by J. D. Oswald
‘Your Highness, might I ask you lower your blade? And might I come in? I don’t want to be seen by the guards if at all possible.’
Dafydd didn’t know whether to be offended by the request or amused. He remembered little of the arrival of Iolwen at Tynhelyg; he had been only eight, far more interested in games of war. Perhaps there had been a foreign adult who had stayed longer than the rest; he supposed that it could have been this man. Whoever he was, Usel certainly had courage. To come back now and appear like this.
‘I couldn’t sense you,’ he said. ‘How did you do that?’
‘A trick I learned from someone in Eirawen. I’ll teach you if you’re willing to learn. And if you wish to sense my intentions, my mind is unguarded now.’
Dafydd concentrated, trying not to be distracted by those piercing eyes, that disarming smile. He skimmed the surface of Usel’s thoughts, seeing glimpses of the man’s journey through the mountains, his slow progress across a country grown hostile to people who looked like they came from the south, the shadowy and ill-defined route across the city and into the palace past guards who were supposed to protect the king and his family. And there were other images too: a hasty escape from an enormous stone building, endless damp and twisting tunnels lit only by a smoky flame from a guttering torch, a pale-faced young boy lying on a bed unconscious, his legs wrapped in white bandages turned crimson at the feet.
‘You saw the spy? Errol?’ In his astonishment Dafydd let his blade extinguish itself, his hand falling to his side. ‘Where?’
‘Errol was never a spy.’ Usel stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘He appeared quite unexpectedly in Ruthin’s Grove, just beneath the monastery at Emmass Fawr some months ago. I was trying to treat his injuries, but he kept on disappearing, ending up in the most unlikely places. He has a rather unique talent, that boy. Something I don’t really understand.’
‘Is he all right?’ Iolwen settled herself into a chair by the fire.
‘The last I heard, he was being taken to Candlehall to be questioned by Queen Beulah. I’m sorry to say I failed him. I was forced to flee before I could help him escape. Melyn uncovered his secret, you see. Something I’d tried to cover up.’
‘His secret? What secret?’ Dafydd heard the concern in Iolwen’s voice and felt a moment’s irrational jealousy.
‘He’s Lleyn’s child. And Balch’s too, Prince Dafydd. Your cousin, both of you.’
7
Strategically located at the mouth of the rivers Abheinn and Gwy, and with the sheltered Bay of Kerdigen giving access to the southern sea, Abervenn has long been a centre of trade. With the dukedom a plaything of the king at Candlehall, true power in Abervenn has most often resided with the merchants who base their operations in the city. Quite happy to trade with Llanwennog and Fo Afron to the north, as well as distant Eirawen to the south, the loyalty of the merchants of Abervenn has most often been to their money, rather than the crown.
Abervenn, A History of Trade
Dafydd strode down the narrow streets of Tynhelyg, marvelling at how well the foreigner, Usel, seemed to know his way around. He was taking a circuitous route, avoiding areas where there might be more than a few people, keeping to the narrow streets overhung with tall buildings, their upper storeys canted out until they almost touched in the middle. The shadows seemed to swallow him, so that Dafydd had to strain every sense to keep track of him. He recalled the way the man had hidden before, how he had managed to sneak into the royal palace and evade guards who were meant to be skilled in throwing off magical glamours. Usel had said he would teach Dafydd the trick, and he was very keen to learn.
They were heading for the merchant quarter, passing elegant houses that appeared lifeless, their lower windows shuttered tight, iron bolts barring entry. These were the houses of Twin Kingdoms traders, empty now save for a few servants. Few men from the south dared show their faces in public these days.
‘Your Highness, may I beg a favour of you?’
Dafydd stopped short, nearly bumping into Usel, who loomed out of the darkness in a completely different place to where he had thought him to be.
‘I came alone because Iolwen said you could be trusted. Is that not favour enough?’
‘You’re right, of course. Perhaps favour is the wrong word. Perhaps I should just say that the people you’re going to meet have put their lives on the line for you. If they’re found here, they’ll be executed. If their actions are uncovered at home, their families will be executed.’
‘I’ll hear what they have to say. As long as they do nothing to antagonize me, I’ll say nothing about their presence here. You can all go home and no one need be the wiser.’
‘Thank you, sir. I could ask for no more.’ Usel disappeared once more into the gloom, and a door opened, spilling muted light into the alleyway. Dafydd followed the healer into a low-ceilinged rear entrance hall of the sort more often frequented by tradesmen and servants. He was led through an empty kitchen, along a corridor with a creaking wooden floor covered in a threadbare rug, and out into the more formal area of the house. Usel opened a door leading into a small but richly appointed reception room. Dafydd stepped through to see a small group: four men he did not recognize, and one young woman he did.
‘Lady Anwyn, I was distraught at the news of your father and brother. Please accept my heartfelt condolences.’ Dafydd bowed. Behind him Usel closed the door and turned the key in the lock.
‘Your Highness.’ Anwyn curtsied, flustered. ‘I had hoped you would come, but I never dared believe … I’m sorry, please let me introduce Lord Ansey, Lord Meygrim and Count Vespil. And this is Master Holgrum.’
‘The spice merchant,’ Dafydd said, as he nodded in turn to each of the men.
‘You know of me, Your Highness?’ Holgrum asked, his piggy face flushed, though whether this was from alarm or the man’s natural complexion, Dafydd couldn’t be sure.
‘I know of your business. It’s said that you’re richer than King Ballah himself.’
‘Would that it were so, sir. Would that it were so. But please, have a seat. Can I get you come wine?’ The merchant bustled over to a side table and poured rich dark liquid into fine crystal glasses without waiting for an answer.
‘Healer Usel tells me you have a proposition to make.’ Dafydd accepted the offered wine but didn’t drink. ‘It must be something important for you all to have risked coming here to make it in person.’
‘Indeed it is,’ Anwyn said, settling herself down in a chair by the fire. ‘I come to offer you Abervenn.’
‘As I understood it, Queen Beulah took back those lands and titles when she declared your family traitors.’
‘The people of Abervenn were loyal first to my father. They loved him, and they loved Merrl too. They’ve no loyalty to Beulah. Ansey, Meygrim and Vespil control all the towns in the province; I command the city itself. We can bring together a sizeable army, well equipped and far better trained than the rabble being pressed to serve in the queen’s name.’
‘And why would they fight their own? Why would they help the likes of me?’
‘Because you are Iolwen’s husband.’
Dafydd took a chair beside the fire opposite Anwyn. She was far younger than he had thought, still in her teens, but her face was hard, her eyes wary. He skimmed her thoughts, trying to sense her sincerity, but he was overwhelmed by her desperate hope and behind that an obsessive hatred for the woman who had destroyed her family.
‘My father always believed Beulah’s claim to the Obsidian Throne was false,’ she said.
‘Why would he believe that? Surely Beulah’s the oldest.’
‘You’ve never met her, have you?’ It was Lord Ansey who spoke. ‘Of Diseverin’s three daughters, Lleyn and Iolwen were like twins, only born years apart. Beulah was different in so many ways, not least her complexion. I remember well the intrigue in court leading up to her birth and after she was born. More than one whisper said that Queen Ellyn had cuckolded her husband.�
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‘Really?’ Dafydd was intrigued. ‘With whom?’
‘Inquisitor Melyn spent a lot of time at Candlehall in those days. And he gained great influence in court too.’
‘I knew nothing of this,’ Dafydd said.
‘The rumour died as quick as it began,’ Lord Ansey said. ‘People accepted Beulah as princess because the alternative was unthinkable. But Duke Angor thought otherwise, and he was close to Ellyn. The only person who knows the truth is Melyn, and I doubt he’d tell.’
Dafydd looked from the three noblemen to Lady Anwyn and back, absentmindedly taking a sip of his wine – an excellent vintage, he noted. It stood to reason that these noblemen would dislike Queen Beulah, but their willingness to commit treason, to sell out their own country to the enemy, seemed too much. It almost offended him that they had no loyalty, no sense of honour. Skulking about with plots and intrigue was not the way of a soldier. But then soldiers died on the battlefield, with their guts spilled out on the ground and ravens pecking out their eyeballs. Wars were won by strategists, by people prepared to compromise their morals.
‘So you say you can give me Abervenn,’ he said. ‘What you really mean is you can give Iolwen Abervenn, but I’ll accept that. The question is, what do you want me to do with it?’
‘Queen Beulah is scouring the whole of the Twin Kingdoms for men to fight in her armies,’ Lord Ansey said. ‘She intends to force her way through the passes by sheer weight of numbers. You can ask Master Holgrum here how the taxes have grown since she took the throne. There’s only so long she can continue like that before there’s open revolt through all the provinces. But if her plan succeeds, if she makes it to Tynewydd or Wrthol, then her people will love her.’
‘She’ll never make it through the passes,’ Dafydd said. ‘No one ever has.’
‘Don’t underestimate her, sir. And don’t forget Melyn. His warrior priests are a force to be reckoned with. But if her invasion can be delayed to next winter, then her army will disintegrate. She’ll have a hard time holding the Twin Kingdoms together when that happens.’
‘So you want me to delay her by attacking from the rear.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It won’t work. At least not the way you think.’
‘Why not?’ Anwyn asked.
‘You say you can give me Abervenn, but I don’t think you can. Even if your captains tell the people to follow me, they won’t be happy about it. And a reluctant army’s less use than no army at all. No, they need Iolwen to return. To stand at my side. They need to see that I command them in her name.’
‘Your Highness, may I make a suggestion?’ Dafydd turned to where Usel still stood at the door, as if on guard. He remembered the sound of the key turning in the lock and wondered if it were to keep others out, or him in.
‘Go ahead,’ he said.
‘Despite his age, King Ballah shows every sign of living for many a year yet. Prince Geraint is, if anything, healthier still. Provided he doesn’t get himself killed in some battle, he’ll likely rule just as long as his father. You’ll be an old man before your turn comes along. But you could rule the Twin Kingdoms at Iolwen’s side. And your child would be rightful heir to both thrones.’
It was a tempting thought. Dafydd well knew that he would have to wait many years to be king in Tynhelyg. The thought of ruling alongside Iolwen in Candlehall was beguiling. He could bring an end to the petty bickering between the two countries that so often spilled over into needless bloody war. But it would be no easy thing overcoming centuries of hostility, the almost inbred antipathy of men from the north to their paler cousins in the south, and the other way around. Some might see his marriage to the princess as evidence the two peoples could live in harmony. Others would see it as something entirely different, a corruption of the Twin Kingdoms’ most pure and innocent soul, their young princess, by the evil heathen northerners. That would be the battle: to show that his wife was not under some demon spell.
‘You seem very certain that the people of Abervenn would follow Iolwen.’ Dafydd chose his words carefully. ‘But she’s been among my kind for more than fourteen years now. And our child will have my looks, you can be sure of that. Would the Twin Kingdoms be ready to accept such a one as their ruler?’
Usel bowed slightly, and Dafydd got the distinct impression this was the point the healer had been trying to get across all along.
‘Yes. I believe they would. If the child were born in Abervenn.’
Benfro didn’t know where he was, but neither did he care. He was warm, comfortable. The ache at the root of his wing had gone, and he lay curled up on the edge of dreamless sleep.
A tiny niggle of unease spoiled his perfect rest. Sleep was bad. Sleep was when Magog came to him, forced him to be his slave. But Benfro could sense nothing of the long-dead dragon mage. Maybe he wasn’t asleep then. But if that were the case, where was he? He felt more rested, more relaxed than he could remember.
Sounds seeped back to him: the rush of water over stone, wind in trees still putting out their first spring leaves, the crackle of flames. He could smell acrid smoke and a rich spicy aroma that was instantly recognizable. He knew where he was, and with that realization came the memories of his strange dream. His flight, his fight and the headlong plummet towards the ground.
Snapping his eyes open, Benfro sat up in a rush, as if doing so would stop him crashing into the flagstones. But he had never reached that ground; that impact had never come. He had gone … somewhere. He didn’t know where. Nor did he know how long he had been there; only that it had been time enough to rest.
‘You have wakened. That is good.’ Benfro looked round to see Errol sitting against the rock wall of the cave. His voice sounded strange as he tried to speak Draigiaith, and it occurred to Benfro that men’s mouths were not well shaped for the task.
Shaking the last of the sleep from his face, Benfro looked around the cave. He was sitting between the fire and the makeshift mattress of dried grass, exactly where he had settled himself down to attend to Errol’s broken ankles. As he thought of them, Benfro looked at the boy’s legs, then at the fire. The cauldron sat a little away from the flames, the last of the poultice he had mixed turned dry and flaky inside it.
‘I must thank you,’ Errol said, ‘for what you did to my ankles. The pain is gone now.’
‘It was nothing. You’ll need to keep the weight off them for a while though. No more trying to drag heavy wooden chests across the clearing.’ Benfro looked out of the cave entrance to a sunlit day well progressed. The storm had blown through, and bright sunlight painted shadows on grass strewn with branches torn from the surrounding trees. ‘How long was I asleep?’
‘I am not know … I don’t know.’ Errol corrected his mistake and Benfro realized quite how much effort the boy was putting into Draigiaith. ‘I woke at dawn. You have been sleeping for some hours since then. I tried to keep the bad dragon away from you. Did it work?’
‘I …’ Benfro thought back to his strange dream, and then before that when he had been in Magog’s repository. ‘I … Yes. I saw you. And then I was somewhere else. How did you do that?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Errol slipped back into the language of men. ‘I tried to close off the link he has with you, like I’ve seen you do sometimes, with your aura. I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it.’
‘Well, you did, and I’m grateful. You’ve no idea how much.’
‘Then can I stop now?’
Benfro looked back at Errol, noticing for the first time the uncomfortable way the boy sat, wedged up against the rock. He was pale, and a thin sheen of sweat shined his forehead and cheeks, as if he were recovering from a fever. Benfro lifted his hands and let his vision relax until he could see Errol’s aura. It looked healthier than he had seen it for a long time. Errol’s form glowed with a thin veil of white, almost the colour of the Grym itself. Benfro noticed that the breaks in his ankles were healing well, no longer angry red welts of fire. But what most amazed him
was the thinnest strand, little more than a horse’s tail, that floated from the boy’s right hand, stretching out to the thin red cord that still looped away from his forehead, disappearing into the Llinellau nearby.
As he watched, the gossamer thread dissolved into nothing, and the red malevolence pulsed back up the cord like an angry snake. Instantly Benfro felt the dread presence of Magog battering against him, trying to take him over. But it was a weaker attack. Or if not weaker, Benfro felt stronger, more hopeful than he had in the months since he had first encountered the spirit of the dead mage. He reached out with his own aura, knotting it tight around the cord in an almost reflex action.
‘You should sleep now,’ he said, seeing the boy slump down on to the grass. ‘You need rest for your ankles to heal properly.’
‘Corwen said we could help each other,’ Errol said. ‘I think that’s why he brought me here. Or maybe why Sir Radnor sent me here.’
‘Brought you here? Sir Radnor?’ Benfro suppressed the questions bubbling up in his mind, which was clear for the first time in weeks. The boy was on the verge of collapse. ‘You can tell me later. Sleep now. I’ll make up a fresh poultice for your ankles. And then I’ll see about getting us something to eat.’
‘I didn’t think I’d be seeing this place again any time soon. And certainly not like this.’
Beulah looked over at Clun sitting tall on his horse as they passed through the gates of Beteltown. They rode at the head of what looked like a small army, accompanied by Inquisitor Melyn and several hundred warrior priests as well as the wagons that inevitably slowed down any royal procession. She had put off most of the nobles who had suggested they accompany her by insisting all would ride on their horses rather than in carriages. Those that had still been keen to come were the men she felt she could trust.
‘I didn’t know you’d been to Beteltown,’ she said. ‘I thought you lived further north.’