down the path between the ramparts, his eyes wide. “What was that, Taliesin? You said you had a surprise for them but—”
Taliesin’s eyes were bright. “That went better than I expected. I’d only done a small trial earlier to see if it worked. If I’d known it would go so well, I would have saved it for when the bulk of the army marched on us.”
“You could do it agai—” But Dafydd cut off his words at the sudden whiteness in Taliesin’s face. The bard staggered and would have gone down if Cade hadn’t caught him.
“Power has a price,” Catrin said.
Cade bent and threw Taliesin over his shoulder. “Warn me next time, will you, Taliesin? You’re the king of understatement.” Cade strode back to the keep with Taliesin on his shoulder.
Dafydd would have laughed if Taliesin didn’t look so ill.
Angharad slipped her hand into his. “Here’s hoping the price he paid for that was worth it.”
Chapter Nine
Hywel
Hywel crouched in the trees. Darkness had fallen, made even thicker by the heavy cloud cover that had blown in with it, which were just starting to release their rain. Above him on the hill, his own men shouted to each other about Taliesin’s handiwork, while the Saxons gathered two hundred yards away. That they were Saxon and not demons, he had no doubt. He didn’t know where Mabon was in all this, and by now he didn’t much care. He had a job to do.
“Thought you’d try this without me, did you?” Bedwyr’s gruff voice sounded in Hywel’s ear. He didn’t bother turning to look at his friend, since he couldn’t see anything anyway.
“King Cadwaladr sent only me,” Hywel said. “This isn’t your task.”
“Ach,” Bedwyr said, and Hywel felt his accompanying shrug. “I told him he was an idiot for letting you go alone.”
Now Hywel did turn, searching for Bedwyr’s face in the murk. “And what did the king say?”
Bedwyr guffawed—quietly. “He laughed. He knew I was right. I told him that I couldn’t let you die before you’d found a girl to come home to.”
Hywel scoffed. “Like Dafydd has? He’s taken to Angharad pretty quick.”
“They rode north together for two days. It doesn’t take long. Besides—” Bedwyr peered over Hywel’s shoulder, “—this is what I do best.”
And that, Hywel decided, was probably true. Bedwyr hadn’t been raised in a castle, nor to the sword, though he fought as well as any of the other knights. He’d fallen in with Goronwy not long after Goronwy’s arrival in Gwynedd. They’d fought together ever since, and when Goronwy had learned of Cade’s existence, Bedwyr hadn’t considered letting him join Cade’s teulu without him.
“Then let’s do it,” Hywel said.
At a crouch, the two men raced forward, skirting the Saxon lines to the west and staying within the trees that lined the little river that separated Caer Fawr from the rest of the valley it overlooked—and that Taliesin had so effectively destroyed.
They peered at the camp from underneath a bush. A steady drip of water fell on both of them, and Hywel’s tunic was already muddy to his chin. In the time it had taken them to reach this point, the Saxons seemed to have gotten themselves together again. The explosion had been a shock, but they’d lost fewer than two dozen men. They’d be more cautious from now on than they would have been, but it looked like they hadn’t changed their minds about their attack.
Maybe Hywel could help Penda with that.
“We’ve barely dented their numbers, Bedwyr said.
“Rhys was a fool,” Hywel said.
“He’s in the Otherworld now. He can tell Arawn all about his defeat, and how he ignored Cade’s best judgment. And got so many good men killed.”
Cold filled Hywel’s belly. “Arawn isn’t powerless, you know, for all that Gwyn guards the cauldron and will not let him out. He roams freely in the world of the sidhe.”
“So?”
“What if Rhys speaks to him of our efforts here? What if he tells Mabon where we are?”
; “Didn’t you hear what Rhys told Cade?” Bedwyr said. “Mabon came to Rhys already and assured him of victory.”
“Lied to him, you mean.” Hywel shook his head—and then shook off his worries, glad his tasks were more grounded than Cade’s. Hywel agreed with Dafydd: he’d had enough of the world of the sidhe and everyone in it. It was time to get on with what he could do and could control.
Bedwyr pointed to a less well-lit spot, equidistant from the firelight at the center of the camp and the torches on the perimeter. “Your best bet is to run across the field at a crouch and fetch up between those two tents there. I’ll be here when you’re done, and if you don’t return, I’ll see to Penda’s death myself.”
“Good to know I’ll be avenged when I’m on Arawn’s rack.” Hywel shot Bedwyr a grin he probably couldn’t see and was off, crouching low as Bedwyr had said, scuttling across the field more like a thief than a knight. The Saxons had packed down the grass so it provided little cover. Hywel had to hope that the Saxons’ night vision would be hampered by their own lights and the rain—and that they were still distracted by Taliesin’s fireworks.
Ages later, but really after only a dozen heartbeats, Hywel crouched behind the closest tent and then peered around it, still keeping low to the ground. Men bustled near a large tent twenty yards away.
Hywel straightened and adjusted his helm so it hid most of his face. He and Bedwyr had scavenged Hywel’s entire outfit off a dead Saxon on the far side of the field. They hadn’t had as many men to choose among as Hywel would have liked (far too many fallen Welshmen surrounded them) but the armor and helmet fit well enough. After this was over, he thought he’d hang onto his new axe, which had felt comfortable in his hand before he’d slotted it into his belt. He’d left his sword with Bedwyr, along with his surcoat sporting Cadwaladr’s red dragon crest.
Hywel waited until the flow of men in and out of the tent subsided and then strode forward, Taliesin’s parting words echoing in his ears, words that for once were clearly stated so that Hywel couldn’t misunderstand: Act like you belong there and know what you’re doing. Nobody will question you. The men around you will see what they want to see: a fellow Saxon soldier.
Rise of the Pendragon (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 6) Page 5