by J. M. Hofer
“Are you certain Gorlois won’t be offended?”
“No, of course he won’t.”
The maids sat them down and worked on their hair for the next hour, twisting and weaving it into a series of complex knots. When finished, they stepped back and gasped in cooing approval, beaming with pride at what they had created. The ladies then pinned and sewed a few final touches, perfumed them, pinched their cheeks until they blushed and sent their masterpieces proudly out into the world where Gorlois was waiting to see them safely to the banquet hall.
He looked dumbstruck as he approached his wife, letting out a low sigh. “You are such a beauty.” He stared at her another moment and then kissed her forehead. It was clear to Arhianna that he meant it, for his face had an air of disbelief, as if Igerna were a vision that might fade away at any moment. He turned to Arhianna and kissed her hand. “I can’t believe my good fortune—to enter the banquet hall flanked by the two of you, with all the powerful men of Brython looking on? I’ll be the envy of them all.” Gorlois beamed with pride as he offered them both an arm.
Arhianna liked Gorlois. Although he was not especially handsome, there was something about him she found powerful and attractive. More importantly, though, he was kind and generous and clearly cherished his wife.
Gorlois was correct in his estimation of his peers. All heads turned as they crossed the banquet hall to Uthyr’s table. Arhianna felt a rush of excitement as she took her seat, scanning the faces of her dining companions to see who else had been invited to sit near the Pendragon. She was startled to see Seren seated across from her.
“Aunt Seren?”
Seren turned, and her eyes widened. “Arhianna? Oh, Great Mother, it’s been so long!” She reached across the table and took Arhianna’s hands. “I’m so happy to see you! Why are you not sitting with Gareth and your parents?”
“Lady Seren, the Fire Mistress?” Igerna interrupted.
“I am.”
Igerna’s blue eyes widened and her head snapped back to Arhianna. “Shame on you, Arhianna! You didn’t tell me the Lady Seren was your aunt!” Igerna then addressed the man seated next to Seren. “This must be your husband, Lord Aelhaearn?”
“It is.”
Arhianna felt her mouth fall open.
Igerna grabbed Gorlois’ arm. “Gorlois has told me all about the battle at Mount Damen. It must have been something to see—all that fire raining down on the enemy in the night!”
Arhianna’s head reeled. Husband? Her eyes darted back and forth between Seren and the man next to her, trying to grasp what was happening. She had never met the infamous Aelhaearn but had heard about him all her life—her mother told her he was a Firebrand as well, the first male born in several generations, but he had betrayed the Oaks in the Battle of the Grove and been cast out for it. When she had asked her father about him, he would always change the subject, refusing to even utter his name. Father was at that battle—and Gareth, too—they must know of this. How could they not have told me? Gods, does Mother know?
Seren reached over, took Arhianna’s hand, and squeezed it in reassurance. Before she could say anything, however, Uthyr entered the banquet hall. Everyone stood up and cheered, holding their goblets aloft and chanting “Pendragon!”
Arhianna took the opportunity to look for Gareth and her father, whom she knew would tower over most everyone else. She spotted them easily, about half-way down Uthyr’s table on the same side she was, along with her mother. She wanted to go and speak with them but Uthyr was making his way over to the table. She would have to wait until the feast was over and the dancing had begun.
Uthyr arrived at the head of the table wearing a victorious smile. Arhianna had not seen him since he had first landed and come to feast in Amlawth’s hall. He was much changed, looking every bit a king. His hair and beard were oiled to a sheen. He wore a fine linen tunic, a thick torc about his neck, and a cloak trimmed in fur, pinned at both shoulders with heavy-looking brooches. He held up his hands to speak. Everyone in the hall ceased talking and turned his way.
“Fellow countrymen! Together, we are forging a new Brython! Our victories against our enemies prove if our clans fight together, we need never again submit to oppression, be it Roman, Saxon, or any other!”
More cheers erupted.
“I am honored by your trust and loyalty. I will endeavor to be worthy of it.” He raised a large drinking horn rimmed in gold. “Now, the time for words is over. Let us eat!”
Uthyr took his seat. Within moments, his eyes fell upon Igerna and took root. He sat transfixed, as if he had turned to stone in his chair. Neither his guests nor the legion of servants swarming around the table could divert his gaze. Just when it seemed he might stand up and carry Igerna away, the trance broke. He looked at Arhianna and smiled. “My lady, I cannot tell you how pleased I am you’ve recovered and are here, now, at my table, looking so well. I consider your father a good friend and ally, and it pains me such a misfortune befell you while in my charge.”
“Thank you, Pendragon. I’m honored to be here.”
“I still grieve over Taliesin, however. Has there been any news?”
“No, I’m afraid not. No one has seen nor heard from him.” Again, a memory flashed through her mind—this time of Taliesin playing his harp and her dancing to it. She felt an overwhelming rush of happiness, clinging to the faint memory, and then, as quickly as it had come, it disappeared. Damn!
“Taliesin’s resourceful. I’m sure he’ll find his way home again, if that’s what he desires.” Uthyr’s eyes strayed back to Igerna as if somehow the word “desires“ had re-triggered his trance. He looked at her like a fox about to devour a hen.
Arhianna grew anxious, fearful Gorlois would notice. She tried to engage him in small talk, attempting to be as interesting and charming as she could, but it only worked for so long. Gorlois was not the sort of man who ignored his wife and was well-aware of the effect she had on men.
Great Mother, have mercy. Get me out of here. This was not the evening she had expected. Between sitting across from the man her father hated more than anyone in the world, learning Seren had married him, and watching the horribly awkward situation brewing between Uthyr and Gorlois, she found herself wishing she had never left Mynyth Aur. She longed to leave but dared not risk insulting Uthyr or her generous hosts. She wanted to speak with Seren about what had happened, but here was not the place. She wanted to confront her family about why they had kept it from her, but could not do that either. And so, she drank. She drank until she felt better, and then, she drank some more, for good measure.
At a certain point, Gorlois left the table to relieve himself. Igerna reached over and clutched Arhianna’s arm. “I don’t know what to do. I cannot sit here any longer. Everyone in the hall can surely see him staring at me.” The pleasant face she wore belied the stress in her tone. “We need to think of a way to leave without insulting him.”
Arhianna nodded. “I know.” She had been thinking about nothing else for hours. “I’ll pretend I’m unwell. He knows I’ve only just recovered.”
Igerna’s eyes sparked. “That’s perfect. Besides, you’ve looked miserable for some time now. He’ll believe it.”
“I have?” Arhianna thought she had been doing a good job at pretending she was enjoying herself, but apparently not.
Igerna held her cup out for more wine and a servant ran to fill it.
Why not, Arhianna thought, holding hers out as well.
With Gorlois gone, the desire emanating from Uthyr toward Igerna was palpable. As if the evening conspired to ensnare them, the musicians began playing music for dancing. Before Uthyr could make any request of Igerna, Arhianna set her cup down, feigned a fainting spell and tumbled to the floor.
“Oh, gods!” Igerna cried.
Chaos erupted around her. She heard gasps, cries, and furniture being jostled about, and then felt strong arms around her. Father.
“Everyone stand aside.” He lifted her up and she opened her ey
es.
He looked down at her. “We’re taking you back to camp, love. Gareth, get the horses.”
“Gods, Bran,” her mother whispered. “I knew we shouldn’t have come.”
“Stop—you know we had to. Let’s just get her out of here.”
She heard Igerna’s voice nearby. “I’m coming with you. My handmaidens will wait for Gorlois.”
“I’m coming as well.”
The second voice was Seren’s. Arhianna felt her satisfaction deepen. She knew Seren would never dare bring Aelhaearn to their camp, husband or not, so she would have her family to herself. Finally, I can get some answers. She relaxed into her father’s arms, feeling safe and satisfied.
***
Once back at the Oak camp, they gathered together in the largest tent where her parents slept. Arhianna was forced to lay down on the bed, and Igerna insisted on sitting beside her. Her parents tent was not as luxurious as Igerna’s, but it was large and comfortable. Her mother immediately set about making everyone feel welcome. “Bran, can you find us a few more chairs? Gareth, grab those furs and blankets.”
Seren went around the tent and lit the rest of the candles by waving her hand over them.
“I’ll never stop wishing I could do that,” Igerna whispered to Arhianna, her eyes wide. “Do you think there are people who can control water or wind as well? Or just fire?”
“I think there are a great many people in the world with powers we know nothing about,” Arhianna whispered, almost to herself.
Igerna nodded. “I tell you, if I were given a choice of the three, I’d take the command of wind. It never stops blowing at home. Sometimes I think I’ll go mad.”
Arhianna smiled, thinking back on the seasons she had spent in Dumnonia. “It’s fairly constant.” Her mother came over and handed her some kind of concoction. “Here. Drink.” Arhianna felt a bit nauseous from all the wine and did not want to but could not very well admit what she had done had all been an act. She choked it down. It made her shudder, but if it prevented a merciless headache the next morning, it would be worth it.
Her father brought in a few stools and a low table and set them in the middle of the tent. He then fetched a pitcher and sat down with a tired sigh, his feet wide apart and forearms on his knees. “So, what happened?”
“I’m sorry, Father. I drank too much. I shouldn’t have had so much wine. They just kept filling my cup…”
“Oh, Great Mother, Arhianna,” her mother scolded, rolling her eyes. “You know better—and at the Pendragon’s banquet, of all places!” She sat down next to her father. “You scared me near to death—I thought you’d slipped back into the sleep!” She looked as if she might cry. Arhianna felt terrible.
Her father put his arms around her mother’s shoulders and squeezed her to him. “Well, she didn’t. She’s fine. And now that we know it’s nothing serious, I think we should all thank her for giving us an excuse to leave.”
“Bran!” her mother said, smacking his arm. Gareth laughed.
Her father took ahold of the pitcher on the table. “And I, unlike my daughter, have not had enough to drink.”
“Nor I,” Gareth said, thrusting his drinking horn in his father’s direction.
“Ladies?”
Bran sat poised, pitcher in hand, waiting for them to respond. “You’ll not regret it—it’s Tegid’s apple wine.”
“What’s that?” Igerna asked.
“Oh, dear, you’ve never tasted anything like it,” her mother told her, looking a bit more cheerful. “I’ll have some, Bran. It’s been a long day.”
“Me too,” chimed Seren.
“And Igerna,” Arhianna piped up.
“Oh, I’m not sure I should. I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”
“Just taste it then.”
A breeze came into the tent and blew out a few of the candles. Seren relit them from where she sat, giving Arhianna an idea. “Do some flamedancing for Igerna,” Arhianna suggested. “She’ll love it.”
Seren smiled. “Very well.” She made the flames on the candles stretch and retract and then move in unison.
“Come on, Aunt Seren. That’s nothing,” Gareth said. “Do the rabbits for her.”
Seren smiled. “Ah, yes, little man—that was always your favorite, wasn’t it? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Without warning, she extinguished all the candles, causing Igerna to give a little yelp. A moment later, a single flame ignited on one of the candles and then jumped to the next candle, and so on, all around the room. Once the flame had jumped three times, she started a new one to chase after it, and another after that, and then made the flames jump over each other until the entire tent was a choreography of flame and shadow. When the last one finished its last jump, she let the tent sit in darkness a moment and then lit them all again at once.
Igerna clapped her hands. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! Arhianna, can you do all that?”
Arhianna shook her head. “I need to practice more.”
They heard horses arriving outside. “Ah, that will be Gorlois, come to fetch me.” Igerna stood up. “I’m glad you’ve recovered, my friend.” She winked at her. “I’ll come visit you tomorrow.”
Gorlois came in just long enough to wish Arhianna a quick recovery and then whisked his wife away.
The moment they left, Arhianna sat up and confronted her family. “Now, will someone please explain to me why I was not told about Seren’s marriage? To Aelhaearn, no less?”
Gareth and her parents looked at one another, dumbfounded. Her father spoke first. “Honestly, love, with everything that’s happened in the last few moons, I hadn’t even thought about it—sometimes I forget you’ve been asleep for nearly a year.”
She felt shocked. “That’s it?”
“What more do you want me to say?” He shot a defeated glance at Seren. “I still don’t trust him, no matter how many times Seren swears to me he’s changed, but she says he’s been good to her, and he saved Gareth’s life on the battlefield. I have no choice but to tolerate him.”
Arhianna looked at Gareth. “He did?”
Gareth nodded but kept quiet, giving her a look that made it clear she would have to get his true opinion of Aelhaearn later, when he could speak freely.
CHAPTER FORTY
The Victory Games
Gareth woke up a bit before dawn. He had a dry mouth and a mild headache but nothing his mother’s tonic could not fix. He knew the recipe well. He had made it so many times, he could manage it blindfolded. He mixed it up and drank it down, grabbed his sword and shield, and went out to train. This had been his morning routine for the past six moons, since the day Uthyr announced his plans for a tournament in Caer Lundein. Determined to win, he had immediately approached the best swordsman in the garrison and convinced him to train with him.
This morning would be his last opportunity to prepare. The tournament was the next day. Once outside the sleeping camp, he ran the rest of the way to the field to meet his mentor. He was not there yet, so Gareth began his exercises alone.
“Your form’s gotten better.”
Gareth whipped around, a bit startled. He had not heard anyone approach. “We’ll see what good it does me.”
“We will.”
He struck hard, as he always did—with no mercy and no warning. Sometimes Gareth was ready, sometimes not. This morning, however, he met his first blow easily and delivered back one of his own.
“How’s your sister? Seems the women in your family are prone to fainting spells.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your mother’s always fainting. I think she fainted the first night I met her, if I recall.”
Gareth refused to take the bait. Aelhaearn loved taunting him into an angry mistake. “Well, if you smelled anything like what you do this morning, it’s no wonder she fainted.”
Aelhaearn chuckled but did not let his guard down. They circled one another like two stags, watching and waiting for an opportunity to lock
antlers.
Gareth faltered first. Aelhaearn struck, and Gareth went from being slightly off-balance into a full backward stumble, barely able to recover and hold up his shield to stop the blows.
“Rough start this morning?” Aelhaearn raised his dark brows.
Gareth clenched his teeth. What’s wrong with me?
“So, you seem to know all there is to know about this tournament. Tell me about it.”
Gareth suspected the question was simply a ploy to distract him, but that was fine. “There will be three events. Tomorrow is swordplay, archery the following day, and chariot races the day after that—“ He deflected a series of slices. “The winner of the archery competition and the chariot races will be chosen the day of their events—“ He turned and went on the offensive, driving Aelhaearn toward the trees. “—but the swordplay tournament will last two days. The first day, the judges will narrow the competitors down to two. Then, those final two will battle each other after the chariot races to determine the final victor. That event will conclude the games.”
“Then what? What do they win?”
“Gold and a fine horse of their choosing.”
“How much gold?” Aelhaearn moved unexpectedly and seized the advantage, shoving his boot with tremendous force into Gareth’s shield. “Shield!” he barked. “You underuse your shield!”
Gareth shook it off and returned to center, never taking his eyes off his opponent. Though he was quite muscular, Aelhaearn moved with the grace of a cat. He never wasted a step, recovering quickly from any setback, and made every move with ruthless decisiveness. Does the man ever doubt himself?
“I don’t know how much. Doesn’t matter. I’d compete for nothing.”
Aelhaearn laughed and shook his head. “Come on, you don’t want to win?”
Of course, I want to win. But can I? “Well, of course, but that’s for the gods to decide.”
As if suddenly possessed by a demon, Aelhaearn engulfed Gareth in a torrent of blows that soon had him flat on his back, his arms flailed outward.