Cry of Sorrow (7 page)

Beside Morcant stood a stocky, powerful-looking man. His light brown hair was uncovered. In one hand he held a helmet of silver, fashioned like the head of a boar. He wore a byrnie of silver that flashed in the sun. She knew of him, General Baldred, the Coranian watchdog, who let Morcant think he was King.

She recognized the woman standing a little to the side and behind Baldred. Sabrina’s beautiful face seemed carved from stone. Her long black hair was worn loosely, spilling over her Druid’s robe of brown and green. Her Druid’s torque of gold and emerald sparkled at her slender throat.

And then Enid’s heart beat even faster as she saw the man she had come so far to find. The muscles of Bledri’s broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his sea-green and silver robe. Around his neck the Dewin’s torque of silver and pearl was clasped. His sandy brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck with a fine silver chain. His gray eyes, oh, so charming, so perfect, so arresting, exuded power and intelligence. His almost impossibly handsome face was smiling sardonically as he eyed the General and the King—and the man who was being dragged out of the ystafell.

Enid knew that man, Llyenog ap Glwys, the Master Smith of Rheged. The Master Smith was loaded down with chains. Gray-haired but strong, he straightened up under the load and dug in his heels as two warriors tried to drag him past the King.

“I ask you again, Morcant Whledig, so-called King of Rheged, what is my crime?”

Morcant, his face flushed, began to say something, but General Baldred forestalled him. “You are being taken at my command.”

“So, Morcant,” said Llyenog, the contempt in his tone clear and biting, “you do not know. You are King of nothing.” Llyenog spat on the ground at Morcant’s feet.

Morcant stepped forward and would have landed a blow on Llyenog’s face if Bledri had not caught his arm. “Leave him be, Morcant,” Bledri said in an amused tone. “He is not worth your notice.”

“And besides,” Sabrina said, her voice like velvet, “he could probably break you in two, even now.”

Morcant shot Sabrina a venomous look, but General Baldred only laughed. “Take him away,” Baldred said, gesturing to the two warriors on either side of the Master Smith. “Oh, and Llyenog, your family will be joining you so you won’t be lonely.”

“And to be sure you do as you are told,” Bledri interjected. “Should you give Baldred’s men trouble on your journey, or once you reach the place, your family will be killed. One by one, you will watch them die. And be sure that they will suffer exquisite tortures before they do.” Bledri smiled a smile that Enid had never seen on his face before, one she hadn’t even known he was capable of. “Take him.”

Sabrina, her face cold, pushed past the men and began to walk away. As she passed Llyenog, she whispered something to him. At her message Llyenog straightened his shoulders, and marched out of the fortress proudly, escorted by ten warriors.

Morcant and Baldred turned and went back into the ystafell, but Bledri stood where he was, watching Sabrina cross the courtyard. Almost Enid tried to catch Bledri’s eye, but she remembered the cloth she still clutched in her cold hands, and what the merchant had said. So, instead, she stepped from behind the stable and faced Sabrina.

“My Lady,” Enid said. “I have come with the cloth you wanted.”

Sabrina stared at Enid in shock, her face suddenly white. A frantic warning deep within Sabrina’s blue eyes leapt out, catching at Enid’s heart. Quickly Sabrina spoke, and her voice was querulous. “At last! Come to my rooms and let me see it. What took you so long, girl? I have been waiting half the morning!” She took Enid’s arm in a firm grip, rushing her across the yard and into the guesthouse. Swiftly, she led Enid to her room and closed and barred the door.

For a moment, Sabrina stood with her face to the door, then took a deep breath and turned to look at Enid.

“What in the name of all the gods of Kymru are you doing here?”

“I—I have come for Bledri.”

“Come for Bledri,” Sabrina repeated slowly. “Did I hear you right?”

Enid held her head high. “Yes. You heard me right.”

“Oh, child, child, you cannot be thinking this. You cannot do this.”

“I am not a child! And I know that Bledri sickens of what he has done.”

“What,” Sabrina asked incredulously, “makes you think that?”

“I just know it. And Owein knows it, too. See,” she said, taking the ring from her bodice, “Owein sends me here with his forgiveness. To bring Bledri back.”

“You lie,” Sabrina said, her voice flat. “That is Urien’s ring. Owein would never, never give that up. Oh, Enid, you must go from here. Now!”

And then she understood. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous of me. You don’t want Bledri to go away!”

“Oh, Enid,” Sabrina said, her voice despairing. “What have you done?”

Before Enid could answer, a pounding on the barred door make them jump.

“Sabrina?” Bledri called. “Open up. I want to talk to you.”

“Go away!” Sabrina called.

“Open it, Sabrina. Don’t make me have the door torn down. You know I will—I have before!”

“Don’t make me burn you,” Sabrina shouted back, as she frantically looked around the room. “You know I will—I have before!” She clutched Enid’s arm, murmuring, “Oh, gods, no place to hide you. And the window is guarded. Here, under the bed.”

“No!” Enid cried, tearing her arm away. “I must see him.”

“You must not! I swear to you, Enid, you are wrong. Wrong about everything. Please, hide. Then we can talk. I’ll think of a way to get you out of here. Please.”

“No!”

“Sabrina,” Bledri called. “Who is with you?”

“Open the door, Druid,” Enid said quietly. “If you don’t, he’ll bring others to do it for him.”

Sabrina looked from the door to Enid, despair written on her beautiful face. Without another word, she went to the door and unbarred it, opening it wide.

“You’ve been avoiding me again,” Bledri said smoothly. “And you know what can happen when you do that.” Then his gray eyes lit on Enid, standing in the middle of the room, and he fell silent.

Enid removed the linen band from her head, and her hair came down, falling around her shoulders in a shower of red-gold. She removed the ring from the string around her neck, holding it out to Bledri, who still stood, frozen, by the door.

“This is from Owein,
cariad,”
Enid said quietly. “You are forgiven for all. Come with me, and let us go to him. Help us in our fight to take back what was once ours.”

Sabrina gave a low moan of despair and sank to the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. Bledri, his face still, held out his hand, and Enid laid the ring in his palm.

“Urien’s ring. You have brought it to me,” he said, his tone wondering.

“I have. Now come with me. Let us go from this prison. Be free.”

Bledri looked down at the ring, turning it this way and that, enthralled with the fiery opal. Almost absently, he said, “It will make a fine bridal piece, Enid. Very fine.”

Enid shot a glance of triumph at Sabrina, but the Druid was staring at the floor. And then her heart skipped a beat. She felt cold, colder than she had ever been in her life. Her head swam. Shock, she thought incoherently. This is shock.

For Bledri had continued. “A fine bridal piece, indeed. And a bride from the House of PenMarch will be just what he needs.”

“He?” Enid whispered.

“Morcant Whledig,” Bledri said. And smiled.

T
HAT NIGHT THE
message sent by the Shining Ones reached into Gwydion’s sleep.

At last he had found Y Honneit, the Spear, one of the lost Treasures of Kymru. He had found Erias Yr Gwydd, Blaze of Knowledge. He could see it as it floated within a mighty ring of fire.

The long shaft made of twining silver and gold flashed brightly in the light of the fire. Gleaming opals covered the base and the top of the shaft. The spear point itself was studded with onyx in a figure eight, the sign of Annwyn, Lord of Chaos.

He tried to reach out for it then, but the fire blazed even brighter. The heat made the Spear shimmer before his eyes.

And he cried out in frustration and anger, for he was so close but could not obtain what he so desperately sought.

Then, suddenly, a black raven shot down from the sky. A collar of opals encircled his neck, and his black feathers glowed red in the light of the flames.

In his talons he held a branch of oak leaves. The raven tossed the branch into the fire, where it settled gently on the shaft of the glowing spear.

Ask
. The raven’s thought echoed through the deepest chambers of his mind.
You must ask
.

At first his pride forbade him to speak, but his need was too great. “I beg you, then. I beg you to help me,” he rasped.

Reach
, the raven answered.

“I can’t,” Gwydion cried. “I’m afraid.”

Reach
, the raven repeated sternly.

And so he stretched out his arms to the fire as the Spear floated serenely through the flames to his waiting hands. And his hands turned to a raven’s claws, then back into his own hands, flickering unsteadily from one to the other.

And the Spear came to him as the man/raven reached out and took it, plucking it from the fire. The raven screamed in triumph. The oak branch glowed with the fiery light of the opals around the hilt of the Spear that shone bright and deadly, as he held the Spear aloft in the light of the blazing fire.

Llundydd, Lleihau Wythnos—late afternoon

G
wenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon, Princess of Prydyn, daughter of the House of Llyr, winced in pain as she scrambled to her feet. Rolling up her woolen skirt, she gravely examined her wound.

Another skinned knee. Queen Efa would kill her.

Even in her thoughts Gwen styled her stepmother as Queen. Efa had always insisted on being addressed by that title. Even though Efa no longer ruled over a kingdom, her insistence had not changed. Actually, she was worse than ever.

Once—and only once—Gwen had made the mistake of asking Efa just what she thought she was Queen of now—the seagulls? Her stepmother’s reaction hadn’t bothered her in the least, but Gwen had repented of her thoughtless words instantly, for the look on her father’s face had almost broken her heart. Once again she had not thought before she spoke, and so had hurt someone she loved. It seemed to happen to her a lot.

But, she excused herself, as she always did, what can anyone expect of a person who had spent the first eleven years of her life in hiding? What could you expect of someone who had grown up in a cave?

She sighed. Not many years after she had left the cave in the forest of Coed Aderyn, she had returned to another cave. This one was on the shores of Prydyn. But a cave was a cave. Full circle her life had come, it seemed.

The cry of a seagull made her look up to track the bird’s lazy flight. The waves washed up to shore with a regularity she found monotonous. The sun had begun its flight to the sea, and the shadows cast by the rocks began to lengthen.

Sixteen years old, she thought, as she moved through the sandy rocks, stepping delicately with her bare feet. Sixteen years old, and still hiding. She wondered if the time would ever come when they could go home. Wondered when—and if—she would ever see the fair, white walls of Arberth, the city from which her father had once ruled the Kingdom of Prydyn. She wondered if, in the next raid on the enemy, or the next, or the one after that, someone she loved would die. Maybe her father, whom she loved so. Maybe her half brother, Geriant, who was so kind to her. Maybe Achren, her father’s Captain, dark and fierce in battle. Maybe Gwen herself would die.

She would not think of her death now. And she would not think of the dream that had come to her over a week ago. Even now the remembrance of it still frightened her. She would not think of anything except for the fact that she was out of the caves. For she hating living here, hated being inside the earth itself, hated the feeling it gave her. Once, she had loved the caves. Almost her entire childhood had been spent exploring the caverns that laced the earth beneath the forest of Coed Aderyn. But since that day years ago when she had fallen into a pit from which she could not escape, and the dark had seemed to swallow her, caves had frightened her almost unbearably.

But she had not died that day, for her mother had come and saved her.

No. She would not think of her mother. Gwenhwyfar hated Rhiannon ur Hefeydd with all her heart. Her mother had deserted her and gone to the Dreamer. Rhiannon didn’t matter anymore. Gwen had her father now, and her brother and sister. That was all she needed.

And they needed her. Her father, who had once been bright, glowing with joy and laughter, had changed. Rhoram was a driven man now. He rarely laughed, rarely smiled. All his will was bent now to loosening Prydyn from the grip of the enemy.

And Gwen’s half sister, Sanon, was only a pale shadow of the girl she had once been, ever since her betrothed, Prince Elphin of Rheged, had died in battle two years ago. So changed was Sanon that sometimes Gwen was frightened, thinking that her sister would just waste away. But Sanon had endured. There was still strength in her, enough strength to refuse the hand of Prince Owein, Elphin’s brother. Gwen was sorry about that, for she had liked Owein, in spite of the fierce sorrow in his eyes.

And Geriant, though now betrothed to Owein’s sister, and head over heels in love with the Princess Enid, still needed his little sister. If Gwen had read Enid correctly, Geriant might very well need a shoulder to lean on. There had been something in Enid’s eyes at the betrothal ceremony that had Gwen wondering if she truly loved Geriant. Some hint of reservation, though she had said all the correct things.

“You’ve gone too far again.”

The voice startled her, and she whipped around, her dagger in her hand.

“Good,” Achren approved. “Quick, and the stance was right, but you should have heard me coming.”

Gwen straightened, returning her dagger to its sheath. “Sorry, Achren.”