The Pendragon's Champions (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 5)

by Sarah Woodbury

  “And you tell me he is a sidhe. And that we have demons as well as Mabon to worry about as we travel.”

  “And maybe other gods too,” Goronwy said. “I haven’t yet told you about our encounter with the boar at Caer Dathyl, who Taliesin thought was Camulos in animal form.”

  “Camulos is never far from his cousin Barinthus.”

  “And both are associated with Mabon.” Goronwy caught Catrin’s eyes. “Do you know how to fight?”

  “I have a knife.” She studied Goronwy in return and he let her. “Perhaps we ought to use the whetstone.”

  Which told Goronwy all he needed to know about her own opinion of herself. Maybe she really is Arianrhod.

  Chapter Seven

  Hywel

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Bedwyr said.

  “No,” Hywel said, finally giving him honesty instead of the false face he’d been employing since they left Deganwy.

  “So what exactly did your father say when you last saw him?” Bedwyr said.

  “Not to come back until I’d learned better manners.”

  “When was this?”

  Hywel couldn’t help smiling. He’d been such a child when he’d stormed out of his father’s house. “Two days before we fought the demons at Llanllugan.”

  Bedwyr stared at him, and Hywel shrugged. “Didn’t you notice that I was a bit green?”

  “You’re telling me that you fell in with King Cadwaladr by chance? That—what?—you were riding north through the countryside and happened upon Geraint and his men an hour before Cade showed up to fight the demons?”

  “It was more like a quarter of an hour, actually,” Hywel said.

  Bedwyr barked a laugh. “That was a trial by fire, wasn’t it?”

  Hywel couldn’t help but laugh with him. “It was. When I found myself beside King Cadwaladr, it was the culmination of an impossible dream. I thought I knew what battle was. I thought I knew who I was. But then, fighting back to back with him, my entire life came down to my sword and his—it was all or nothing.”

  “All, I’d say,” Bedwyr said. “Will your father be pleased that King Cadwaladr has taken you into his teulu? Surely he will see the honor in that?”

  Hywel shot him a sour look. “He has never approved of anything I have ever done. As I told King Cadwaladr before he sent us on this journey, it may be that my father doesn’t support him out of sheer perversity, in that it would imply approval of my ventures.”

  “Families are complicated,” Bedwyr said.

  “You have the right of it.”

  Bedwyr had kept Hywel entertained all the way from Deganwy with stories of his home on Anglesey. He had fourteen brothers and sisters and, from the sounds of it, Bedwyr had been lucky to have them. Hywel wished he’d had siblings to take some of the pressure off of him. As it was, he’d grown up in a far quieter household, with only him and his older sister. His father’s hopes and demands had fallen entirely on Hywel as the only son and heir.

  Hywel’s home lay in a bend of the Wye River, not far from the Roman road. He and Bedwyr followed a track wide enough for two carts to pass. Trees overhung the road and Hywel felt his breath easing out and his shoulders relaxing for the first time in four days. He was coming home, and his heart knew it, even if his stomach roiled at the thought of confronting his father again. Maybe it would go well. Hywel squashed the thought the moment it entered his mind. Better to have no expectations at all.

  “Legend has it that Vortigern himself retreated to my family’s castle after failing to contain the Saxons and ultimately died here,” Hywel said.

  “Is that good or bad?” Bedwyr said. “I mean—is it something of which your father is proud or something I should refrain from mentioning?”

  “Vortigern didn’t do the Welsh any favors by inviting the Saxons in, but he was a great ruler, and my mother is numbered one of his descendants.”

  “Ah,” Bedwyr said. “Then perhaps your father thinks himself in line for the throne of the High King? He might not be well disposed to seeing Cade in his place.”

  Hywel should have known better than to think he could hide something like that from Bedwyr. “Not him, but for all his despair of me, my father thinks the High Kingship should come to me, through my mother.”

  Bedwyr shot Hywel an amused look. “I suppose you told this to Cade before we left.”

  “Of course,” Hywel said.

  “And what did the King say? My guess, it pleased him in a perverse way.”

  Hywel couldn’t deny it. “He laughed and clapped me on the back. He said that of the two of us, he’d be just as happy for me to become High King as him, as long as someone he trusted held the post. He doesn’t want the headache inherent in the job.”

  “Much easier to be a knight in the High King’s guard.”

  “That is no jest,” Hywel said. “Despite my father’s aspirations, he has no idea what he’s asking of me. He sees only the power, and not the price to attain it or keep it.”

  A mile later, the two companions approached the fort. It exploited a strong natural crag overlooking the Wye to the west and south and was defended on the north and east by rock-cut ditches, with a causeway on the north-east leading to the main gate. A strong wall followed the edge of the bluff on the river side, making it impossible for an army to ascend from the river, not to mention a straight drop down for anyone choosing to depart the castle that way.

  Bedwyr pulled up twenty yards from the causeway. “Impressive. Your father is rebuilding in stone.”

  “The exterior walls, anyway.” Hywel raised a hand to a soldier whom he didn’t know on the battlements. He wondered how much had changed in the weeks since he’d left. The man returned the greeting with a measured stiffness that didn’t bode well for the rest of the visit. Then the double gate opened. Hywel glanced at Bedwyr. “No time like the present.”

  By the time Hywel and Bedwyr reached the great hall, Hywel was so stiff and uncomfortable—with his back teeth clenched so hard—he had to force himself to relax lest he pass out. That wouldn’t do at all at his first entry into his father’s presence as a knight. His father, Deiniol, sat in his carved wooden chair at the head of the hall by the fire. A dozen tables were scattered around the room. The servants would put them together for formal dinners but, more often than not, meals were served more haphazardly than that, according to need.

  As it was, they were alone except for Deiniol and Hywel’s mother, Nest, who sat beside her husband, worrying at her skirt with two fingers. It made Hywel think his father had sent all his men away so there’d be no witnesses to Hywel’s dressing down. It was kind of him, if that was indeed the case. Then again, perhaps he was afraid Hywel had something to show for his absence, and he didn’t want anyone to witness his own capitulation.

  Deiniol sat unmoving, one hand to his chin while his eyes followed their progress towards him. He didn’t rise—and he didn’t greet his son.

  “It seems I’m not yet forgiven,” Hywel said under his breath, as he and Bedwyr came to a halt ten paces from Deiniol’s chair.

  “My lord.” Hywel sketched a bow. Bedwyr did the same.

  Deiniol gestured towards the tunics they wore, both showing Cade’s red dragon crest. “You’ve come from Gwynedd, have you? Lord Morgan has informed me of recent events, including the death of King Cadfael.”

  “Then he would have also told you how King Cadwaladr and his men, your son included, saved this region of Powys from Saxon and demon marauders,” Bedwyr said.

  Deiniol’s face was a frozen mask. Beside him, Nest looked close to tears. She hadn’t looked at Hywel either, which was even more disconcerting. His father had always been a hard man—and even harder on Hywel than on his own men on whom he was hard enough—but if Hywel had an ally in his own house, it had always been his mother. Occasionally—very occasionally—she’d been able to temper his father’s harsh decrees. It wasn’t any wonder that Hywel’s sister had left home with the first man who offered for her, th
inking anything was better than another day under Deiniol’s thumb.

  It wasn’t any wonder that Hywel had left when he did.

  “Are you well, Mother?” Hywel took a step towards her, but as his movement, she jerked her hand, pushing him away. Hywel stepped back.

  Deiniol cleared his throat. “You are not welcome here. Neither you nor an entreaty from your king.”

  “You support the Saxons, then.” Bedwyr’s jaw bulged, his anger barely contained. “I’ll be sure to let them know that they have your permission to pillage your lands at any time.”

  While Hywel appreciated Bedwyr’s support, he regretted that his friend had spoken. Deiniol gritted his teeth, but otherwise didn’t respond to the taunt, other than to meet Hywel’s eyes for the first time. Deiniol withdrew his attention so quickly, however, that Hywel wasn’t sure he’d even seen it.

  Hywel was about to turn away, so disheartened that he felt his insides had melted, when he realized what he’d missed: one of his father’s arms hung loose beside his chair, his fingers almost to the floor. All the while they’d been talking—or not talking—he’d been speaking to Hywel in their family’s coded battle language.

  Enemy near, his father’s hand said. Danger.

  “Forgive me, my lord.” Hywel put his feet together and bowed stiffly. “I hadn’t realized I wasn’t welcome in my own home. Now that I understand we are not wanted, we will not impose on you any longer.” He turned away.

  “Hywel—” Bedwyr said.

  “I’d hoped you would have matured in the time you’ve been gone,” Deiniol said to Hywel’s back. “Your mother had prepared your old room for you, but it seems no one will sleep there tonight after all. Your sister will be sorry she missed you.”

  Hywel froze in mid-stride, his hand on Bedwyr’s coat to pull his friend with him. He processed his father’s words, and then he continued down the gap between the tables towards the doors to the hall. Thankfully, Bedwyr didn’t ask questions, having caught the strange undercurrent between Hywel and his father.

  Without speaking, Hywel and Bedwyr mounted their horses and passed under the gatehouse, taking the eastern road from the castle. It wasn’t until they were a half-mile away that Bedwyr pulled up. “What was that about?”

  “Keep going a little longer,” Hywel said. “We need to circle back among the trees.”

  “Your father’s fingers moved in code,” Bedwyr said. “I didn’t notice until the very end. He was trying to cover his signals with his cloak and was so successful that I almost missed it.”

  “I almost did too. Did you also note that my father wasn’t wearing his sword?”

  “I didn’t,” Bedwyr said, “or if I did, I didn’t think anything of it at the time. What did he say to you?”

  “That we are in danger and an enemy is near.”

  “An enemy?” Bedwyr said. “What kind of enemy? No Saxons were in the castle or we would have seen signs.”

  “The threat comes from within the fort. Only my parents sat in the hall. Where are our men? What has happened to the garrison? To the servants? At first I thought he’d sent them away so he could meet with me in private.”

  “But he hadn’t.”

  “No,” Hywel said. “Whoever has cowed my father wanted him to get rid of us quickly. My father took advantage of our estrangement to make his animosity look more real than it really is.”

  “It looked real to me. Fathers and sons …” Bedwyr’s voice trailed off.

  Hywel shot him a dry look. “I’m sure after you and I deal with whomever has frightened him so badly that he no longer controls his own house, we’ll be back to our old ways. But for now—”

  “—for now he needs you and trusts you enough to believe that you will do what needs doing,” Bedwyr said. “So what’s the rest of the code? The bit about your room and your sister?”

  “The only way into the fort other than through the front door is from the river. Once, on a dare, I scaled the rocks and then the wall around the fort to reach my sister’s room, which is built directly into the curtain wall.”

  “And where is she?”

  “She married Rhys ap Morgan, whom you’ve met, although she’s well into her second pregnancy and could not come to the wedding at Deganwy.”

  Bedwyr wrinkled his nose in distaste.

  “I know,” Hywel said. “Rhys wasn’t my first choice either. I said as much to my father at the time.”

  Bedwyr barked a laugh. “I’m sure he appreciated the advice.”

  Hywel laughed too, genuinely, and then sobered. “If someone is watching, from either inside or outside the castle, they’ll think us no threat. Meanwhile, we need some equipment, and I know where to get it.”

  A few yards farther east, Hywel led Bedwyr off the main road to a track heading north that looped back towards the Wye River. It came out on a stretch of water above the castle and some three hundred yards to the north.

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?” Bedwyr said, as they came to a halt on the bank.

  “Not if you’re opposed to getting wet. The fort is built on a particularly difficult stretch of the river. As it’s almost April, the water is running high.” Hywel checked the sky, eyeing the clouds above their heads. It rained almost every day here in the spring. Those clouds would release their rain just as soon as the sun set.

  “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to hear.” Bedwyr dismounted on the bank. “What are you looking for?”

  “A friend of mine,” Hywel said. “He’s fished in this river every day of his life, regardless of whether or not he catches anything.”

  “Or if his lord might object?” Bedwyr said.

  “That too.”

  Then Hywel saw him. Goch stood in the river above a short waterfall, barefoot, shirtless, his breaches above his knees. He held his hands below the level of the water, and Hywel waited for him to move before he disturbed the silence. In a moment he’d know whether or not his old friend had caught or lost the fish.

  “Damn,” Goch said.

  Hywel smiled and moved towards him.

  Goch glanced up. “Oh aye. You’ve come home.”

  “Not for long. Just to sort out some trouble.”

  “Oh, aye,” Goch said again. “You’ll be wanting to get inside the back way.”

  “How’d you know?” Bedwyr’s tone was full of suspicion.

  Goch nodded at Hywel. “Goch knows his boy. Men in black have been in and out o’ the fort the last few days. I didn’t like the look of them, so I stayed away.”

  “Men in black?” Bedwyr said. “Hooded and cloaked?”

  “No. Regular soldiers from the look, with helmets and swords. Not your father’s men, my lord,” Goch said.

  “Have they hurt anyone in the village?” Hywel said.

  “Not so much hurt, my lord, but they ransacked every home.”

  Hywel frowned. Whenever Goch began my lording him, that meant he was upset. Often it was the only way to tell. The old man waded out of the water, still fishless, and Hywel handed him his shirt.

  Goch brushed a hand through his nearly white hair, with only a few strands that had once been red remaining. “Looking for something, they were.”

  “Something they obviously haven’t found, or they wouldn’t still be here,” Bedwyr said.

  Hywel squared his shoulders. “Right. Goch—we need rope and a hook to help us up the wall, if you have them, and then I need you to let my parents know we’re coming.”

  “You two against a dozen?” Goch said.

  “We don’t have time to find more help, even if any help were available,” Hywel said.

  “Besides he’s a knight now.” Bedwyr grinned. “No telling how many men that’s worth.”

  Goch barked a laugh. “This way, my lords. We’ve much to do before it starts to rain.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hywel

  “It may be,” Hywel said, “that King Cadwaladr didn’t send me alone like he did Goronwy and Dafydd because he did
n’t know if I was up to the task, but I thank you for sticking by me anyway.”

  “Ah, boy,” Bedwyr said. “I don’t think that’s it at all.”

  “Then what?”

  “The others weren’t straying so near Saxon lands is all,” Bedwyr said. “Less need to set a watch. Cade said as much to me when he sent us out.”

  Hywel studied his friend. Bedwyr seemed sincere, but he’d had long practice in telling untruths to any number of lords before he’d fallen in with Cade. “All right. Either way, I’m glad you’re here now because it evens the odds a bit.”

  “Two against a dozen sounds even to you, does it?” Bedwyr said.

  “Better than one against a dozen. With my father, we’ll have three, and more if we free my father’s men from wherever these men in black have hidden them.”

  “We’ve got some killing to do,” Bedwyr said. “These aren’t demons, you know. You might have been in battle, but not against humans, not recently anyway. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  Hywel took a deep breath and let it out, not taking offense at Bedwyr’s question or begrudging his right to ask it. “I am. We’ll do what needs doing.” He glanced at Bedwyr. “But no more or less, if you understand my meaning.”

  “Same as King Cadwaladr, I kill only when I have to,” Bedwyr said.

  Hywel looked up at the darkened fort, a black bulk above them against the deep gray of the sky. They’d come down the river, in the river, which meant treading through two small waterfalls on the way. Even that hadn’t been easy, and Hywel was reminded that when he’d done this as a youth, it had been summer, daylight, and not raining. It had been a lark that time, not in deadly earnest.

  Good as his word, Goch had driven a wagon into the fort and made contact with Hywel’s parents. Soldiers had stabbed their swords into the hay piled into the back of the cart before admitting him to the castle, which made Hywel glad he hadn’t chosen that route as means to get back inside. What the soldiers had missed was the coiled length of rope and hook that now hung from the upper window in the fort. Hywel tugged on it and then glanced at Bedwyr.