Night Birds' Reign

by Holly Taylor

  Gwydion floundered, for he did not mean to hurt Amatheon. But then he hardened his heart. He was going to save Amatheon’s life, no matter what. Even at the expense of his brother’s love. But he had reckoned without Rhiannon.

  “He does believe you,” Rhiannon calmly explained to Amatheon. “He’s just afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” Amatheon asked, astonished.

  Rhiannon nodded down at the poem. “Of the last verse. The one that says someone will die.” Her emerald gaze met and challenged Gwydion’s silvery one. “He is afraid, Amatheon, that you will die if you come with us.”

  “I see,” Amatheon said quietly. He rounded the table until he stood directly in front of Gwydion. “But if you do not let me come, I will follow anyway. So you see, you really have no choice. I’m sorry.”

  Gwydion clenched his fists in fury to keep himself from lashing out at his brother, so angry was he. Because he knew Amatheon would do that—he would follow. And perhaps be in more danger because of that.

  “He was sent here, Gwydion,” Rhiannon insisted. “You know that’s true.”

  He knew, but he did not want to admit it, so he did not answer, merely staring at his brother, their gazes—silver and sapphire—challenging each other.

  “He must go with us,” Rhiannon continued. “There must be a reason he has come here now. The gods themselves require Amatheon’s presence in this quest.”

  “You say that,” Gwydion said, not taking his eyes from his brother, “because you do not understand. You say that because you do not believe that the last verse refers to him. You say that because you do not care for him as I do. You say that because he is not your brother.”

  “I say that because it is true,” Rhiannon said, her voice cool. “And you know it.”

  The trouble was that he did know it. He knew it, and hated the knowledge.

  “You must let him go,” Rhiannon pressed. “You must.”

  Please, Mabon of the Sun, he begged silently. If there was one moment where you were pleased with your Dreamer, remember it. Remember it, and do not let this thing happen.

  “Gwydion,” Amatheon said quietly. “Brother. Why was I called if not to go?”

  Then he had a thought. Perhaps, if he was very careful, if he was vigilant, he could see to it that Amatheon survived. Amatheon would not be in danger until the Guardians—the hawk, the swan, the horse and the wolf—showed themselves. Until then, his brother would probably be safe. And then he thought of something else that might help. A deal he could make. Then they would see.

  “Very well, brother,” Gwydion said quietly. Amatheon’s eyes began to sparkle. “But before you rejoice in your victory, hear me out.”

  With an effort Amatheon composed himself, and looked back solemnly.

  “I will allow you to go with us only as far as Naid Ronwen, the first battlefield we must visit. If—and only if—your presence is required to see what we need to see, then you may accompany us to the other battlefields.”

  Amatheon nodded and opened his mouth to speak. But Gwydion raised his hand and Amatheon was silenced. “Furthermore,” he went on, “you must leave us at my command.”

  “But—” Amatheon began.

  “At my command. I require your promise.”

  The room was silent as Amatheon thought it over. It was a moment Gwydion would remember for years to come for it seemed to him that not only were the people in the room silent, all of Kymru was hushed and still, waiting to hear what Amatheon would decide.

  At last, Amatheon agreed, “I promise.”

  “Then so be it,” Gwydion said the words like ashes in his mouth. “Brother.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Commote Creuddyn and Naid Ronwen Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Ysgawen and Collen Mis, 494

  Meriwydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—noon

  After four days of traveling east they reached commote Creuddyn. To the south the forest of Coed Dulas shimmered in the distance, crowned with leaves of flame—the blazing scarlet of the rowan, the oak and the hawthorn and the shimmering gold of the aspen and the birch mingled in fiery harmony.

  Cai thoughtfully scanned the horizon. They were nearing River Mawddoch, though they could not yet see it over the Earth’s curve. Low-rocked walls divided portions of the gently swelling hills that stretched out before them. The walls were covered with yellow corydalis that crept through gaps in the stones. Shrubs of yellow bush cinquefoil dotted the ground and red snapdragons waved gently in the cool breeze.

  “Who oversees this land?” Trystan asked, turning a little in his saddle to speak to Cai, who rode at the rear of the party.

  “The Gwarda is Diadwa ur Trephin,” Cai answered.

  “Well-liked?” Achren asked from up ahead. “No trouble?”

  “Fair-handed would be the most accurate description,” Cai replied. “But in terms of trouble—well, Uthyr could tell you more about that.”

  “Meaning?” Angharad inquired.

  “Meaning that she has been arguing with Uthyr for several years over a patch of land between Creuddyn and Uwch Dulas, the commote to the north. Seems she is convinced that the land belongs to Creuddyn, while the Gwarda of Uwch Dulas strongly disagrees.”

  “Why doesn’t Uthyr just rule on it, then?” Amatheon asked curiously. “Stop the argument.”

  “He did,” Cai said, with a grin. “But Diadwa didn’t like the outcome. Uthyr gets a letter about that every week.”

  “She sounds painful,” Gwydion said absently, but his eyes cut to Rhiannon, who rode beside him.

  “I saw that look, Gwydion,” Rhiannon said coldly. “Go ahead and say it—you won’t be happy until you do.”

  “Say what?” Gwydion asked with wide-eyed innocence.

  “Go ahead and say that she’s painful because she’s a woman. Go ahead and say that all women are.”

  “Why, Rhiannon, I’m surprised at you,” Gwydion said. “How could you talk about your fellow women like that?”

  “Want me to shoot him?” Achren asked Rhiannon, gesturing to the bow strapped to the side of her horse’s saddle.

  “We’d be happy to,” Angharad put in, baring her teeth in a smile. “Just give the word.”

  “Company,” Cai said, nodding toward the horizon.

  A band of men sat motionless on their horses at the top of one of the distant hills. The man at the head of the pack lifted his arm and motioned the horsemen forward; the band galloped swiftly toward them.

  “Thieves?” Trystan inquired calmly, loosening his bow as both Achren and Angharad did the same.

  Cai rode up next to Gwydion at the head of the party and squinted ahead. “I think not. I believe they wear Diadwa’s badge.”

  “I have no wish to be detained, Cai,” Gwydion said shortly.

  “No doubt. But detained we will be.”

  “We’re in a hurry,” Gwydion insisted.

  “And Diadwa is one of Uthyr’s Gwardas,” Cai answered. “And must not be offended. Come, Gwydion, I know my own people. If we can avoid being sidetracked, we will. If not—” Cai shrugged. “Things could be worse.”

  “Don’t be churlish, Gwydion,” Rhiannon said sharply. “Besides, a regular bed would be a nice change. Since you won’t let us invoke the Law of Hospitality and instead make us sleep on the cold ground every night—”

  “We’ve just started our journey,” Gwydion pointed out coolly. “A little early to complain, isn’t it?”

  “Gwydion,” Amatheon put in, “I don’t think Rhiannon was—”

  “If you don’t like it,” Gwydion went on to Rhiannon, “you could always go back to your cave.”

  “Except for the fact that you need me here,” Rhiannon pointed out.

  “Unfortunately,” Gwydion said.

  Cai sighed. The journey was going to be very long indeed if these two kept at it like this. They had only been on the road for four days, but it felt like much longer.

  The band of horsemen came to a halt in front of the party. There were about twenty men
and women in the warband. They wore tunics of stiff leather and carried bows and arrows as well as short spears and small shields. The lead horseman urged his horse forward until he was just a few feet from Cai. The man bowed in his saddle.

  “Cai ap Cynyr, PenGwernan of Gwynedd, I bid you welcome to commote Creuddyn in the name of Diadwa ur Trephin.”

  Cai, in turn, bowed in his saddle. “I thank you for your welcome, Berwyn ap Cyrenyr, Captain of the teulu of Diadwa the Fair.”

  “May we know the names of your companions?” Berwyn asked politely, as formality dictated. But Cai knew that it was not really a question.

  “Of course,” Cai said, and would have gone on to introduce his companions if Gwydion had not taken over.

  “I,” Gwydion said, “am Gwydion ap Awst, the Dreamer of Kymru. And we are on an errand of some urgency.”

  Berwyn bowed. “But of course, Dreamer,” he said, still very polite. But his brown eyes were keen. “Nonetheless, I long to know your companions.”

  Cai cleared his throat. “Naturally,” he said, giving Gwydion a warning glance. He quickly introduced the rest of them—Rhiannon and Amatheon, Trystan, Angharad and Achren.

  “Such exalted company must receive the best that Creuddyn has to offer,” Berwyn said, again all politeness. But they fully understood the underlying implacability of his tone.

  Nonetheless, Gwydion tried to argue. “Captain, I must insist—”

  “You are all welcome here today,” Berwyn went on smoothly. “For this very afternoon we are celebrating the marriage of our Bard and his lovely lady. We already have a feast planned. Your presence will make the marriage ceremony and the feast even more special to our lady and the happy couple.”

  “Very well, Captain,” Gwydion said, at last admitting defeat.

  “We are greatly honored,” Cai said formally. “Lead on.”

  LESS THAN AN hour later they rode up to the fortress of Diadwa ur Trephin. The huge wooden doors set into the large stone walls of the fort were flung wide open, and a great many finely dressed people were milling about the sizeable courtyard talking and laughing, eating and drinking, calling out cheerful greetings to each other.

  Autumn flowers decked the courtyard: clusters of white alyssum and bright, yellow tansy; rose-purple fireweed and red and white snapdragons; white chamomile and yellow corydalis.

  Berwyn and his men dismounted, motioning for Cai and his party to do the same. As they did so a small, slender woman in a rich gown of dark blue descended the steps leading to the Great Hall. She had long, dark brown hair frosted with silvery strands and held back from her face by a band of blue cloth embroidered with silver and tiny sapphires.

  “You are welcome here, Cai ap Cynyr,” she said, her powerful, rich voice incongruous coming from such a tiny frame. “As are your companions.” She inclined her head to the rest of the party. “We are particularly honored to have the Dreamer himself with us.”

  Gwydion cocked a brow at Cai. “The man who rode on ahead gave the word, no doubt,” Cai said, answering Gwydion’s unspoken question.

  “Ah,” Gwydion said, then turned back to Diadwa. “Lady Diadwa, we are honored to be your guests. I understand from your Captain that a wedding is due to take place here today.”

  “It is,” Diadwa said proudly. “And a feast after. I beg you to be my guests here. You are welcome to spend the night under my roof.” True to the Laws of Hospitality, Diadwa did not ask them their business. Only the glint in her keen, gray eyes showed that she wished to.

  “We would be honored,” Gwydion replied.

  Cai was relieved. After Rhiannon’s comment about warm beds he was afraid Gwydion would stubbornly insist that they camp out again tonight.

  “The wedding is for my Bard, Jonas ap Morgan to his lady, Canna, and begins within a few moments. Dreamer, do you care to officiate or shall my Druid perform the ceremony?”

  “I defer to your Druid, Lady,” Gwydion said politely.

  Diadwa’s smile told Cai that Gwydion had guessed rightly—that to take the place of the lady’s Druid would not have been wise at this late hour. Marriages and other ceremonies were normally conducted by Druids and, although custom dictated that the Dreamer took precedence over them, in some cases it was best to leave the ceremonies to the local Druids.

  A man in a robe of brown trimmed with green came down the steps of the Great Hall. Around his neck was a golden torque decorated with a single emerald. His smile was friendly but Cai noticed that the smile did not quite reach the man’s steady, dark brown eyes.

  “Ah, Glwys,” Diadwa said. “Glwys, you know Cai, King Uthyr’s Captain. And this is Gwydion the Dreamer.” She named the other companions then gestured to Glwys. “This is Glwys ap Uchdryd, my Druid.”

  Glwys bowed, the smile still pasted to his face. “You are all welcome on this day. And the ceremony is about to begin.” He gestured to the bottom of the steps. “Please stand there, to one side, if you will.”

  Amatheon nudged Rhiannon. “Maybe after this wedding is over I could have the Druid do ours. Interested?”

  Rhiannon turned to Amatheon and batted her lashes. “My goodness, you are the third man this month to ask me that.”

  “But definitely the most attractive.”

  “Of course.”

  Behind them Gwydion scowled ferociously. Cai smiled to himself.

  At the Druid’s gesture, the rest of the folk in the courtyard grew quiet and came to gather around the steps, parting in the middle to leave an aisle for the couple to walk. Glwys took his place at the top of the steps and Diadwa followed him, standing off to one side.

  At Glwys’s nod, a man exited from the teulu’s quarters. He wore a tunic and trousers of dark red and a crown of sweet alyssum around his brow. He was a small, slender man with unruly, sandy hair and pale green eyes. He carried an alder branch with large, saw-toothed leaves. He fairly brimmed with contentment as he tried to suppress a jaunty grin, but failed utterly as he made his way through the crowd and ascended the steps, coming to stand before Glwys.

  Again the Druid nodded, and a woman exited from Diadwa’s ystafell. She wore a gown of dark red, and her pale blond hair was crowned with a chaplet of red snapdragons. She carried a vine of ivy in her tiny hands and her smile, which she could not suppress, was sweet, turning her plain features into a face of beauty. Her fine amber eyes were alight, and she could not stop gazing at her intended husband as she, too, ascended the stairs and came to stand before the Druid.

  Glwys took the ivy vine from her hands and loosely bound the bride and groom’s left hands together with the vine. Jonas and Canna clasped the alder branch as one with their right hands.

  At the Druid’s gesture, the two of them spoke: “As we are bound hand to hand, so we are bound heart to heart.” Jonas’s clear voice trembled, and Canna’s was virtually inaudible. “In each turn of the Wheel I have looked for you. Blessed be to Aertan, who has guided us to find one another again. At every return may I find you. And may we meet again in Gwlad Yr Haf as the children of Annwyn, together forever.”

  Cai, remembering speaking these words to his wife, Nest, on their wedding day, swallowed hard, his heart full. For, never had he loved a woman as he loved his wife, never had he even thought to be so happy, even after over ten years of marriage. He was a lucky man and he knew it.

  He glanced around at the others. Trystan’s green eyes were dark with longing as he looked at the couple, no doubt thinking of Esyllt, who was married to another. Trystan would not, Cai thought, understand for some time why Esyllt refused to divorce her husband. Poor boyo, perhaps he would never understand and remain in thrall for the rest of his life. Cai hoped not, for he liked Trystan very much.

  Achren looked up at the couple with an indulgent smile that seemed to say marriage was all very well and good for those with nothing better to do.

  Angharad and Amatheon eyed each other through the ceremony, though only when the other wasn’t looking and Cai bet himself that it would not be much longe
r before those two were sharing a bed.

  Gwydion, on the other hand, seemed to be ignorant of that. He had no idea that his brother’s interest was in Angharad, making the mistake of thinking that Amatheon was really interested in Rhiannon. Gwydion had clearly mistaken the tone of the teasing relationship Amatheon and Rhiannon had formed and was just as clearly jealous.

  The Druid took the ivy vine and the alder branch from the couple and gently laid them on the stones at his feet. He then stretched out his hands over the heads of Jonas and Canna. “Blessed be to Cerridwen and Cerrunnos, the Protectors of Kymru, whose steadfast love and partnership protect us, their children. So too may you protect and cherish each other and your children.”

  Diadwa stepped forward and gave each of them a gold ring. The couple placed the rings on each other’s fingers then spoke together. “I wed you now, with this symbol of the Great Wheel, of death into rebirth, of endings into beginnings. I pledge to keep faith with you now and in the lives to come.”

  Glwys raised his hands and turned the couple around to face the crowd. “I declare that these two are now husband and wife.”

  The crowd cheered, calling out congratulations, swiftly moving on to raucous comments that led Jonas to blush and Canna to giggle as each remark became more outrageous than the last.

  Although he did not know why, Cai felt a momentary shiver as the bride and groom clasped hands and descended the stairs. It had something to do with how Jonas looked at Canna with his heart in his pale, green eyes, something to do with a weakness of character that Cai briefly sensed. For he perceived that Jonas was a man that would clearly put his bride before all else. He hoped that there would never come a time when Jonas would have to choose between Canna and his duty to Kymru. For in such a contest, Kymru would surely lose.

  Suldydd, Disglair Wythnos—afternoon

  THE NEXT DAY they arrived at Naid Ronwen on the shores of the River Mawddoch. The river, wide and deep sparkled beneath the afternoon sun and shimmered like a silvery, curved blade as it wound its way through the gentle hills.