He opened his eyes, knelt by his son and wrapped him in a strong hug. “I love you,” he said.
Llews hugged him back tightly. “Thank you, Da. I love you, too. And I think I can face my mother now.”
The next morning when they woke, they found Wendon standing at the door of the smithy, scowling out towards the gate of the caer. “Everyone’s nervous,” he said. “It feels like a storm is coming, though the skies are clear.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Gwydion said.
“I hope you’re right,” the smith said. “Now let’s get to work. It’ll keep our minds off of dark thoughts.”
The supply ship arrived in the late afternoon, and everyone assembled to help with the unloading, passing the supplies from hand to hand into the caer. Larger barrels were rolled by the stronger men, but even the children were tasked with small boxes and bags. Llews kept looking at his father, but Gwydion would just shake his head each time..
When they returned to the smithy near sundown, Llews said, “I thought today was the day.”
“So did I,” Gwydion said. “But everything has to line up just right, and it’s hasn’t yet. Besides, I could not deny these people the small joy of having a good meal in their bellies.”
“Arianrhod would never be so kind,” Llews said.
“And is she better or worse for it?” Gwydion said. “Think about it. We have helped many over the last few years, but think about the results.”
Llews furrowed his brow. “You did not have to help King Ardin, but you did so even after he threatened me to get your help. You didn’t even have to go with Garth that first day when we were ‘captured’. You didn’t have to help the people of Caer Leth after you killed Black Annis. And you didn’t have to help Beaky out of that thorn bush.”
Gwydion said, “In each case there was no guaranteed reward for doing the right thing, and in the case of Ardin, we were threatened with death. So why bother?”
“Because we should be honorable men,” Llews said.
“True,” Gwydion said. “And we’re here in disguise, intent on deceiving your mother. How honorable are we really?”
“More than her.”
Gwydion chuckled. “Yes, but why be more honorable? Why not capture her, torture her into doing what we want, and then kill her before she could cause any more trouble? Why give you a blessing instead of cursing her?”
“Because we’re not evil,” Llews said.
Gwydion hugged him tight. “And that’s why I could not deny these people joy, especially from something so basic as food. Attacking today would have caused them more misery than they deserve.”
“So we wait.”
Gwydion nodded. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re doing great. And it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Llews sighed. “I hope not.”
Three days later, they were summoned to the tower. Gogan, the chief steward, met them at the bottom of the stairs. He looked much thinner than the last time Gwydion had seen him, but he retained the same arrogance. “Milady has heard that you can do small repairs besides just tinsmithing.”
Gwydion bowed and said, “What is it Lady Arianrhod needs?”
“We have some wardrobes whose doors have come loose,” Gogan said. “Do you think you can fix them?”
“I’ll have to take a look,” Gwydion said. “I don’t want to promise something that I cannot do.”
“Fine. Follow me.”
He led them up the stairs to the top level of the tower, where a heavy door was guarded by a huge man carrying a claymore as well as several other smaller blades. Gogan nodded as he opened the door, and the soldier barely acknowledged his existence, but he raked Gwydion and Llews with a skeptical look. Inside, a large sitting room took up half the level, with thick rugs and tapestries softening the cold gray stone. Gogan gestured to two heavy wardrobes against the inner wall and said, “Take a look. Tell me what you can do.”
Gwydion opened one of the doors, revealing a row of rich gowns in variety of colors, some seeded with pearls, and some with tiny gemstones. Gwydion whistled at the finery, and Llews nudged him. Gwydion looked back at Gogan, who was scowling deeply, and turned his attention to the door itself. He could see how it sagged on its hinges, and he opened it wide to get a better look.
“Right there,” Llews said, pointing to where the nails holding the hinges to the frame had pulled loose. Gwydion nodded, and wiggled them back and forth, trying to gauge what might be done.
“Have you tried just hammering them back in?” Gwydion said.
“Of course,” Gogan said. “But they keep working loose, and it takes less time each time we try it. Milady would like a more permanent solution.”
“That’s reasonable,” Gwydion said. He ran his hand between the door and the frame, and said, “I think I can take these off, rehang the hinges in a slightly different place, and get them more stable and sturdy. It’ll look a bit funny, though, because these hinges have cut into the wood, and the place where they were originally will be obvious.”
Gogan exhaled noisily. “I’ll check, but I don’t think the looks are as important as the function at this point.”
He went through the door into the inner chamber, but did not close the door well behind him. Gwydion could not see Arianrhod or hear her clearly, but he could catch the tone of the conversation: Gogan was whiny and condescending in turns, and Arianrhod responded firmly and clearly. When the steward reappeared, Gwydion was not surprised when he said, “Milady says to get it fixed, as quickly as possible.”
“My son will get our tools, and we’ll start right away.”
“Just be careful not to harm any of the gowns,” Gogan said. “She’ll have both our heads if you do.”
“I’ll be extra cautious,” Gwydion said.
It took a few minutes for Llews to run down to the smithy and return. Gwydion sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his eyes half closed while he waited, and Gogan watched him, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. When Llews came back, the chief steward still hovered about them, and when Gwydion used an iron pry bar to pull the door off the wardrobe, he winced at the sound. “Milady hates loud noises…” he muttered.
Gwydion did not even look up. “If the work is to be done, I have no choice,” he said.
“Leave them alone, Gogan.”
Gwydion glanced up to see Arianrhod standing backlit in the doorway. He and Llews quickly stood and bowed deeply, as did Gogan. “My lady,” the steward said. “I only meant to protect your peace.”
“I can protect myself,” she said.
“Many apologies, my lady,” Gogan said. “I would never mean to suggest otherwise.”
“And yet you just did.”
Gwydion did not look up, but he could see the steward’s hands start to tremble. “Forgive me, my lady, please.”
“Of course,” Arianrhod replied, and Gwydion could hear the cruel smile in her voice. “Now, if you would leave these tinkers to their work, I’m sure they could finish much more quickly. And I’m sure you have other duties to attend to.”
“Yes, Arianrhod,” Gogan said. “If you’re sure you’re safe with these two?” She said nothing, and Gwydion could see Gogan clasp hands together in supplication. “I’m sorry my lady, I did not mean—”
“Then you need to watch your words more carefully,” Arianrhod said.
“Yes, my lady.” Gogan said. “By your leave then, my lady…”
“Go.”
“Yes, my lady,” Gogan said. “Thank you, my lady.”
He bowed himself out of the chamber, and Gwydion began to feel nervous himself, alone between Arainrhod and Llews. But all she said was, “I expect you to do excellent work, tinker.”
“Yes, milady,” he replied, but she had already turned and closed the door behind her.
Llews said very quietly, “That was intense.”
“She’s an intense woman,” Gwydion replied. “Keep your wits about you while we’re up
here.”
“You know I will,” Llews said.
They continued working through the morning, and various people came and went, mostly ignoring them. Every time the inner door opened, Gwydion felt a moment’s apprehension; he felt like things were coming together, but it still didn’t feel quite right. They finished the first door on the wardrobe in a couple of hours, and after a short lunch of a stale loaf end, they started on the second door.
They got the hinges off and lifted the door up to see where they should be repositioned. As Gwydion used a piece of chalk to make his marks, a young woman behind him said, “Excuse me.”
He craned his neck around to see three pretty young women in plain dresses. “Yes?” he said.
“We need to get one of milady’s gowns,” said the girl in front. She addressed him, but her eyes kept darting to Llews, and the two girls behind her were giggling and blushing.
“Oh, right,” Gwydion said, and he and Llews set the door down out of the way.
The girls took their time selecting a dress, and the coy looks and giggling continued. Llews seemed oblivious to it, and Gwydion began to get impatient with them. The inner door opened, and Arianrhod said, “Why is it taking you so long?”
The girls began making apologies and excuses, and Gwydion was ready to get back to work when he caught a glimpse of the ocean behind Arianrhod. She caught him staring, and said, “What are you looking at, tinker?”
He just pointed behind her. Her anger melted away when she turned and saw the horizon rimmed with warships. She ran to the inner door and yanked it open. “Sound the alarm!” she told the startled guard. “We’re under attack!”
The guard began running down the stairs two at a time, yelling all the way. A bell began ringing somewhere below, and the maidservants huddled in the corner as far from the inner chamber as possible.
Arianrhod stood and watched as the ships came slowly closer, her fists clenched and her visage hard as stone. The sea turned black with the number of ships approaching, and her face cracked for a moment into despair. “How can I possibly defeat him?” she whispered. She closed her eyes to regain her composure, and when she looked up again, she noticed Gwydion and Llews. “What are you still doing here?” she demanded. “Get downstairs and defend the caer!”
“My lady,” Gwydion said, dropping to one knee. “Forgive me, but my son has never been allowed to bear weapons in his life.”
“And you want me to let him cower up here with these girls?” Arianrhod said contemptuously.
“No! Nothing like that” Gwydion protested. “It’s just that in our cantref, a mother usually gives her son his first arms, but his mother is gone, and so if there might be one of your maids who is honorable that could stand in for her…”
Arainrhod looked at the fleet and said, “Fine, I’ll do it.”
“My lady!” Gwydion said. “I could never presume such an honor!”
“You’re right, but I can offer it,” she said. “You need an honorable woman, and I am the most honorable one in this caer.”
“But my lady, please!” Gwydion said. “We are simple tinkers!”
“And today you shall be mighty warriors, defending me and my caer,” Arianrhod said. “This is a symbolic act, correct?”
“Yes, milady.”
“Then come with me.”
She led them into the inner room, where she rummaged in a chest at the foot of her canopied bed. “Ah, here we are!” she said, holding up a short blade in a simple leather scabbard. “Now quickly! What is the form of this ceremony?”
Gwydion said, “It’s just a presentation, and usually a few words of blessing.” He looked out the window. “Please, milady, they are almost here!”
Arianrhod held out the sword. “Take this blade, and use it well, young man. I expect great things from you this day.”
Llews looked at her, looked at the sword, and took it from her. “Thank you,” he said.
The world stopped, and the room brightened. Arianrhod looked confused at the sudden release of magic, and then she looked out the window. “Where are all the ships?”
“They’re gone,” Gwydion said, dropping his disguise. “I no longer need them.”
“You! Again!” Arianrhod said.
Llews stepped away from her fury, and closer to his father. He still held the sword, and said, “I really will treasure this, Mother.”
Arianrhod trembled with fury. “I curse you that you will never have a wife from any race that inhabits the earth,” she said.
Gwydion and Llews both stepped back from the force of the magic. “Why?” Llews said.
Gwydion said, “It’s because she’s evil, and because she hates us.”
“It’s true that I hate you,” Arianrhod said. “And you can’t trick me into breaking this one.”
Gwydion stood very still, thinking. “You’re right, I can’t,” he said. “And that also means that you will never see me or our son again.”
Arianrhod smiled. “Oh, I intend to have your head on a pike, where I can see it every day. There are an awful lot of soldiers between here and the pier.”
Gwydion shook his head. “Have you learned nothing of me? I cannot stop your curses, but you cannot lay a hand on me or our son. Not now, and not ever.”
She never broke eye contact, but began yelling, “Guards! Guards!”
Llews said, “Good bye, Mother.” He looked into his father’s eyes. “I’m ready, Da.”
“As am I.” He concentrated, and Llews shrank to an eagle sitting on his arm. “Good bye, Arianrhod. I still love you, but we will never return to this place.”
He shifted into raven form, and the two birds flew out the window and away from the gray caer on the tiny island. Arianrhod shouted after them, but neither bothered to listen.
Other books by Michael A. Hooten, available from Amazon.com:
Cricket’s Song
Book 1: The Cricket Learns to Sing
Book2: A Cricket at Court
Book 3: The Cricket That Roared
A Bard Without a Star
Book 1: Wizard’s Heir
Book 2: The Two Tanists
Book 3: The Bardic Academy
The Curses of Arianrhod (A Bard Without a Star Book 4) Page 10