The Copper Crown

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  No, he would sail quietly around behind the action, and with any luck at all manage to hide behind some moon until he could make his break for the nice big rip Arianeira had by now obligingly torn in the Curtain Wall. He had lain doggo on Gwynedd for a few days, after crawling out of the wreck of Caer Ys; then he had managed to steal this little ship. He was glad to be getting out at last. After that--well, he'd see. Earth somehow didn't seem to be in the picture at all. But there were plenty of other places he could go; they'd be only too pleased to see him on-—

  The singleship rocked alarmingly, and Tindal, startled, turned his attention to the controls. Again the terrific jolt, and he realized with horror that he was under attack.

  He threw the ship into a roll, trying to see his enemy. Who the hell was it, Kelts or Imperials, or both? Did they know who he was? No ships of any stripe had appeared on his screens; where had it come from? Another blast on the portside and, almost simultaneously, one directly astern. No matter who was firing, he was in very big trouble.

  With a heartfelt curse flung in the general direction of Arianeira, Tindal laid back his ears and headed off into deep space.

  *

  The sun of another system had risen over a scene of battle unimaginable. Aeron and her generals had not waited for full day, but in the cold gray half-light of the hour before dawn had flung the Keltic armies at the Imperial camp.

  They kept the advantage that they so rashly reached for. True to Denzil's prediction, the Imperials watched with stupefaction and dismay as every single one of their first-launch winged craft plunged to earth like shot swans, and the remnant of their air arm remained firmly on the ground.

  Hard upon that shock came the first wave of the Keltic chariotry, two- and three-horse vehicles, light and incredibly maneuverable, each bearing a driver and a warrior. They closed on the half-formed enemy ranks like moving steel walls, and the high yell of the great war-pipes rose chillingly over all.

  To Jaun Akhera's credit, he had anticipated something of the sort, and had positioned his forces in near-deployment the previous night; and so he, at least, was not in such bad case as might have been. As Fomor undoubtedly was: The Keltic chariots, and the horsemen that came after, went through Bres's disarrayed troops like scythes through dry grass.

  For all that, the counterattack, when it came, was considerable. On the right, Imperial infantry succeeded beyond all hope in turning the Keltic flank, and Gwydion recalled several squadrons of cavalry, hurling the horsemen against the unprotected Coranian foot.

  In several places, the Imperials had broken the Keltic schiltron formations, and the fighting swirled up the rising ground to engulf the marca-sluagh itself. Under her standard, Aeron fought methodically and with deadly efficiency, and when the foot nearby were hard-pressed by Fomor's horse--they knew enough about how we fight to bring their own cavalry arm, a cold little voice said in her mind, though the Imperials did not--she led the knights of her own guard down the slope to relieve them.

  In a lull, she reined in her horse and relaxed in the saddle to catch her breath.

  "We like it not, Aeron, your fighting so," muttered a very weary galloglass who paused beside her.

  Aeron grinned and pushed back the escaped strands of hair under her helm. "I like it no better to see you fighting so, my friend. But shall we both sit out such a ceili?"

  "Nay, Lady," she laughed in answer. "A few reels more for us both."

  "I hope longer yet--but see that Struan knows the need of horse here, and tell him I myself send you. Go now."

  "It is done, Lady," she said, saluting, and vanished into the press.

  Through all the long day the balance swayed back and forth, until at last all was brought to a halt late in the afternoon by a blinding rainstorm that leaped down the Strath like a hunting wolf. The Kelts held their sickle formation across the glen mouth massively unbroken, though sadly battered. The Imperial lines could not be seen through the rainy gloom, but as Keltic captains and lieutenants reported to their commanders, it became apparent that Jaun Akhera had come away a good deal more badly mauled than Aeron from their first encounter.

  *

  Rain drenched the camp as Aeron returned to her tent, and the Fians who saluted her as she walked slowly up through the faha noted privately, and with deep concern, how haggard she looked.

  Inside the tent, O'Reilly thought the same, and wondered aloud if Aeron were sickening for something, or had been injured in the fighting.

  "Nay, truly, I am well enough." She held out her arms, and O'Reilly divested her of cloak and surcoat, so wet their royal green looked black in the light from the crystals. "I went to visit some of the wounded in the healers' tents," she added, as O'Reilly unfastened the lorica. "Then Teilo felt the need to plague me--crammed full, a little after the fact, with Druidical portents and woe."

  O'Reilly, hanging up the sodden cloak, remembered a conversation with Morwen, something about omens--

  "Do you believe in portents, Lady?"

  Aeron shook her head, and water flew from the ends of her hair in a crystal arc.

  "Only when they portend what I wish them to..." Enveloped by O'Reilly in a fur-lined robe, she sat as close as she could get to the crystal brazier. More than her body seemed to have taken chill tonight...

  To the Terran, it seemed that the austerity that had frozen Aeron's beauty for the past sevennight had thawed somewhat in the face of disaster. The loveliness of the fine-featured face was not diminished, but it was also somehow more human again. She began to brush dry the curling damp hair, darkened by the rain to the color of rubies--or old blood. With an effort, Aeron schooled herself to relax; after a few minutes O'Reilly pulled the shining masses of hair back over Aeron's shoulders, set a torse of gold-wound silk around her forehead to keep the hair from her face, and stepped back.

  "Is there anything else I may do for you, Ard-rian?"

  Aeron nodded, eyes half-closed. "Send for some to join us here; I would not be alone just yet."

  O'Reilly withdrew, then, after a moment's thought, put on her cloak and went out to inform certain people of the Queen's wish for companionship...

  By the time O'Reilly returned, chilled and wet, from her errand, most of those she had summoned had already arrived in the royal tent. She paused just outside the entrance, caught by the sound of music from within. Someone was playing a telyn, playing it beautifully; the little Kymric dance rang upon the harpstrings like crystal snowflakes pattering on a bell, like silver leaves falling from their branch onto a frozen stream. She was not at all surprised to see, when she entered the tent's spacious central chamber, that the harper was Gwydion.

  Voices hailed her cheerfully, and O'Reilly blushed, suddenly shy. Which was very silly: There was no one there but that she knew well, and had herself invited here in Aeron's name--Morwen, Rioghnach and Niall, Sabia, a few others, all casually strewn about on low camp-chairs or heaped cushions.

  From his seat on the floor, leaning comfortably against Aeron's knees, Gwydion, smiling, motioned O'Reilly to dispose herself nearby on a pile of soft furs.

  "For you are a Kelt now, Sorcha, and you must do as we do." And that was the first time any had called her that so easily...

  Sinking gratefully into the furs, O'Reilly was emboldened by the teasing note in Gwydion's voice.

  "Maybe, lord, but I don't think too many of the Ard-rian's other subjects have the chance to sit so, in her own tent--and in such company too."

  Aeron laughed, and pushed Gwydion with her foot. "She has you there, Gwynedd."

  Before Gwydion could reply, the outer door billowed open again on a gust of cold air; the inner curtains parted, and Rohan came in, his cloak dripping and his hair wet with wind-whipped rain.

  He waved away their pleased surprise. "I shall tell you all presently--The storm grows," he added, warming cold hands at the crystal brazier. "The Shining Folk fight with their own weapons, maybe."

  "They fight a different war than ours," murmured Sabia, and h
e shot her a quizzical look.

  "That's as may be," he said, "but there is news, Ard-rian, and I thought to be the bearer."

  "Tell it, then. No soul here but will not know of it within the hour, so they may as well hear now with me."

  "Tidings both fair and ill. We have routed the combined fleets from the systems of Vannin, Kernow and Brytaned; admittedly, great force was not sent against those systems, but what was sent is now either fled or destroyed. Mostly destroyed... Of the other systems, Scota is three parts cleared, and our fleets now are ordered to Erinna and Kymry, where the fighting is very heavy, and to this system, where it is worst."

  "What then is the ill news?"

  Rohan met his sister's eyes. "Elharn is slain. I have put Caradoc Llassar in his place as High Admiral, and brought his body here."

  Sudden silence fell over the chamber. Elharn Aoibhell had been kin, friend, or commander to every person there, save O'Reilly only. To Aeron, he had been more: a trusted and valued advisor; in age he was contemporary with her parents, though he was in fact her father's uncle, and she had thought of him--and loved him--as a second father.

  She stood up. "I shall go to him. He is the first of our kindred to fall in this fight, and I shall speed him myself. Those of you who wish to do him honor, join me in the tent of the Fianna in half an hour's time. And bid someone fetch Teilo to him, that the rites be observed with greatest honor."

  *

  In the enormous clochan of the Fianna field command, Aeron stood silent, looking down on Elharn as he lay in the torchlight upon the wicker bier, a Fian's war-cloak drawn over him to his chin and the narrow gold fillet denoting his princely rank set about his iron-gray hair. Teilo, as Archdruid, had spoken the brief Keltic death ceremonial over him, and Rioghnach, a high priestess, had taken the Ban-draoi's part in the rites.

  "No red for Ironbrow," said Aeron. "He would not wish it, and we will speed him in the way of the Fianna."

  The huge tent was packed; as many high-ranking officers as could be crammed decently into the chamber were present, for Elharn had been a First-rank Fian, a teacher at the War College and a field commander in out-Wall actions, as well as High Admiral and Master of Sail, and his passing was deeply mourned. Desmond and Slaine stood at the head and foot of their father's bier, their other brother, Macsen, beside Aeron.

  Teilo. on Aeron's other side, was ready when at last she turned to him. He placed in her hands an unusually large and curiously faceted crystal, and all near the bier drew back several paces. Aeron cupped it in her hands until it began to glow, its light spilling like water through her fingers, then knelt to set it upon Elharn's breast above the folded hands. The glow spread to envelop Elharn's body in blue flame, though no heat was felt by even the nearest of the onlookers, and the blaze held motionless for many moments. Then came a burst of cool white brilliance, and when the afterimage cleared from the eyes of those who watched, both bier and body had vanished. Only the crystal, dark and cold, now remained.

  "His sign shall be set on the stones of Ni-Maen," said Aeron. "As befits a prince of Keltia fallen in battle. And we will not forget to remember the name of Ironbrow. Gods with him."

  "Gods with him," came the answering murmur, and Aeron went out with Rohan.

  *

  Back in the royal tent after the ceremony, the visitors gone, O'Reilly tidied up somewhat aimlessly, all the while casting covert glances at Aeron's averted profile. How did you comfort someone who had just lost a close and dear relative? Then she remembered that Aeron was by no means unfamiliar with such sudden griefs, and she wanted to weep.

  But Aeron turned as if she had heard, and gave her the flash of a smile in understanding and apology.

  "I would be alone, O'Reilly. I am too troubled to trouble anyone else--except that if Gwydion should return, he and he alone may come in. Tell the guards so, and then go you and rest yourself."

  When Gwydion did come, much later, he found her still wide awake, and the face she raised to his kiss was troubled and unsmiling.

  "What is it? Elharn? He made a fine Fian's end, Aeronwy, and Caradoc Llassar will make a fine High Admiral to follow him."

  "Not Elharn only... How many others were lost today, with less ceremony though no less honor to mark their going? Yet all we sat here at our ease, drinking ale and listening to you play the harp. Is that the way for the Queen to spend the first night of battle?"

  "Would you feel any easier, Ard-rian, if you were out there dead in the rain--or even just alive and freezing? Aeron, the dead are sped, the wounded are cared for, and the rest of the army is just as comfortable as you are. More so," he added, exasperated, "for they do not spend their time torturing themselves when they should be sleeping. No one is cold or alone or neglected, I promise you."

  She laughed unwillingly, more than a little shamefaced. "I had thought I had this overmastered. Apparently I was mistaken."

  He smiled then, more relieved than he allowed her to sense. "It is but your first real battle, cariad. For one so new to war, you do very well."

  "Ah, praise from the First Lord of War for my poor martial talents! That is praise indeed." Aeron curled up gracefully on the field-couch, one foot tucked beneath her. "Prince of Don, how is it you can endure me? I must vex you very much."

  "Very much indeed, Ard-rian; yet would I have it no other way. Try to sleep now."

  *

  Gwydion came suddenly out of a fitful doze to complete, alert wakefulness. He had planned to return to his own tent once Aeron was settled and sleeping; but, weary from the demands of the day, he had drowsed off in the camp-chair. But now-- Some sound, some lack of sound; something was not as it had been, or should be. Yet the woman asleep on the field-couch had not stirred, and her senses were notoriously acute. Perhaps it was nothing?

  But his sense of wrongness grew. He put out a hand for his sword, and it slid silently into his grip. He glanced again at Aeron's tranquil sleeping face; it seemed incredible that she did not wake, for the feeling of cold pervasive danger grew ever stronger.

  In the corner of the sleeping-chamber nearest the outside wall of the tent, a dim blue mist began to swirl. As Gwydion watched, it trembled, eddied, then thickened and resolved itself into the image of his sister Arianeira. Though it was a projection only, of the sort known to sorcerers as a taish, she appeared to look directly at him, and she spoke to him; but her lips did not move, and the words that came only to him in her own voice he heard within his mind.

  "I send this taish to you, my brother," she said. "I would speak with you before battle is joined again. There is a place near the glen mouth, you will know it when you see it"--into Gwydion's mind flashed a brief clear picture of a certain place out on the high moor--"and I would have you meet me there, with Aeron, before the sun is full up."

  Gwydion nodded slowly. "I shall be there, Ari," he said aloud, and the image's mouth curved in a smile. Then the blue mist shivered and was gone. Gwydion leaned back in his chair, and kept his sword across his knees, and slept lightly, if at all, the remainder of the night.

  *

  In the daffodil dawnlight, Aeron, scrambling over a low gorse hedge, reached up for Gwydion's hand. He pulled her up to stand beside him on top of the slope, and she paused a moment to look around doubtfully at the scorched desolation. There had been heavy bombardment here, and the ground was torn up for many hundreds of yards, still smoking and warm where the long-range siege lasers had struck.

  "Are you sure this is where she showed you she would be? It could be but a trap..."

  Gwydion shook his head, abstracted, as one who is only half-listening. "I think not... But the time and the place are right, and--and she is here."

  "Alone?"

  "So it seems."

  With a deep indrawn breath, Aeron turned resolutely to face, for the first time since the war began, the author of Keltia's afflictions.

  Arianeira was coming toward them steadily over the broken ground, with her usual long elegant stride. She was muffled in
a voluminous blue cloak, and when she saw them, she halted, putting the hood back from her face.

  "Hail, Gwydion my brother! And my Queen also--hail Aeron." Her voice carried clear across the little stream that separated her from them. "May I cross?"

  Gwydion hesitated a moment, then nodded. But as his sister ran lightly across the flat stones of the fording-place, and came up the hill, he thrust Aeron behind him and raised the point of his drawn sword.

  "That is hardly a safeguard, Gwydion," said Arianeira teasingly. "Any one of us three could destroy the others without recourse to steel... as you know. But if it makes you feel safer on Aeron's behalf, well enough."

  "What is it you would say to us, Ari?" asked Aeron quietly. "Gwydion has told me you sent a taish to him to ask for this meeting. You must have wanted it sore."

  Arianeira shrugged. "Doubtless you would have done the same yourself before very much longer. Your curiosity, if naught else, would have compelled you to it--for you are curious, Aeron, are you not? But you did come, as I asked. Surely that must prove you still trust me--a little?"

  "It proves nothing but that I trust your brother," said Aeron shortly. "But is it forgiveness you seek?" She was puzzled; try as she might, she could ken nothing of the state of mood or mind behind Arianeira's smiling mocking face.

  The Princess's peal of laughter was eerie to hear in that torn and blackened landscape.