May Earth Rise (43 page)

For to the north, over Cadair Idris the Wild Hunt massed. The white dogs of Annwyn barked and capered, anxious for the hunt. The warriors of the hunt sat their horses, rock steady in the dimming sky.

The raven knew that if the Kymric hunt did not come to their aid then Kymru was lost. So he called out for the Hunt, but they did not move from their place in the sky. He called out again, pleading. But still they would not move.

And he called out a third time in pain, in anguish, knowing that his land was lost.

And so he awoke with his own despairing cries sounding in his ears.

S
HE POUNDED FRANTICALLY
on the chamber door. Rhiannon opened the door so suddenly that she almost fell into the room. She was weeping and she moved into her father’s waiting arms blindly. He held her, saying nothing. She could tell that he knew. And she wondered if he had guessed that this would happen now.

The room seemed to be filling rapidly. Raising her head from her da’s shoulder she saw Arthur, Gwen, Elstar, and Elidyr rush into the room. She saw Sinend, Aergol, Cynfar, and Dudod. She saw Myrrdin and Neuad. And then she saw the one she sought. Llywelyn’s gaze steadied her, and her tense shoulders relaxed a fraction.

“Uncle?” Arthur asked.

“Tonight I have had a dream,” Gwydion said, his tone carrying to all in the chamber.

“Tell us,” Arthur urged.

“That I cannot do,” Gwydion said. “For it is no longer my place.”

Gwydion reached up and unclasped the torque of gold and opals from his neck. Solemnly he put it around Cariadas’ neck, and fastened the clasp. The torque was warm, resting easily, so naturally against her skin.

Gwydion stepped back and bowed to her. The rest of those in the chamber did likewise. She looked up into her da’s silvery eyes and saw the love there, and the sorrow, too. Sorrow for what had come to her. Sorrow for the burden that was now hers to carry.

“I had a dream,” Cariadas, the new Dreamer of Kymru, said.

Llyn Mwyngil & Cadair Idris,
Gwytheryn
Gwernan Mis, 500

Meriwydd, Lleihau Wythnos—morning

O
wein woke with Sanon cradled in his arms. The walls of their tent rippled slightly as a light breeze rose from Afalon and shifted over the lake of Llyn Mwyngil onto the shore where the Kymri camped.

Today they would march along Sarn Ermyn across Gwytheryn to mass before Cadair Idris and Eiodel. Tomorrow they would fight. Tomorrow would be the last throw of the dice in the game of freedom. Tomorrow, some of those he loved would undoubtedly die. If the Shining Ones were kind, his wife would not be one of these. For if they took her, his heart would die as it had once before when his mother, his father, and his brother were killed. Sanon’s love had brought him back to life after that. If he lost her tomorrow he did not think anyone or anything would ever bring him back.

Sanon stirred in his arms as if sensing his thoughts. Her dark eyes opened and she looked up at him. She smiled slowly and lifted her face for his kiss.

He could have done more than kiss her—much more—if his brother had not chosen that very moment to want to speak to him.

“Owein?” Rhiwallon inquired from just outside the tent. “Are you awake?”

With a rueful look beneath the blanket he answered, “I certainly appear to be.”

“I must speak with you.”

Sanon laughed briefly as Owein’s sigh. “There will be time for that later, Owein,” she said.

“Promise?”

“Oh, my, yes.”

He rose and dressed quickly in a tunic and trousers of red and white. He pulled on his boots and left the tent, securely closing the tent flap behind him.

He greeted his younger brother then held out his hands to the campfire to warm them. The mornings were chilly here by the lake.

His lieutenant, Teleri, and her new husband, Gwarae Golden-Hair, also stood next to the fire. Gwarae stood behind Teleri, his arms wrapped around her tiny waist, her head just resting on the curve of his shoulder.

“Trystan?” Owein asked.

“Seeing if Sabrina is awake,” Teleri said.

“And, if not, seeing what he might be able to do to wake her,” Gwarae added, with a grin.

“Esyllt won’t like that,” Owein warned.

Teleri snorted. “And who cares about that?”

“Her husband, I suppose,” Owein replied, with a shrug.

“He cares about it less than he used to,” Teleri said. “If you recall, March has declared that his divorce will be final on Calan Llachar.”

Owein would have answered that, but Sanon chose to come out of the tent just then and Trystan and Sabrina also joined them at the campfire. Owein’s captain and his Druid were holding hands, and their eyes were bright.

“Owein,” Rhiwallon said in an urgent tone. “I must speak with you.”

“Of course,” Owein replied. “I am sorry, brother. What do you want to speak to me about?”

Rhiwallon blushed and cleared his throat. “Well, I—”

“He wants to fight alongside Elen of Ederynion tomorrow,” Trystan said.

“To ensure that no harm comes to her,” Sanon went on.

“Because he loves her,” Teleri put in.

“And thinks about her every waking moment,” Gwarae continued.

“And can’t live without her,” Sabrina finished.

“Really?” Owein asked Rhiwallon.

Rhiwallon blushed even redder, but stood his ground. “Thank you all,” he said, between gritted teeth. “It’s nice to have friends.”

“Isn’t it?” Sanon asked lightly.

Owein took pity on his brother. “Rhiwallon, if you wish to fight with Elen tomorrow, you may.”

“Thank you,” Rhiwallon said, gratefully, his color subsiding.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Teleri scolded. “Go tell Elen.”

Rhiwallon blushed again, and left, heading east to where the Ederynions were camped.

“I, too, must meet with someone before we march today,” Owein said. “I had best be off.”

“Who do you go to see?” Sabrina asked.

“Geriant of Prydyn.”

Trystan’s brows raised in surprise.

“Enid,” Owein said.

“Ah,” Trystan replied.

R
HORAM OPENED HIS
eyes to find Achren looking back at him, her face inches from his own. His arms tightened around her slender body and he pulled her to him, reveling in the feel of her warm skin against his.

It was a timeless moment. A moment he had looked forward to for so long. For he had loved her dearly, long before he knew it. He had—

The elbow she dug in his gut took the wind out of him, and halted any romantic thoughts for some time. She rose from their bedroll, swiftly donning her customary black leather tunic and trousers.

“What did you do that for?” he wheezed.

“There is no time for what you had in mind, Rhoram,” she replied, crisply, braiding her long, dark hair. “We march today.”

“But not right this minute,” he grumbled as he, too, rose and began to dress.

“Always you think of your own pleasure,” she said.

“And yours.”

She turned to him and grinned, her dark eyes sparkling. “Well, there is that.”

He grinned back. “There certainly is.” She left the tent before he did, kissing him passionately then slipping from his arms to ensure that their teulu was making the proper preparations to march.

Rhoram lifted the tent flap and stepped outside. The day was clear and cool. Overhead the blue sky gleamed, and the sun sparkled on the morning dew. A light breeze blew off of the lake and stirred the long grass on the shore.

Tents stood on the shore, stretching out as far as Rhoram could see. The Kymri had been mustering here for the past few weeks. Gwynedd was camped to the north, with Prydyn to the west, Ederynion to the east and Rheged to the south. All told he estimated that they were twelve thousand strong. And due to fight tomorrow against more than twenty thousand Coranians, for Havgan’s eight thousand reinforcements were only one day away from Eiodel. Rhoram shook his head at that thought. The Kymri would be badly outnumbered. But there was no turning back now. They did not need Arthur to tell them that. The moment their Bards had given them the news that the Coranians had landed, the rulers of Kymru knew that the battle would go on as planned. Calan Llachar, Arthur’s birthday, the day of a total eclipse of the sun, would be the day. It had been meant to be that day since the beginning of time, and the Kymri were too wise to argue with fate.

Geriant, the sun glinting off his golden hair, squatted by the campfire, warming his hands. Rhoram put a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled, letting no hint of his thoughts show through. Geriant looked up and smiled back, but briefly.

Rhoram knew what had been ailing his son since he had returned from rescuing Princess Enid. Geriant had told Rhoram everything about his leave-taking from her. Countless times since then Rhoram had tried to tell his son things might change. He had told Geriant over and over that Enid would heal. But Rhoram wondered if that was true. For she might not ever really come back from the dark places she had been.

“Aidan and Lluched went with Achren to ensure Prydyn’s ready to march as soon as possible,” Geriant said.

“My King?” a voice asked, uncertain, tentative.

Rhoram turned to see a tall, thin man standing before him. The man’s brown hair was touched with frost. His green eyes spoke of pain long endured, and triumphed over. Though the man had changed greatly, Rhoram did not need to see the sapphire torque around the man’s neck to know who this was.

“Cian,” Rhoram breathed, opening his arms to welcome back his Bard. “Cian.”

Cian stepped forward and the two men embraced. Both men were unashamedly weeping. Rhoram could scarcely believe it. Cian, who had been taken by the Coranians and imprisoned in Eiodel for so long; Cian, the last Kymri to see the Master Bard alive; Cian, who had been taken to Afalon, suffering terribly under the whips of the wyrce-jaga; Cian, who had been rescued by High King Arthur and taken to Cadair Idris to heal; Cian, his Bard, had returned to him. At last.

The two men stepped back from each other, but Rhoram still gripped the Bard’s forearms lightly. “Thank the gods you are still alive.”

“The High King gave me permission to join you for the battle. You will need a Bard to relay his messages to you.”

“I need you by my side now and always.”

“And that is where I shall be, now and always. Arthur says I am to tell you that the package you sent to Cadair Idris arrived safely.”

“A shame,” Rhoram said, with a grin.

“I thought so, too,” Cian said, with a grin of his own on his thin, worn face.

“Rhoram?”

Rhoram turned to see Owein of Rheged bow briefly. He bowed back to his son-in-law. “All is well with you, Owein? And Sanon?”

“All is well with us,” Owein replied. He nodded toward Geriant. “I have come to speak with your son.”

“Then speak your piece,” Rhoram said, sweeping his arm toward Geriant, who rose at Owein’s words.

“Prince Geriant,” Owein began, “I have a message for you from my sister.”

“From Enid?” Geriant asked in surprise.

“She’s the only sister I have,” Owein replied, smothering a smile.

“And she sends me a message?” Geriant asked again, astonishment on his handsome face.

“She does,” Owein said.

“Really?” Geriant asked.

“Honestly, Geriant,” Rhoram broke in, “at this rate we will never hear the message.”

Owein, still struggling to smother his smile, bravely went on. “My sister said to give this to you.” He reached inside his tunic and pulled out a silk scarf, woven in the red and white colors of Rheged. “She asks that you might wear it into battle, and, perhaps, think of her.”

Geriant took the scarf, holding it gingerly, as though it might break. “Da?” he asked.

Rhoram stepped forward and tied the scarf around Geriant’s upper right arm. His son’s golden hair and blue eyes flashed in the sunlight as he stood straight and proud. “I am honored to wear this token from your sister,” Geriant said rather formally to Owein. “And I thank you for giving it to me.”

“She is better, Geriant,” Owein said. “Much better, since she herself killed Morcant.”

“Though Arthur let Bledri live,” Geriant said bitterness in his tone.

“He exiled Bledri Beyond the Ninth Wave. The death that is in store for the Dewin is a very hard one,” Owein said gravely.

“Would that I, myself, had been able to give him one even harder.”

“You must content yourself with the battle tomorrow. I don’t doubt that there will be many opportunities to kill the enemy.”

“No doubt,” Geriant said, grimly. “No doubt at all.”

E
LEN EXITED HER
tent and eyed the clear sky. It would be a beautiful, crisp spring day, perfect for marching. She knew as well as anyone what the odds were against them, but she was eager to come to grips with the enemy, for the years of waiting lay heavily on her. In those years she had been a captive in her own home, forced to wait for rescue. It still galled her, the helplessness of that time. And so she looked forward to tomorrow’s battle, even though she knew that likely some of those she loved would die. But surely the Shining Ones would spare her brother. And they would spare one other, who was dear to her heart.

“Elen?”

She turned at the sound of her name on his lips, her heart beating wildly. “Good morning, Rhiwallon.”

The Prince of Rheged smiled at her. His broad shoulders strained at his red and white tunic as he sketched a bow. His red-gold hair glowed like fire, and his blue eyes were warm.

He opened his mouth to speak just when Lludd, Angharard, and Talhearn joined them at the campfire.

Lludd kissed his sister and greeted Rhiwallon. “We will be ready to march within the hour, as the High King has commanded,” Lludd reported.

Wishing her brother, her captain, and her Bard at the bottom of the sea, Elen replied coolly. “Excellent.”

Lludd’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as he eyed his sister. But comprehension dawned swiftly, and, lips twitching, he turned to Angharad. “I believe we should guarantee that my statement will be true. Let’s go ensure that all will be ready.”

Angharad, whose temper was even shorter since Emrys’ death, answered irritably. “We just did that. Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Talhearn, his wise brown eyes dancing, disagreed. “Now Angharad, how could the Queen’s teulu possibly get ready without you there to harass them?”

Angharad snorted. “They know what they are doing.”

Exasperated, Lludd elbowed the captain. But Angharad was in no mood for subtleties. She rounded on Lludd. “What?” she demanded.

Talhearn, who had been trying not to smile, gave up at that point and began to laugh. Lludd ruefully shrugged his shoulders and Elen sighed. Rhiwallon, clearly giving up on the idea of a private conversation, cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

But the Prince was once again forced to wait, for at that moment Talorcan and Regan exited their tent and joined them at the campfire. The former Coranian general smiled at his companions as he greeted them. Elen was struck by his easy manner, quite a change from the man she had known for the past few years. For the Talorcan she had known had been a tormented man—hating the bonds that held him yet unable to break them. But all that had changed. He would fight with the Dewin tomorrow, under Arthur’s direction. And from the look in his clear, green eyes, he was ready.

Now, if she could only get rid of them all, Rhiwallon might say what he came here to say. But she had underestimated the Prince, for he had clearly decided to take the plunge in spite of their audience.

“Queen Elen,” he began his tone somewhat formal, “I spoke with my brother this morning.”

He stopped. Clearly she was expected to say something. “Yes?” she prompted.

“He has given me permission to fight by your side tomorrow.” His fresh, bright face turned red as he said it. But he did say it.

Elen blushed in her turn, something she rarely did. Though the blush embarrassed her, it seemed to hearten Rhiwallon and his color subsided. For a moment she did not know what to say. The silence spun out so long, that Rhiwallon’s smile began to fade. That’s when Lludd elbowed her, causing her to take an involuntary step toward Rhiwallon. The Prince reached out to catch her as she fell against him, and he held her briefly before gently setting her back on her feet.