“Night before last,” Kyrnin said. “I just got the confirmation this afternoon.”
It took all of Gwydion’s self-control not to shape shift and challenge the smirking Tanist right then.
Lord Dyfed stood up and looked his son in the eye. “I hope you have not doomed us all.”
“Me?” Kyrnin said. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“You encourage the boldness of the northern lairds. Don’t deny it; it’s one of the worst kept secrets in the cantref. I know that you have encouraged Deykin in his grudge, and supplied him with ideas if not weapons.”
Kyrnin said, “They’re just ideas. What he does with them is up to him.”
“Tell that to the bards when they come down here to judge you for breaking the Ard Righ’s peace. Or better yet, tell Math.”
“It won’t happen,” Kyrnin said. “The King doesn’t give a damn about us, and Math will do nothing.”
“And you’re betting my cantref on those to hopes,” Gwillim said.
“It’s my cantref too,” Kyrnin complained.
“If there’s anything left by the time you’re done,” Gwillim shot back. “Now go, and see if you can’t keep Deykin from launching a full invasion now that he’s feeling so bold.”
Kyrnin looked like he was going to protest, but finally just nodded. Without another word, he turned and left. Alone, Gwillim sat heavily back in his chair, and stared moodily into the fire. As mad as Gwydion was, he felt a moment of pity for the old man; he obviously did not want the strife that was gathering on his doorstep, and was just as obviously powerless to stop it.
Gwydion scurried out of the Lord’s chambers, and spent a few more hours listening at the various conversations with his new knowledge. He still felt murderous, but it settled into a cold stone in his heart. Gil was going to get his wish, perhaps sooner than Gwydion had expected. It was going to be all Gwydion could do to keep in control of the situation.
He spent the night in the stall of Kyrnin’s prize heifer. She was a beautiful creature with her shiny brown coat and mellow demeanor, and she was obviously well cared for. Gwydion ate some of her oats, and curled into a hay filled corner for several hours sleep. He knew he was going to need his strength for the coming days.
Three days later he stood in front of Math. “I want to go to Dyfed and get them to agree to the Rules again,” he said.
“I know about Moryus,” Math said.
“And I know that the Tanist of Dyfed has been encouraging the border caers to be aggressive and belligerent,” Gwydion replied. “It has to stop.”
Math regarded him gravely. “Do you think that you are capable of this?”
Gwydion sighed. “I’m not sure. I know that it would be better coming from you directly, but I also know that you are unlikely to go. That puts the onus on me.”
“I see.” Math sat back and stroked his beard. “You feel some responsibility for Moryus’ death, don’t you?”
“I saved his life this summer,” Gwydion said. “And I was in his caer just days before this happened, trying to find out more about your Rules.”
“Do you think your visit caused Deykin to act?”
Gwydion said, “I don’t think Deykin knew I was anywhere near there. But I know that he was seeking Moryus life, and that Kyrnin was encouraging him.”
“That is a grave charge, nephew,” Math said. “How do you know this?”
“Because I was in Dyfed when Kyrnin found out,” Gwydion said. “He seemed pleased by the news to me.”
“Did he know you were watching him?”
“No, Uncle.” Gwydion cocked his head. “Didn't you know what I was doing?”
“I knew you were in Dyfed,” Math said. “I did not know you were spying on Lord Dyfed’s Tanist.”
“Are you upset?”
Math looked a bit surprised. “Not at all,” he said. “Your methods may be somewhat unorthodox, but you are taking your duties seriously, which is what I have been training you for.”
“Then may I go down there officially?”
Math sighed. “Something must be done. So we will try your plan.”
“I will leave immediately.”
“No,” Math said. “Remember that you are not travelling alone this time. Wait for the weather to break.”
“As you wish, Uncle,” Gwydion said with a bow.
“And take Gilventhy,” Math said.
“If you would like,” Gwydion said. “May I ask why?”
“Because he is moping around like a lovesick bull,” Math said. “I know not which woman has his attention, but he needs to be distracted.”
Gwydion found Gil in the training area, but instead of swinging his sword, he was sitting on a bench, head in his hand. Gwydion sat next to him, but he only grunted an acknowledgement.
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Gwydion said.
“I can’t help it,” Gil replied.
“You’d better,” Gwydion said. “Even Math knows that you’re pining for a woman.”
“Does he know who?”
“No, but I think that’s mostly because he doesn’t want to yet.” Gwydion leaned close. “And if he finds out, I suggest you leave Glencairck.”
“And where would I go?” Gil asked.
“Some other world,” Gwydion said. “And even that might not be far enough.”
“Are you trying to make me feel worse?”
“Actually, I have a way to make you feel a little better.”
“Of course you do,” Gil said sourly. “You’re going to let me beat you up.”
“Better,” Gwydion said. “We’re going on a little trip to Dyfed.”
Gil sat up. “Is this what you’ve been planning?”
Gwydion said, “I don’t think this time will do it, but you never know. I certainly am going to push them hard.”
“And Math knows?”
“He suggested taking you along.”
Gil whistled lowly. “I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.”
Gwydion ignored the nagging doubts in his mind and said. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Three weeks later, Gil was champing at the bit to leave, and Gwydion had made all the preparations possible. He talked to winds in the morning, getting a feel for how the weather was changing, and finally he gave the order to leave. Gil said, as they rode out of the gate, “I thought winter would never end.”
“It’s not, quite,” Gwydion answered. “We have one more good storm coming, but it will be about ten days before it gets here.”
Gil looked at him slyly. “I suppose that’s part of your plan.”
“I’m not that good,” Gwydion said.
“No, but everyone thinks that you think that you are.”
Ten kerns rode with them, making the progress painfully slow for Gwydion. It took them two days to get to Caer Don, where three more kerns joined them. Gwydion felt a huge responsibility settle on his shoulders as he led them all south and across the border into Dyfed.
They arrived at Caer Arberth five days after leaving Caer Dathyl. A guard on the wall of the caer called out to them. “Who are you, and what are your intentions?”
Gwydion pushed back the hood of his cloak. “I am Gwydion ap Don, Tanist of Gwynedd. I come in peace to seek council with Gwillim, Lord Dyfed.”
The guard disappeared, and after a few minutes, a new kern appeared. “I am Adaf, chief of Dyfed’s warriors. Do you come in peace?”
“We do,” Gwydion answered.
“Then lay down your arms.”
Gwydion nodded, and dismounted to remove his sword. Gil muttered, “I feel naked,” but he put his claymore on the pile with the rest of the weapons. Gwydion understood, but the formality did not concern him. So far, everything was according to tradition and custom.
The gates creaked open, and they led their horses into the courtyard. Grooms appeared and took the animals, while Adaf came down and greeted them. “My Lord Dyfed has agreed to meet with you,” he
said. “Only the Tanist and two others will be allowed. The rest will wait here.”
Gwydion nodded to Gilventhy and the senior kern, Neith. They walked into a quiet hall where all eyes watched them as they made their way to the high dais. Gwillim’s seat was the largest in the hall, though not a throne, and Kyrnin stood just behind him, looking disdainful.
Gwydion bowed low before Lord Dyfed. “Greetings from Math, Lord Gwynedd to his peer.”
“We welcome you to our cantref and our hall,” Gwillim said. “What do you seek?”
“The honor price of Laird Moryus.”
“Are you accusing a cantref lord of murder?” Kyrnin said.
“Not at all,” Gwydion replied. “But he is responsible for the actions of his people.”
“What honor price do you seek?” Gwillim said after a stern glance at his son.
“I want the head of Laird Deykin on a pole.”
The people gasped, and Kyrnin’s scowl deepened. “Impossible,” he said.
“It does seem a bit steep for his crime,” Gwillim said. “Didn’t this happen during a cattle raid?”
“If it were just an accidental death during a friendly cattle raid, I wouldn’t be here,” Gwydion said. “But Laird Deykin has been violating the Rules established between Math and your Grandsire, Erdyn.”
“Do you have any proof of this?” Kyrnin asked with a trace of smugness.
Gwydion addressed him for the first time. “I was there when Deykin tried to kill Laird Moryus. Twice.”
“And how many cattle raids have you been on exactly?”
“That was my only one.”
Kyrnin smirked. “So you may have misinterpreted high spirits and the rush of excitement for attempted murder.”
Gwydion said. “I could have. But I didn’t.” He turned his attention back to Gwillim. “You don’t ambush a party with archers in good sport.”
Gwillim nodded, but Kyrnin snorted. “You’re asking for a life. We need more than your word.”
“Shall I contact the Pen Bardd, and have him send a bardic company to judge the situation?” Gwydion asked. “I think their verdict might be harsher than what I am asking.”
Kyrnin took a step forward. “Is that a threat?”
“I want peace between our cantrefs,” Gwydion said. “I will do what it takes to accomplish that goal.”
“Including razing this caer?”
“Enough!” Gwillim stood, and after giving another stern look to his son he addressed Gwydion. “We too seek peace between our cantrefs. Assure Math that the Rules will be observed in the South as they are in the North.”
“And Deykin?” Gwydion prompted.
“Tell your uncle to listen to the winds,” Gwillim said. “I will make sure that justice is done.”
Gwydion cocked his head as though he were listening to something. After a moment he nodded and bowed low. “Your word is accepted, and binding, my Lord. Lord Gwynedd awaits the results of your justice.”
Gwydion saw several people making warding signs against him, and even Neith was looking at him nervously. Gwillim did not act as if anything unusual had happened. “Will you share a meal with us?”
“The hour is getting late,” Gwydion said. “We would be happy to sup with you tonight, but we must leave first thing in the morning. One last winter storm is coming, and we would like to be home before it arrives.” Another, wider ripple of warding signs went through the assembly.
Gwydion and his companions were invited onto the dais, with Gwydion being seated on the left of Lord Dyfed. Kyrnin sat on the right of his father, but not before glaring at Gwydion.
Inside, Gwydion felt a bright hatred for Kyrnin, but he kept his demeanor calm and even friendly. Servants set done platters of beef and steaming oat cakes, followed by jugs of cold milk and mead. A young woman took the seat across from him, and he worked on charming her into a conversation. Kyrnin glowered the entire time.
Gwydion also talked to Lord Dyfed, asking about such things as they had in common: weather, herds, and harvests. “Is it true that you listen to the winds like your uncle?” Gwillim asked at one point.
“I am learning to, yes,” Gwydion said. “I’m nowhere near as good as he is, though.”
“And knowing about the storm?”
“Part of the winds. I keep hearing little bits of it, letting me know it’s on its way.”
“That must be a convenient skill,” Gwillim said
“That it is, especially when travelling.”
A servant came and whispered something in Gwillim’s ear. He nodded, and then turned to Gwydion. “If you would excuse me, there are some matters that need my attention.”
“Of course,” Gwydion said.
Without anyone between them, Gwydion could feel the heat of Kyrnin’s gaze. He turned to meet it squarely. “Yes, Tanist?”
Kyrnin said, “When you and I have become Lords, don’t think that I will forget this and try to make peace.”
“I wouldn’t entertain the thought for a moment,” Gwydion said. “I think that when that happens, we will find out who is the better man.”
“You will. I already know.”
“It’s generous of you to acknowledge the superiority of a younger man,” Gwydion said. “I was willing to put it to the test.”
Kyrnin’s face reddened. “If my father hadn’t specifically forbid it, I would challenge you right now.”
Gwydion shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to wait, then.”
Kyrnin stood and said to the table, “I bid you all goodnight.” He left before anyone could respond.
Gwillim returned a moment later, looking troubled. “Kyrnin didn’t offend you, did he Tanist?”
Gwydion said, “My Lord, if I took offense at every harsh word I heard, I would spend my life in battle. My cousin here might prefer that kind of life, but that is why I do the talking, not him.”
Gwillim smiled, but his eyes were still troubled. The meal ended soon afterward, and as Gwydion rose to leave, Gwillim touched his arm. “I know that my son is a bit hot-headed,” he said. “All I would ask is that you remember that your people and my people are not that much different. We all want to raise our families without fear and to live in peace.”
Gwydion wanted to reassure him that he would work towards peace, but he knew that it would be a lie he could not hide. Instead, he said, “I hold you no ill will, Lord Dyfed. I just want justice.”
Gwillim nodded. “You shall have it, I promise.”
Gwydion, Gil, and Neith were given a comfortable chamber to share. Neith and Gil talked strategy, fortifications, and armament they had seen, and Gwydion listened to it all with half an ear. He made a note of all the points they raised, but he felt it was all somehow futile. During dinner he had felt the pieces falling into place, locking them into a destiny that some would welcome and some would try to defy. Long after Gil and Neith were snoring contentedly, he was still trying to decide which he might do.
The next morning, Gwydion still had no answer, and was irritable from a lack of sleep. He thanked Gwillim formally, and had his men mount up for the journey back to Gwynedd. They were about to ride out of the gate, and Gwillim had already gone back into the Caer, when Kyrnin stepped in front of Gwydion and grabbed his horse's bridle, bringing the group to a halt.
“We are not done, Tanist,” he said.
“Are you challenging me now?” Gwydion asked.
“No,” Kyrnin said. “Not today. But I swear by the Three Queens that the next time we meet, I will see your life’s blood spill at my feet.”
Gwydion almost responded in kind, but something clicked within him, and he laughed instead. “Is that the worst you can do to me? Because here is my oath in return: the next time we meet, I will humiliate you so badly that you will not dare show your face outside the walls of this caer.”
Kyrnin turned a darker shade of red than Gwydion had yet seen, and his free hand hovered above the hilt of his sword. He swallowed his anger with effort, and droppe
d both hands to his side. “Until next time, then.”
“I can’t wait,” Gwydion replied, and spurred his horse forward.
Chapter 5: Preparation
The trip back to Caer Dathyl was uneventful, although Gwydion’s actions caused lively speculation among the kerns. Gil was the worst in some ways, wondering aloud more than once if the Tanists would drag their cantrefs to war even before inheriting the title of Lord. Gwydion said little; he felt caught in a spiral of events that had slipped beyond his control, even though they were sweeping him towards his goal. He constantly wondered if he were truly the master of his own fate.
They arrived in Caer Dathyl just as the first fat flakes of snow began swirling thorough the air. He immediately went to Math’s tower and gave his report. He left nothing out of what he had said or done, although he had no idea how Math would take any of it. The old man simply said, “Have you heard what justice Gwillim visited on Deykin?”
“I did,” Gwydion said. “He has been exiled from Dyfed, and stripped of his rank and possessions. I tend to think my punishment would have been less severe.”
“Possibly,” Math said. “And do you think the Rules will now be enforced?”
“For a season, perhaps,” Gwydion replied. “Then I think that Kyrnin will be back to encouraging the lairds to break them.”
“You and Gwillim’s Tanist are quite the pair,” Math said.
“He’s hot headed, and I am proud. If we are Lord’s at the same time, I don’t think the Rules will be enforceable on either side.”
“Do you have any thought of how to resolve the tension?”
“Not in a peaceful manner, no.”
Math regarded him for several quiet minutes. “You must choose the course that you feel is right,” he said at last.
“I don’t think there is a right in this case, Uncle.”
He left the tower and went outside on one of the outer walls. The grey stone matched the grey sky, giving him a sense of being in between the worlds. Winds tugged at his hair and his cloak, demanding attention, and he felt suddenly irritated. He hadn’t been to his chamber to retrieve his harp, and all the tricks Math had been teaching him to control the intrusion of the winds were ineffective. He gave a cry of frustration, which became the screech of an eagle as he launched himself into the storm. He beat his powerful wings, climbing higher and higher until he broke through the clouds into the bright sunlight.
The Two Tanists (A Bard Without a Star, Book 2) Page 4