The Last Pendragon (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 1)

by Sarah Woodbury

  “In you, however, it seems to have the opposite effect,” Taliesin said.

  “I grow in power. My senses strengthen, and yet—”

  Taliesin looked up from his nails, studying Cade closely. “And yet you fear you lose more of your human self each day. You fear that given time, the changes within you will overtake you, and your true self will die.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Cade pulled out a chair from beside Taliesin and dropped into it. “That’s exactly it.”

  “I’m not saying it can’t happen,” Taliesin said, still in the same conversational tone, “but it seems to me it is up to you to decide if it does or not.”

  “You really think I have that choice?” Cade rubbed his eyes with his fingers, pushing back an imaginary headache. “When the power is upon me, I appear as an angel might, but I have more in common with the demons I’m fighting.”

  “Is your basic nature to be good or evil?” Taliesin said. “That, to me, is the essence of the issue.”

  “The priests tell us that all people are essentially evil,” Cade said. “They say that only through belief in the Christ can we be good.”

  “Oh, well,” Taliesin said, “that’s easy then. If that’s true, then you’re no different from everyone else. Believe in Christ, and all your worries are over.”

  Cade glanced at him, wary. The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, but there was a kernel of truth in what he said. “I do believe in the Christ. The priests say—”

  Taliesin didn’t wait for him to finish, leaning forward and dropping his feet to the wooden floor with a thud. “I wasn’t asking what the priests thought. I wanted to know what was in your heart.”

  “I have a choice,” Cade said.

  “Right.” Taliesin put away his knife and rose to his feet. “That’s all we need to know, then, isn’t it?”

  Cade still sat slumped at the table. Taliesin’s easy assurance was like Rhiann’s initial acceptance—incomprehensible. “I can feel your life-force. It’s always there for me, calling me. I could take it if I wanted.”

  “Just as you could kill me with your sword,” Taliesin said. “Is it really so different?”

  “Do you always end your sentences with questions?” Cade said. “I have no answers for them.”

  Taliesin leaned forward, resting his hands on the table in front of him. “Yes, you do. This,” he waved his hand in front of Cade, indicating both Cade himself and his attitude, “is useless agonizing. Can you become other than what you are?”

  “There it is again, another question,” Cade said, “but to answer it, no, I can’t.”

  “Then quit your belly-aching. The depredations of your stepfather are only one of the reasons I see for the fall of the Cymry—if not this year, then within the next five—if you do not act. You are your father’s heir, the heir to the throne of Arthur. Our enemies hem us in on every side, but of even greater danger is the disunity among the Cymry. Your ride to Powys is only the beginning of the task before you. Only you see what must be done. Only you can unite your people, Cadwaladr. Only you.”

  “Taliesin—” Cade tried to forestall Taliesin’s barrage, but the bard overrode him.

  “I didn’t make those prophecies to fill the air, you know. I didn’t save you from Cadfael so you could feel sorry for yourself. I spoke of you so that when you came, your people would be ready. He will not die; he will not flee; he will not tire. He will not fade; he will not fail; he will not bend; he will not tremble. I spoke of you. You must arise!”

  “I took Dinas Emrys,” Cade said, stung. “I went to Aberffraw.”

  “And a fine job you made of it,” Taliesin said.

  “That won’t happen again. I learn from my mistakes.”

  “Good.” Taliesin swung his arms, loosening his shoulders. “Because you won’t be able to afford many of them.”

  “Besides,” Cade said, “I thought that was why you were here: to keep me out of trouble.”

  Taliesin laughed, his face transformed from a wizened advisor back to that of a young man. “Ha!” He bowed low before Cade, his arms out, pantomiming a parody of obeisance. “Oh, my most noble and wise lord, I seek only to serve you.”

  Cade snorted laughter. “Do that again, and I swear I’ll choose to become evil after all.”

  * * * * *

  Cade’s company of fighters set out from Dinas Emrys less than an hour after midnight. Cade led the men through the gatehouse and down the twisting road that was part of the castle’s defenses, to the trail that would take them west to the Roman road. They rode without torches, relying only on Cade’s eyes and those of their horses, to guide them.

  Rhun and Rhiann followed close behind Cade. They seemed to have come to terms with one another after a rocky start. I am sorry for the loss of your father, Cade had heard her say. Rhun had grunted, but now rode at her side. Progress.

  Cade had felt grief when Rhun’s mother, Elen, had died. Everyone had. He’d felt both the horror and the triumph when he’d faced the truth of his new existence, of the power within him. But when he’d ridden into Dinas Emrys with Rhiann at his side, the sole survivor of Cadfael’s ambush, and had to look into Rhun’s face and tell him that his father and all their men-at-arms were dead, a vast pit of anguish had opened between them.

  Although Rhun had embraced Cade and shared his tears with him, Cade didn’t know that he’d been able to cross that chasm. Rhun was keeping him at arm’s length. Cade feared that through the loss of Cynyr, he’d lose his brother too. He felt so bereft that he’d confessed these fears to Rhiann the following day. She’d suggested that perhaps Rhun felt the same and could express his emotions no more easily than Cade could.

  Taliesin was somewhere at the back of the line, even now chanting some song or other that made about as much—or as little—sense as anything else these days: Cadwaladr opens a way forward in every journey. Woe to the Saxons when they face the Cymry. In the wood, at the plain, on a hill, a candle in the darkness rides with us.

  There it was again. A candle in the darkness. Rhiann had quoted that at him too, although from a different refrain.

  Goronwy grumbled from his position on Cade’s left. “I need a torch.” When they’d first started out, several of the newer additions to Cade’s company had cursed and lamented the lack of light. Cade had ignored them, knowing they’d either get used to it and accept his leadership, or they wouldn’t, and he’d release them from his service. Blindness was one of man’s greatest fears. What a man took for granted in the daytime rose up to confound him in the dark.

  “It ruins my night vision,” Cade said. “In truth, it ruins yours too. Give yourself time, and you’ll adjust to the dark.”

  “I don’t know, my lord,” Goronwy said. “Some of us were built for the light of day more than others.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” Rhiann said from beside Rhun, “even one torch would broadcast our departure from Dinas Emrys. If my father has men nearby, they would know of it and seek to ambush us or take advantage of our absence to try to take Dinas Emrys back.”

  Goronwy threw Rhiann an admiring look. “You think like a warrior, lady.”

  “It must be the clothes.” Rhiann laughed. “And maybe the bow.”

  She was riding comfortably, the reins in her right hand and her bow in her left. On her back, her quiver held a dozen arrows. She seemed to Cade like a goddess of the hunt, perhaps even the sidhe goddess, Rhiannon, for whom she was named. He could admit to himself that he didn’t want other men like Goronwy finding her desirable. Yet, cursed as he was, he knew that he could never claim a woman as his own, not even one who knew him as well as Rhiann already did.

  And he wanted to claim her. The knowledge grew in Cade, and he clenched the hand holding Cadfan’s reins. It had been two years since he’d touched anyone beyond a handshake, much less held a woman, for fear of overwhelming them with his power. He’d already touched Rhiann far more than that, and the iron will required not to harm her had done nothing to quell
his desire for her. The emptiness that need created did more to feed his fear that he was becoming less than human than anything else possibly could.

  Fifty yards farther on, the trail opened onto the fifteen-foot wide highway that was the old Roman road. Cade led the men onto it, and they crowded up behind him.

  “We’ll ride as quickly as we can,” Cade said to Rhun. “Three abreast and in good order.”

  Rhun nodded. “I’ll take up the rear.” He raised his voice, relaying Cade’s orders to the others. In a moment, Cade found Taliesin on one side of him, and Rhiann on the other. They moved forward in unison, setting a pace that would bring them to the abandoned Roman fort of Tomen-y-mur while it was still dark, and the last few miles to Bryn y Castell by dawn.

  “Mother, maiden, crone,” Taliesin said.

  Cade leaned in closer, uncertain that he’d heard him correctly. “What was that?”

  Taliesin shot him a bright glance underneath his bushy eyebrows. “I was musing on the nature of Arianrhod, the goddess who has ensnared you. As mother, she is Modrun, as crone, Cerridwen, and as the maiden, Bloduewedd, she fell in love with a young lord at Tomen-y-mur. Together, they plotted her husband’s death. Unfortunately for them, he could not be slain except with one foot in bathwater and the other on a goat.”

  Cade coughed and laughed at the same time. “Why can’t I have those conditions? Better than an arrow through the heart or the loss of my head.”

  Taliesin looked at him, not smiling. “It is no laughing matter.”

  He was so serious Cade quieted immediately. “You were saying?”

  “Every story of Arianrhod offers a window into understanding why she chose you as her champion.”

  “So I should avoid goats?” Cade said, unable to take the conversation seriously. Taliesin changed so quickly between seriousness and jest that Cade found himself doing the same.

  “Cadwaladr,” Taliesin said, admonishing him. “The goddess does not act out of whim or spite. Just as there was a reason why I brought you to Bryn y Castell, and a reason why you chose to take Dinas Emrys from Cadfael as your first step toward claiming the throne your father would have left you, there is sense in Arianrhod’s actions.”

  “Agreed.” Cade said. “But even you don’t know the full meaning behind the prophecies you yourself sing. We are fumbling about in the dark, far more than just on this journey.”

  “Only some of us are blind now,” Taliesin said. “Here, you see clearly. Grant that there are times when you do not, and perhaps another does.”

  “It’s Arianrhod’s intentions that interest me,” Rhiann said, her words coming slowly as she thought them out. “You called Cade her champion. She wants something from Cade, doesn’t she? Why else should she transform him? She took the heir to the throne of Gwynedd and made him something far more powerful.”

  “So I could rule all Wales?” Cade said.

  “You’d do that anyway, without her help,” Rhiann said. “Besides, is she that interested in the human world and its fleeting needs?”

  “No, she isn’t,” Taliesin said. “Her plans for him address her needs, not his.”

  Cade shook his head, frustrated as he always was by these thoughts and lack of answers. “It must be something that she cannot do herself.”

  “Or a task that she doesn’t want to be seen doing,” Rhiann said. “Until a few days ago, this was all faery talk to me, but the stories speak of the intrigue and back-biting in the world of the sidhe, paralleling our own world.”

  Taliesin smiled and nodded his head, as if he’d already thought of it—which he probably had.

  “But what task?” Cade said.

  “I don’t know,” Taliesin said.

  Cade stared at him. That Taliesin didn’t know—and would actually admit to it—was perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all.

  * * * * *

  Cade sensed the rising of the sun in the east long before the brightening sky began to obscure the stars. The moon had set several hours before, prompting some grumbling among the men who could see even less than before. Rhiann rode beside Cade throughout the night without complaint, and it occurred to him that very few women would have traveled in this fashion for so long without any protest. He suspected that complaining had never gotten her very far at home and suffering in silence was, for her, normal.

  “You have only another hour,” Taliesin said.

  “And longer still until noon.” Cade nodded towards the west. “Those clouds will help.”

  Rhiann glanced at him. “You foretell the weather too?”

  “I would prefer that the sun didn’t catch me unawares,” Cade said. “It’s strength is inversely proportional to my weakness. At least it’s February. For me, the summer months are the most difficult to negotiate, when the sun lights the sky for all but a few hours a day, and the least rain falls. That first summer I feigned illness for all of July.”

  “That can hardly fool the servants for long.” Rhiann moved her horse closer to his and lowered her voice so the men behind couldn’t hear her.

  “No,” Cade said. “It can’t.”

  “Does it hurt?” Rhiann said. “The sun?”

  “It isn’t so much painful as draining,” he said. “Such was my problem when I rode to meet your father. I could hold my sword and even maintain my seat on Cadfan, but the sun disoriented me. I can feel my strength ebb as the sun grows higher in the sky.”

  Rhiann stared at him, clearly fascinated. “How soon after Arianrhod changed you did you discover this?”

  Cade wasn’t sure how fully he wanted to disclose the intricacies of his affliction to her, but decided to answer anyway. “I knew it the first time the sun hit my face. I fell to the earth, gasping, although I had no breath. There was nothing but blackness before my eyes. Rhun was with me, fortunately, and he dragged me a few feet into the stables. Even then, we didn’t understand that this weakness was part of what Arianrhod had changed in me.

  “In the end, Cynyr sent me away from Bryn y Castell. I traveled across Wales under Rhun’s protection. Cynyr felt that I needed to learn how I was different from other men, and to deal with what I had become.”

  “Cadwaladr.” Taliesin interrupted him, his voice commanding attention. “A rider comes.”

  He was looking forward and Cade followed his gaze. A horseman raced towards them out of the gloom, along the straight stretch of road between them and Bryn y Castell. They’d turned northeast from Tomen y Mur a mile back, following the road through a series of hills. Now, the road was heavily treed on either side as it climbed out of the lowlands and farther into the mountains.

  Cade checked Cadfan and held up a hand to halt the men. By the time everyone had reined in, the pounding of the oncoming horse’s hooves thrummed loudly on the stony road. Cade glanced behind him to catch Rhun’s eye and was pleased to see his men shifting into battle formation without needing to be told. Those with spears moved to the front, along with Rhun, who was always at the forefront of any fight.

  Rhun pointed with his spear. “Look! More men come behind him!”

  He was right. Behind the first rider rode a half-dozen others, obviously in pursuit.

  “The first rider must be saved,” Taliesin said. “Let him through but hold off the others.”

  Cade turned to Rhiann. “Take that bow of yours and get off the road. You’re not riding in this charge, but if you want to capture that forward rider, I wouldn’t mind.”

  She gave him a steady look and then nodded. “Yes, Cade.” She slipped out of line and he turned his attention back to the task at hand. The men were tense and excited. Cade felt the blood lust rising in them—not so different from his own, in truth.

  “You too,” Cade said to Taliesin. “You need to go with Rhiann.”

  Taliesin flashed a wicked grin and hefted a spear that had appeared in his hand from out of nowhere. “I’m with you, my boy, come good or ill.”

  Shaking his head because it was too late to argue with him, and he did
n’t have the words anyway, Cade spurred Cadfan forward to meet the oncoming men. Ten yards on, the lead rider reached Cade’s company, which parted down the center to allow him to flash through the ranks at speed. Closing the gap again, they neared the opposing force. At their approach, the pursuers visibly hesitated.

  “Halt!” The shout came from a helmeted man in the first rank of the approaching company. He threw up his hand, although whether to stop his own men or Cade’s wasn’t clear. Rhun took the initiative and signaled with his spear for the company to slow. They stopped with fifteen yards left to go between the two forces.

  Rhun lifted his chin. “Who are you?”

  “That rider is ours!” the man said, not answering Rhun’s question. “You must let us through. He belongs to us.”

  Rhun shifted in his seat and glanced behind him. Cade turned too and saw that Rhiann and the rider in question were now conferring, their heads together. Her bow arm was relaxed at her side, and she’d put her arrow back into her quiver.

  “No,” Cade said, under his breath, but loud enough for Rhun to hear.

  “Who is your lord?” Rhun called to him across the space. Neither company wanted to get any closer.

  The man twitched his shoulders, impatient with the delay. “We’ve tracked the fugitive these many days from Caer Dathyl in Arfon.”

  Rhun threw Cade a look, knowing, as Cade did, that Cadwallon’s kin had held that fort for generations beyond counting.

  Cade clicked his tongue to Cadfan and moved in front of his men. “You are speaking to Rhun ap Cynyr of Bryn y Castell, and I am Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon. Tell me the man’s crime, and I will see that he is punished.”

  “My lords!” The man blanched, and his words burst from him in his surprise at who faced him. He looked from Cade to Rhun, who stared impassively back at the captain, giving nothing away.

  “He was a serf in our kitchens,” the man said. “We were more generous than we should have been with him, and he believed himself better than he is. He stole a horse from our stables and ran away.”