“No bargain?” Rhiann glanced at Madoc again and then shied away. “You mean—?”
Cade’s chest rose and fell once, and then stilled. He’d forced the air out of himself, and it came to her that she’d known all along that something was wrong about the way he breathed. Or didn’t breathe. Rhiann thought back to their flight from Aberffraw. As she’d sat behind him on Cadfan, she’d never taken note of his breathing, but she realized now that normally his chest never rose and fell at all.
“Two years ago, a snowstorm caught me by surprise while I was hunting in the mountains near Bryn y Castell. I became thoroughly lost. I was desperate to save myself, but each passing hour diminished my hope for survival. Then suddenly, the snow swirled upwards long enough for me to spy an owl sitting before me, resting on a fallen tree trunk. It flew up into the air as if inviting me to follow it. So I did. The owl led me to a cave. Sure that the Christ had saved me, I lit a fire to warm myself. I thought I was alone there, but then a woman appeared out of the darkness at the back of the cave. She said she’d been waiting for me for a very long time.
“I didn’t know her; didn’t even believe her. When I stood to greet her, she moved so fast I could hardly credit it. One moment she was ten yards away, and the next she had pressed her lips to mine. Her touch paralyzed me. I fell unconscious. When I awoke, I was as you find me now, and she was gone.”
“Who was this woman?” Rhiann said. “The tales of the sidhe are many, but not here, not like this, not—” She broke off, remembering the days she’d run with the peasant and craft-workers’ children until her father had put a stop to it. On rainy afternoons, they would hide in the loft above the stables, the air heady with the smell of new-mown hay, while Rhys, the most gifted story-teller, would regale the other children with tales he swore were true.
Again Cade’s breathless sigh. “Do you know of the legend of Arianrhod?”
“Oh,” Rhiann breathed. “I do. She’s the keeper of death; the ruling aspect of the triple goddess: mother, maiden, crone. In her hands spins the silver wheel of life and death, and into her possession fall all men’s souls.”
“I don’t know about all men’s,” Cade said, “but certainly mine.”
“As the crone, Cerridwen, she is the devouring goddess who kills and eats her prey and then births him again. But why—” Rhiann stopped again, unable to voice her question. Cade seemed to know what she was asking.
“Why did she choose me? Why did she give me the power of the sidhe without the understanding or strength to bear it?” Cade barked a laugh, although there was no amusement in him. “Or better yet, why didn’t she make me a demon like Madoc here. I could prey upon my victims without grief or remorse, reveling in the joy of it without the guilt.” He kicked Madoc’s body with the toe of his boot and then tipped his head to gaze at the stars above them. “Believe me, I would dearly love to see Arianrhod again so I could ask her.”
Rhiann’s head was spinning, trying to absorb Cade’s words and reconcile the young man before her with the deadly power he wielded. “So you are sidhe as she is?”
“Yes,” Cade said. “And no. Whatever I am, I am not a god. Even without my soul, I live in this world, not in theirs.”
“But the way you looked when you killed that man!” Rhiann’s voice rose as her anxiety returned in full force, and the questions multiplied inside her head. “You didn’t even need to use your sword!”
“I can kill with a touch,” Cade said. “But at the same time, I kill when I touch. That is both the benefit, and the cost, of immortality.”
“You’ve touched me,” Rhiann said, aghast, finally recognizing the truth in what she had seen. “You didn’t kill me. Why?”
“I cannot even describe to you the control it took to spare you,” Cade said. “No man or beast is safe from me, even when I would prefer not to kill at all.”
Cade turned away from Rhiann. In a swift motion, he pulled his sword from his sheath and raised it above his head. The glow from the moon met its point in a flash of light like a falling star, and then Cade struck Madoc’s silent form. The blow severed the head from the body, and it rolled away. Rhiann watched, choking on her horror. She gazed at Cade, unable to look away. He loomed over her in the moonlight. Then his shoulders sagged, he sheathed his sword, and her sense of him diminished.
Cade spoke again. “You ask me why? Because the gods play us for fools.” He turned on his heel, walking away from the dead men on the ground and towards Cadfan. The horse quietly cropped the grass, no longer upset by the carnage, although he’d been frightened earlier. Perhaps he’d seen too many such scenes before.
Rhiann wasn’t done with her questions and hurried to catch up. “And yet you wear a piece of the True Cross.” She stopped beside Cade and pointed to the fragment resting on his chest, strung on a fine chain around his neck.
“I wear it as a reminder of who I am,” he said. “Who I want to be.”
“Maybe to be a candle in the darkness, you must be able to see without one,” she said.
Cade stared at Rhiann—stared through her, even. “You give me hope.” He very carefully placed both hands on her shoulders. That he would touch her on purpose shocked her, as her innocent touch had perhaps shocked him, and testified to how serious he was. Cade bent down so his eyes were level with Rhiann’s. “I swear to you, that I will never hurt you.”
Cadwaladr, the promised battle leader, was sidhe, a creature of the hidden places who’d risen whole out of legend to walk among his people. And yet, because of that, Rhiann believed him.
* * * * *
I tap, tap, tap my way up the long winding road to Dinas Emrys. Night is falling, and I stumble on unseen stones. My back is bent with age and the burden of my pack, but still, I have the strength for this task. Even as I ascend to the crest of the hill, my pace quickens, vitality returning to my arms and legs.
It has been so long since I’ve been here; so many, many years of wandering, I can’t quite pinpoint the last time I strode through its doors. Was it in the reign of Arthur? Rhun? Cadwallon?
So many years ...
Moonlight streamed through the open window, making a pattern on the floor and dancing among the bodies of the sleeping women who lay around Rhiann. Three days had passed since she and Cade had arrived and she still slept restlessly, waking repeatedly in the night, every night, afraid she was disturbing the other women. It was Cade’s fault, undoubtedly. For this night, she’d found a spot in a corner, far from the door.
The dream wasn’t fading like most dreams, but hanging in front of her eyes like a ghostly tapestry. Now, she rolled onto her back to contemplate the rafters. She could be in any room, in any fort in Wales—even the very chamber where her father had imprisoned Cade. Trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling the dream had given her, she sat up and surveyed the room. Before midnight, it must be, given the position of the moon.
Rhiann and Cade had arrived just before dawn at Dinas Emrys, the morning after Cade killed Madoc. Cade, with his otherworldly night vision, had led them unerringly up the steep road to the fort. Neither of them had wanted to camp at the clearing: Rhiann, because of the dead men and her thoughts, and Cade, because his power waned as the hour approached noon, and waxed to its greatest peak in the midnight hour. Even if he walked the earth like a normal man, like the sidhe themselves, he was trapped in the world of mist and shadows.
Cade. Is he a demon or a god? Or does he fulfill the prophecies in some manner we can’t determine now from where we sit? And does it matter? Under the moonlight in the clearing, he drew me to him like a fly to amber and held me fast. I didn’t run again; I went with him without question, or without enough doubt to fear him as all reason said I should.
To say Rhiann was unsettled was an understatement. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that wouldn’t leave, and finally got to her feet. She tiptoed to the curtain that served as a door, separating the chamber from the upstairs hall. Ducking through it,
she headed down the stairs to the great hall below and then on through it to the great front door. It was open a crack. Hoping not to wake the sleeping men who sprawled on the floor, on the tables, or even underneath them, she slipped out and moved down the steps to the courtyard.
It was a clear night but not cold, the aftermath of recent rain. The moon was even fuller and brighter than during the last night of their journey from Aberffraw. Stars speckled the sky like the freckles across her nose. It was as beautiful a night as Rhiann could imagine in Wales. Breathing deeply, she strolled across the nearly empty courtyard, nodding to a guard who stood at the base of the wooden gate. She turned and mounted the steps to the battlements. As Cade had pointed out to her when they’d come through the gate that first morning, Dinas Emrys was built in stone. Pride had filled his voice at his father’s vision.
Once on the heights, nearly twenty feet from the ground, she stopped. A young man sat sprawled before her, his back braced against the wall and his feet splayed out in front of him. He was awake. Without appearing to stare at him, Rhiann took note of his patched cloak, well-worn boots, and ancient satchel.
“Bracing isn’t it?” he asked Rhiann, tipping his head to look into her face.
“The night?” She glanced up at the banner on the tower, silhouetted against the moon. “It is beautiful.”
“No, to be alive!” With those words, he sprang to his feet, startling Rhiann into taking a step backwards. Now that he was upright, he towered over her, his shock of white-blonde hair sticking up in all directions and adding another two inches to his height. He was so thin, however, scrawny even, that she feared he might blow right off the battlements in the first, heavy wind.
“Who are you?” The words just came out, even as Rhiann realized they were rude, but couldn’t take them back.
“You can call me Taliesin,” he said. “I’ve come to see the high king.”
“But Taliesin died—” Rhiann stopped, cutting off the words as Taliesin gazed at her, an expression on his face that was both quizzical and amused. She tried again. “There’s no high king here. Not for a long time. There’s Rhun who will rule at Bryn y Castell now that his father is dead, and Cadwaladr, who should be king in Gwynedd.”
Taliesin began to chant:
“A warrior on a swift horse rides through the night,
He leaves turmoil in his wake.
With treachery afoot, he renews our faith
And brings to the Cymry a new Eden.”
“That’s—” Rhiann stopped.
“Quite wonderful, isn’t it? I just made it up.” Taliesin hummed a tune and appeared to dance a little jig, his hands on the stones of the rampart, supporting his weight.
Rhiann backed away farther, more uncertain than ever.
Taliesin gave her a pitying look. “Daughter of the usurper, what path do you hope to tread?”
“I—” Rhiann found herself stuttering again. “How do you know who I am?”
“You see what I see,” Taliesin said. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Rhiann shook her head. His enigmatic sentences had created a fog in her mind. “I can bring you to Cadwaladr, if he’s not asleep.” She gestured below them to the courtyard.
“I accept your offer.” Taliesin smiled and hoisted his pack over one shoulder. “Lead on.”
Taliesin followed Rhiann down the stairs and across the courtyard to the keep. She pulled the great door open but as they crossed the threshold, Taliesin passed Rhiann in one stride. He paced down the great hall as if he owned the fort, heading towards Cade and Rhun, who now sat upon the dais at the far end. They hadn’t been there before when Rhiann had crossed in the other direction.
“My lords!” Taliesin’s voice echoed among the stones. “Greetings from Bryn y Castell.”
Cade and Rhun stood in unison. “What is your message?” Rhun said. “You have word from Geraint?”
“Grim news, my lords, and urgent.” Taliesin sounded so completely unlike the man Rhiann had met on the battlements, she could hardly believe he was the same person. Gone were the strange looks and grins, the clownish jigs and enigmatic tunes. Replacing the jester was a man of power, whose shadow rose over Cade and Rhun as he approached them. “I am Taliesin. I bring you word from Lord Morgan of Powys—of warriors coming west and north into Wales.”
“Saxons?” Rhun said.
“Yes,” Taliesin said, “but not Mercians. These are southerners, from Wessex.”
“Which seeks to challenge both Penda and his Welsh allies.” Rhun nodded his understanding. “I would not have thought that challenge would come so far west.”
Cade turned to Rhun. “That region of Wales has been in chaos since the death of Eluedd of Powys. Morgan’s control is tenuous at best. He will not have the strength to hold off an army of Saxons, in addition to his other challengers.”
“Where does Lord Geraint hope to meet Morgan and his men?” Rhun asked Taliesin.
“At Caersws, before the Saxons can cross the Severn River,” Taliesin said. “He intends to confront them in three days’ time, with or without you.”
“If we ride now, we will have time to travel to Bryn y Castell and then south after Geraint,” Cade said. “The Saxons cannot be allowed to reach Gwynedd.”
“Tonight,” Rhun said. “I will order the men to ready themselves to leave, if you will lead us.”
He strode off the dais, heading down the hall towards the spot where Rhiann stood. He was a bear of a man, far broader than Cade, although not as tall. He passed her and exited the hall without even a glance. She had no need to wonder why. She’d been at Dinas Emrys for three days, and he had yet to speak to her beyond his initial, very formal greeting. It was as Taliesin had implied: she was tainted with the stain of being her father’s daughter, even though she had rescued Cade from Aberffraw.
Taliesin and Cade still stood at the end of the room, looking at each other in silent communication. Rhiann walked forward to stand beside Cade, but he ignored her too, although not for the same reason as Rhun.
“A man bearing your name took me from my mother’s arms,” Cade said to Taliesin.
Taliesin studied him. “I know it. It is the same wisdom that brings me here to you now.”
“You hope to advise me, like—” Cade paused, clearly unable to say, like he did, or worse, like you did my father. Instead, he amended, “like the philosophers of old?”
“I offer you my services,” Taliesin said. “All of them.”
Cade didn’t stammer as Rhiann had in the face of Taliesin’s strangeness, just nodded. “I obviously have need of advice. Rhiann here could have told me not to enter the lion’s den at Aberffraw. I was foolish.”
“Not foolish,” Taliesin corrected. “Naïve.”
“It amounts to the same thing,” Cade said.
Taliesin looked as if he disagreed, but Cade turned to Rhiann before he could say more. “You will stay here.”
“No, I won’t,” Rhiann said. Cade blinked twice, and she kept talking. “I’ve spent my life in the shadows. I refuse to return to them now after only a few days in the light.”
“I can promise you only darkness,” Cade said.
Rhiann shook her head. “So you say, but that’s not all I see.”
“You no longer believe I am a danger to you?” he said.
“Not to me. I don’t know what I think of you, but I believe that you won’t hurt me.” Rhiann lowered her voice so it didn’t carry. “How many know what you are, beyond the few of us here? I would stay beside you if you would have me.”
“Can you sing, Rhiannon of the raven hair?” Taliesin said, the jester of earlier peeking through the façade of counselor he’d donned for Cade.
“I can sing.” Rhiann turned to him. “I can patch wounded men; I can pray over the dead. Anything but serve a father who doesn’t deserve my loyalty, or that of any man.”
“Your father is not here,” Taliesin said. “Or perhaps, he is. It’s up to you to decide if you are to le
t him into your house or leave him to shiver outside in the cold.” He tipped his head to Cade. “Both of you.”
“You speak in riddles, Taliesin,” Cade said. “You always have.”
“Taxes! Taxes!” Taliesin sang. “Their taxes will lead to their death. The wise ruler bides his time before striking, defeating those who tax us.”
Cade turned to Rhiann, rolling his eyes at Taliesin’s words. “The Taliesin of old may have prophesied that of me, and the son of Cadwallon I may be, but taxes are the lifeblood of any realm. No king can rule without them.”
Taliesin sobered, his eyes intent on Cade’s face. “Not all prophecy comes true. Without the prophecy, would the man still act? Or does the prophecy determine the action? Only one who knows himself can answer that.”
“I know myself,” Cade said. “We ride through the night for Bryn y Castell.”
Chapter Six
Cade
“You know what I am?” Cade said, his hands on his hips.
Taliesin and Cade were alone. Rhun had gone to organize the men, and Cade had sent Rhiann after him, telling her to find a bow and to practice shooting it. Cade was suddenly so angry with Taliesin —and the old man he’d once been, if such a thing were even possible—he felt his eyes glowing.
Taliesin, however, remained unconcerned. “Do you think you can shoot daggers to my heart?” He reclined in a chair and put his feet on the table. Then, pulling his belt knife from his waist, he began trimming his nails. “I dreamt of you—the last Pendragon.”
“I am so sick of dreams and visions and prophecies.” Cade spun on his heel and kicked one of the logs, which had rolled out of the fire, back into it. “I’d believe this was all a dream if it weren’t so bloody real.”
“The girl seems to think well of you, despite your—” Taliesin waved the knife in the air, “affliction.”
“That’s what it is too,” Cade said. “It’s as if I have a disease; not unlike when the healer told old Aeron that he had a growth inside him from which he would never recover. Gradually, Aeron was able to do less and less as it grew larger. One day it took his life.”
The Last Pendragon (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 1) Page 7