Crimson Fire (46 page)

The rider swooped down from the night sky on a pale horse. He held a shining spear above his head, and his eyes of blood were bright as he surveyed the three who stood there quietly.

“Stewards of Cadair Idris, you of the Cenedl of Caine, the enemy has come!”

“We thank you for your warning, Gorwys,” Rhufon said quietly.

“You have been faithful, you sons of Caine,” Gorwys said just as quietly.

“While you were faithless!” young Lucan said, his blue eyes

fl
ashing.

“So I was, young man,” Gorwys said. “And this is my pun- ishment. Long and long I have lain awake beneath the ground, waiting to ride. Think you the punishment was not enough?”

Lucan subsided, his face paling as Gorwys brandished his spear. Gorwys, seeing this, continued softly. “You will suffer no hurt from me. Guard yourselves well, for your services will be needed again. I have seen the High King himself. Be ready.”

“We will,” Rhufon said. “Be sure of that.”

Y Ty Dewin, Gwytheryn

C
YNAN AP
E
INON
var Darun, the Eleventh Ardewin of Kym- ru, had indigestion. That was not, of course, unusual. But it was inconvenient. How he wished he could sleep, if only for a little while.

At least the place was quiet now, in the middle of the night. Things had been so chaotic for the last week. The library had been emptied. The surgery packed up. The herb harvest had been scant, but they had gathered all they could. He had be- gun, at Anieron’s direction, to send small groups of Dewin to the agreed-upon refuge in southern Ystrad Marchell, on the eastern shores of Rheged. Anieron had started to do the same with his Bards. Presumably, Cathbad would refuge there with the

Druids, also. Anieron had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to discuss any of his plans with anyone from Caer Duir. This puzzled him, but he did as Anieron bade him.

He sighed. He knew that he was no good as Ardewin. He had known that from the beginning. He wished with all his heart that they had left him alone to sing tunes in Tegeingl, deliver babies, set broken bones. Left him alone to do the lit- tle things that were so tremendously huge, the things that had made his quiet life satisfying.

He was not made for such momentous times and he knew it, though others did not think he did. There were, really, quite a few things he knew that others would be surprised to discover. For one thing, he knew that Prince Arthur of Gwynedd had been proclaimed High King the day of his birth by the Protec- tors. He had been there that day, and he had seen, though he had told no one, not even Gwydion, letting the Dreamer think that he lived in blissful ignorance.

Even more importantly, he knew that young Arthur was still alive. He had been Wind-Riding near Tegeingl that day when Gwydion had come to fetch the boy. He had seen. But he had said nothing when the news came that the boy had died of a fever.

He even knew that Myrrdin had disappeared, not to die, but to raise young Arthur.

He knew a great many things that he had never told anyone. He clutched at his stomach, gasping. The secrets he knew were safe and would soon be safer—for a dead man could not talk.

Then he heard it. The sound of pounding hooves. He stood up, moving slowly to the door, the pain eating away at his vitals. Before he could reach the door, it opened, and Elstar, his

heir, rushed in, taking his arm. “Do you hear it?” she gasped. He nodded, feeling too ill to speak. But she mustn’t know.

No one must know. Not yet. He made an effort and responded, “Come, let us meet him.” He hurried down the stairs as best he could and out the great doors of the college. All the Dewin who remained—some twenty or so—stood on the steps, gaz- ing tensely into the night. Llywelyn, Elstar’s oldest son, joined them, putting a comforting hand on his mother’s arm.

A white light rushed across the plain. The light coalesced into the forms of a horse and rider. The rider stood in the stir- rups, his silver spear raised. His red eyes glowing, the words of doom came pouring out of his dead mouth. “Dewin of Y Ty Dewin, now is the time to
fi
ght! Now is the time to die for our land! The enemy comes to Kymru!” The horse shot off into the dark night.

Elstar turned to him. “Now we leave,” she said.

But Cynan did not reply immediately. He was thinking of the phantom’s words.
Now is the time to die for our land
. Yes. He was right. Now was the time. “Yes, Elstar,” he said absently. “Tomorrow you go to Neuadd Gorsedd. Join your husband and younger son there, then go on to the caves. Take everyone with you. You’ll have ten days before the Coranians get here.”

“You talk as if you’re not coming with us,” Elstar said, forc- ing a laugh.

“I’m not,” he answered. “I must stay.” “Cynan, no! They’ll kill you!”

“I know that,” he said quietly. “Then, why? Why?”

He turned to her. For years Elstar had done her best for him. Steering him so he didn’t go too far wrong, loving him

through it all. And now he thought of something he could do for her.

“I’ll never make it to the caves,” he said gently.

Her blue eyes suddenly
fi
lled with tears as she understood at last.

Neuadd Gorsedd, Gwytheryn

S
OMEONE WAS SHAKING
him awake. He opened his eyes a frac- tion, trying to identify the
fi
end who was interrupting the
fi
rst real sleep he had been able to get for weeks. Of course. Dudod. Who else but his brother would be so cruel?

“Anieron,” Dudod said, still shaking him. “It’s coming.”

Anieron sighed and sat up in bed. Gods, he was tired. He’d been working too hard lately. The hideous task of clearing out Neuadd Gorsedd—of gathering books, music, instruments, and transporting them in the company of small, innocuous groups of Bards—had taken its toll. And he had been providing the same services to the Dewin. The worst part about Cynan’s in- effectual leadership was that the poor man knew he was inef- fectual. And if that were not enough, the task was all being accomplished in the utmost secrecy. It would never do for the traitor to
fi
nd out where they were going.

The sound of hooves pounding across the plain grew louder. He made himself get up. He knew, of course, what it was com- ing to say. But there was no call for bad manners. He needed to be there.

The song that had been running through his mind for sev- eral days now came to him again as he and Dudod made their way down the stairs and out onto the great stone steps.

It has broken us, It has crushed us, It has drowned us.

O Annwyn of the star-bright kingdom; The wind has consumed us

As twigs are consumed by Crimson fire from your hand.

Gwenllient, his predecessor by several generations, had clearly had the war to come in mind when she composed this song. He supposed that Nudd, the Dreamer of her genera- tion, had told her of what was to come. Broken, crushed, and drowned the Kymri would be. But they would come back from defeat. He knew it, though he did not think he would be alive to see it. Although the Dreamer had not said so, Anieron had seen that knowledge in Gwydion’s eyes.

Elidyr, his heir and son-in-law, came over to him, pale, but composed. Elidyr’s younger son, Cynfar, came rushing up.

“Granda!” Cynfar demanded of Anieron. “Do you see it?” The white light that came shooting across the plain shaped itself into the
fi
gure of a horse and rider, both with eyes of blood

red. The rider lifted a silver spear.

“Bards of Neuadd Gorsedd,” it cried. “The enemy has come! Now must you
fi
ght and die for the land!”

“The Bards thank you for your warning,” Anieron called out in return. “We will sing songs of this night, of the Ride of Gorwys.”

The phantom inclined his head. Anieron could almost have sworn that the dead man grinned. And then he was gone.

Tomorrow, the remaining Dewin would arrive. Then they

would all set out on the trek to Allt Llwyd, the caves just off the sea, in the south of Ystrad Marchell.

The Druids would not be joining them, of course.

Caer Duir, Gwytheryn

C
ATHBAD
, A
RCHDRUID OF
Kymru, sat by the dying hearth
fi
re, brooding. It would be soon now. At last the Druids would once again be revered throughout the land. Just as they had been in the old days, in the lost land of Lyonesse, before the Lady Don had changed things forever by creating the Bards, the Dewin, and, most hateful of all, the Dreamers.

At last, he would come into his own. At last. It was for this that he had killed his older brother so many, many years ago, ensuring that he would become the next Archdruid. It was for this that he’d sent an assassin to Dinmael to murder Gwydion, when the Dreamer searched for Rhiannon to aid him in the quest for Caladfwlch. It was for this that he had attempted to kill Rhiannon rather than see her join forces with Gwydion to locate the sword. It was for this that he had blackmailed a band of men to attack Gwydion and his companions as they quested for the sword. It was for this that he had sent his men to the is- land of Afalon after the sword. Amatheon, Gwydion’s younger brother, had died that day. And although Amatheon had not been the true target, Cathbad had been satis
fi
ed, for the loss of Amatheon had hurt the Dreamer deeply.

He had lost in the battle for the sword, for Caladfwlch had been found and restored to Cadair Idris. He still did not know what Gwydion’s plan was for wielding that sword—for there was no High King in Kymru. He had not known where Gw- ydion and Rhiannon had gone until they returned with the

news of the invasion. But he had turned that to his advantage, dispatching a trusted messenger to
fi
nd Havgan and offer aid.

Yes, his plans were coming to fruition at last. In the past several years he had made sure that every Druid assigned to an important post had complete and total loyalty to him and him alone. Those who passed the test had been left where they were. And those who hadn’t—usually the older Druids—had been qui- etly replaced and shipped to the most remote villages he could
fi
nd. And now, everything was ready. Or almost everything.

He had been forced to go cautiously with the Druids as- signed to the royal courts. Ellywen, at the court in Prydyn, had proved to be ideal for his purposes. He hadn’t bothered to sound out Grif
fi
in Tegeingl, as it would have been useless. He had high hopes for Iago in Ederynion. The man was a little too devoted to Princess Elen, but Cathbad was sure that Iago would do as he was told. Sabrina in Rheged had disappointed him, but he was sure that she, too, would come to see the light in time.

He frowned irritably. Something was up at Neuadd Gorsedd and Y Ty Dewin, and he was not precisely sure what. He knew that the colleges were being emptied, that the Dewin and Bards were disappearing with all their treasures. What he didn’t know was where they were going. Apparently the Master Bard had guessed what he was up to. Anieron was very clever. More clever than Gwydion, who still seemed to be suspicious of the Master Bard. Soon the Dreamer would learn what a fool he had been. Cathbad was looking forward to that.

The pounding of hooves interrupted Cathbad’s train of thought. He stood up and went to the door, stepping out into the corridor. He went swiftly down the stairs, anticipation

making him feel young again. Druids streamed out of their rooms behind him, but there was no talking, no panic.

He opened the heavy doors and stepped out into the night. The sky was strewn with stars, like diamonds thrown on a silken sheet by a careless woman. Across the plain he saw the horse and rider coming, glowing as coldly as the stars.

The horse reared, pawing the air, and the rider, lifting his spear, shouted, “Druids of Caer Duir! The enemy has come! The time has come to
fi
ght! To die!”

Cathbad smiled. No doubt the people of Kymru had swal- lowed that, rushing to their weapons, preparing to defend the land. But not he. He was not so foolish.

The rider turned his horse, then stopped and turned back again. For a moment the rider’s blood-red eyes met Cathbad’s own. For a moment, the Archdruid cringed at what he saw there.

“You will not
fi
ght for Kymru,” the phantom said
fl
atly.

“How do you—”

“A traitor knows a traitor,” he said. “Take warning from me and turn aside from your path. Unless you like to ride.”

Coed Aderyn, Prydyn

G
WYDION TOSSED AND
turned, but could not sleep. He racked his brain, trying to discover if he had left anything undone. He had warned Kymru’s Kings and Queens, leaving them to make their hopeless battle plans. He had warned the Bards, the Dewin, and the Druids.

He turned over to his other side, still trying to sleep. Not that he really wanted to. Of late the dream had been stalking him again. Over and over he saw the swan fall from the sky and the horses brought down in a river of blood. Over and

over he saw the wolf sink beneath the onslaught and the hawk tumble end over end from the heights. Over and over he saw the nightingale torn to pieces and the dragon disemboweled. Over and over he saw the bulls attack, only to have the dream end abruptly and begin again.

He gave up trying to sleep and rose, making his cautious way to the hearth. He had to walk carefully, for the
fl
oor of the cave was rough and uneven. He glanced over at Rhiannon as she slept on the other pallet. Her long, silken hair spilled over the pillow like a shadowy
fl
ood. Her lashes formed a dark cres- cent above her high cheekbones. She was too thin, eating her heart out over her daughter, that ungrateful brat.

Of course, he had been eating his heart out, too. Over other things. He winced away from thoughts of Uthyr. There was no escaping it—these days it was almost as bad to be awake as it was to dream. Nightmares were everywhere before him. No escape. No matter what he did.