The Copper Crown

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  "It is called Nandruidion," said Desmond, himself seeming glad of a chance to speak and chase some of the gloom. "Which means Valley of the Druids; the stream running through it is called the Velenryd. There have long been prophecies concerning this place... In ancient time it was the favorite retreat of the Archdruid Edeyrn, of whom you will doubtless have heard. He was a remarkable magician, and a very evil man."

  O'Reilly had heard, and she wondered that Aeron would have chosen a place of such malignity near which to establish camp. Even in the light of day Nandruidion would be bleak indeed, its silence broken only by the sound of the Velenryd as it ran over stones beneath the dark stands of trees. And ever the wind swept through the frozen bracken.

  *

  Sleet slashed against the walls of Tomnahara, and a great gust of wind tore the casement open, blasting its way into the warmth of the grianan. The cold wet freshness of air touched Aeron's face, and she half-roused. Unbearable brightness, splinters of light, stabbed her eyes, and she retreated at once back into her dim dream-sanctuary.

  All that wild night she drowsed half-waking in the great bed to which they had moved her, while the rain fell and the wind flared the torches and billowed the walls of the tents below the castle. Toward the cold silent hour known as Anrhod, the time of the turn of the Wheel, when stars pale and dark thickens and dying souls most easily shed the cumbrances of their bodies, Aeron opened her eyes, and this time they were lucid, free of pain, green and clear as the skies over Erinna.

  "What of the battle?"

  O'Reilly, whose very proud turn it was to watch beside her, shot upright in her chair.

  "No concern of yours, Lady," she said earnestly, peering closely at Aeron's smiling face. "Slaine and Morwen have given me very strict orders as to what to tell you if you woke, and your sister Rioghnach--"

  "Plague upon them." A shadow crossed her face. "But Theo--"

  O'Reilly kissed her hand with sudden fierce sympathy. "You are not to fret about him, Aeron," she said through blinding tears. "He died doing exactly what he wanted to be doing, he was so happy--and you avenged him. He lived long enough to see that, did you know? And he loved you so much--"

  "And I him. He was my friend, and he was one of us--as you are." She touched O'Reilly's hand with real affection. "We will speak more of this later. But tell them outside that I am awake, and send for Desmond and Niall. I would speak also with Morwen and Slaine."

  "Not Gwydion?"

  Aeron breathed a laugh. "Nay, let him rest. He has worked hard this night."

  *

  "Well?" A dozen voices pounced on O'Reilly when she emerged into the outer chamber.

  She blushed, flustered. "Aeron has awakened. She wants to see Morwen, Slaine, Desmond and Niall."

  "That may be what she wants," said Slaine grimly, even as she signalled a page to fetch Niall to them. "But as her healer I say that what she wants and what she will get for the next few days, at least, are very different indeed. She will have to wait till morning to speak to her commanders. There is naught of the battle that cannot wait until then, and truly I care not if the war is lost for it, but she shall rest a few more hours yet; in fact, I will give her a draught to make sure of that." She vanished into the grianan.

  "I agree," said Morwen. She had been half-asleep in a camp chair, sitting wrapped in several cloaks and plaids, and now she struggled out of her swathings and got to her feet. "It would scarcely profit us to win the war and lose the Queen."

  "Yes, well, that's all very true," said O'Reilly, her shyness momentarily forgotten. "But once she starts feeling stronger, and knowing her a little I'd say that probably won't be too long, she'll want to be right back in the middle of things again. And how are you going to keep her out of it?"

  *

  But Aeron had no plans to fight again any time soon. She knew far better than Slaine, or even Gwydion, just how badly injured she had been. Never had she felt closer to death, never had she longed more desperately to sail out on that warm, strangely joyful tide and not turn again to the world no matter who summoned her. For the call from the other side had been strong too--she had felt Roderick's hand as real as Gwydion's had been, and she knew she had not been the one to make the choice between them.

  There was little pain now, and even that little had been dealt with by that cup of athair-talam that Slaine had forced upon her; but against this incredible lassitude that now possessed her, this white whirling silence that roared like an ocean in her ears, there seemed no weapon save retreat and rest.

  But her mind could not rest. It came back to her in waves, the fight with Bres, in little vivid pictures, soundless, disconnected, like some distorted nightmare tapestry. She turned her head on the pillows as the drug began to drag her down into sleep, as Slaine had intended, and she did not resist.

  That had been a good fight, she thought, with something very like contentment. It was fitting that the long hatred should have ended so. Still, it had been a much nearer thing than anyone watching had known, or even suspected. Bres, though; he had known, and he had come very near to achieving her utter destruction, there in the faha. If he had succeeded, the war would perhaps be over by now. A strange thought--Ari--oh gods, and Theo... But it was not yet time for the luxury of grief. She felt someone's presence, forced her eyes open.

  Rioghnach leaned forward in the chair beside the bed, her face full of loving concern. "Sister?"

  "Since my commanders seem to be forbidden to come to me, my commands must go to them. Give the order to fall back upon Caerdroia."

  "Aeron, are you certain that is what--"

  "Do it, Princess of the Name!" she snapped, and Rioghnach hid a smile. "But tell them they must so manage it that the folk in the glens are protected as they go."

  "At once, Ard-rian. Now will you not sleep again?"

  Aeron nodded, black lashes already veiling her eyes. "And tell Gwydion, when he wakes--"

  Rioghnach waited, but there was no more; Aeron had fallen asleep again. The Princess sat a few moments longer, then pulled the furs up around her sister's shoulders and sent for Desmond.

  *

  O'Reilly quitted the castle and went out into the faha. The rainstorm had moved off down the Strath to the west, and the dawn sky was fresh and brilliant. Tomnahara was a thrum of activity, people with questions and worries and problems and fears, and all at once she could stand it no longer.

  With a desperation near tears, she turned and scrambled straight up the steep gorse-covered hillside. Up behind the castle there was a little oak-wood that bordered on a clune, a tiny upland meadow, that would be very good to sit in for a while; to think, to remember, to try to regain her peace of mind.

  Coming softly over the ground at the top of the hill, O'Reilly emerged from a narrow belt of trees and stopped short. Gwydion was standing in the little clune, quite alone. He was looking down toward the castle; the flying light fell upon his face, and he did not move. She stared at him as if she had never seen him before, and in spite of his art he seemed to be unaware of her presence.

  And, unobserved, he suddenly appeared to her to be truly alien, as he had never seemed before, nor any other Kelt either. There was no one thing about him that could be said to give cause to this new strangeness: Still there was the same dark handsomeness, the same shaggy hair and beard, the same gray eyes. Yet something about him had changed, and as she watched him standing there, unmoving as the oaks around them, O'Reilly suddenly knew what it was. For the first time since she had known him, Gwydion's face bore the mark of tears.

  She felt her heart go out to him in a violent sortie of pity and empathy, and in the same moment he became aware of her and turned. His expression did not alter, and the traces of tears seemed all the more terrible upon the iron set of his countenance. O'Reilly began to move, slowly at first, then quicker, until she was almost running, and his arms came up to catch her as she flung herself against him, sobbing for all her sorrow and his as well.

  "Weep, then, alanna," he
said quietly. "You see, I have done so myself, and so far the world has not ended for it."

  She clutched at his cloak like a frightened child. "I was so afraid--first Theo, then... Did you see her, how she looked? She was so, so--"

  Above her bent head, the ghost of a smile flickered over Gwydion's face. "So diminished. I know. We were all afraid."

  "Even you?" she dared to ask after another moment, looking up at him and drawing away a little.

  "Especially I. I had the most to lose, had I lost her..."

  "And the most to save, and the most power to do it! They told me what you did for her."

  "Power? That may be. I know only that I had the most need of her. If that need gave me power to save her, I am thankful. But I have done no more than you or Theo. Did you not give up everything to stay here with us, and did not Theo help when Aeron most needed that help? He died trying to keep her hands clean of Bres's blood. It was a hero's thought, but fated otherwise."

  "He died! And I have done little."

  "Twigs can turn floods, if they are in the right place when the first raindrop falls. That is not little." He saw that she had ceased to weep, and that all her awe of him had fled forever, and he smiled. "As for Theo, he shall be remembered for as long as Keltia endures... And if that is to be beyond this present moment, we must go back to the castle. Aeron is awake, I think, and she would speak with us."

  Chapter Twenty-three

  In the grianan, it was as he had said, and O'Reilly glanced up at him half-fearfully. How had he known? Up there on the hill... Then her rapidly returning awe was banished completely by the sight of Aeron.

  She had badgered the healers into removing the restraint field and allowing her to sit up. She was paler even than usual, and purple smudges shadowed her eyes, but she smiled at them with all the old warmth.

  "If you wish to know, First Lord of War," she said at once, "if the Ard-rian is fit to continue to order the battle, the answer is that she is not. Command therefore is yours absolute. Desmond will direct the retreat, and mac Avera will oversee the preparations for the siege of Caerdroia, since there appears to be one on the way. But they will both obey you in all times, as will the other commanders, and I have caused these orders to be known to the armies and the fleets."

  He saluted her gravely. "As you command, Ard-rian."

  "And, Gwydion--" They held each other's gaze, and the thought that flashed between them then was too quick and complex, too swift and subtle, for any other however skilled to catch. O'Reilly, watching them, was struck anew by the almost involuntary intimacy of their communication, and she dropped her eyes, feeling indecently like an eavesdropper.

  Gwydion inclined his head briefly and was gone. Aeron gazed after him, then sighed and energetically kicked free of the furs that swaddled her.

  "Enough! I need some air, walk with me."

  O'Reilly helped her dress again in a fresh uniform, then hung a fur cloak over Aeron's shoulders and took her arm. They left the castle and turned from the faha, going slowly down a path along the walls to a small pine-wood. A little burn ran below them in a cutting through mossy banks, and its clear merry noise chattered up at them. Above their heads, the pines hissed and rustled in a wind which seemed to be gathering strength.

  Aeron sat down somewhat more heavily than usual on a lichen-covered rock, putting back her hood and lifting her face to the wind.

  "Much better," she said. "Slaine had that grianan far too hot--barely past Samhain--and I was getting a headache."

  "Yes, well, Lady, but you mustn't stay out too long. It's cold all the same, and Slaine will feed me to the hounds if I let you catch a chill."

  Aeron waved dismissing fingers. "As to that, you do but obey the Queen's orders... Sorcha, save for those few words last night, we have not spoken of Theo."

  O'Reilly studied the lichen on the rock beneath her fingers, so as not to let Aeron see the sudden spurt of tears to her eyes.

  "What shall I say?" she murmured at last. "He died very happy, and he died in our arms, Slaine's and mine, while Gwydion and Desmond were getting you back to the castle. There was nothing anyone could have done to help him. He said--" She inhaled raggedly against the sudden blank gale that shook her from head to foot, then went on resolutely, "He said to tell you goodbye, but that it was only goodbye for a while, and--and that if his karma had any justice in it at all, he was going to come back as a Kelt." She smiled, remembering, then looked up anxiously, for there had been no word in reply.

  Aeron's green eyes were brilliant with the sparkle of unshed tears, but the smile she gave O'Reilly was one of love and pride. "And he will, then... Let us go to him."

  She stood up, leaning on O'Reilly's arm, then turned her head sharply to the north and east, a look almost of hunger on her face.

  "What is it?"

  "Can you not feel the power on the wind? It rides down out of the Hollow Mountains--" She stared longingly into the eye of the wind, then turned back to her companion. "Let us go. I am growing tired, and I would see Theo, and there is a thing I must tell Gwydion."

  *

  In the Great Hall of Tomnahara, Haruko lay on a bier draped with the royal green, for he had died in the service of the Ard-rian, and his sword was naked in his hands, for he had fallen in battle.

  Aeron gazed down upon the face of her friend. He died so that I would not have to kill Bres, she thought. He had died, and she had killed Bres anyway...

  "Karma, Theo," she whispered, and kissed him gently on the brow. "Bydd i ti ddychwelyd..." She raised her voice. "Let it be set down that by royal fiant Captain Theo Haruko is declared a lord of the Court; he is to be barrowed in royal ground at Ni-Maen among the sovereigns of Keltia. I shall myself conduct the rites with Teilo; arrange it for sunset tomorrow... Sorcha ni Reille, come thou forward."

  O'Reilly, who had been leaning against a pillar lost in memories, jerked upright in surprise, but obeyed at once.

  "Kneel... I have been meaning to do this for some time now, but perhaps this is the moment most fitting, and in this company too. Cousin, your sword." This to Desmond, who instantly drew from its sheath at his side the blade that had slain Bres, and presented it hilt-first to Aeron.

  O'Reilly, kneeling, heard incomprehensible words, felt something heavy strike her upon each shoulder, the sign of the circled cross traced on her forehead. Then Aeron raised her and kissed her on either cheek. O'Reilly stepped back a pace and looked at the Queen in total confusion.

  "I hope that as a knight of Keltia you will wish to continue to be my squire," said Aeron, smiling. "But that, Lady Sorcha, is a decision I must leave now to you."

  Lady Sorcha. O'Reilly's eyes sought Desmond's face, and he nodded. It was all true, then. She had actually been knighted, and Theo would be buried among kings and queens in royal ground... She found no words to say, but went briefly to one knee again and kissed Aeron's ring in pledge of knightly service.

  "It is well, then." Aeron moved toward the door, and the others went with her. "Bid someone fetch the First Lord of War to my grianan, and let Kynvael join us there, he that I sent to Caerdroia earlier this day, and Morwen also. Do the rest of you go where you please or where you are commanded. I must be private a while with those whom I have named."

  Alone in the hall, O'Reilly went forward to the bier where Haruko lay. She touched with gentle affection the hand that lay upon the sword-hilt, not attempting to hold back either the loving smile or the streaming tears, Aeron's whispered words echoing and re-echoing in her heart. Bydd i ti ddychwelyd: "There shall be a returning for thee."

  After a while she knelt beside the bier, letting her mind range back over the events of the past three tumultuous months. None of it seemed possible, or would have, even had she thought of it back then. Back when she had first laid eyes on the Firedrake; no, even before that, when she had first heard the scouts from the sloop addressing her in the Gaeloch--from that moment she had been won; she had ceased at that moment to be a Terran and had become, instead, f
orever, a Kelt. She had gone out exploring, and she had ended by discovering her own people; and she had lived among them ever since in a sort of glamourie, a magic glow as real and as potent and as transforming as any Druid's rann. Some of that glow had been dimmed forever, wiped out by war, by Tindal's execution, by Theo's death, by Aeron's ordeal; but O'Reilly had grown for its lessening, and her happiness if less idyllic was the more real for being the more aware.

  Lady Sorcha. She hugged it to her like a lovely toy or a cherished pet, a few moments longer. Then she rose from her knees, kissed Haruko on the brow as Aeron had done, saluted him crisply in Terran fashion for the prescribed funeral count of three times the usual duration, and took up vigil position at the foot of the catafalque.

  *

  "In the early morning I ordered this done," Aeron was saying, "for I knew there should be little time for it later." She beckoned, and Kynvael, a brown-uniformed Fian with the sword-and-crown badge of Aeron's personal guard on his sleeve, came forward. He was bearing a battered leather casket in his hands, as gingerly as if it had been a sack of eggs, and he set it down on the table before Aeron.

  She put back the lid, and as one, all craned forward for a better view. Inside, upon faded purple velvet, lay the Copper Crown, gleaming redly in the light. To Gwydion's eye, it seemed to glow with more than reflected glory.

  "Before you take up full command," said Aeron slowly, and her eyes never left his, "you shall take the Copper Crown to the Hollow Mountains, and you shall ask in my name and your own that the Shining Ones guard it until such time as I may come for it again."

  "What of the Scepter of Llyr?" asked Morwen.

  "The Dun of Aengus is not a jewelsmith's shop, nor yet a strongbox... nor is the Scepter as important as--as the other. Nay, the Scepter need not go with the Crown, but when we are again at Caerdroia it shall be hidden with the rest of the crown jewels in the place you know of."