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The Great King's Son

 

 

The sweet-sounding notes of the harp spilled like glittering coins from Tegid's fingers; or like bright sparks sprung from the lusty fire, swirling up on rising draughts to the dark-shadowed rooltrees. The Chief Bard's voice rose to join the melody of the harp, and the two twined about one another in matchless harmony as he began to sing the tale he had prepared for Alban Ardduan. And this is what he sang:

 

"In the first days of men, when the dew of creation still glimmered upon the earth, there arose a great king who ruled many realms and held authority over divers clans. The great king's name was Cadwallon, and he ruled long and wisely, ever increasing the fortunes of those who sheltered beneath his shield. It was his custom in the evening to climb the council-mound beside his stronghold and gaze out upon his lands, to see for himself how matters stood with his people. And this is the way of it

"One twilight, as Cadwallon sat on his high mound, gazing out upon his lands, it came to him that his holdings had grown vast beyond reckoning. 'I can no longer see from one end of my dominion to the other, nor can I count the number of my people-just to tell out the names of their tribes would take my bard three whole days.

"What shame,' thought he, 'if trouble were to threaten and I did

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not hear of it in time to prevent harm befalling my people. This could easily happen, for the kingdom has grown too great for one king to rule. Therefore, I must find someone to help me rule my realm and keep my people safe.'

"As it happened, there was no lack of would-be kings eager to help him rule. Sadly, not all of them cared as much for the welfare of the clans as Cadwallon, and it distressed the great king to think that a self-serving man should gain power at his command. So, he took himself to his gorsedd mound to think the thing through, saying, 'I will not come down until I have discovered a way out of this predicament.'

"Through three sunrises and three sunsets, Cadwallon did not stir; and through three more, and yet three more, until at dusk on the ninth day he hit upon a way to determine which of his noblemen was most worthy to aid him. He rose and walked down to his stronghold in confidence.

"The next day messengers rode to the four quarters of the kingdom bearing the message, and it was this: Noblemen all, the great king invites you to attend him for a season and take your ease in his hail where there will be feasting and gaming, and where the circling of mead cups will not cease.

"When the chieftains received this summons, they hastened to their lord. And when they saw the wealth of food and drink which had been prepared for them, they were well pleased and exclaimed that of all lords, Cadwallon must certainly be the most generous and benevolent ever known.

"When they had taken their places at table according to their rank, the feast began. They ate as much as they cared to eat and drank as much as they cared to drink, and after the sharp edge of hunger and thirst had been dulled somewhat, they began to talk, as men will, about the various adventures that had befallen them. One after another spoke, and each told his best tale to delight the others.

"The great king listened to the talk around him and stared unhappily into his cup. When they asked him why he frowned so, the great king replied, 'We have heard some strange tales told among

 

 

 

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us, but none more strange than the one I shall tell. For of all adventures, mine is the strangest. On my life, I wish someone would tell me what it means.'

"Fortunate are you, 0 king, if that is all that troubles you,' the noblemen replied. 'We are ready to do your bidding. You have but to tell us your story, and we will soon put your heart at ease.'

"Listen then,' the king said, 'but do not imagine you will discover the meaning as easily as you think. For I am persuaded that this tale will cause you all no little dismay before the end.'

"Know you, Great King, that we fear nothing. Indeed, your words provoke our interest as nothing we have heard before. Speak how you will, you cannot dismay us.'

"No doubt you know what is best,' mused the king. So saying, Cadwallon began to relate his adventure.

"I was not always the king you see before you,' he told the chieftains. 'In my youth I was very high-spirited and arrogant, supposing that no one could surpass me in any feat of weapons. Thinking I had mastered every feat known in this worlds-realm, I equipped myself and rode to the wild places far from the fields we know. To win glory and renown with my skill was my intent, to hear my name lauded in song was my desire.'

"What happened?' they asked. 'What did you find?'

"I found the loveliest valley any man has ever seen. Trees of every kind grew in the woods, and a wide river flowed through the valley. I crossed the river and struck a path and rode until I came to a measureless plain blooming with every kind of flower. The path went before me, so I followed. Three days and three nights I rode, and at last came to a shining fortress beside a restless sea of blue.

"I approached that fortress and two boys met me-each with hair so dark it made me think of crows' wings-and both dressed in princely garb with fine green cloaks and silver torcs on their necks. Each lad carried a bow of horn with strings of deer sinew, and shafts of walrus ivory with points of gold and eagle feathers. Their belts were silver and their knives were gold. And they were shooting their arrows at a shield covered with white oxhide.

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"A little distance away stood a man with hair so light it made me think of swans' wings. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and he wore a torc of gold on his neck. His cloak was blue and his belt and buskins were of fine brown leather.

"I rode to meet this man with a ready greeting on my lips, but he was so courteous as to greet me before I could speak. He bade me enter the fortress with him, which I was eager to do for it was a marvel to behold. I saw others inside the fortress, and observed at once that they were a prosperous people, for the least one among them displayed the same wealth as the first man, nor did the greatest one among them display less than three times as much as the least.

"Five grooms took my horse and stabled it better than the best grooms I ever saw. And then the man led me to the hall, which had pillars of gold and a roof made of the feathers of speckled birds. Inside were handsome men and beautiful women-and all of them pleasantly conversing, singing, playing games and taking their ease. Twenty maidens were sewing by the window, and the least lovely maiden among them was more beautiful than any maiden in the Island of the Mighty. And as we entered the hall, these maidens rose to greet me and welcomed me most enjoyably.

"Five of them drew off my buskins and took my weapons, and five of them took from me my travel-worn clothes and dressed me in clean clothes- siarc and breecs and cloak of finest craft. Five maidens laid the board with good cloth and five maidens brought food on five huge platters. And the five who had taken my buskins and weapons now brought new fleeces for me to sit upon, and the five who had dressed me led me to the table.

"I sat beside the man who had brought me, and others of that exalted company sat around us. There was not a single cup or bowl or platter on that table that was not gold or silver or horn. And the food-such food! I have never tasted anything so pleasing to the tongue and satisfying to the stomach as I tasted in that hall surrounded by that bright company.

"We ate, but never a word was spoken to me from the first bite to the last. After a time, the man beside me, perceiving that I had

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finished my meal, turned to me and said, "I see that you would sooner talk than eat."

"Lord," I said, "it is high time I had someone to talk with. Even the best food is poor fare when it is shared in silence."

"Well," answered the man, "we did not like to disturb your meal. But if I had known how you felt about it, we would certainly have spoken sooner. But let us talk now if nothing prevents you." And he asked me what sort of man I was and what was the errand that had brought me to them.

"Lord," said I, "you see before you a man of no small skill in weapon-play. I am roaming the wild places of the world, hoping to find someone who might overcome me. For I tell you the truth, it is no sport to me to overcome men of lesser skill than mine, and it is long since any warrior in my own country could offer me the sport I crave."

"The great lord smiled and said, "My friend, I would gladly guide you to your goal if I did not believe some harm would follow."

"At his words my face fell in sad disappointment. Seeing this, the lord said, "However, since you desire evil rather than good, I will tell you. Prepare yourself."

"'To this I replied, "Lord, I am always prepared."

"Then hear me, for I will say this but once. Spend the night here and rise tomorrow at dawn and take the path that brought you to this fortress until you reach a forest. A short distance into that forest, the path will split in two; take the left turning and follow on until you come to a clearing with a mound in the center. On that mound you will see a huge man. Ask this man where to go and, though he is often uncivil, it is my belief he will show you how to find that which you seek"

"That night was endless. All the ages of the world end to end would not last longer than that night lasted. As often as I looked at the sky, morning was no closer than when I last looked. At last, however, I saw the sky greying in the east and knew that night was ending. I rose and put on my clothes and went out and mounted my horse and set off on my way. I found the forest, and found the divided

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path, followed the left turning, and found the clearing with the mound in the center, the very same which the great lord had described to me.

"There was a man sitting on the mound. My host had told me that the man was huge, but he was far bigger than I had imagined- and and far uglier. He had but one eye in the middle of his forehead, and one foot; thick black hair covered his head and grew on his shoulders and arms. He carried an iron spear which would have been a burden for any four warriors, yet this man carried it easily in his hand. And around this man, both upon the mound and all around it, there grazed deer and pigs and sheep and forest animals of every kind-thousands of them!

"I greeted this Keeper of the Forest, and received a harsh reply. But it was no less than I expected, so I asked him what power he possessed over the animals gathered so closely about him. Again he made a rude reply. "Little man," he scoffed, "you must be the dullest of your kind not to know this. Nevertheless, I will show you what power I possess."

"The huge, hairy man took up his spear and aimed a blow at a nearby stag. He struck the animal with the butt of the spear, causing the stag to bell. And the belling of the stag shook the trees and trembled the very ground beneath my feet. Wild animals of every kind came running to the sound, gathering from the four quarters of the world. By the thousands and tens of thousands the animals came until there was hardly any room for my horse to stand among the wolves and bears and deer and otters and foxes and badgers and squirrels and mice and serpents and ants and all the rest.

"The animals gazed upon the huge Keeper as obedient men honor their lord, and he called to them and commanded them to graze, and at once they began to graze. "Well, little man," he said to me, "now you see the power I hold over these animals. But I am thinking you did not come here seeking assurance of my power, undoubtedly great though it is. What do you want?"

"I told him then who I was and what I sought, and he replied uncouthly to me. In short, he told me to go away. But I persisted, and

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he said, "Well, if you are stupid enough to seek such a thing, it is not for me to prevent you." Raising his iron spear, he pointed with it and said, "Follow the path you find at the end of the clearing. After a time you will discover a mountain; climb the slope of the mountain until you reach the summit and from there you will see a great glen the like of which you have never seen before. And in the middle of that glen you will see a yew tree that is both older and taller than any other yew tree in the world. Beneath the branches of that yew tree is a pool, and beside the pool is a stone, and on the stone is a silver bowl with a chain so that the bowl and stone cannot be separated. Take up the bowl, if you dare, and fill it with water and throw the water on the stone. Do not ask me what happens next, for I will not tell you----not even in a thousand years of asking."

"Great Lord," I said, "I am not the sort of man to shrink from anything. I must know what happens next even if I stand here for a thousand and one years."

"Was there ever a more ignorant and foolish man than you?" the Forest Keeper asked. "Nevertheless, I will tell what happens next:

the rock will thunder with such force that you will think the heavens and earth must crack with the noise, and then will come a shower of water so fierce and cold that you will probably fail to survive. Hailstones big as loaves will fall! Do not ask me what happens next, for I will not tell you."

"Great Lord," I said, "I believe you have told me enough. The rest I can find out for myself. I thank you for your help."

"And it is "Ha!" he says, "what is your thanks to me, little man? As for the help you have had, it will likely be your doom. Though I hope I never meet another as foolish as you, I will bid you farewell."

'I followed the path he had shown me, and rode to the mountain summit and spied the great glen and the tall yew tree. The tree was far taller and far older than the Forest Keeper had told me. I rode to the tree and discovered the pool and the stone and the silver bowl and chain-all as I had been told.

"Eager to try my skill, I wasted not a moment, but took up the bowl, filled it with water from the pool and dashed the water onto the

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stone. At once there arose a thunder far louder than the great lord had described, and then a squall of rain with hailstones huge as loaves. My friends, I tell you the truth-if I had not squeezed myself beneath the stone, I would not be here to tell the tale. Even so, my life was on the point of leaving me when the shower and hail stopped. There was not one green spear left on the yew tree, but the weather had cleared and now a flock of birds alighted on the bare branches and began to sing.

"I am certain that no man before or since has heard music sweeter and more poignant than I heard then. But when the music was most pleasant to me, I heard a most mournful groaning which grew until it filled the great glen. And the groans became words:

"Warrior, what do you want of me? What evil did I ever inflict on you that you should do to me and my realm what you have done?"

"Who are you, lord?" I demanded. "And what evil have I done to you?"

"The mournful voice answered, "Do you not know that owing to the shower which you have thoughtlessly provoked neither man nor beast remains alive in my realm? You have destroyed everything."

"With those words there appeared a warrior on a black horse, dressed all in black; his spear was black and his shield was black, and black the sword on his thigh from hilt to tip. The black horse pawed the ground with a black hoof and without another word the dread warrior charged.

"Although the appearance was abrupt, I was prepared. Thinking that at last I would achieve everlasting renown, I quickly raised my spear and made my attack. I exulted in the power of the horse beneath me and in the swift advance of the great warrior. But though my charge was far more skillful than the best attack I have ever made, I was quickly swept from my horse and thrown ingloriously down upon the ground. Without so much as a look or word, my dark opponent passed the spearshaft through the bridle rein of my horse and took the animal away, leaving me there alone. He did not think it worth his while to take me hostage or even so much as retrieve my weapons.

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"Thus I was forced to return by the path I had taken before, and when I reached the clearing the Keeper of the Forest met me, and it is a wonder that I did not melt into a puddle for the shame that sharp-tongued lord heaped upon me. I let him have his say, and he said it with eloquence most rare, and then I sighed and began making my long, slow way back to the shining fortress by the sea.

"There I was greeted more joyfully than before, and was made even more welcome and served even better food-if that is possible-than I received the first time. I was able to talk to the men and women in that fair place as much as I liked, and they talked fondly to me. However, no one made mention of my journey to the Black Lord's realm, nor did I speak of it myself. As vast as my former arrogance, so great was now my disgrace.

"I spent the night there and, when I rose, I found a splendid bay horse with a mane the color of red lichen. I gathered my weapons and bade the lord of that place farewell, and then returned to my own realm. The horse remains with me to this day, and I am not lying when I say that I would sooner part with my right hand than give up that horse.'

"The king then raised his eyes and looked around his table. 'But it is the truth I tell you when I say that I will give half my kingdom to the man who can explain to me the meaning of my adventure.'

"At this, Cadwallon concluded his peculiar tale. His lords sat stunned by the humility of their king in telling such a story against himself-as much as by the strangeness of the tale itself. Then up spoke a bold warrior-lord named Hy Gwyd.

"Noblemen all,' he said, 'our lord has told us a tale worth hearing. And, unless I am much mistaken, our most canny king has also set a challenge before us, and it is this: to discover for ourselves the meaning of this strange adventure. Therefore, let us behave as bold men ought; let us go forth to meet the king's challenge and discover the meaning of the tale.'

"And the noblemen began to discuss the matter among themselves. They talked long and earnestly, for not everyone agreed with Ily Gwyd. In the end the noblemen decided that nothing good could come of interfering in such mysteries, thus the matter was

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better left where it stood. They turned again to their feasting and eating. But Hy Gwyd, ambitious as he was clever, was unwilling to let the matter rest; he continued pressing his argument and in the end won his way with his friend, a warrior named Teleri.

"So, while the others ate and drank at table, the two warriors crept from the hail. They saddled their horses, took up their arms, and rode out from Caer Cadwallon in the grip of the mystery their king had posed for them. They rode far and wide in search of the foreign fields that had been described to them. In good time, the two friends reached the forest and the path, and knew it to be the same forest and the same path Cadwallon had described.

"They followed the path and came to the wonderful valley and crossed the wide, shining river where they found the track leading to the endless plain blooming with every kind of flower. The fragrance of the flowers filled their lungs and the pleasure of that land filled their eyes as they rode along. Through three days and three nights they rode and at last came to the gleaming fortress beside the ever-changing sea of deepest blue.

"Two boys with silver torcs and bows of horn were shooting ivory arrows at a white shield-just as Cadwallon had described. A golden-haired man stood watching the boys, and all three greeted the riders warmly, and welcomed them to come into the fortress to sup with them. The people they saw inside the stronghold were even more fair, and the maidens more lovely than they had imagined. These beautiful women rose up to serve the warriors just as they had served Cadwallon, and the meal they ate in that wondrous hail far surpassed anything they had ever tasted before. When the meal was finished, the lord who had greeted them addressed them and asked them what errand they were on.

"Hy Gwyd answered him and said, 'We are seeking the Black Lord who guards the pool.'

"I wish you had said anything but that,' the lord replied, 'but if you are determined to seek the truth of this matter for yourselves, I will not prevent you.' And he told them everything, even as he had told Cadwailon.

 

 

 

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"At dawn the two rode through that fair realm until they reached the forest clearing where stood the Forest Keeper on his mound. The Keeper of Animals was even more ugly and impressive than they had been led to believe. Following the disagreeable lord's grudging directions, they reached the vale beyond the mountain and the vale where the yew tree grew. There they found the fountain and the silver bowl upon the stone. Teleri was for returning the way they had come, but Hy Gwyd laughed at him and taunted him. 'We have not come this far to turn back now,' he said. 'I feel certain that we will win the renown our king failed to gain. Certainly, we have it in our power to become greater than Cadwallon ever was.' So saying, he took up the bowl, filled it with water from the pool, and dashed the water over the stone.

"There followed both thunder and a hail storm much more severe than Cadwallon had said. They thought they must surely die, and were on the point of doing so when the sky cleared and the birds appeared in the leafless yew. The song of the birds was finer and more pleasing than they could have imagined, but when the singing had filled their hearts with pleasure, the groans began. Indeed, such was the groaning that it seemed as if the whole world was in misery and dying. The two warriors looked and saw a lone rider approaching them: the Black Lord they had been told to expect.

"The Black Lord gazed mournfully upon them and said, 'Brothers, what do you want of me? What evil did I ever inflict on you that you should do to me and my realm what you have done?'

"Who are you, lord?' asked the two warriors. 'And what evil have we done to you?'

"The mournful voice answered, 'Do you not know that owing to the shower which you have thoughtlessly provoked neither man nor beast remains alive in my realm? You have destroyed everything.'

"The two warriors turned to one another and bethought themselves what they might do. 'Brother, we are in need of a plan,' Teleri observed. 'For it is as our king has said and we are no nearer the truth of this mystery than when we first began. I say we go back now before something happens we will all regret.'

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"Am I to believe what I hear?' Hy Gwyd hooted in derision. 'We are this close to winning glory and power beyond reckoning. Lash a spear to your spine if you must, but follow me. There is no turning back.'

"With that Hy Gwyd raised his shield and lofted his spear. When the Black Lord saw that they meant to face him, he attacked, unhorsing both warriors with as little effort as if they had been inept children. The dread one made to take their horses; but the two warriors, warned by the example of their king, leapt up at once, grasped the black spear and pulled their foe from his mount. The Black Lord rose to his knees, and his hand found the hilt of his sword. But Hy Gwyd was quicker.

"Up with his sword and down: the Black Lord's head rolled free of his shoulders and his body toppled to the ground like a felled oak. Hy Gwyd leaned on his sword, breathing hard, but well pleased with himself nonetheless. 'We have done it, brother,' he said. 'We have succeeded where our king has failed. Now his renown is ours and we are his betters.'

'Teleri was still searching for his tongue to make reply when there arose a moaning far greater than the groans they had heard previously. The moan grew to a keening wail. Piteous in its misery and mournful in its grief, the sound of this wailing would wring tears from stones. Indeed, if all the misery in the world were suddenly given voice it could not sound more lamentable. The two warriors thought they would not long survive the onslaught of such sorrow.

"They gazed about them to discover the source of this cry, and saw a woman drawing near them, and oh! she was hideous to behold. If all the womanly beauty in the world were turned rancid at a single stroke and bestowed upon the bony back of the most repulsive crone, it still would never match for ugliness the sight which the two warrior friends beheld. Her face was a mass of wrinkles; her teeth black and twisted in her crack-lipped maw. Her sagging flesh was a mass of maggoty sores; lice and worms worked ceaselessly in her hair, The finest of clothes had once been hers, but now the remnants

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hung on her disgusting body in filthy rags.

"The wails of grief were coming from the throat of this loathsome woman, more mournful with every approaching step. When she arrived at the pool, she looked upon the corpse of the Black Lord and keened even louder than before. Birds dropped dead from the trees at the sorrowful sound.

"Woe be upon you!' she cried, tears of sadness streaming down her ruined cheeks. 'Look at me! As ugly as I am now, I was once so beautiful. What will happen to me?'

"Lady, who are you?' asked Teleri. 'Why do you beseech us so?'

"You have killed my husband!' the loathly lady screeched. 'You have taken my man from me and left me desolate!' She stooped to the corpse before her and lifted the severed head by the hair, and kissed it on the mouth. 'Woe! Woe! My lord is gone. Who is there to care for me now? Who will be my comfort and support?'

"Calm yourself, if you can,' Teleri said. 'What is it you want from us?'

"You have slain the Guardian of the Pool,' the appalling woman said. 'He was my husband. Now one of you must take his place. One of you must take me to wife.'

"At this, the hideous crone approached the two warriors. A smell came from her that made their legs go weak and their bowels tremble. Red-eyed from crying, her nose running and spittle flowing from her lips, the crone spread her arms to them; her rags parted, revealing a body so wasted and repugnant that both men shut their eyes lest they retch at the sight.

"No!' they shouted. 'Do not come any closer or we shall faint.'

"Well?' the Black Hag asked. 'Which is it to be?' She turned first to Hy Gwyd. 'Will you embrace me?'

"Hy Gwyd turned his face away. 'Get you from me, hag!' he shouted. 'I will never embrace you!'

"She turned to Teleri. 'I see that you are a man of more heart. Will you embrace me?'

"Teleri's stomach squirmed. He felt sweat on the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet. He gulped air to keep from fainting.

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'Lady, it is the last thing I will do,' Teleri replied.

"At this the woman began wailing again and so powerful was her keening that the sky darkened and the wind began to blow and the rain began to fall and thunder rolled across the sky. The very ground beneath their feet trembled and the whole world quaked at the sound of trees being uprooted and mountains sliding into the sea.

"The sudden onset of such a storm frightened the two warriors. 'Let us leave this place at once,' shouted Hy Gwyd. 'We have achieved all we came here to do.'

"But, though his heart quailed within him, Teleri was unwilling to leave the woman if he could help put the matter right. 'Lady,' he said, 'although it makes my flesh crawl, I will embrace you.'

"You are a fool, Teleri!' shouted Hy Gwyd. 'You deserve her.' With that, he leapt onto his horse and rode swiftly away, though the storm crashed all around him.

"Teleri plucked up his courage and stepped toward the hag. His eyes watered-but whether from the sight of her, or the stench of her, he knew not. His arms shook and his strength flowed away like water. He thought his poor heart would burst for the shame and loathing coiling within him.

"Yet he raised his shaking arms and put them around the woman. He felt her hands on him, cold as ice, gripping him, bony fingers digging into his flesh. 'Woman,' he said, 'I have embraced you, and a cheerless embrace it is. Cold death could not be more desolate, nor the grave more grim.'

"Now you must lie with me,' the hag told him, her breath foul in his face. Close up she was even uglier-if that were possible-and more ghastly and more repulsive than before.

"Lie with you?' Teleri almost lost his reason. He thought to flee, but the Black Hag had him in her clutches and as there was no escape he resolved to see the thing through. 'I fear it will be a most abhorrent coupling. Yet, if that will satisfy you, I will do it ~for your sake alone, the Good God knows I will receive no pleasure from it.'

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"So Teleri took the Black Hag in his arms and lay down with her. He put his lips to her stinking mouth and kissed her. They made love, firm flesh to brittle bone, but Teleri could not endure the feat and he fainted.

"When he awoke, he was lying in the arms of the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen. Her long hair was yellow as pollen, and her limbs firm and supple; her breasts were shapely and her legs slender and long. Up he jumped with a startled cry. 'Where am I? he said, holding his head. 'What happened to the other woman who was here?'

"The maiden sat up and smiled, and it was as if the sun had never shone upon Teleri until that moment. 'How many women must you have to satisfy you?' she asked, and oh! her voice was the melting of sweet honey in the mouth.

"Lady,' Teleri said, 'you are all the woman I require. Only promise me you will remain with me!'

"I will remain with you through all things, Teleri,' the maiden replied. 'For, if I am not mistaken, I am your wife and you are my husband.'

"What is your name?' Teleri asked, feeling foolish that he had a wife but did not know her name.

"But the maiden answered soothingly. 'Beloved, my name is that word which is most pleasing to your ear. You have but to speak it and that is what I shall be called.'

"Then I will call you Arianrhod,' he said, 'for that is the name most pleasing to me.'

"Teleri gathered his lovely Arianrhod in his arms and embraced her; her skin was soft and smooth and the touch of her filled him with delight. He kissed her and his soul rose into the heights of ecstasy. His love knew no bounds.

"They dressed themselves then, drawing on the kind of garments with which kings and queens array themselves. Teleri found his horse grazing nearby and mounted. He settled his new wife before him and rode from the pool, returning to his former realm the same way he had come.

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"By and by, Teleri and Arhanrhod returned to Caer Cadwallon where they were greeted and made welcome. His former friends exclaimed much over Teleri's ggood fortune at finding a woman so beautiful and wise to be his wifeé.

"Welcome home, Teleri,' said King Cadwallon. 'You have returned at last. And here I waas thinkirug that I would have to rule my realm alone, for I could find i no one worthy to help me.'

"What are you saying, lordi?' asked Teleri. 'Hy Gwyd left before I did. He it was who killed the BBlack Lord.'

"Ah, but it is not Hy Gwyd I ~see before me,' Cadwallon answered, 'nor is it Hy Gwyd wvho has eintered my presence arrayed in splendor with so fair and queeenly a wife.' The great king shook his head slowly. 'The man you speaak of has not returned, and I think he never will. Therefore, let no mani speak of him more. For I have found the one who is worthy above all others to share my throne, and whom, for this reason, I desire tto elevate above all other men in my realm. From this day you are mny own son, and as my son you will enjoy the benefit of my power amd prosperity.'

"So saying, the Great King rcemoved tthe torc from his own throat and placed it around Teleri's thrcoat, thereby conferring a kingship no less sovereign than his own, nor~r yet less honorable. Teleri could not believe his good fortune.

"Cadwallon proclaimed a season of feasting throughout the realm and caused great rejoicingg among all who held him sovereign. Then he placed half his kinggdom under Teleri's authority, and removed himself to the other sside of his realm where he watched with the greatest delight and joy~ all that Telen did. For in everything Teleri showed himself an astuute and able king, and as Teleri's eminence grew, so did Cadwalloon's; and as Teleri's honor increased among the people, so did the grreat king"s prestige increase through that of his adopted son.

"For his part, Teleri was wellil pleased with his lot and ever looked to increase the great king's honior among men. But of Hy Gwyd he heard nothing more, nor did anyy man ever lay eyes on him again, It was as if that man had never beeen born.

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"Teleri and Arianrhod ruled long and wisely, ever exulting in their delight. And the love with which they loved one another increased until it filled the whole of the great king's realm with a potent and powerful goodness.

"Here ends the tale of the Great King's Son. Let him hear it who will."

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11

On a high-skied, sunbright day in early spring we left Dun Cruach. Snow still veiled the high ground, but I was eager to return to Dinas Dwr. The necessity of comp!eting the circuit of Albion required a lengthy sojourn in Prydain and Caledon. There were still many clans and settlements to visit in the south, and it would likely be some time yet before we could at last turn our steps once more to Dinas Dwr in the north.

My entourage had swelled in number since setting out. It seemed that we added new members at each place visited. Dun Cruach was no exception-Cynan insisted on escorting us on our journey through southern Caledon, claiming it had been too long since a Galanae king had made the circuit. Now that he was king it was his right; besides, it would increase his renown to be seen in the company of the Aird Righ.

The real reason, I suspect, was that he just wanted to show off his new bride. But I did not mind. It gave us an opportunity to ride together once more, which I enjoyed.

As before, messengers rode before us, summoning the people to the king's llys. We made camp in the holy places -at crossroads, at standing stones and gorsedd mounds. There I received the fealty of the Caledonian tribes, and-as in Prydain and Llogres---placed the

The Boar Hunt

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people under my authority and protection.

Ever and again, my thoughts turned toward Dinas Dwr, my splendid Water City. I wondered how the people fared, how the herds and crops were growing. I missed the place, missed my motley tribe, and wondered if they missed me. I longed for my hearth and hall. The minimal pleasures of a nomadic life were beginning to pall-the amusement of sleeping in a tent had long since worn off.

"There are only four or five tribes left to visit in the south," Tegid offered by way of consolation. "And as there are still very few people in Prydain at present, it will not be long before we begin making our way north again."

"How long?" I asked.

"Twenty-" the bard replied.

"Twenty days!" I shouted. My impatience got the better of me.

"-or thirty," Tegid added quickly. "Perhaps more. I cannot be certain until we have visited all the gathering places in the south."

"It will be Samhain before we get home again-if ever."

"Not at all. We should be within sight of Druim Vran before Lugnasadh-well before harvest time." He paused, almost beaming with pleasure."We have done well. The tribes honor your kingship. Your brother kings welcome you. It is all we had hoped."

Truly, the circuit had been a triumph. As Tegid pointed out, people did accept me as Aird Righ, and I could already see a direct benefit. After such a time as we had just been through with Siawn Hy and Melclron, the High Kingship offered a substantial degree of stability-not to mention tranquility. If observing the ancient rite of the Cylchedd had helped bring this about, I would do it all over again. I would do anything to make Albion again what it had been when I came. Absolutely anything.

"Why not go hunting with Bran?" Tegid suggested, stirring me from my thoughts. "We will reach our destination just past midday. Bran and some of the others are planning to explore some of the game runs Cynan has told us about. You could go with them."

"Trying to get rid of me, brother bard?"

"Yes. Go. Please."

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Bran was more than happy to include me in his hunting party. It had been a long time since I had ridden the hunt with him, or with anyone else. "It will not do for the High King's spearpoints to rust from neglect," he remarked. I took it as a kindly way of saying he did not want me growing soft now that I sat a throne more often than a :harging horse. Fair enough.

Upon reaching our camping place for the night, we gathered our spears and rode to the forest. It was just past midday, as Tegid had said it would be, and the day was warm. We struck the first game run 3hortly after entering the wood, but decided we would be unlikely to find anything so near to the outer fringes of the forest, and so pressed deeper into the heart of the wood.

There were six of us in our party altogether and, upon reaching a second run, we divided ourselves into three groups and proceeded along the track two abreast. Bran and I rode in the center, three to four spear-lengths between us; and though I could not see the others through the tangled wood, I knew they were within easy hailing distance.

We rode in silence for sometime, and at last came upon the spoor of wild pigs. Bran dismounted for a closer look. "How many?" I asked.

Bran, kneeling on the trail, raised his head and said, "A small herd. Four at least-maybe more." He stood and glanced ahead into the shadow-dappled trail. "Let us ride a little further and see what we find."

We proceeded with caution. This is always a tense situation, for until the pigs are sighted there is the very present danger of riding into them or overtaking them unawares. That is when accidents happen. Many is the hunter who has had his horse cut from under him-or worse-by a charging pig he did not see. Wild pigs are fearless fighters and will not hesitate to attack when pressed too close-- though, like most animals, given the chance they prefer to flee.

Bran and I proceeded a short distance further down the run, and paused to listen. The air was still in the depths of the forest; only the quick tak.tak, tak-tak of a woodpecker broke the dull silence. Then, a little way ahead, we heard a low, grunting huff- -which was followed by the snap of twigs and the shifting of dry leaves. Lowering his

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spear, Bran pointed into the dense thicket ahead and to the left of us. We waited, motionless, and in a moment a good-sized sow stepped onto the run before us, just beyond a sure throw. Pigs do not see well, though their hearing is acute and their sense of smell is keen. There was no wind, however, and if we kept quiet there was the chance she might wander nearer.

We waited.

Two piglets, small-they had been born only days before- joined their mother on the trail. They were joined by three more, all of them making small mewing sounds and scampering under the sow's belly and between her legs as she moved, snout down, along the run.

Bran shook his head slowly; we would not take the sow and leave the young without a mother. Accordingly, we made to turn off the track to give them a wide berth-a new mother feeling protective of her young would be extremely touchy and we had no wish to upset her. But, just as we turned aside, the thicket gave a shake and out burst a huge old boar.

He seemed more startled than angry, for he halted in the center of the run, turning this way and that-trying to locate the source of his agitation, I suppose-before gathering himself for a foray in our direction. This gave us time to ready ourselves and we were moving forward, spears low, when he charged. He closed the distance between us with surprising speed. We were ready, however, and had decided how to take him Bran would strike the beast high in the shoulder, and I would go for his ribs.

The boar was a doughty old warrior, wise in his strength. He made his first charge a bluff, breaking off at the last instant so that we were forced to reign up and wheel our mounts to keep him between us. High-backed, his crest bristling over his sharp shoulders, he paused for a moment in the shadows, head down, tusks gleaming, slobbering as he pawed the turf. The sow and her brood had scattered, meanwhile, squealing as they fled down the run.

Bran and I readied ourselves for another charge. My pulse beat in my temples. I felt my blood warming to the challenge of this old boar.

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Not waiting for the pig to decide the matter, we urged our horses forward to take him on the run. The beast did not move, but stood his ground and waited. Our spears were almost upon him when he broke sharply to the left, toward me-presenting his massive side as an easy target for my spear. I drew back to throw.

The boar must have sensed the movement, for he swerved and came headlong at me. His legs were a blur, and his tusks a glimmer of white in the gloom as he drove at me, grunting as he came. I braced myself for the impact, having already decide to let him come as near as possible before releasing my spear. Bran raced to join me, hoping to get in a second strike if mine missed.

All at once, there arose a great squeal and two more pigs darted into the run. I saw them only as two dark smudges speeding at an angle towards me. Bran shouted, his cry loud with surprise. I jerked the reins back hard, and my mount's legs all but folded under it as the creature struggled to halt and turn itself in one swift motion.

The first pig darted under the horse's rearing forehooves. The other! managed to ward off with a quick spearthrust as it made to rip into my mount's flank. I got a good look at the beast as it swerved aside to avoid the spear. It was a young tusker, not yet come into its full growth: thin in the hindquarters, and light in the chest. Yet, what it lacked in bulk, the beast more than made up for in speed and determination. For, no sooner had it passed one way than it charged again from another.

I shouted at Bran to warn him, and saw him, out of the corner of my eye, slashing at the second pig with a short, chopping motion of the spear. The pig fell, rolled on its back, legs kicking in the air, and then scrambled away, screaming as it fled.

This gave Bran a brief respite. He raised himself in the saddle and called for help, his voice ringing in the wood. I thought to give voice as well, but was soon too preoccupied to shout. The old boar had passed Bran and was now behind me. I heard a snuffling grunt as he lunged forward. I wheeled my horse and brought the spear down hard and fast. The blade caught the beast on the ridge of tight-muscled flesh atop his hump.

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The spear bent and then came a loud, splintering crack as the shaft snapped in two. The next thing I knew I was falling sideways onto the forest floor.

I threw my leg over the saddle as I fell, and landed hard on my side. But at least my leg was not trapped beneath the horse. I scrambled to my feet and dived for another spear-bundled behind the saddle of my floundering mount.

Bran, seeing my predicament, threw his own spear to me. It struck the earth two paces beside me. I dived for it, snatched it up, and then whirled to my horse, seizing the reins and urging it upright. Blood flowed from its hock and I hoped the wound was not serious.

"Liew!" Bran shouted. A spear streaked past my shoulder as I turned. The missile hit the charging boar a glancing blow-only enough to turn it aside. I spun and thrust with my spear as it went past, but missed completely as the wily animal dodged aside, streaming fluid from its nostrils and foam from its tusks.

Just then I heard behind me a crashing sound, and turned to meet Emyr and Alun as they rode to our aid. At the appearance of the newcomers, the pigs turned and began racing away down the trail.

"They're running!" cried Alun, urging his horse to the chase.

Emyr and Bran were next away. I hooked an arm over the neck of my mount and swung myself up into the saddle. An instant later I was bolting after them. The pigs kept to the side of the hunting run, low among the branches, where they were hardest to reach. Our only hope of roast pig was to keep pace with them, and strike when they broke cover and dashed into the open.

We readied our spears and ranged ourselves accordingly. Then, as we drew even with our fleet-footed quarry, the hunting run turned suddenly and we found ourselves in a sunlit, bramble-hedged glade. In the center of the glade stood a dolmen: three upright stones capped by a single huge slab which formed a roof. The dolmen was surrounded by a shallow, grass-grown ditch and ring.

The old boar put his head down and ran straight across the clearing, skirting the dolmen and driving into the thicket on the far

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side of the glade. His young companion, however, was not so canny. The pig scurried across the ditch and disappeared behind the dohnen with Emyr right behind. Alun and I peeled away, racing for the opposite side to cut off his escape. Bran halted at the entrance to keep the brash porker from retreating back down the run.

The pig cleared the dolmen, saw us, and continued on around for the second time. Emyr picked him up as he passed and gave chase. Then it was Alun's and my chance once more. But the speedy pig darted among the stones and eluded us. Emyr shouted as the pig appeared on his side once more, and then I saw the brown blur as it rounded the ring and sped on for a third circuit.

Alun lofted a spear as the pig appeared once more. The spear struck the soft ground just in front of the young boar's jaw. The pig gave a frightened grunt and lunged for the cover of the dolmen stones.

I saw it scramble into the deep shadow under the capstone-I saw its silhouette sharp against the bright green beyond. And then it disappeared.

The pig simply melted from sight. I saw it go. Rather, I saw it, and then I did not see it any more. The creature had evaporated- tusks, tail, bristles and all-leaving not so much as a squeal behind.

I saw it go and my stomach tightened. My heart sank and I suddenly felt weak. My spear fell from my slack fingers; I made a clumsy grab for it and missed. The spear dropped on the ground.

"Where is it?" shouted Emyr. He looked to Alun, who leaned poised in the saddle with his spear raised, ready to throw. Neither had seen the pig vanish.

"The beast is hiding!" replied Alun, indicating the crevice between stones.

Cautiously, Emyr approached the dolmen and jabbed his spear beneath the capstone, thinking to drive the pig out. With trembling fingers, I gathered the reins and turned my mount, leaving the glade. Bran hailed me as I passed. "Have they made the kill?" he called. "Llew!"

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I made no answer. Overcome by the enormity of the crisis, I could not speak. I simply spurred my horse away.

"Liew! What has happened?" Bran called sharply.

I knew what had happened: the web between the worlds had now grown so thin and tenuous that a frightened pig could cross the threshold in broad daylight. The balance between the worlds was skewed; the Endless Knot was unravelling. The Otherworid and the manifest world I had left behind were collapsing inward each upon the other. Chaos loomed.

I could hear the shriek of the void loud in my ears as I passed from the glade. The chill touched my heart-and my hand: my silver hand had grown cold on the end of my arm. The cold spread to my bones. Blackness swarmed the borders of my vision.

"Are you injured, lord?" called the Raven Chief behind me~

Ignoring Bran, I rode on

 

I had almost reached the edge of the forest when the others caught me. They were puzzled by my actions, and disappointed at having to abandon the hunt. No one spoke, but I could feel their tacit bewilderment at my behavior. We rode back to camp without explanation and, upon dismounting, I turned to Bran. "Bring Tegid," I said, and ducked into my tent.

Goewyn was not there. No doubt she was away somewhere with Tángwen. I sat down on the red oxhide in the center of the tent, crossed my legs, folded my arms across my chest and bent my head until it almost touched my knees. I waited, feeling a cold tide of desperation rising within me. If I did not think about what I had seen, and what it meant, I could keep the tide from overwhelming me.

"Hurry, Tegid," I murmured, rocking slowly back and forth.

In this way I held the tide at bay and kept it from swallowing me

and carrying me away. I do not know how much time passed, but I

heard the brushing tread of a step at the doorway and then felt a

presence beside me. I opened my eyes and raised my head.

Tegid was bending over me, concern creasing his brow. "I am

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here, brother," he said softly. "The hunt went well?"

I shut my eyes again and shook my head. When I did not reply, he said, "What has happened?" He paused. "Llew, tell me. What has happened?"

I raised my silver hand to him. "It is cold, Tegid. Like ice."

He bent down and touched the metal hand thoughtfully. "It feels the same to me," he offered, straightening once more. "Tell me about the hunt."

"Three pigs," I began, haltingly. "They gave us a good hunt. We chased them-deep into the forest. One escaped. We followed two into a clearing. There was a dolmen and ring. We chased one of the pigs around the dolmen and... and then it disappeared."

"The dolmen?"

I cast a quick, disgusted glance at the bard to see if he was baiting me. "The pig. The pig disappeared. I saw it go, and I know where it went."

"Did the others see it?" he asked.

"That is hardly the point-is it?" I spat.

Tegid watched me closely.

"I have seen the pig before," I told him. "Before I came to Albion, I saw that pig. It is just like the aurochs, you see?"

Tegid did not see. How could he? So I explained to him about the aurochs-the aurochs we had hunted on our flight to Findargad, and which had disappeared into a mound the same way the pig had vanished.

"But we killed it," Tegid protested. "We ate its meat and it fed us."

"There were two!" I said. "One disappeared and the other we killed. That aurochs is what brought Simon and me to Albion; the one we chased was the one that brought us. And the pig I chased today was the one I saw before I came."

Tegid shook his head slowly. "I hear you, brother, but I still do not understand why this upsets you," he said. "It is unfortunate, but-"

"Unfortunate!"

Tegid stood looking at me for a moment, then sat down facing

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me. He settled himself, and said, "If you want me to understand, you must tell me what it means." He spoke slowly, but crisply. He was restraining himself, but with obvious effort.

"It means," I said, closing my eyes again, "that Nettles was wrong. The balance is not restored. The Knot-the Endless Knot is still unravelling."

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The Return of the King

 

 

Though Tegid and I talked at length, I was unable to make him grasp the significance of the vanishing pig. Probably I could not explain properly, or at least in a way he could understand. He seemed willing enough, but my explanation lacked some element crucial to persuasion. I could not make him see the danger.

"Tegid," I said at last, "it is late and I am tired. Let us get something to eat."

Tegid agreed that might be best; he rose stiffly, and left the tent. Gloom and doom had so permeated my thoughts that I was amazed to find a stunning sunset in progress-pink, carnelian, copper, wine and fuchsia flung in gorgeous splashes against a radiant hyacinth sky. I blinked my eyes and stood staring at it for a moment. The air was warm still, with just a hint of evening's chill. Soon the stars would come out, and we would be treated to yet another spectacle of almost staggering grandeur.

Through all its travails, Albion still endured. How was that possible? What preserved it? What sustained it in the very teeth of cataclysm and disaster?

"What do you see?" asked Goewyn softly.

"I see a miracle," I replied. "I see it and I wonder how such things can endure."

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Upon seeing Tegid emerge from the tent, Goewyn had quickened her step to meet me. She had kept herself away from the tent while Tegid and I talked, but now she was eager to discover the subject of our discussion. "Are you hungry?" she asked, taking my flesh hand in hers. She did not say that she had been waiting long; the curiosity in her dark brown eyes was evident enough.

"I am sorry," I told her. "I did not mean to exclude you. Tegid and I were talking. You should have joined us."

"When a king and his bard hold council, no one must intrude," she replied. There was no irritation in her tone, and I realized that despite her curiosity, which was only natural, she would have fought anyone who tried to disturb us.

"Next time I will send for you, Goewyn," I said. "I am sorry. Forgive me."

"You are troubled, LIew." She reached a cool hand to my forehead and smoothed my hair back. "Walk. Take your ease. I will have food brought to the tent and await you there."

"No, walk with me. I do not want to be alone just now."

So we walked together a while. We did not talk. Goewyn's undemanding presence was a balm to my agitated spirit, and I began to relax somewhat. As the stars began to waken in the sky, we returned to the tent. "Rest now. I will see that food is brought." She moved away, and I watched her go. My heart soared to see her in motion. I loved every curving line.

My melancholy lifted at once. Here was love and life, full and free before me. Here was a soul shining like a beacon flame, shining for me. I wanted to gather her in my arms and hold her for ever.

Never leave me, Goewyn.

Entering the tent once more, I found Tegid and Bran waiting. Tegid had also rousted Cynan from his tent and brought him along. Rushlights had been lit and placed on stands around the perimeter of the tent, casting a rosy glow over the interior. They ceased talking when I appeared.

"This was not necessary, Tegid," I told him.

"You are troubled, brother," the bard replied. "I have failed to

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console you, so I brought your chieftains to attend you."

I thanked them all for coming, and insisted that it was not necessary to attend me. "I have Goewyn to console me," I explained.

"It is unfortunate that the pig got away," Bran sympathized. "But we can find another one tomorrow."

"The hunting runs are full of them," offered Cynan helpfully.

Shaking my head gently, I tried once more to explain. "It is not the pig. I do not care about the pig. It is what the pig's disappearance represents that worries me. Do you see that?"

I could tell by the way they looked at me they did not see that at all. I tried again.

"There is trouble," I said. "There is a balance between this world and my world, and that balance has been disturbed. I thought defeating Siawn Hy and Meldron would restore the balance-Nettles thought so, too. But he was wrong, and now. . ."

The blank stares brought my lecture to an abrupt halt. I had lost them again.

"If there is trouble, we will soon know it," Bran suggested. "And we will conquer it."

Spoken like a fighting man. "It is not that kind of trouble," I answered.

"We are more than a match for any enemy," Cynan boasted. "Let it come. There is no enemy we cannot defeat."

"It is not that simple, Cynan." I sighed, shaking my head again. "Believe me, I wish it were."

Tegid, desperate to help, observed, "The Banfáith's prophecy has proven true through all things. All that has happened, and all that is yet to happen, is contained in the prophecy."

"There, you see?" agreed Cynan with satisfaction. "There is nothing to worry about. We have the prophecy to guide us if trouble should come. There is nothing to worry about."

"You do not understand," I said wearily. It was as if a gulf stood between us-a gulf as wide and deep as that which separates the worlds, perhaps. Maybe there was no way for them to cross that gap. If Professor Nettleton were here, he would know what to say to make

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them understand. Nettles would know what it meant... or would he? He had been wrong about my remaining in Albion; obviously there was still some work for me to finish. Then again, maybe he was right; maybe it was my lingering presence that was causing the trouble.

I almost groaned with the effort of trying to make sense of it. Why, oh why, was this so difficult?

"If it is understanding we lack," the bard exhorted, "then let us look to the prophecy." Pressing the palms of his hands together, he touched his fingertips to his lips and drew a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he began, speaking with quiet intensity, to declaim the prophecy given me by Gwenllian, Banfáith of Ynys Sci.

I needed no help in recalling the prophecy; I remembered the Banfáith's words as if they were engraved on my heart. Still, each time I heard those stern, unforgiving words spoken aloud, I felt the thrill in my gut. This time it was more than a thrill, however; I felt the distinct tug of a power beyond my ken bearing me along-destiny, perhaps? I do not know. But it was as if I was standing on a seastrand with the tide flowing around me; I could feel its irresistible pull. Events like waves had gathered and now were moving, bearing me along. I could resist-I could swim against the tide-but I would be carried along anyway in the end.

Tegid came to the end of the recitation, saying, "Before Albion is One, the Hero Feat must be performed and Silver Hand must reign."

This last seemed to please both Bran and Cynan immensely. Bran nodded sagely, and Cynan folded his arms across his chest as if he had carried the day. "Silver Hand reigns!" he declared proudly. "And when the Cylchedd is complete, Albion will be united once again under the Aird Righ."

"That is surely the way of it," enthused Bran.

I remained unconvinced, but had run out of arguments. Then Goewyn arrived with one of her maidens bringing our supper, and so I decided to let the matter rest for the time being. If anything were seriously wrong, Professor Nettleton would surely return to tell me so, or send a message to me somehow.

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"Let us hope that is the way of it," I agreed reluctantly, and then dismissed them to their own tents and to their rest.

"We will remain vigilant, lord," Bran vowed as he left. "That is all we can do."

"True, Bran. Very true."

He and Cynan filed out, followed by Tegid, who, though he appeared anxious to tell me something, merely gazed at Goewyn for a moment, bade her a good night's rest, and went out, leaving us alone to share our meal and my misery.

"Eat something, husband," Goewyn prodded gently. "A man cannot think or fight on an empty stomach."

She lifted a bowl under my nose. The aroma of boiled meat in thick, salty broth made my mouth water. Taking the bowl in my silver hand, I dipped my fingers in and began eating. My mind turned again to the harsh promises of the prophecy, and I ate in silence, ignoring Goewyn as she sat directly before me.

"Here, my love," she said after a time, drawing me from my thoughts. "For you." I looked up to see her break a small loaf of brown bread in her hands. She smiled, extending half the loaf to me.

A small gesture: her hand reaching out to me-as if she would thwart all the unknown hazards of the future with a bit of broken bread-it was so humble and trifling against such overwhelming uncertainty. Yet, in that moment, it was enough.

The next day we resumed the circuit, and all went as it had before. Nothing terrible happened. The earth did not open before our feet and swallow us whole; the sky did not fall; the sun did not deviate from its appointed course. And, when evening came, the moon rose to shed a friendly light upon the land. All was as it should be.

After a few such uneventful days, I began to persuade myself that the wild pig's disappearance was merely a lingering ripple in the disturbance caused by Simon and Meldron; a simple, small, isolated event, it foreshadowed no great catastrophe. Albion was healing itself, yes, but it would be unrealistic to expect everything to return to normal overnight. Undoubtedly, the healing process would go on

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for a long time. And after all, my reign was, as Cynan and Tegid implied, a major element of that recovery. How could I think otherwise?

 

Maffar, sweetest of seasons, had run its course full and fair, and Gyd, season of sun, was well begun before we at last turned the wagons north. I was glad to have made the circuit, but more so now that it was finished. I missed Dinas Dwr and all the friends we had left behind. And I wanted to see what had been accomplished in my absence.

The southern leg of our journey completed, Cynan and Tángwen bade us farewell, but not before I extracted a promise to winter with us in Dinas Dwr. "Favor us with the pleasure of your company. Our hall is a cowbyre compared to yours," I declared. "And it is as cold beside the hearth as on the hilltop when the snow drifts deep. But it would be less wretched if you would deign to share our meager fare."

"Mo anam!" Cynan cried. "Do you expect me to refuse such a generous offer? See the cups are filled, brother-it is Cynan Machae at your gate when the wind howls in the roof-trees!"

He and Tángwen returned to Dun Cruach, and we proceeded on to Sam Cathmail. Once we had set our faces towards home, my impatience knew no bounds. We could not move swiftly enough. Each day's distance brought us no nearer, or so it seemed to me, yet with every step my eagerness increased; like thirst burning in a parched throat, I ached with it.

It was not until the land began to lift and I saw the high hills glimmering in the blue heat haze that I began to feel we were at last returning. On the day I saw Mon Dubh, I could contain myself no longer. I rode ahead, with Goewyn at my side, and would likely have left the others far behind if Tegid had not prevented us.

"You cannot return this way," he said when he had caught up with us. "Allow your people to make ready a proper welcome."

"Just seeing Dinas Dwr again is welcome enough for me," I insisted. "We could have been there by now if you had not stopped us. We will go ahead. Let the rest come along in their own good time."

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He shook his head firmly. "One more day, then you will enter your city and receive the welcome due a king. I will send Emyr ahead to prepare the way for you." He turned a deaf ear to my protests and insisted, "We have observed the rite without flaw. Let us complete it likewise."

Goewyn sided with him. "Let it be as your wise bard advises," she urged. "It is only one more day, and your people will be grateful for the opportunity of anticipating the return of their king and welcoming you back in a manner worthy of your rank."

So, Emyr Lydaw was sent ahead to announce our arrival. I spent one more night in a tent on the trail. Like a child on the eve of a celebration, I was too excited to sleep. I lay in the tent, tossing this way and that, and finally rose and went out to walk away my restlessness.

It was dark, the moon high overhead and bright. The camp was quiet. I heard a tawny owl calling, and the answering call of its mate a short distance away. I looked up at the sound and saw a ghostly shape flickering through the treetops. The surrounding hills were softly outlined against a sky of silver-flecked jet. All was dark and quiet and as it should be-except for one small detail: a spark-bright glimmer on the crest of a faraway hill.

I watched for a moment before realizing what it was: a beacon. In the same instant, I felt a chill in my silver hand; a sharp cold stab.

I turned to scan the hilltops behind me, but saw no answering flare. I wondered what the signal fire betokened, and thought to fetch Tegid from his bed to show it to him. But the beacon faded and, with its departure, my own certainty of what I had seen. Perhaps it was nothing more than the campfire of hunters; or maybe Scatha had set watchers along the ridge to warn of our approach.

Stalking the perimeter of the camp, I spoke briefly with the guards at the horse picket, but they had seen nothing. I finished my inspection of the camp and returned to my tent. I lay down on the fleece and fell asleep listening to Goewyn's deep, slow breathing.

I awakened early the next morning, dressed quickly, and proceeded to make a general nuisance of myself by urging everyone

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to hurry. We were but a day's march from Druim Vran, and with all speed we would reach the lake at sunset and dine at Dinas Dwr that night.

By midday I could see the dark line of Raven Ridge, and I thought we would never arrive. Nevertheless, as the sun began sinking low in the west, we entered the broad plain spreading before the ridgewall. The shadow of the gorsedd mound stretched long across the plain and the looming mass of Druim Vran soared above it.

All along the ridge stood the people, my people, waiting to welcome us home. My heart soared at the sight.

"Listen," said Goewyn, tilting her head. "They are singing."

We were too far away to hear the words, but the voices fell like a fine sweet rain splashing down from on high. I halted on the trail, swivelled in the saddle, and called to Tegid, "Do you hear? What are they singing?"

He rode to join me and halted to listen a moment, then smiled. "It is Arianrhod's Greeting," he said. "It is the song Arianrhod sings to her lover when she sees him sailing over the waves to rescue her."

"Is it?" I wondered. "I have never heard that story," I said.

"It is a beautiful tale," Tegid said. "I will sing it to you some time."

I turned my face to the heights and listened to the glad sound. I would not have imagined that the sight of my people standing along the ridgewall and singing their welcome to the valley below could touch me so deeply. My eyes grew misty with tears at the sound; truly, I had come home.

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The Aird Righ's Mill

 

 

"Hie! Hie!" cried Goewyn as she galloped past. "I thought you were eager to reach home!" she shouted.

I lashed my mount to speed and raced after her. She gained the ridgewall before me and, without slackening her pace, flew straight up the track. I followed in a hail of dust and pebbles thrown up by the horses' hooves, but could not catch her. She reached the top first and slipped from the saddle, turning to await me.

"Welcome home, 0 King," she said.

I threw a leg over the neck of my horse and slid to the ground beside her. "Lady, I claim a welcome kiss," I said, pulling her to me. The crowd came running to meet us, and we were soon pressed on every side by eager well.wishers.

What a glad greeting it was! The tumult was heartfelt and loud, the reception dizzying. We were soon engulfed in a heady whirl of welcome. Scatha appeared in the forefront of the press. She seized her daughter in her arms and held her; Pen..y-Cat hugged me next, clasping me tightly to her, and, taking my hand and one of Goewyn's, she gazed at us with shining eyes and declared, "Welcome, my children, I give you good greeting."

She kissed us both, and held us together before her while her eyes drank in the sight. "I have missed you both," she said. Then, fixing

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each one of us in her gaze, she asked, "It is just the two of you?"

"Still just two," my bride told her mother. She squeezed my hand.

"Well," Scatha allowed, "you are no less welcome. I have longed for you every day."

We embraced again, and I glimpsed the crannog in the lake beyond. "I see that Dinas Dwr has survived in our absence."

"Survived?" boomed Calbha, wading towards us through the crowd to stand before us. The Ravens we had left behind followed at his heels. "We have thrived! Welcome back, Silver Hand," he said, gripping my arms. "You have fared well?"

"We have fared exceedingly well, Calbha," I answered. "The circuit of the land is complete. All is well."

"Tonight we will celebrate your return," Scatha announced. "In the hall, the welcome cup awaits."

Thanks to Tegid's foresight, Scatha and Calbha had had time to prepare a feast for our return. Trailing well-wishers, we made our way down to the city on the lake; in the golden light of a setting sun Dinas Dwr seemed to me a gem aglow in a broad, shining band.

At the lakeshore, we climbed into boats and paddled quickly across to the crannog, where we were welcomed by those who had stayed behind to attend to the preparations.

The tang of roasting meat reached us the instant we stepped from the boats. Two whole oxen and six pigs were dripping fat over pits of charcoal; ale vats had been set up outside the hail, and skins of mead poured into bowls. At our approach, a dozen maidens took up gold and silver bowls and ran to meet us.

"Welcome, Great King," said a dimpled, smiling maid, raising the bowl to me. "Too long have you been absent from your hearth, lord. Drink deep and take your ease," she said prettily, and it melted my heart to hear it.

I accepted the bowl, lifted it to my lips, and drank the sweet, golden nectar. It was flavored with anise and warmed my throat as it slid silkily over my tongue. I declared it the finest drink I had ever tasted, and passed the bowl to Goewyn. The king having drunk, the remaining bowls, cups, and jars could be distributed; this was done

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at once and the feast began.

No one was happier than Ito be back home. I looked long on the hall, and on the happy faces of all those I had left behind. They were my people, and I was their king. I truly felt I had come home, that my absence had pained, and that my return was pleasing.

It was not until I stood before my own hall with the taste of herbed mead in my mouth and the shouts of acclaim loud in my ears that I realized Tegid's wisdom in proposing the circuit. In going out like a king, I had become a king indeed. I belonged to the land now; heart and soul, I was part of it. In some ancient, mystical way, the circuit united my spirit with Albion and its people. I felt my soul expand to embrace those around me, and I remembered all those I had met in the course of my circuit of the land. As I loved those around me, I loved them all. They were my people, and I was their king.

I saw Tegid standing a little distance apart with a bowl to his lips, surrounded by his Mabinogi. He sensed me watching him and lowered the bowl, smiling. The crafty bard knew what had happened. He knew full well the effect circuit and homecoming would have on my soul. He smiled at me over the bowl and raised it to me, then drank again. Oh yes, he knew.

Goewyn pressed the bowl into my hands once more and I raised it to Tegid and drank to him. Then Goewyn and I shared a drink. Garanaw, who had stayed behind to help Scatha train the young warriors, came and greeted me like a brother. We drank together then, and I embarked upon a long round of drinking the health of all my long.absent friends.

Food followed, mounds of bread and cakes, and crackling joints of roast meat, great steaming cauldrons full of leeks, marrows, and cabbages. It was a splendid feast: eating by torchlight under the stars, the night dark and warm around us.

After we had eaten, Tegid brought out his harp and we drifted away on wings of song. Under his peerless touch, the skyvault became a vast Seeing Bowl filled with the black oak water of all possibilities, each star a glimmering promise. Dawn was glinting in

 

 

 

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the east when we finally made our way to bed, but we slept the sleep of deep contentment.

 

We bade farewell to Calbha a few days later. lie was anxious to return to his lands in Liogres and establish himself and his people before Sollen set in. I did not envy him the work he faced. I made certain he took a large portion of seed grain and meal, and the best of the pigs, sheep and cattle to begin new herds. I gave him everything he would need to see him through the first winter, and we parted with vows of everlasting friendship, and promises to visit one another often. He and the remnant of his tribe left with a dozen wagons piled high with provisions, tools and weapons.

As Calbha had said, Dinas Dwr prospered in our absence. The crops and herds had flourished, the people hac plenty and were content. The horror loosed by the Great Hound M~ldron was fading, and with it the tainting abomination of his reign.

Having completed the Cylchedd of the land, I was not content to sit on my throne and watch the world go by. Indeed, I was more eager than ever to be a good king. As the warm days passed, I found myself wondering what I might do to benefit my people. What could I give them?

My bard suggested I give them wise leadership, but I had in mind something more tangible: an engineering feat like a bridge, or a road. Neither seemed quite right. If a road, where would it go? And if a bridge, what body of water needed spanning?

I ambled around for a couple of days trying to lecide what sort of endeavor would serve the people best. And, as luck would have it, one morning I was walking among the sheds ani work huts on the lakeshore when I heard the slow, heavy mumble of the grinding wheel. I turned and lifted my eyes from the path to see two women bent over a massive double wheel of stone. One woman turned the upper stone with a staff while the other poured dried grain into the hole in the center. They saw me watching and greeted me.

"Please continue," I said, "I do not wish to interupt your work."

They resumed their labor and I watched the arduous process. I

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saw their slender backs bent and their shapely arms straining to turn the heavy stone. It was hard work for meal which would be eaten in a moment, and there would be more grain to grind tomorrow. When they finished, the women collected the flour from around the stone, using a straw whisk to sweep every last fleck into their bag. They bade me farewell then, and left. No sooner was the grindstone idle, however, than two more women appeared and, taking grain from the storehouse, they also began to grind their flour.

This was no new chore in Dinas Dwr. It had been performed in just this way since before anyone could remember, probably since the first harvest had been gathered and dried. But this was the first time I had seen it as the back-breaking labor it was. And so I arrived at the boon I would give my people. I would give them a mill.

A mill! Such a simple thing, rudimentary really. Yet, a wonder if you do not have one. And we did not have one. Neither did anyone else. So far as I knew there had never been a grain mill in Albion. When I thought of how much time and energy would be saved, I wondered I had not thought of it before. And, after the mill, I could see other, perhaps more exalted ventures. The mill was just the beginning, but it was as good a project as any to begin with.

Returning to the crannog, I called my wise bard to me. "Tegid," I said, "1 am going to build a mill. And you are going to help me."

Tegid peered at me sceptically and pulled on his lower lip.

"You know," I explained, "a mill-with stones for grinding grain."

He looked slightly puzzled, but agreed that, in principle at least, a mill was a fine thing to build.

"No, I do not mean a pair of grindstones turned by hand. These stones will be much bigger than that."

"How big?" he wondered, eyeing me narrowly.

"Huge. Enormous! Big enough to grind a whole season's supply Df grain in a few days. What do you think?"

This appeared to confound Tegid all the more. "A worthy ambition, indeed," he replied. "Yet, I cannot help thinking that grindstones so large would be very difficult to move. Are you

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suggesting oxen?"

"No," I told him. "I am not suggesting oxen."

"Good," he remarked with some relief. "Oxen must be fed and-"

"I am suggesting water."

"Water?"

•     "Exactly. It is to be a water mill."

The bewilderment on his face was wonderful. I laughed to see it.

•     He drew breath to protest, but I said, "It is a simple invention from my world. But it will work here. Let me show you what I mean."

I knelt and drew my knife. After scratching a few lines in the dirt, I said, "This is the stream that flows into the lake." I drew a wavy circle. "This is the lake."

Tegid gazed at the squiggles and nodded.

"Now then." I drew a square on the stream. "If we put a dam at this place-"

"If we make a dam at that place, the stream will flood the meadow and the water will not reach the lake."

"True," I agreed. "Unless the water had a way past the dam. You see, we make a weir with a very narrow opening and let the water out slowly-through a revolving wheel. A wheel made of paddles." I drew a crude wheel with flat paddles, and indicated with my hand how the water would push the paddles and turn the wheel. "Like so. See? And this turning wheel is joined to the grindstone." I laced my fingers to suggest cogs meshing and turning.

Tegid nodded shrewdly. "And as the wheel turns, it turns the grindstone."

"That is the way of it."

Tegid frowned, gazing at the lines in the dirt. "I assume you know how this can be accomplished?" he said at last.

"Indeed," I stated confidently. "I mean, I think so."

"This is a marvel I would like to see." Tegid frowned at the dirt drawing and asked, "But will it not make the people lazy?"

"Never fear, brother. The people have more than enough to keep them busy without having to grind every single seed by hand. Trust me."

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Tegid straightened. "So be it. How will you proceed?"

"First we will select the place to build the weir." I stood, replacing my knife in my belt. "I could use your advice there."

"When will you begin?"

"At once."

We left the crannog and walked out along the lakeshore to the place where the stream which passed under the ridgewall flowed into the lake. Then we followed the stream towards the ridge. We walked along the stream, pausing now and then to allow Tegid to look around. At a place about halfway to the ridgewall-where the stream emerged from deeply-cleft banks at the edge of the woods which rose up on the slopes of Druim Vran, the bard stopped.

"This," Tegid said, tapping the ground with his staff, "is the place I deem best for your water mill."

The location seemed less than promising to me. "There is no place for a weir," I pointed out. I had envisaged a flat, calm mill pond, with brown trout sporting in dappled shade-not a steep-banked slope on a hill.

"The weir will be easily dug here," Tegid maintained. "There is wood and stone within easy reach, and this is where the water begins its race to the lake."

I studied the waterfiow for a moment, looking back along the course of the stream; I considered the wooded slopes and the stony banks. Tegid was right, it would a good place for a mill. Different from what I'd had in mind, but a much better use of gravity to turn the mill wheel and much less difficulty in keeping the water from flooding the meadow. I wondered what the shrewd bard knew about such things as gravity and hydraulics.

"You are right. This is the place for us. Here we will build our mill."

Work began that same day. First, I had the site cleared of brush. While that was being done, I searched for a way to draw some of my ideas, settling for a sharpened pine twig and a slab of yellow beeswax, and I began educating my master-builder, a man named Huel Gadarn, in the ways of water-powered mills. He was quick as he was clever; I had only to scratch a few lines on the beeswax and he

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grasped not only the form of the ting I was drawing but, often as not, the concept behind it as well. 'fle only aspect of the procedure he found baffling was how the power~the water wheel was transferred to the giant grinding-stones. But th difficulty owed more to my poor skill in sketching a gear than to an failing on Huel's part.

Next we built a small model ofhe mill out of twigs and bark and clay. When that was finished, I v~s satisfied that Huel had all the various elements of the operation irmly under his command. I had no fear that, given time and incinaon, Huel the master-builder could build the mill himself. We were reáy to proceed.

Once the site was cleared, we~ould begin excavating the weir. But then it rained.

I spent the first day drawini various kinds of gears. On the second day I started pacing. By te fourth day, which dawned just as grey and wet as the three befor it~ I was pacing and cursing the weather. Goewyn endured me as Ing as she could, but finally grew exasperated and informed me thatio grindstone, however huge, was worth the aggravation I was cau~g. She then sent me away to do my stalking, as she called it, elsewere.

I spent a wet, restless day inhe hail, listening to idle talk and itching to be at the building site. ~ortunately, the next day dawned clear and bright, and we were ale, at last-and with Goewyti's emphatic blessing-to begin diging the foundations for Albion's new wonder~ the Aird Righ's Mill.

51

14

Through Maffar's long days of warmth and bliss the Year's Wheel slowly revolved. Rhyll came on in a shimmering blaze, but the golden days and sharp, cool nights quickly dulled. The high color faded and the land withered beneath windy grey skies and cold, drenching rain.

Our harvest, so bountiful the previous year, yielded less than anticipated due to the rain. Day after day, we watched the skies, hoping for a break in the weather and a few sunny days to dry the grain. Rot set in before we could gather it all. It was no disaster, thanks to the bounty of the last harvest, but still a disappointment.

Progress on the mill slowed, and I grew restive. With Sollen's icy fingers stretching towards us, I was anxious to get as much finished as possible before the snow stopped us. I drove Huel and his workers relentlessly. Sometimes, if the rainfall was not heavy, I made them work through it. As the days grew shorter, I grew more frantic and demanding. I had torches and braziers brought to the site so that we could work after dark.

Tegid finally intervened; he approached me one night when I returned shivering from a windy day in the rain. "You have accomplished a great deal," he affirmed, "but you go too far. Look around you, Silver Hand; the days are short and the light is not good. How much longer do you think the sky will hold back the snow?

Intruders

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Come, it is time to take your rest."

"And just abandon the mill? Abandon all we have done? Tegid, you are talking nonsense."

"Did I tell you to abandon anything?" he sniffed. "You can begin again as soon as Gyd clears the skies once more. Now is the time for rest, and for more pleasurable pursuits indoors."

"Just a few more days, Tegid. It is not going to hurt anyone."

"We neglect the seasons to our peril," he replied stiffly.

"There will be plenty of time for lazing around the hearth, never fear."

Riding out to the building site early the next morning, I regretted those words. We had worked hard, very hard; but the mill had been begun late in the season and now the weather had turned against us. It was absurd of me to expect men to work in the dark, wet, and cold, and I was a fool for demanding it of them.

Worse, I was becoming a tyrant: self-indulgent, insensitive~ obsessive and oppressive. My great labor-saving boon had so far produced nothing but plenty of extra work for everyone.

My wise bard was right The time-honored rhythm of the seasons, of work and play and rest, served the purpose of balance in the sacred pattern of life. I had tipped the scales too far, and it was time for me to put it right.

The day had dawned crisp, the sunlight thin, but bright; the chill east wind tingled the nostrils with the fresh scent of snow. Yes, I thought as I came upon the vacant site, it was time to cease work for the winter. I dismounted, and walked around, inspecting the excavations, waiting for Huel and his builders to arrive.

Despite the incessant delays, we had made good progress on the construction: a shallow weir had been dug and lined with stone; the foundations, both timber and stone, for the mill house had been established. In the spring, we would quarry the huge grindstones, and set them in place-the mill house would be raised around them. The wheel would be built and then the shafts and gears attached. If all went well, I reflected, the mill would be ready to grind its first grain by harvest time next year.

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Preoccupied with these plans, I wandered around the diggings and slowly became aware of a peculiar sound, faint and far away, but distinct in the crisp autumn air: a slow, rhythmic thump-like stones falling onto the earth at regular intervals. What is more, I realized with a start that I had been hearing it for some time.

I glanced quickly towards the ridge trail, but saw no one. I held myself completely still and listened. But the sound was gone now. Intrigued, I remounted my horse and rode up the slope of the ridge and into the wood. I paused to listen. There was nothing but the whisper of the wind in bare branches.

Turning away, I thought I heard the soft thudding pat of running steps on the path ahead-just a hint and then the wind stole the sound away again. Raising myself in the saddle, I called out, "Who is it?" I paused. No answer came. I shouted again, more loudly, "Who is there?"

Lifting the reins, I rode forward, slowly, through the close-grown pines and came upon one of the many tracks leading to the top of the ridge. Following the track, I gained the ridgeway and proceeded along the top of the ridge. Almost at once, I came upon a footprint in the damp earth. The print appeared fresh-at least, rain had not degraded it overnight; a swift search revealed a few more leading into the wood.

I turned from the trail, proceeding cautiously towards the edge of the ridge, and immediately came upon an enormous heap of timber:

fallen branches and logs fetched from the wood and thrown into a pile at the very edge of the ridge. The place was well chosen, screened from the trail behind by the trees, yet open to the valley beyond. There was no sign of anyone about, so I dismounted and walked to the woodpile.

Scores of footprints tracked the damp earth, and on closer scrutiny I observed the prints of at least three different people. The immense size of the heap astonished me. It was the work of many days-or many hands. Either way, I did not like it. An intruder had raised a beacon on our very threshold.

I whirled from the beacon-heap and vaulted into the saddle. I snapped the reins and urged my mount to speed, skirted the beacon,

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md galloped along the ridgeway until I reached a place where I could ook down on either side of the ridge: on one side, the valley with its brown fields and the long slate-grey lake with the crannog in the enter; on the other side, the gravemound beside the river, and the empty plain spreading beyond.

I released my breath through clenched teeth. I had half-expected to see Meidron's massed war host, risen again, streaming into the valley. But all was still and silent.

Even so, I sat in the saddle for a time, looking and listening. The clouds shifted and the light dimmed. A cold, misty rain began drizzling out of the darkening sky. The wind caught it and sent it swirling. I turned away from the ridgeway and started back down the trail to the lake. I had almost reached the lake path when I met the workmen coming up to the mill.

"Go back to your families," I told them. "Sollen has begun; it is time we took our ease."

The workmen were much relieved to hear me say this. So it surprised me to have Hue! instantly appeal against the decision. "Lord," said my master-builder, "allow us but one more day to secure the site against the snows to come. It will save much labor when the sun returns and work resumes."

"Very well," I told him. "Do what you think best. But after today there will be no more work until Gyd."

Leaving them to continue on their way, I returned to the crannog. Tegid was standing at the hearth in the hall, and I sent Emyr to fetch Bran. The bard noticed my agitation at once. "What has happened?" he asked.

I thrust my hands towards the fire. My silver hand glowed with the light of the flames, and my flesh hand began to warm. I looked at the gleaming silver, cold and stiff as a chunk of ice on the end of my arm. Why was it so cold?

"Liew?" Tegid placed a hand on my shoulder.

"There is a beacon on the ridge." I turned to regard him. His dark eyes were intense, but he showed no other sign of alarm."It is on the ridgeway above the mill."

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"Did you see anyone?"

"Not a soul. But I heard a sound-wood thrown onto the heap, I think. And I saw footprints: three men at least, maybe more. Someone has gone to a great deal of effort, Tegid."

Bran arrived just then, and I repeated what I had just told Tegid. The bard stared at the flames, stroking his chin. Bran scowled as he listened and, when I had finished, said, "I will take the warband and search the woods and ridge. If the footprints are fresh, the men cannot have travelled far. We will find those who have done this and bring them back to face you."

The Chief Bard continued to gaze into the flames. Bran was waiting for an answer. "Yes," I told him. "Raise the warband at once. We will begin at the beacon-"

Tegid raised his head. "It is not for you to go," he said softly. I started to object, but he gave a slight shake of his head; he did not like to contradict me in front of Bran. Recalling our previous discussion concerning kings chasing criminals, I understood his hesitation and relented.

"Ready the men," I commanded, and told him where to find the beacon. "You can start there." The Chief Raven gave his assent and made to turn away. I caught him by the sleeve. "Find them, Bran. Track them down, and bring them to me. I would know who has done this and why."

A moment later Bran's voice resounded through the hall as he chose the men who were to accompany him. A group numbering twenty or so left the hall at once-to startled speculation a!! around.

Turning once more to Tegid, I said, "I will ride with them only as far as the beacon." The bard turned his eyes from the fire and regarded me with a sceptical look. "What are you thinking?" I asked.

"You say it is a beacon," he said. "Why?"

"I know a beacon-pile when I see one, brother."

"That I do not doubt," he replied quickly. "But you assumed an enemy had made it."

"You think otherwise?"

"I think you have not told me all." He had not raised his voice, but

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his gaze grew keen and accusing. "If there is something I should know, tell me now."

"I have told you all I know-just as it happened," I began, but he ~ut me off with an impatient twitch of his mouth. I stared hard at him. Why was he behaving like this?

"Think!"

"I am thinking, Tegid!" My voice echoed in the hail. I bit back the words and clamped my mouth shut. Why did I assume an enemy? A beacon is a signal made to be seen from a distance; a beacon is... I looked at my silver hand almost touching the flames, and felt the chill still tingling there. And I remembered the last time I had felt such a chill...

Raising my eyes, I said, "You are right, Tegid. It happened so long ago I had forgotten. I did not think it important."

"Perhaps you are right. Tell me now."

With that, I told him about the beacon-fire I had seen on the night we camped on the plain below Druim Vran. "I am sorry, brother," I told him when I had finished. "I should have told you then. But the next day we were home~ and I guess I assumed the beacon had been lit for our return, and I forgot about it-until now."

"That is not the reason you did not tell me," he stated flatly. "You allowed your impatience to obscure your judgment. In your eagerness to see Dinas Dwr you did not want to believe anything could be wrong, so you hid this from yourself, and from me."

My Chief Bard was most astute. "I am sorry. It will not happen again."

He dismissed my apology with an impatient gesture. "It is done and cannot be undone."

"So, you think we have been watched since our return?"

"What do you think?"

"I think it likely."

"And I think it certain."

"But why?"

"That we will learn when Bran returns with those who have been watching."

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So we settled back to wait, and I found the waiting hard. I wanted to be out on the trail with my men, dealing directly with the threat instead of sitting in the hail doing nothing. One day passed, and then another. I kept my misgivings to myself. As the third day waned- and still no word from the tracking party-I voiced my mounting anxiety to Tegid. "They should have returned by now. It has been three days."

He did not look up from the basket of leaves he was sorting into a bowl. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you." He stopped sifting the leaves and raised his head. He was bothered by Bran's absence, too; I could tell. "What would you have me say?"

"They have run into trouble. We should go after them."

"They are twenty worthy warriors," the bard pointed out. "Bran is more than a match for any encounter. Leave it to him."

"Three days more," I said. "If we have heard nothing by then, I am going after them."

"If we have heard nothing in three days," he agreed, "then you can go after them. And I will ride with you."

Nevertheless, I rode to Druim Vran the next day, just to learn if there was anything to be seen from the high ridgetop. Though cold, the day was bright, the clouds high and white. Goewyn rode with me and, though we pursued the ridgeway east a fair distance, we saw no sign of any trouble.

Before starting back, we paused to rest the horses. Sitting together on a rock overlooking the valley below, a fresh wind stinging cheeks and chin, I draped my cloak around us both and held her close as we watched the mist flowing down the hillsides to blanket the glen.

"We should be getting back," I said, "or Tegid will send the hounds after us."

We made no move, however, content to sit and watch the valley fill with thick, grey mist. The light began to fail at last and, although luxuriating in Goewyn's nearness and warmth, I nevertheless forced myself to stand. "It will be dark soon," I said. "We should head home."

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"Mmmm." Goewyn sighed and drev her feet under her, but did not stand.

Moving to the horses, I pulled the tther pegs and gathered the reins. "Liew?" Goewyn said. Her voice truck a note that made me turn at once.

"What is it?"

"There is something moving down :here-along the river.., in the mist."

In three strides I was by her side ~nd gazing into the quickly fading glen. "I do not see anything," I sad. "Are you certain?"

She stretched her arm to point out he place. "There!" she said, without taking her eyes from the spot.

I looked where she was pointing. Th mist parted somewhat and I saw what appeared to be three dark slipes moving along the river bank. Whether afoot or on horseback, could not say. I saw only three swarthy, shapeless bulks movin~ along the riverside.., and then the mist took them from my sight.

"They are coming this way," I conduded. "They are coming to Druim Vran."

"Is it Bran, do you think?"

"I cannot say. But something tells ne it is not Bran-or any of :hose with him."

"Who then?"

"That I mean to find out." I reachcl a hand down to Goewyn mnd pulled her to her feet. "Ride back tcDinas Dwr and alert Tegid and Scatha. Tell them to assemble awarband, and show them where to come."

Goewyn clutched my arms. "You arnot going down there."

"Yes, but only to keep an eye on ur visitors." I squeezed her hand to reassure her. "Do not worry, Iwill not challenge them. Go riow-ancj hurry."

She did not like to leave me alone, but she did as I bade her. I returned to the lookout and gazed into tie valley. I caught a fleeting glimpse of the invaders making their w~y along the river, before the mist closed over them once more.

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Mounting my horse, I rode back along the ridgetop the way we had come since the trail was high, it remained light enough to see well ahead, but Goewyn was already out of sight. I rode until I reached the main track leading down into the glen and started down, encountering the swirling mist about halfway to the valley floor.

I continued on-almost blind in the shifting, all-enveloping vapor-until I reached the bottom, whereupon I stopped to listen. Everything was dead still, the foggy murk muffled all sound-and yet, I thought that if there was anything to be heard I would hear it quite plainly.

Absolutely motionless, I sat in the saddle, straining forward to catch any stray sound. After a while, I heard the light jingle of horses' tack and the hollow clop of horses' hooves, moving slowly. I could get no sense of the distance, but the sound did not seem close. I lifted the reins and urged my mount forward, very slowly, very quietly.

No more than ten paces further on, however, the mist swirled away and I saw a horseman directly in front of me. Ice water trickled down my neck and spine.

A distance of a spear's throw separated us. I halted. Perhaps he would not see me.

The rider came on; I saw him raise his eyes from the track in front of him. His face was but a shadow under his cloak which was pulled up over his head. His hands jerked the reins and his dark mount halted. He called something over his shoulder to unseen companions behind him. I heard his shout, sharp and urgent, but could not catch the words.

The fog moved in again on the fitful wind, and the rider was taken from sight. But just as the mist stole him from view, I thought I saw him turn his horse and bolt off the trail.

Drawing my sword from its place under the saddle, I took a deep breath. "Stop!" I shouted as loud as I could.

"Stay where you are!" In reply I heard only the quick scramble of hooves as the horse galloped away.

Gripping the sword-and wishing I had brought a spear and shield with me-I rode forward cautiously and stopped at the place

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where the rider had appeared. He was not there, of course, and I could ~ee but a few paces ahead in any case. I waited for a while, and when [heard nothing more, decided to return to the ridge track to await ~catha and the others. That way, Icould guard the track if the riders tried to reach it by going around me.

Wheeling my horse, I made my way back to the place where the trail began to rise to the ridge, and took up my position. Daylight had 'one by now, and a murky twilight had settled over the glen. Soon Fog and darkness would make it difficult, if not impossible, to ride at all. No doubt this was what the three intruders were counting on. I :ook some small comfort from the fact that what was difficult for one, was difficult for all. Anything that would hinder me, would hinder :hem as well; I was as much protected by the fog as they were.

I waited, watching and listening. I do not know how long I sat :here-the fog, like damp wool, curled and shifted, obscuring and confusing all senses-but I gradually began to imagine that I heard :he sound of horses once again. Because of the mist, I could not yet :ell from which direction the sound reached me.

It might be the warband coming to join me, I thought, but they ould not have had time enough to gain the ridgetop, much less lescend. More likely, the invaders, having satisfied themselves that I ~ad gone, were proceeding once more.

Listening with every fiber in me, holding my breath, I strained into the darkening murk for any sound that would tell me which way :hey would come. The sound of horses grew steadily louder as the intruders drew nearer. I turned my head this way and that, alert to any nuance of motion.

Then, swimming out of the fog: dimly glowing orbs of light... torches, two of them, no more than twenty paces away. I tightened ny grip on my sword and shouted, "Stop! Go no further!"

At once the invaders stopped. The torches hung motionless in the iir; I could not see anyone beneath the hanging lights, but I could hear their horses breathing and blowing, and the creak of leather as they waited.

Not wishing to show myself just yet, I continued speaking from

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where I sat. "Stand easy, friends," I called, "if peace is your desire, your welcome is assured. But if it is a fight you want, you will receive a warmer welcome elsewhere. Get down from your horses."

There was a moment's silence before the intruder replied. I heard the impatient stamp of a hoof, and a voice: "We are peaceful men. But it is not our way to obey commands from any man we cannot see."

"Nor is it my way to greet travellers with a sword," I replied sternly. "Perhaps we both find ourselves in unaccustomed positions. I advise prudence."

There was a further silence in which I heard the hiss and flutter of the torches. And then the voice said, "Liew?"

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"Cynan?"

I heard a muttered command, and the movement of a rider dismounting... quick footsteps approaching... then Cynan's foursquare, solid form looming out of the fog. His hair, moustache, and cloak were pearly with beaded mist, and his eyes were wide.

"aan~ na cii!" he muttered, relief washing over his ruddy features. "Llew! Is it you, brother?" He glanced around, looking for others. "Mo anam, man! Are you alone out here?"

"Greetings, Cynan!" I said, replacing the sword and swinging down from the saddle. In two steps I was in his embrace. "I am glad to see you."

"A strange welcome this-if welcome it is." He turned to those with him, a party of ten or so, waiting silently on the trail. "Tângwen! Gweir! It is Silver Hand himself come to greet us!" he called to them.

"If I had known it was you," I told him, "I would have ordered a thousand torches to light your way."

"Who did you think it would be?" he asked, concern quickly giving way to bewilderment. "And what do you think you are doing out on the trail alone, challenging travellers at swordpoint?"

I told him of the intruders Goewyn and I had seen in the valley, and I asked if he had seen anyone.

15

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"Have I seen anyone?" he chuckled, gesturing to the all-obscuring fog. "Man, I have not even seen my own face in front of me since entering the valley. Is it worthwhile searching for them, do you think?"

"We would never find them in this stew. Come along," I turned and started towards my horse, "the fire is bright on the hearth, and the welcome cup awaits! Let us warm ourselves and drink to your arrival." I swung up into the saddle. Cynan still stood looking on. "What? Have you forsworn the bowl?"

"Never say it!" he cried, and hastened back to his mount. He 3houted a command to those with him, and I turned my horse and Led the way up the trail. We had not ridden far, however, when we were met by Scatha, Goewyn, and a warband of thirty, all carrying torches.

We halted and I explained what had happened. After Goewyn and Scatha had greeted Cynan, T~ngwen and their retinue, we continued on our way. The fog thinned as we climbed the ridge, and cleared away completely by the time we reached the top-though the sky remained obscured. It would be a dark night, without moon or stars. I spoke briefly with Scatha and we decided to establish a watch of thirty men in threes along the ridgeway, lest the intruders attempt to cross Druim Vran during the night

Then we proceeded to the crannog and the hail. Tegid awaited us at the hearth. "Hail, Cynan Two-Torcs! Hail, the beautiful Tángwen!" he announced as we trooped in. I called for the bowl to be brought at once. The hail was crowded, and at Cynan's appearance a chorused cry of welcome went up from all those gathered there.

The bard embraced Cynan warmly, and then turned to Tángwen. She inclined her head, offering only her hands to him. "Greetings, Tegid Tathal," she said, smiling, but the smile, like the greeting, lacked any warmth.

I marked the reaction, but the bowl arrived, frothing with new ale; took it and pressed it into Cynan's eager hands and.the moment passed. Cynan drank deeply and, wiping the creamy foam from his moustache on his sleeve, gave the bowl to his wife. She drank, and

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passed the bowl on to Gweir, Cynan's battlechief. "Thank you," she said in a low voice.

"I have missed you, my friend," said Goewyn throwing off her damp cloak. She gathered Tángwen in her arms and the two women exchanged kisses.

"And it is good to see you," Tángwen replied. "I have been looking toward this day for a long time." She stretched her hands towards the fire, but I noticed that she still held herself as if she were cold. The rigors of the trail, no doubt-the cold and foul weather had put her on edge.

"We would have arrived earlier," Cynan put in, "but the mist slowed us. Still, I did not care to spend another night on the trail."

"Well, you are here now," Goewyn said, taking Tángwen's cloak from her shoulders. "Come, we will find you some dry clothes."

The women withdrew, leaving us to dry ourselves at the hearth. "Ah, this is good," sighed Cynan. "And here was I thinking we would never arrive."

"I had forgotten you were coming," I confessed.

Cynan threw back his head and laughed. "That I could readily see. Here is Silver Hand, guarding the trail with his sword, challenging all corners. Could you not see it was me, man?"

"Obviously, if I had seen it was you, Cynan," I replied, "I would have let you wander lost in the fog."

"The fog! Do not talk to me about the fog!" he said, rolling his eyes.

"It must be fierce indeed, if it daunts the renowned Two-Torcs," observed Tegid.

"Is that not what I am saying? This cursed mist has dogged us for days. I almost turned back because of it. But then I thought of your excellent ale, and so I asked myself, "Cynan Machae, why spend the season of snows in your own draughty hall, alone and lonely, when-"

"When you could be drinking Llew's ale instead!" I finished the thought for him; he regarded me with a deeply wounded look.

"Tch! The thought never entered my head," Cynan scolded. "It is your friendship I crave, brother, not the fellowship of your vat.

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Although, now that you say it, your brewmnaster is a very man among men." He raised the bowl again and drank deep and long. "Ahh! Nectar!"

"And I have missed you, too," I told him. Seizing the bowl, I raised it to him. ",9iinte, Cynan Two-Torcs!" I drained the bowl- there was not much left in it-and called for it to be filled again. One of Tegid's Mabinogi came running with ajar.

"I would hear a good word about your harvest," Tegid said as the bowl was refilled.

"And I would speak a good word if I could," Cynan replied, shaking his head slowly. "Dismal-that is the word. We could not get the grain out of the field for the rain. And then we lost much. But for last year's bounty, we would be looking at a meager planting."

"It is the same with us," I told him. "A good year that ended badly."

Sharing the bowl between us, we fell to talking about all that had happened since we had last seen one another. Goewyn and Tángwen returned to join us; Tángwen was now dressed in clean, dry robes and her hair was combed and dressed. She appeared relaxed; the strained stiffness had left her and she was more herself.

We moved to the table where food had been laid on the board. We began to eat, and I noticed how the two women talked happily to one another all through the meal. The way they talked and laughed together put me in mind of Goewyn with one of her sisters. Raised in the close companionship of Govan and Gwenllian, Goewyn had had no female friend since her sisters were killed.

Scatha entered the hail as we were eating and approached the place where I sat. She bent near to speak a private word. "The watch is established," she reported. "If anyone tries to cross the ridge we will soon know it."

Nothing more was said about this, and indeed I gave it no further thought The hall was warm and btight-mad~ all the more so by Cynan's arrival-and the conversation lively. I dismissed intruders from my mind.

Nor did I think ill when Goewyn and Tángwen went riding the

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next day. The sentries had watched through the night and the ridge remained clear of fog and mist; they had neither seen or heard anyone. And when the mist cleared in the valley there was no trail to be found. So I let the matter go.

Bran and the Raven Flight returned that same day. The watchers on the ridge saw them enter the valley and brought us word of their return. Tegid, Scatha, Cynan and I rode out to meet them; and though they were filthy and tired from their journey they were in good ~nirits.

"Hail, Bran Bresal!" I called, eager for his news. "I trust you have had good hunting."

"The hunting was excellent," the Raven Chief replied, "but we failed to corner our quarry."

"Most unfortunate," Tegid remarked. "What happened?"

"We found the trail as it left the valley," Bran explained. "Indeed, it was not difficult to follow. But, though we pursued as far and as fast as we could, we never caught sight of those who made it."

"How many were you tracking?" I asked.

"Three men on horseback, lord," a muddy Alun Tringad answered.

"Tell us everything now," suggested Tegid. "Then we will have no need to speak of it within the hall."

"Gladly," replied Bran, "but there is little enough to tell." He went on to explain how they had followed the trail east all the way to the coast before losing it on the rocky strand. They had ranged north and south along the coast for a time without raising the trail again or seeing any sign of an invader, and so at last turned back. "I hoped to bring you better word, lord," Bran told me.

"You have returned safely," I said. "I am well content"

 

The days dwindled down, growing colder and darker as if Sollen cramped and compacted them with an icy grip. But the hall remained snug and warm and alive with harpsong and fine companionship. We played games and listened to the old tales; we ate, drank, and took our ease, filling the long cold nights with laughter and light.

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The lake froze and the children of the crannog played on the ice. It was on one of those rare days, when the sun flared like a fiery gem in a blue-white sky, that we went out to watch the youngsters. A good many had carved strips of bone and tied them to their buskins. The simple skates worked extremely well, and everyone cheered to see the antics of these intrepid skaters.

Cynan, enraptured by the gliding forms, strolled out onto the frozen lake and allowed himself to be cajoled into trying the skates. He cut such a comical figure that others took to the ice, eager to outdo him, if not in skill, then in absurdity. It was not long before there were more skaters than spectators.

We slipped and slid over the ice, failing over ourselves, and improvising silly dances. A gaggle of young girls clustered around Goewyn, beseeching her to try the bone skates, too. She quickly assented and tied the strips to her feet, then, holding out her hand to me, she said, "Take my hand! I want to fly!"

I took her hand and pulled her around the windswept ice- laughing, her lips and cheeks red from the cold, her golden hair and blue-checked cloak flying. The sound of her laughter, and that of all the other skaters, bubbled up as from a fountain, sun-splashed and lavish, a hymn to the day.

Around and around we twirled, stopping only to catch our breath and collapse into one another's arms. The sun shone bright on the silver lake, and set the snow-crusted hilltops glittering like high-heaped diamond hoards. Such beauty, such joy-it made the heart ache to see it, to feel it.

Cynan's frolics, loudly embellished and featuring spectacular falls, carried the day. We laughed so hard the tears flowed down our cheeks. Nevertheless, I could not help but notice that of all those who had come to watch, only Tángwen refused to join in the fun. Instead, she stood on the boat landing with her arms crossed beneath her cloak and a pained look on her face.

"I think someone does not appreciate our sport," I whispered to Goewyn as I lifted her from her latest spill.

Catching my gaze, Goewyn turned to observe her friend standing

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alone on the landing. "No," she said slowly, "it is something else."

"Do you know?"

She took my hand and pressed it. "Not now. Later," she said, putting her face close to mine. Goewyn slipped her arms around my neck and pulled me close. "Come here."

A directness in her tone aroused my curiosity. "What?" Her eyes sparkled and her lips curved prettily. 'What is it?" I asked suspiciously. "What are you hiding?"

'Well, it will not remain hidden for long. The king's wealth is increasing. Soon everyone will know." She released me and pressed a hand to her stomach.

"Wealth? Child-wealth?" She laughed at my surprise. "A baby! We are going to have a baby!" I threw my arms around her and hugged her tight-then remembered myself and released her, lest I crush the tiny life growing within her. 'When? How long have you known?"

"Long enough," she said. "I was waiting for the right moment to tell you, but... well, it is such a splendid day I could not wait any longer."

"Oh, Goewyn, I love you." I put my hand behind her head, held her, and kissed her long and hard. "I love you, and I am glad you did not wait. I am going to tell everyone-now!"

"Shh!" she said, laying her fingertips on my lips. "Not yet. Let it be our secret for a few days."

"But I want to tell."

"Please-just a little while."

"At the solstice then," I suggested. "We will have a celebration like the one last year at Cynan's wedding. And in the middle of the feast we will make our announcement. Does anyone else know?"

"No one," she assured me. "You are the first."

"When will it be-the birth, I mean? When will the child be born?"

Goewyn smiled, stepped into my embrace, kissed me and put her cheek against my neck. "You will have your wife a while longer. The child will be born in Maffar-before Lugnasadh, I think."

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"A fine time to be born!" I announced. "Goewyn, this is wonderful! I love you so much!"

"Shh!" she cautioned. "Everyone will hear you." She stepped backward, sliding away on the bone-skates. Holding out her hands to me she called, "Come away, best beloved! I will teach you to fly!"

We flew, and the day sped from us. Short, but brilliant in its perfection, it faded quickly: a spark fanned to life in the midst of gathering darkness. It illumined our hearts with its brave radiance and then succumbed to onrushing night.

As the sun sank below the rim of hills, festooning the sky with streamers of rose and scarlet, a few sickly stars were already glowing in a black eastern sky. Night was spreading over Albion. Dazzled by my love for Goewyn, I saw the darkness and knew it not.

That night we left the hail early. Goewyn took my hand and led me to our bed, now piled high with furs and fleeces against the cold. She loosened her belt and unwound it, then drew her mantle over her head and stood before me. Taking up the cup she had placed beside the fire-ring, she drank, watching me all the while. Her eyes never left mine.

Her body, caressed by the rushlight, was a vision of softly-rounded, intimately melding curves, beguiling, bewildering in its smooth subtlety. She stepped toward me, reached out and tugged the end of my belt free, loosened it, and let it fall. She drew me to her; I felt her body warm against me and, taking a handful of her hair, I held her head and kissed her open mouth. I tasted the rich warmth of honeyed mead on her tongue and passion leapt like a flame within me. I abandoned myself to the heat.

We shared the golden mead and made love that night in celebration of the child to be. The next day Goewyn was gone.

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16

I rose early, but Goewyn had already wakened and dressed. She caine to the bed-place, leaned over, kissed me, and said, "I did not want to wake you."

"What are you doing?" I asked, taking her hand and pulling her down on me. "Come back to bed-both of you."

"I promised to go with Tángwen," she said.

"Oh," I yawned. "Where are you going?"

"Riding."

"Would you abandon your husband in his cold, lonely bed? Come back and wait until the sun rises at least."

She laughed and kissed me again. "It will be light soon enough. Sleep now, my love, and let me go."

"No." I raised my hand and stroked the side of her neck. "I wiii never let you go."

She nuzzled the hand and then took it and kissed the palm. "Tángwen is waiting."

"Take care, my love," I said as she left. I lay in our bed for a while, then rose, dressed quickly and went out The night-black sky was fading to blue-grey and the stars were dim; away over the encircling hills to the east the sky blushed with blood-red streaks like slashes in pale flesh. There was no one in the yard; smoke from

The Search

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the cookhouses rose in a straight white column. I shivered with the cold and hurried across the yard to the hail.

The hail was quiet, but a few people were awake and stirring. The hearthfire had been stoked and I walked to it to warm myself. Neither Goewyn nor Tángwen was to be seen, no doubt intending to break fast when they returned from their ride.

Garanaw wakened and greeted me, and we talked until the oatcakes came out of the oven and were brought steaming into the hall. Seating ourselves at the board, we were quickly joined by Bran and a few early-rising Ravens, and some of Cynan's retinue. Cynan himself arrived a short time later, noisily greeting everyone and settling himself on the bench. The oatcakes were hot and tasty; we washed them down with rich brown ale.

Talk turned to hunting, and it was quickly agreed that a day spent in pursuit of deer or boar would be a day well spent "We will savor our supper all the more for the chase," Cynan declared; to which Alun quickly added, "And we will relish the chase all the more for a wager."

"Do my ears deceive me?" wondered Cynan loudly. "Is that Alun Tringad offering his gold?"

"If you can bring back a bigger stag than the one I shall find, then you are welcome to the champion's portion of my gold."

"I would be ashamed to take your treasure so easily," quipped Cynan. "And I never would, were it not advisable to teach you a valuable lesson in humility."

"Then put your hand to it," Alun told him, "and let us choose the men to ride with us. The sooner we ride, the sooner I will claim my treasure. Indeed, I can already feel the weight of your gold bracelets on my arm."

"Unless you hope to lull me to sleep with your empty boasting," Cynan said, "you will soon see a hunter worthy of his renown. Therefore, I advise you to look your last upon your treasure."

Alun stood and called to his brother Ravens, "Brothers, I have heard enough of this haughty fellow's idle talk. Let us show him what true hunters can do, and let us decide now how to divide his treasure among us."

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Cynan also stood. "Llew, ride with me, brother," he said, and he called others of his retinue by name. "Come, my friends, the chase is before us, and much good gold for our efforts."

They fixed the time for their return: "At sunset we will assemble in the yard," Alun suggested.

Cynan agreed. "And the Penderwydd of Albion will judge between us who has fared the better-although this will not be necessary, for it will be readily apparent to one and all which of us is the best hunter."

"True~ true," Alun affirmed casually. "That they will easily discern."

I glanced quickly around, but Tegid had not entered the hail. It did not matter, there would be time to talk to him later, when we returned from the hunt. The hail buzzed with eager voices as side wagers were laid, odds fixed, and amounts agreed. Snatching up the last of the oatcakes, we burst from the hail and hastened across the ice-bound lake to the cattle pens to fetch the horses. We saddled our mounts and, with much friendly banter, rode out along the frozen lakeside.

Cynan and I led the way, following the hoof tracks Tángwen and Goewyn had left in the new snow. Halfway to the wood, the track left the lakeside, leading away to the ridge. We continued around the lake, however, to the game runs on the long slopes. As soon as we entered the wood, we divided our number-those who rode with Alun went one way, and those of Cynan's party the other.

The sun rose above the rim of the hills and the day was good. There was snow on the game runs, but because of the trees it was not deep. We saw the tracks of scores of animals, but as it had not snowed for several days it was impossible to tell which were fresh and which were older.

We spread ourselves across the run and proceeded deeper into the silent sanctuary of the forest, our spears along our thighs as we pushed through the underbrush. The shadows of the trees formed a blue latticework on the crusted snow. The cold air tingled on the skin of my cheeks, nose and chin. I had spread my cloak around me to

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capture the heat of the horse and help keep me warm. With a bright, white sun, a clear blue sky, and the company of valiant men, it was a fine day to hunt

I let those most eager take the lead and settled back to enjoy the ride. We followed the long run as it lifted towards the ridge: crossing a small stream we scared a red deer sheltering in a blackthorn thicket. The hounds would have given chase, but Cynan was after bigger game, and forced them back onto the trail. His patience was rewarded a short time later when we came upon the fresh spoor of a small herd of deer.

"It is still warm," announced Cynan's man as I joined them.

"Good," Cynan said. "Be alert, everyone. The prize is near."

We continued at a swifter pace and soon sighted the deer: three hinds and a big stag. The hounds did not wait to be called back a second time, but sounded the hunting cry and sped to the chase. The stag regarded the dogs with a large, inscrutable, dark eye, then lifted his regal head and belied a warning call to his little clan.

The hinds lifted their tails and bounded as one into the thicket. Only when they were away did the stag follow. Rather than try to force a way through the tangie, we let the dogs run and gave ourselves to the chase.

A glorious chase! The old stag proved a cunning opponent and led us a long and elaborate hunt-through deep woods and up along the high ridge and down again into piney forest We caught him, in the end, with his back to a stony outcrop at the foot of the ridgewall. His clan had escaped, and he was near dead from exhaustion. Still, he turned and fought to the last.

The sun was little more than a day moon, pale and wan on the horizon, when we finished securing the stag to a litter and turned our horses for home. We had travelled far afield in our fevered pursuit. We were tired, and cold where the sweat had soaked our clothes, but well content with our sport, and hopeful of winning the wager. A fme and regal spectacle of a sky washed pale lavender and gold in a brilliant Sollen sunset greeted us as we emerged from the woods and began making our way along the lake.

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Alun Tringad's party had returned ahead of us, and they were waiting for us at the cattle pen when we arrived. Their kill-two fine bristle-backed boars-lay on the snow outside the pen. At the sight of our stag, they began exclaiming over our lack of success.

"One lonely deer, is it?" cried Alun, foremost in the gathering. "With all you hardy men on horseback shaking your spears at it, why, I do not doubt this poor sickly thing expired in fright."

"As sickly as it is," Cynan replied, swinging down fran the saddle, "our stag will yet serve to separate you from your treasure." He regarded the wild pigs with a sad, disappointed air. "Oh, it is a shameful thing you have done, Alun, my man-taking these two piglets from their mother. Tch! Tch!" He shook his head sadly. "Why not just give the gold to me now and save yourself the disgrace of having your skill revealed in such a pitiful light?"

"Not so fast, Cynan Machae," replied one of Alun's supporters. "It is for the Chief Bard to tell us who has won the wager. Vie will await his decision."

"Hoo!" said Cynan, puffing out his cheeks, "bring Tegid by all means. I was only trying to save you the fearful humiliatioi I see coming your way."

At first sight of our party on the lakeside track, Alun had sent a man to fetch Tegid. A call from one of Cynan's men directed our attention to the crannog. "Here he comes now!" shouted Gwen. "The Penderwydd is coming!"

I turned to see a crowd from the crannog hurrying across the ice towards us. I looked for Goewyn, expecting to see her among them, but neither Goewyn nor Tángwen was there. No doubt they had decided to stay in the warm. Nor did I fault them; I had long been wishing myself out of my sodden clothes and holding a warming jar beside the fire.

A genial hubbub arose as the throng arrived. Everyone exclaimed at the sight of the game, extolling the prowess of the hunters and the success of the hunt-as well they might, ~or we would eat heartily on the proceeds of our effort for many days.

"Penderwydd!" Alun shouted. "The hunt is finished. Here is the

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result of our labors. As you can see, we have done well. Indeed, we have bested Cynan and his band, which is clear for all to see. It only remains for you to agree and confirm the inevitable decision."

The Chief Bard withdrew a hand from his cloak and raised it. "That I will do, Alun Tringad. What is clear to you may not be so clear to those who lack your zeal for Cynan's gold. Therefore, step aside and allow someone with an eye unclouded by avarice to view the evidence."

Tegid examined first Alun's kill and then Cynan's. He prodded the carcasses with a toe, inspected the pelts, teeth, tusks, eyes, hoofs, tails, and antlers. All the while, the two parties baited one another with quips and catcalls, awaiting the bard's decision. The bard took his time, pausing now and then to muse over this or that point which he pretended to have discovered, or which had been pointed out to him by the extremely partisan crowd.

Then, taking his place midway between the stag and the two boars, and frowning mightily, he rested chin upon fist in earnest contemplation. All this served to heighten the anticipation; wagers were doubled and then tripled as-from the slant of an eyebrow or the lift of a lip-one side or the other imagined opinion swaying in their favor.

At last, the Chief Bard drew himself up and, raising his staff for silence, prepared to deliver his decision. "It is rightly the domain of the king to act as judge for his people," he reminded everyone. "But as the king took part in the hunt, I beg his permission to deliver judgment." He looked to me.

"I grant it gladly," I replied. "Please, continue."

The crowd shouted for the Chief Bard to proclaim the winner, but Tegid would not be hurried. Placing a fold of his cloak over his head, he said, "I have weighed the matter carefully. From the time of Dylwyn Short-Knife," here the spectators groaned with frustration, but Tegid plowed ahead slowly, "and the time of Tryffm the Tall, it has been in the nature of things to hold the life of a stag equal to that of a bear, and that of a bear equal to two boars." The groan turned from impatience to frustration as the crowd guessed what was

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coming. "It would appear then," Tegid calmly continued, "that a stag is equal to two boars. Thus, the matter cannot be settled according to the quantity of meat, and we must look elsewhere for a resolution."

He paused to allow his gaze to linger around the ring cf faces. There were murmurs of approval, and mutters of protest froni many. He waited until they were silent once more. "For this reasor I have examined the beasts most carefully," Tegid said. "This is my decision." The throng held its breath. Which would it be? "The stag is a worthy rival and a lord of his kind.. ."

At this, Cynan's party raised a tremendous shout of triurrph.

"But," Tegid quickly cautioned, "the boars are no less lordly. And what is more, there are two of them. Were this not so, would hold for the stag. Yet, since the difficulty of finding and iringing down two such noble and magnificent beasts must necessarily try the skills of the hunter the more, I declare that those who hutted the boars have won this day's sport. I, Tegid Tathal, PenderwycU, have spoken."

It took a moment to unravel what the Chief Bard had said, but then all began wrangling over the decision. Cynan appealed to the beauty of his prize and to various other merits, but Tegid wculd not be moved: Akin Tringad had won the day. There was nothing for it, the losers must pay the winners. Tegid thumped his staff three times on the ground and the matter was ended.

We returned to the warmth and light of the hall, eager for meat and drink to refresh us, and tales of the hunt to cheer u~. Upon entering the hail, I quickly scanned the gathering. Goewyn was nowhere to be seen. I turned on my heel and hastened to our hut.

It was dark and empty, the ashes in the fire-ring cold. She iad not been there for some time, perhaps not since early morning. I ran back to the hail and made my way to Tegid; he was standing at one end of the hearth, waiting for the ale jar to come his way.

"Where is Goewyn?" I asked him bluntly.

"Greetings, Liew. Goewyn? I have not seen her," he repliec. "Why do you ask?"

"I cannot find her. She went riding with Tángwen this mcrning."

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"Perhaps she is-"

"She is not in the hut." My eyes searched the noisy hall. "I do not see Tângwen, either."

Without another word, Tegid turned and beckoned Cynan to join us. "Where is Tángwen?" the bard said.

I looked at Cynan anxiously. "Have you seen her since this morning?"

"Seen her?" he wondered, raising his cup. He drank and then offered the cup to me. "I have been on the trail since daybreak, as you well know."

"Goewyn and Tángwen went riding this morning," I explained, holding my voice level, "and it appears they have not returned."

"Not returned?" Cynan looked towards the door, as if expecting the two women to enter at that moment. "But it is dark now."

"That is the least of our worries," I said, "if something has happened-"

"If they are here, someone will have seen them," Tegid interrupted calmly. The bard stepped away. A moment later he was standing on the table, his staff upraised. "Kinsmen! Hear me! I must speak with Goewyn and Tángwen. Quickly now! Who can tell me where to find them?"

He waited. People looked at one another and shrugged. Some inquired among themselves, but no one offered any information. Clearly, no one could remember seeing either of the women. Tegid asked again, but received no answer. He thanked the people for their attention, and returned to where Cynan and I waited.

"We will search the crannog," he said. Although he spoke quietly, I could tell the bard was worried. This did nothing to soothe my mounting anxiety.

And then one of the serving maids came to where we stood. "If you please, lords," she said, clutching the beer jar tightly, "I have seen Queen Goewyn."

"Where?" I did not mean to be curt with the young woman. "Please, speak freely."

"I saw the queen in the yard," she said.

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I started for the door. Tegid caught me by the ann. 'When was this?" he said; the maid hesitated. "Speak up," he snapped. "When did you see her?"

"Early this morning," the maid said, her voice quivering. She realized, I think, that this was not at all what we wanted to hear. "They were laughing as they walked-the two of them, the queen and Queen Tángwen. I think they were leaving the crannog to go riding."

"It would have been dark still," Cynan said. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, lord," the maiden said. "I know who I saw."

"And Tángwen was with her?" Cynan pursued.

"Yes, lord."

"Thank you, Ailla," I said, recognizing the young woman at last; she often served as one of Goewyn's handmaids.

Tegid dismissed her then, and said, "Now we will search the crannog."

On our way from the hall, Tegid snared Gwion, his foremost Mabinog, and whispered something in the boy's ear. Gwion nodded once, and darted through the door ahead of us.

We searched, the three of us, each taking a section of the crannog. It did not take long. I ran from house to house, smacking my silver hand on the doorposts to alert those within, then thrusting my head inside. Most of the huts were empty-the people had gathered in the hall-and in those that were occupied, none of the residents had seen either woman. I also looked in the storehouses. As I hurried to rejoin the others at the hall, I knew that Goewyn was not in Dinas Dwr.

Upon returning to the hall, I met Tegid standing at the entrance with Gwion Bach beside him. "It is not good," Tegid told me bluntly. "I sent Gwion to the stables. Their horses have not returned."

My heart sank and my stomach tightened. "Then something has happened."

Cynan approached, and I could tell from the way he walked- head down, shoulders bunched-that he had discovered nothing and

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was now more than concerned. "The trail will be difficult," he said, wasting no time. "We will need a supply of torches and a change of horses. I will summon my warband."

"The Ravens will ride with us," I said. "Drustwn can follow a trail even in the dark. I will ready the horses. Go now. Bring them. And hurry!"

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17

We took up the trail at the place where I had seen it diverge from the lakeshore track. By torchlight the horses' hoofprints showed a staggered black line across the wide expanse of snow.

Across the valley floor we galloped, thirty strong, including Cynan, myself and the Raven Flight. Tegid stayed behind. He would order matters at Dinas Dwr while we were away and uphold us in our search.

Iwrapped the reins around my metal hand and clutched the torch with my flesh hand. The torchflame fluttered in the wind above my head, red sparks sailing out behind me as I raced over the undulating snow. The cold air stung my cheeks and eyes; my lips burned. But I did not stop so much as to draw my cloak over my chin. I would not stop until Goewyn was safely beside me once more.

Upon reaching the heights of Druim Vran the trail became thin and difficult to see. The wind had scoured most of the snow from the ridgetop, but some remained in the sheltered places, and we proceeded haltingly from patch to patch where we could find hoofprints.

It appeared they had ridden eastwards along the ridgeway. The day was good. They had moved toward the rising sun. I imagined the two women making their way happily along Druim Vran with the

Night Ride

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silver-bright dawnlight in their eyes. We, however, followed in Sollen's deep dark, a starless void above; no moon lit our way. The Dnly light we had was that which fluttered in our hands, and that was fitful indeed.

I refused to allow myself to think about what might have happened to them. I pushed all such thoughts from my mind and held one only: Goewyn would be found. My wife, my soul, would be returned unharmed.

Drustwn pushed a relentless pace. He seemed to know where the tracks would lead and found them whenever he paused to look. Thus we followed the Raven's lead along the ridgeway-deep, deep into the dark Sollen depths on our night ride. We rode without speaking, urgent to our task.

Nor did we stop until the trail turned down into the glen. The facing slope was clear of snow, and though we spread ourselves along the brush-covered decline, we could not recover the trail in the dark. In the end, we dismounted to search the long downward slope on foot.

"It may be that we can find the trail again in the morning," Drustwn suggested when we halted at the bottom of the glen to confer. "It is too easily missed on bare ground."

"My wife is gone. I will not wait until morning."

"Lord," Drustwn said, his face drawn in the torchlight, "daylight is not long away."

At these words! raised my head. Drustwn was right, the sky was already paling in the east. Night had passed me in a blur of torchlight on glittering snow.

"What do you advise?" I asked.

"It is no good thrashing around in the dark. We could destroy the trail without knowing it. Let us rest until there is light enough to see."

"Very well," I agreed. "Give the order. I will speak to Cynan."

Drustwn's call rang out behind me as I wheeled my horse and started back up the line. Cynan had been riding to the right of me when I had last seen him. Several of his men passed me, hurrying to

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Drustwn's call. I saw Gweir and asked him where Cynan was, and he pointed to two torches glimmering a little distance away. Cynan and Bran were talking together as they rode to where Drustwn waited. I reined in beside them. 'Why has he stopped?" Cynan asked. "Have you found something?"

"We have lost the trail," I answered. "There is no point in going further until sunrise."

"Then it is best we halt," Bran replied.

"No," I told him tersely, "finding them would be best. But this is all we can do now."

"It has been a cold night," Cynan fretted. "They were not prepared."

I made no reply, but at Cynan's remark I realized that I had not considered the women having to spend the night on the trail. It had not occurred to me because I did not for an instant believe that they had merely lost their way. It was possible, of course, but the likelihood of intruders on Druim Vran had led me to assume otherwise.

Now Cynan's words offered a slender hope. Perhaps they had merely wandered too far afield and been forced to shelter on the trail for the night, rather than try to find Dinas Dwr in the dark. Perhaps, one of the horses had been injured, or... anything might have happened.

We continued to where Drustwn and most of the other riders were now waiting. They had quickly gathered brush from the slope and had a fire burning. Others were leading horses to a nearby brook for water. I dismounted and gave my horse to one of the warriors to care for and, wrapping myself in my cloak, sat down on a frost-covered stone.

Shivering in the cold while waiting for the sun to rise, I remembered the beacon. I rose at once. "Alun!" I shouted. "Alun Tringad! Come here!"

A moment later, Alun was standing before me. He touched the back of his hand to his forehead. "Lord?"

"Alun," I said, laying my hand to his arm, "do you recall the

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beacon we found on the ridge?"

"I do, lord."

"Go to it. Now. And return with word of what you find."

He left without another word, riding back up the slope to the ridgeway. I returned to the rock and sat down again. Dawnlight seeped into a grey-white sky. Darker clouds sailed low overhead, shredding themselves on the hilltops as they passed. Away to the north, white-headed mountains showed above the cloudline. The wind rose with the sun, gusting out of the east. Likely, there would be snow before day's end, or sleet.

I grew restless, rose, and remounted my horse. "It is light enough to see," I told Drustwn bluntly.

Bran, standing with him, said, "Lord Llew, allow us to search out the trail and summon you when we have found it."

"We ride together." I snapped the reins and turned to the slope once more.

We were still searching for the trail when Alun returned. Cynan was with me, and Alun seemed reluctant to speak in front of him. "What did you find, man?" I demanded.

"Lord," he said, "the beacon has been lit."

"When?"

"Impossible to tell. The ashes were cold."

Cynan's head whipped toward Alun at the news. "What beacon?"

I told him quickly about the beacon-pile I had found on the ridge. "It has been burnt," I said.

His jaw bulged dangerously. "Clanna na th!" he rasped through clenched teeth. "Beacons on the ridge and strangers in the glen--and we let them go riding alone!"

He did not blame me for my lack of vigilance, but he did not need to; I felt the sting of his unspoken accusation all the same. How could I have let it happen?

"We will find them, brother," I said.

"Aye, that we will," he growled, slapping the reins against the neck of his mount. He rode off alone.

As if in answer to Cynan's gruff affirmation, there caine a blast

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on the carynx. Drustwn had found the tail. We raced to the place and took up the chase again. The sun wa well up and the morning speeding as if on wings. The tracks led icross the glen. After we had followed a fair way, it became clear tht they had made for the far side of the glen. Why? Had they seen sonething to entice them on?

Across the glen and up into the by hills beyond, the way was straight; they had ridden directly with~ut turning aside or halting. Why? I wondered. Perhaps they had racd.

I pounced on the idea. Yes, they hal raced. That would explain the resolute directness of the trail. I expcted that upon reaching the hill, we would find where they had sbpped to catch their breath before turning back.

Once across the crest of the first till, however, this certainty began to fade. The tracks did not alter The double trail led up the hillside and over-without varying, wiÜout stopping.

I paused atop the hill to look back brefly. Druim Vran loomed like a wall behind us, blank and unbreachabè, with the glen flat as a floor below. The beacon-fire would have been een from every hilltop in the realm-though not, I reflected, in Dinas )wr itself. It might have been lit at any time and we would not hav~ seen it. I turned away and pursued Drustwn's lead, grim urgency inunting within me.

It was in the next valley that we bund where the women had stopped.

Drustwn halted, stiffened in the sadile and called Cynan and me to him at once. The rest of the search pary were still behind us a little distance. The Raven's eyes were mere sits as he scanned the tracks.

"What have you found?" Cynan denanded.

"They stopped here, lord," he said, sretching a hand towards the marks on the ground.

Ilooked and saw what had upset himMy heart fell. "How many?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice stead~. "How many were there?"

"I make it three or four. Five at most Not more."

"Saeth du," Cynan muttered. "Five. ."

I stared hard at the trampled sncw. The confusion of tracks defied explanation. Clearly, the womet had met someone. No one

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had dismounted; there were no footprints among the hoofmarks.

"They rode on that way," Drustwn said, looking to the east. I could see that he was right. I also saw that a decision was required.

I waited until the others had gathered around us, and showed them what Drustwn had discovered. There was much muttering and mumbling over this, but I cut it short. The day was hastening from us. "Garanaw!" I said, calling on the first man to meet my eye. "You, Niall and Emyr will return to Dinas Dwr. Tell Tegid what we have found here, and then gather provisions and supplies. Cynan and I will ride ahead. Make haste and join us as soon as you can."

Cynan was quick to catch the meaning of my words. He immediately ordered Gweir and four of his band to go with the three Ravens to help carry the provisions. He was evidently thinking, as I was, that we might well be on the trail longer than anyone intended. A depressing thought. Neither of us spoke a word of this to the other, however, and as soon as the riders had departed we pressed on.

The muddled tracks soon reconciled themselves: two horses going side-by-side close together-the two women, I assumed-with a rider on either side a little distance apart, one rider to lead the way and another to follow close behind. That was four strangers accounted for. If there were more, we saw no sign.

The trail led eastward, staying on the low ground, winding through the creases between hills rather than crossing them directly. Clearly, they were in no hurry, seeking instead to stay out of sight.

I had no doubt now that the tracks we followed were already a day old. I knew also that we would not find Goewyn and Tángwen sheltering in the heather somewhere, waiting for us to rescue them. They had been taken. Stolen. Abducted.

I still could not face the implications of that. Indeed, I put the thought from me whenever it surfaced, and concentrated instead on pursuing the trail. I would not speculate on what awaited me at the end.

The sallow sun faded as it passed midday and sank towards dusk on its low Sollen arc. We rode on-a long time, I think, because, when I looked again, clouds had closed over the place and the snow

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that had held off all day began to fall in icy pellets that bounced where they hit.

I imagined the snow striking Goewyn, becoming caught in her hair and eyelashes. I imagined her lips blue and trembling. I imagined her shoulders shaking as she cast anxious glances behind her, searching the empty trail, hoping to see me riding to her rescue.

We stopped at a brook to rest and water the horses. The snow fell in undulating sheets. I knelt and scooped icy water to my mouth, then went to where Cynan stood staring across the narrow strip of black water.

"The tracks continue on the other side," he said, without taking his eyes from the place. "They did not even stop for water."

"No," I said.

"Then we should not stop, either," he snapped. He was worried about Tángwen and the strain was telling on him.

"They have a fair lead on us, brother," I pointed out. "We do not know how long we must ride until we catch them. We must nurse our strength."

He did not like me saying it, but knew I spoke the truth. "How could this happen?" he demanded.

"The blame is mine. I should never have allowed them to go. I was not thinking."

Cynan turned his face towards me; his blue eyes were almost black. "I do not blame you, brother," he said, though his tone was reproach enough. "The deed is done. That is all. Now it must be undone."

When everyone, men and horses, had drunk their fill, we moved on.

The snow stopped just before sundown and the sky cleared slightly in the west. The setting sun flared with a violent red-orange and then plunged behind the lonely hills. The too-short winter day was ended, but we rode on until it grew too dark to see. We made camp in a narrow valley in the windshadow of a broad hill, huddled close to our fires.

We had nothing to eat, so passed a hungry night. It was midday the next day before those who had returned for provisions reached

 

 

 

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us. By riding through the night, they managed to catch us before sundown. We paused then to eat and feed the horses, before going on.

The trail we pursued led unerringly east. Long before I heard the far-off crash of the sea against the rocky shore I knew the trail would end at the coast. And when, as another sun set on another cold day, we stood on a wind-battered dune looking at the freezing, foam-blown waves, their ceaseless thunder loud in our ears, I knew beyond all doubt that Goewyn no longer remained in Albion.

In the fast-falling twilight, we fanned out along the strand and found tracks in the sand. Hope kindled bright for a moment, but died when we found one of the women's horses: loose, empty-saddled, trailing its reins along the beach. It was Tángwen's horse, and its discovery plunged Cynan into a frenzy of distress.

"Why one horse only?" he demanded, jerking the reins through his fist. "What does it mean?"

"I do not know," I told him. "Perhaps she tried to escape."

"It makes no sense!" he steamed. "None of this makes sense. Even if she tried to escape and they caught her, why would they leave her horse but take the others?" He glared at me as if I were withholding the answers to his questions.

"Brother, I cannot say what happened here. I wish I could."

Too agitated to stand still, he lashed his mount to speed and galloped away along the shore. I was about to follow him up the coast when Drustwn hailed me. He had discovered two long deep grooves in the sand- grooves made by the keels of boats which had been beached above the tideline.

While two of Cynan's men rode to recall their lord, I dismounted and stood over one of the keel-marks and gazed east across the sea towards Tir Aflan. Somewhere beyond those raw waves, hard and dark as slate, my bride awaited rescue.

I turned from the empty sea, my face burning with rage and frustration. Bran Bresal, who had been standing silently beside me, said, "I think they will not be found in Albion."

"Yet, I tell you they will be found," I declared. "Send two men back to the crannog. Bring Tegid; I want him with me. Scatha will

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want to come, but she is to remain to protect Dinas Dwr."

"At once, lord." The Chief Raven wheeled his horse and clattered away over the pebbled shingle.

"Cynan!" I shouted. "Cynan, here!"

A moment later he joined me. "Send men to bring the boats. We will make camp and await them here."

He hesitated, cocking an eye at the sky, and seemed about to gainsay the plan. Instead, he said, "Done."

Cynan wheeled away, calling for Gweir to join him. I pulled the winter fleece covering from my saddle and spread it on the wet shingle. Then, setting my face to the sea as it gnashed the shore, I sat down to begin the long wait.

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18

The Geas of Treán ap Golau

 

 

We waited three days for the ships to arrive, and then three more. Each day was slow torture. Just after daybreak on the seventh day, four ships arrived from the winter harborage in the south Caledon estuary where Cynan kept them. He commanded the men to stand ready, and then we returned to our camp on the strand to await Tegid's arrival. The bard appeared just before sunset; Scatha, who would not be left behind, rode with him.

"My daughter has been taken," she said by way of greeting, "I mean to aid in her release."

There was no denying her, so I said, "As you will, Pen.y-Cat. May your presence prove a boon to us."

Tegid explained. "As Scatha meant to join us, I summoned Calbha to watch over Dinas Dwr. That is why we could not come sooner."

I was not pleased with this development. "Let us hope your thoughtless delay has not cost the lives of either Goewyn or Tángwen." I turned away and hastened to ready the ships to sail, calling for torches to be lit and for the provisions to be loaded.

"It will be dark soon, and there will be no moon tonight," Bran pointed out, stirring himself from the fretful silence of the last days. "We should wait until morning."

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"We have wasted too much time already," Cynan told him. "We sail at once."

Tegid dismounted and hurried to my side. "There is something else, Liew," he said.

"It can wait until we have raised saiL"

"You must hear it now," the bard insisted.

I turned on him. "I will hear it when I choose! I have waited on this freezing shore for seven days. Seven days! At this moment I am interested in just one thing rescuing Goewyn. if what you have to say will accomplish that the quicker, then say it If not, I do not want to hear it."

Tegid's face became hard; his eyes flashed quick-kindled fire. "And yet you will hear it, 0 Mighty King," he snapped, fighting to control himseli

I made to turn away from him, but he caught me by the wrist of my silver hand and held me. Anger flared hot within me. "Take your hand off me, bard. Or lose it!"

Several bystanders saw what was happening and stopped to watch-Scatha and Cynan among them. Tegid released me, and raised his hand over his head in the way of a declaiming bard.

"Hear me, Liew Llaw Eraint!" he said, spitting the words. "You are Aird Righ of Albion, and thus you are set about by many geasa."

"Taboos? Save your breath," I growled. "I do not care!" I was doubly angry now. He had disobeyed my commands and put us many days behind, and now had the audacity to hinder us further, talking about some ridiculous taboo or other. "My wife is abducted! Cynan's bride is gone! Whatever it takes, I will have them back. Do you understand that? I will give the entire kingdom to obtain their release!"

"The kingdom is not yours to give," the bard declared flatly. "It belongs to the people who shelter beneath your protection. All you possess is the kingship."

"I will not stand here arguing with you, bard. Stay here if that is what you wish. I am leaving."

Holding me with his voice, he said. "I say you cannot go."

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I stared at him-speechless with rage.

"The Aird Righ of Albion cannot leave his realm," he announced. "That is the principal geas of your reign."

Had he lost his mind? "What are you saying? I have left before. I have travelled-"

Tegid shook his head, and I grasped his point. Since becoming king, I had never set foot outside Albion's borders. Apparently, this was forbidden me now for some obscure reason. "Explain," I snapped. "And be quick about it."

Tegid simply replied, "It is forbidden the High King to leave the [sland of the Mighty-at any time, for any reason."

"Unless I hear a better explanation than that," I told him, "you will soon find yourself standing here alone. I have ordered the ships to sail, and I mean to be aboard the first one when it departs."

"The ships may depart. Your men may depart," he said softly. "But you, 0 King, may not so much as set foot beyond this shore."

"My wife is out there! And I am going to find her." I made to turn away again.

"I say you will not leave Albion and remain Aird Righ," he insisted, emphasizing each word.

"Then I will no longer be king!" I spat. "So be it! One way or another, I am going to find my wife."

If my kingship would bring her back, I would give it a thousand times over. She was my life, my soul; I would give everything to save her.

Scatha stood looking on impassively. I understood now why she had come, and why Tegid had disobeyed my explicit order. She knew that I would not be able to leave Albion, and she assumed that once I understood the problem I would change my mind. But I was adamant.

I glanced at Cynan, who stood pulling his moustache and gazing thoughtfully at me. I raised my hand and pointed at him. "Give the kingship to Cynan," I said. "Let him be Aird Righ."

But Cynan only grunted. "I am going."

"Then give the sovereignty to Scatha," I said.

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Scatha also declined. "I am going to find my daughter," she said. "I will not remain behind."

I turned at once to Bran, only to see him reject the offer as well. "My place is by your side, lord," was all he would say.

'Will no one take the kingship?" I demanded. But no eye met mine, and no one answered. It was rapidly growing dark, and I was quickly losing what little remaining dignity I possessed.

Whirling on Tegid as if on an attacker, I said, "You see how it is."

"I see," replied the bard icily. "Now I want you to see how it is." With that, he paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. His frst words caught me by surprise.

"Treán ap Golau was a king in Albion," Tegid announced. "Three things he had which were all his renown: the love of beautiful women; invincibility in battle; and the loyalty of good men. One thing he had which was his travail: it was the geas of his people that he must never hunt boar. And this is the way of it. . ."

I glared at him. A story! He meant to tell me a story. I could riot believe it. "I do not have time for this, Tegid," I protested.

His head came up, his eyes flew open, and he fixed me with a baleful stare. "One day," he intoned icily, "when the king is out hunting with his warband, there arises a fearful grunting and growling, like that of a wild beast So great is the noise that it shakes the trees to their roots and the very hills from top to bottom, cracking the rocks and cleaving the boulders. Once, twice, three times, the mighty grunting sounds, each time louder and more terrible than the last.

"King Treán cries to Cet, his wise bard, 'This sound must be silenced, or every living thing in the land will die! Let us find the beast that is causing this din and kill it at once.'

"To this, Penderwydd Cet replies, 'That is more easily said than done, Mighty King. For this sound is made by none other than the Boar of Badba, an enchanted beast without ears or tail, but with tusks the size of your champion's spears and twice as sharp. What is more, it has already killed and eaten three hundred men today, and it is still hungry. This is why it grunts and growls so as to sunder the world.'

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"When Treán ap Golau hears this he says, 'A boar and a bane it may be, but if I do not stop this beast there will be nothing left of my realm.'

"With that, the king rides to meet the monster and finds it tearing at a broken yew tree to sharpen its tusks. Thinking to take it with the first blow, he charges the Boar of Badba. But the giant pig sees him coming and looses such a horrible growl that the king's horse falls to its knees with fright and Treán is thrown to the ground.

"The enchanted boar charges the fallen king. Treán hefts his spear, takes aim, and lets it fly. Closer and closer drives the boar. The spear flies true, striking the pig in the center of its forehead. But the spear does not so much as crease the boar's thick hide, and it bounces away.

"The boar closes on the king. Treán draws his sword, and slash! Slash! But the solid blade flies to pieces in his hand, while the pig remains unharmed. Indeed, not even a single bristle is cut.

"Down goes the boar's head, and up goes the king. He clings for a moment to the pig's back, but the frenzied beast shakes him off with such a fury that the king is thrown high into the air. The king lands squarely on the yew tree: the splintered trunk pierces his body, and he hangs there, impaled on the yew. And the king dies.

"Seeing this, the Boar of Badba begins to devour the king. The beast tears at the dead king's limbs. He devours the king's right arm and the king's right hand, still clutching the hilt of his shattered sword. The broken blade sticks in the beast's throat, and the Boar of Badba chokes on it and dies.

"The king's companions run to aid the king, but Treán ap Golau is dead." Looking directly at me, Tegid said, "Here ends the tale of King Treán, let him hear it who will."

I shook my head slowly. If, by telling me this tale, he had hoped to discourage me, he would be disappointed. My mind was made up.

"1 hear your tale, bard," I told him. "And a most portentious tale it is. But if I must break this geas, so be it!"

Strangely, Tegid relented. "I knew that was what you would say." He paused and, as if to allow me a final chance to change my

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mind, asked, "Is that your choice?"

"It is."

He bent down and laid his staff on the ground before him, then straightened, his face like stone. "So be it The taboo will be broken."

The Chief Bard paused and regarded the ring of faces huddled around us in the failing light. Speaking slowly, distinctly, so that none would misunderstand, he said, "The king has chosen, now you must choose. If any man wishes to turn back, he must do so now."

Not a muscle twitched. Loyal to a man, their oaths of fealty remained intact and their hearts unmoved.

Tegid nodded and, placing a fold of his cloak over his head, began speaking in the Dark Tongue. "Datod Teyriil Gollwng Tern. Roi'r datod Te,yn-a-Te~ynas! Gwadu Te~yn. Gwrthod Teyrn. Gollwng Teryn." He ended, turning to face each direction: "Gollyngdod... gollyngdod. . . gollyngdod.. . gollyngdod."

Retrieving his staff, he proceeded to inscribe a circle around the entire company gathered on the beach. He joined the two ends of the circle together and, returning to the center, drew a long vertical line and flanked it either side with an inclining line to form a loose arrowhead shape-the gogyrveh, he called it: the Three Rays of Truth. Then he raised the staff in his right hand and drove it into the sand and, taking the pouch from his belt, sifted a portion of the obscure mixture of ash he called the Nawglan into each of the three lines he had drawn.

He stood and touched my forehead with the tips of his fingers- marking me with the sign of the gogyrven. Raising his hands palm outward-one over his head, one shoulder high-he opened his mouth and began to declaim:

 

In the steep path of our common calling,

Be it easy or uneasy to our flesh, Be it bnght or dark for us to follow, Be it stony or smooth beneath our feet, Bestow, 0 Goodly-Wise, your perfect guidance;

Lest we fall, or into error stray.

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For those who stand within this cirde, Be to us our portion and our guide;

AirdRigh, by authority of the Twelve:

The Wind ofgusts and gales,

The Thunder of stormy billows,

The Ray of bright sunlight,

The &ar of seven battles,

The Eagle of the high rock,

The Boar of the forest,

The Salmon of the pool,

The Lake of the ,qlen,

The Flowering of the heathe red hill,

The Strength of the warrior,

The Word of the poet,

The Fire of thought in the wise.

Who upholds the gorsed4, if not You?

Who counts the ages of the work!, if not You?

Who commands the Wheel of Heaven, if not You?

Who quickens life in the womb, if not You?

Therefore, God of All Virtue and Power,

Sam us and shield us with your Swift Sure Hand,

Grant us victory over foes and false men,

Lead us in peace to our journey's end.

 

 

Through this rite, the bard had sained us-consecrated us and sealed our journey with a blessing. I felt humbled and contrite. "Thank you for that," I said to him.

But Tegid was not finished. He reached into a fold of his belt, withdrew a pale object, and offered it to me. I held out my hand and he gave the object to me. I felt the cool weight in my palm and knew without looking what it was: a Singing Stone. Bless him, he knew I would choose to break the geas in order to save Goewyn, and he meant to do what he could to help me.

"Again, I thank you, brother," I said.

Tegid said nothing, but withdrew two more stones and placed

them in my hands. With that, the bard released me to my fate. I

tucked the three stones safely into my belt, turned, and ordered the

men to board the ships. Everyone raced to be first aboard, and I

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followed close behind. I had all but reached the water when Tegid shouted. "Liew! Will you leave your bard behind?"

"I would go with a better heart if you went with me," I answered. "But I will think no ill if you stay behind."

A moment later he stood beside me. "We go together, brother."

We waded through the icy surge and were hauled aboard by those waiting on deck. Men took up long poles and pushed into deeper water as the sails flapped, filled, and billowed. Night closed its tight fist around us as the sharp prow divided the waves, throwing salt spray in our faces and spewing sea foam over our clothes.

In the deep dark of a moonless Sollen night I left Albion behind. I did not look back.

 

The seas were rough, the wind raw and cold. We were battered by rain and sleet, and tossed on every wave as the sea battled our passage. More than once I feared a water grave would claim us, but sailed ahead regardless. There was no turning back.

"What makes you think they have escaped to the Foul Land?" Tegid asked. I stood at the prow, holding to the rail. We had not seen the sun since our departure.

"Paladyr was behind this," I told him, staring at the waves and pounding my fist against the rail.

"Why do you say so?"

"Who else could it be?" I retorted. Nevertheless, his question brought up the doubt I had so far suppressed. I turned my head to meet his gaze. "What do you know?"

His dark brows arched slighfly. "I know that no man leaves a trail on the sea."

"The trail leads to hr Aflan. That is where we banished Paladyr, and that is where he has taken them," I declared, speaking with far more certainty than I felt at the moment. Standing on the shore, there had been no doubt. Now, after two days aboard a heaving ship, I was not so sure. What if they had sailed south, and made landfall at any of a thousand hidden, nameless coves?

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Tegid was silent for a time, thinking. Then he said, "Why would Paladyr do this?"

"That much is obvious: revenge."

The bard shook his head. "Revenge? For giving him back his life?"

"For sending him to Tir Allan," I answered curtly. "Why? What do you think?"

"Through all things Paladyr has looked to himself and his own 'ain," Tegid countered. "I think he would be content to save himself now. Also, I have never known Paladyr to act alone."

True. Paladyr was a warrior, more inclined to the spear than to subtle machinations. I considered this. "It does not matter," I decided at last. "Whether he acted alone or with a whole host of devious schemers, it makes no difference. I would still go."

"Of course," Tegid agreed, "but it would be good to know who is with him in this. That might make a difference." He was silent for a moment, regarding me with his sharp grey eyes. "Bran told me about the beacon."

I frowned into the slate-dark sea.

"Is there anything else you have not told me? If so, tell me now."

"There is something else," I admitted finally.

"What is it?" Tegid asked softly.

"Goewyn is carrying our child. No one else knows. She wanted to wait a little longer before telling anyone."

"Before telling anyone!" Tegid blustered. "The king's child!" Shaking his head in amazement and disbelief, he turned his face to the sea and gazed out across the wave.worried deep. It was a long time before he spoke again. "I wish I had known this before," he said at last. "The child is not yours alone; it is a symbol of the bounty of your reign and belongs to the clan. I should have been told."

"We were not trying to hide it from anyone," I said. "Would it have made a difference?"

'We will never know," he answered bleakly and fell silent.

"Tegid," I said after a while, "Tir Aflan--~have you ever been there?"

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"Never."

"Do you know anyone who has?"

He gave a mirthless rumble of a laugh. "Only one: Paladyr."

"But you must know something of the place. How did it get its name?"

He pursed his lips. "From time past remembering it has been called Tir Aflan. The name is well deserved, but it was not always so. Among the Learned Brotherhood it is said that once, long ago, it was th~ most blessed of realms-Tir Gwyn, it was called then."

"The Fair Land," I repeated. "What happened?"

His answer surprised me. "At the height of its glory, hr Gwyn fell."

"Fell?" I wondered. "How?"

"It is said that the people left the True Path: they wandered in error and selfishness. Evil arose among them and they no longer knew it. Instead of resisting, they embraced it and gave themselves to it. The evil grew; it devoured them-devoured everything good and beautiful in the land."

"Until there was nothing left," I murmured.

"The Dagda removed his Swift Sure Hand from them, and Tir Gwyn became Tir Allan," he explained. "Now it is inhabited only by beasts and outcasts who prey upon one another in their torment and misery. It is a land lacking all things needful for the comfort of men. Do not seek succor, consolation, or peace. These will not be found. Only pain, sorrow, and turmoil."

"I ~

Frowning, Tegid inspected me out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, you will soon see it for yourself," he said, pointing with the head of his staff to the sea before us. I looked at what appeared to be a dull grey bank of cloud riding low on the horizon: my first glimpse of the Foul Land. "After we have sojourned there awhile, tell me if it deserves its name."

I gazed at the colorless blotch of landscape bobbing in the seaswell. It seemed dreary, but not more so than many another land mass when approached through mist and drizzle on a sunless day.

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Indeed, I wondered after Tegid's description that it did not look more abject and gloomy.

I had come to find Goewyn, and I would go through earthquake, flood, and fire to save her. No land, however hostile, would stand in my way.

But in that I was wildly and woefully naive.

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Easier to carry ships across the sea on our backs than make safe landfall in the Foul Land. The ragged coast was rimmed with broken rocks. The sea heaved and shredded itself on the jagged stumps with a sense-numbing roar. We spent the better part of a day searching along the coast for harborage, and then, as the day sped from us, we happened upon a bay guarded by two rock stack promontories that formed a narrow entrance.

Despite the shelter offered by the headlands, Tegid did not like the bay. He claimed it made him feel uneasy. Nevertheless, after a brief consultation, we concluded that this was the best landfall we had yet seen and the best we were likely to find.

I gave the order, and one by one the ships passed between the towering stacks. Once inside the shelter of the rocks, the water was deathly calm-and deep-hued, darker even than the sea round about. "Listen," Tegid said. "Do you hear?"

I cocked my head to one side. "I hear nothing."

"The gulls have departed."

An entire flock of seagulls had been our constant companions since the voyage began. Now there was not a single bird to be seen.

I stood at the prow as Cynan's vessel passed ours and drew into the center of the bay. Cynan hailed us and pointed out a place where

Tir Aflan

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we might land. He was still leaning at the rail, hand extended, when I saw the water in front of his ship begin to boil.

Within the space of three heartbeats it was bubbling furiously. No cauldron ever frothed more fiercely. The water heaved and shuddered; gassy bubbles burst the sea surface, releasing a pale green vapor that curled over the churning water.

The men on board rushed to the rails and peered into the seething water. Exclamations of amazement turned to cries of anguish when out of the troubled water there arose the scaly head of an enormous serpent. Fanged jaws gaping, forked tongue thrusting like a double. headed spear, the creature hissed and the sound was that of ships' sails ripping in a gale.

From behind and a little to one side, I saw the monster with the clarity of fear. Its mucus-slick skin was a mottled green and grey, like the storm-sick sea its head was flat, its yellow eyes bulged; scales thick and ragged as tree bark formed a ridge along its back, otherwise its bloated body was smooth and slimy as a slug. A steady stream of filmy slime flowed from two huge nostril flaps at the end of its snout and from a row of smaller pits, that began at the base of its throat and ran along the midline of the creature's sinuous length.

If its appearance had been designed to inspire revulsion, the monster could not have been better contrived. My throat tightened and my stomach heaved at the sight. And then the wind-blast of the beast's breath hit us and I retched at the stench.

"Llew!" Tegid appeared beside me at the prow. He pressed a spear into my hand.

'What is that thing?" I demanded, dragging my sleeve across my mouth. "Do you know?"

Without taking his eyes from the creature, he replied in a voice hollow with dread: "It is an afanc."

"Can it be killed?"

He turned his face to me, pasty with fright. His mouth opened, but he made no sound. His eyes slid past me to the creature.

"Tegid! Answer me!" I grabbed him by the arm and spun him to

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face me. "Can it be killed?"

He came to himself somewhat. "I do not know."

I turned to the warriors behind me. "Ready your spears!" I cried. There were five horses in the center of the boat; the sudden appearance of the monster had thrown them into a panic. They bucked and whinnied, trying to break their tethers. "Calm those horses! Cover their eyes!"

A tremendous cracking sound echoed across the water. I turned back to see Cynan's vessel shiver and lurch sideways. Then it began to rise, hoisted aloft on a great, slimy coil. Men screamed as the ship tilted and swayed in the air.

"Closer!" I shouted to the helmsman. "We must help them!"

In the same instant, an eel-like hump surfaced before the prow. The ship struck the afanc and shivered to a halt, throwing men onto their hands and knees. Winding a rope around my metal hand, I leaned over the rail and, taking my spear, drove the blade into the slime-covered skin. Blue-black blood oozed from the wound.

I withdrew the spear and struck again, and then again, sinking the blade deep. On the third stroke I drove the iron down with all my strength. I felt the resistance of hard muscle, and then the flesh gave way and the spear-shaft plunged. The great bloated body twitched with pain, almost yanking my arm from its socket. Black water appeared below me; I released the spear just as Tegid snatched me by the belt and hauled me back into the boat.

Others, quickened by my example, began slashing at the afanc with their weapons. Wounds split the smooth skin in a hundred places. The grey-green seawater soon became greasy with the dark issue of blood. Whether the monster felt the sting of our blades, or whether it merely shifted itself in the water in order to concentrate its attack, I do not know. But the afanc hissed and the wounded hump sank and disappeared. The warriors raised a war cry at their success.

Meanwhile, Cynan and his men, clinging to the rails, loosed a frenzied attack upon the beast's head and throat. I saw Cynan balancing precariously on the tilting prow. He lofted his spear. Took aim. And let fly. He groaned with the effort as the shaft left his hand.

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The spear flew up and stuck in the center of the afanc's eye. The immense snaky head began weaving from side to side in an effort to dislodge the spike.

The men cheered.

The praise turned to shouts of dismay, however, as the afanc reared, lifting its odious head high above the water. Its mouth yawned open, revealing row upon row of teeth like sharpened spindles. Warriors scattered as the gaping maw loomed above them. But several men stood fast and let fly their spears into the pale yellow-white throat.

Hissing and spitting, the awful head withdrew, spears protruding like bristles from its neck. The ship, still caught in the afanc's coil, heaved and shook.

We were still too far away to help them. "Closer!" I shouted. "Get us closer!"

Cynan, clinging desperately to the rail, shouted for another spear as the afanc's head rose to strike again.

"Closer!" I cried. "Hurry!" But there was nothing we could do.

The afanc's mouth struck the ship's mast. The crack of timber sounded across the water. The mast splintered and the ship rolled, spilling men and horses into the froth-laced waves.

Amidst the screams of the men, I heard a strange sound, a dreadful bowel-churning sound-thick, rasping, gagging. I looked and saw the top half of the ship's mast lodged sideways in the afanc's throat. The terrible creature was working its mouth, trying to swallow, but the splintered timber had caught in the soft flesh and stuck fast.

Unable to free itself, the afanc lashed its hideous head from side to side, thrashing in the water like a whip. And then, when it seemed the ships would be dashed to bits by the flailing head, the bloated body heaved and, with a last cataclysmic lash of its finless tail, the beast subsided into the deep. The two ships nearest to it were inundated by water and near to foundering, but turned and steered towards the shore. The last ship, swamped in the heavy chop, nearly capsized.

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We drove towards Cynan's vessel and aided those we could reach. Even so, three horses drowned and a dozen men had a long, cold swim to shore. We were able to save the damaged ship, but lost the provisions.

When the last man had been dragged ashore, numb with shock and half frozen, we gathered on the shingle, mute, as we gazed out over the now-peaceful bay. We made fast the ships as best we could and then withdrew further up the coast, well away from the afanc's bed, to spend a sleepless night huddled around sputtering fires in a forlorn effort to warm ourselves.

Sleet hissed in the fitful flames and the wet wood sizzled. We got little heat and less comfort for our efforts, and as the sun rose like a wan white ghost in a dismal grey sky, we gave up trying to get warm and began searching the shoreline for signs of Goewyn, Tángwen, and their abductors. Discovering no trace of them, settled for finding our own way inland.

"aan~ na cü," grumbled Cynan, mist beaded in his wiry hair and moustache. "This place stinks. Smell the air. It stinks." His nostrils flared and he grimaced with distaste. The air was rank and heavy as a refuse pit

Tegid stood nearby, leaning on his staff and squinting sourly at the dense tangle of woodland rising sheer from the narrow beach like a grey wall. The strand was sharp with shards of flint. Dead trees lay on the shore like stiffened corpses, shriveled roots dangling in the air. "We should not linger here," he said. "Our coming will be marked."

"All the better," I remarked. "I want Paladyr to know we are here."

"I was not thinking of Paladyr only," the bard told me. "He may be the least of our worries. I sense far worse trouble awaiting us."

"Bring it on," Alun declared. "I am not afraid."

Tegid grunted and turned a baleful eye on him. "The less boasted now, the less you will later regret."

Shortly after, Garanaw returned from his foray up the coast to report that he had found a stream which would serve as a path inland. Cynan proposed a plan to make for the hills we had seen

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from the ships; from the vantage of height we might discern the lie of the land and espy some sign of the enemy habitation.

The evidence of the hoofprints, beacons, and the grooves of ships' keels left little doubt that Paladyr had the help of others. From the heights we could easily spot the smoke from a campfire or settlement. It was an extremely slender hope resting on the narrowest of chances, but it was all we had. So, we pursued it as if we were sure of success.

Drustwn returned from a survey of the coast to the south. "The land rises to steep cliffs. There is no entry that I could see."

"Right. Then we go north. Lead the way, Garanaw."

We moved off slowly, following Garanaw's lead. Bran and the other Ravens walked with him, Cynan and his warband followed them in ragged ranks, and Tegid, Scatha and I came next, followed by six warriors leading the horses in a long double line. The wood lining the shore was so close-grown and thick there was no point in tiding. We would have to go on foot, at least until the trail opened somewhat

The stream Garanaw had seen turned out to be a reeking seepage of yellow water flowing out of the wood and over the stony beach to slide in an ochre stain into the sea. One sniff and I decided that it was the run-off from a sulphur spring. Nevertheless, the water had carved a path of sorts through the brush and undergrowth: a rough, steep-sided gully.

With a last look at the dead white sky, we turned and headed inland along the ravine. Undermined trees had toppled and lay both in and over the gully, making progress tortuous in the extreme. We soon lost sight of the sky; the ceiling above was a mass of interwoven limbs as close and dense as any thatch. We advanced with aching slowness through a rank twilight, our legs and feet covered in vilesmelling mud. The only sound to reach our ears was the cold wind bawling in the bare treetops and the sniffling trickle of the stream.

The horses refused to go into the wood, and we had barely begun when we were forced to stop while a score or more of the animals were blindfolded. Calmed in this way, the lead animals proceeded

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and the rest allowed themselves to be led.

We toiled through the day, marking our progress from stump to broken stump of fallen trees. We ended the day exhausted and numb from slipping and sliding against the sides of the gully, and climbed from the defile to make camp. At least there was no shortage of firewood, and soon there were a good many fires ablaze to light that dismal day's end.

Tegid sat a little apart, bowed over his staff. His thoughts were turned inward, and he spoke no word to us. I thought it best not to intrude on his musings, and left him to himself.

After resting, the men began to talk quietly to one another, and those in charge of the provisions stirred to prepare supper. I sat with Scatha, Bran and Cynan, and we talked of the day's progress-or lack of it.

"We will fare better tomorrow," I said, without much conviction. "At least, we can do no worse."

"I will not be sorry to get out of this putrid ditch," Cynan grumbled.

"Indeed, Cynan Machae," Alun said, "the sight of you struggling through the muck is enough to bring tears to my eyes."

Scatha, her long hair bound in tight plaits and tucked under her war cap, scraped mud from her buskins with a stick as she observed, "It is the stench that brings tears to my eyes."

Our gloom lightened somewhat at that, and we turned our attention to settling the men and securing the camp for the night. We ate a small meal-with little appetite-and then wrapped ourselves in our cloaks and slept.

The next day dawned wet A raw wind blew from the north. And though it was cold enough there was no snow-just a miserable damp chill that went straight to the bone and stayed there. The following day was no different, nor was the one after that. We slogged along the bottom of the defile, threading our way over, under, and around the toppled logs and limbs, resting often, but stopping only when we could no longer drag one foot in front of the other.

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The ground rose before us in a steady incline, and by the end of the third day we had all begun to wonder why we had not reached our destination.

"I do not understand it," Bran confessed. "We should have gained the top of this loathsome hill long since."

He stood leaning on his spear, mud and sweat on his brow, breecs and cloak sodden and filthy-and the rest of the noble Raven Flight were no better. They looked more like fugitives of the hostage pit than a royal warband.

None of us had shaved in many days, and all of us were covered in reeking mud. I would have given much to find a suitable trickle or pool to wash away some of the muck. But both this and the summit eluded us.

I turned to Tegid and complained. "Why is it, Tegid? We walk a fair distance every day, but have yet to come in sight of the top."

The bard's mouth twisted, as if with pain, as he said, "You know as much as I do in this accursed land."

"What do you mean? What is wrong?"

"I can see nothing here," he muttered bitterly. "I am blind once more."

I stared at him for a moment, and then it came to me what he meant "Your awen, Tegid-I had no idea. . ."

"It does not matter," he said bitterly, turning away. "It is no great loss."

"What is wrong with him?" asked Cynan. He had seen us me talking, and had joined me just as the bard flung away.

"It is his awen," I explained. "It is no use to him here."

Cynan frowned. "That is bad. If ever we needed the sight of a bard, it is here in Tir Aflan."

"Yes," I agreed. "Still, if wisdom fails, we must rely on wits and strength alone."

Cynan smiled slowly. He liked the sound of that. "You make a passable king," he replied, "but you are still a warrior at heart."

We made camp in the dank wood and rose with the sun to renew our march. The day was a struggle against tedium and monotony but

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least it was not so cold as previous days. In fact, the higher we climbed, the wanner the air became. We welcomed this unexpected benefit and persevered; we were rewarded in the end by reaching the top of the hill.

Though the sun had long since given up the fight, we dragged Durselves over the rim of the hill to a level, grassy place. A sullen twilight revealed a large, flat clearing. We quickly gathered firewood from the forest below and built the fire high. Bran cautioned against this, thinking that the last thing we needed was a beacon to alert any memy who happened to be near. But I judged we needed the light as well as the warmth, and did not care if Paladyr and his rogues saw it.

As my wise bard had already warned, however, Paladyr was the least of our troubles-as the shouts of alarm from the pickets oon proved.

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~ ~

 

 

 

The Siabur

 

 

In the time-between-times, just before dawn, the horses screamed. We had picketed them just beyond the heat-throw of the campfire, so the flames would not disturb them. As we were in unknown lands, Bran had established a tight guard on the animals and around the perimeter of the camp as well.

Yet the only warning we had was the sudden neighing and rearing of the horses-quickly followed by the panicked shouts of the sentry.

I had my spear in my hand and my feet were already moving before my eyes were fully open. Bran was but a step behind me and we reached the place together. The guard, one of Cynan's men, stood with his back to us, his spear lying beside him on the ground.

The man turned towards us with an expression of mystified terror. Sweat stood out on his brow and his eyes showed white. His teeth were clenched tight, and cords stood out on his neck. Though his arms hung slack at his sides, his hands twitched and trembled.

"What has happened?" I asked, seeing no evidence of violence.

By way of reply the warrior extended his hand and pointed to an angular lump nearby. I stepped nearer and saw that what, in the cold light, appeared to be nothing more than a outcrop of rock...

Bran pushed forward, and knelt for a closer look. The Raven

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Chief drew a long, shaky breath. "I have never seen the like," he said softly.

As he spoke, I became aware of a sweetly rancid smell-like that of spoiled cheese, or an infected wound. The scent was not strong but, like the quivering guard, I was overcome with a sudden upwelling of fear.

Get up! Get out! a voice cried inside my head. Go! Get away from here while you can.

I turned to the guard. "What did you see?"

For a moment he merely stared at me as if he did not understand. Then he came to himself and said, "I saw... a shadow, lord.., only a shadow."

I shivered at the words but, to steady my own trembling hand, bent down, picked up the sentry's fallen spear, and gave it to him. "Bring Tegid at once."

Roused by the commotion, others had gathered around. Some murmured uneasily, but most looked on in silence. Cynan appeared, took one look and cursed under his breath. Turning to me, he said, "Who found it?"

"One of your men. I sent him to fetch Tegid."

Cynan stooped. He reached out his hand, thought better of it and pulled back. "Mo anam!" he muttered, "it is an unchancy thing."

Tegid joined us then. Without a word, he stepped to the fore. Scatha followed on his heels.

"What has happened?" asked Scatha, taking her place beside me. "What. . ." She took in the sight before her and fell silent.

The bard spent a long moment studying the misshapen heap before him, prodding it with the butt of his staff. Turning away abruptly, he came to where Bran, Cynan and I stood. "Have you counted the horses?" he inquired.

"No," I said. "We did not think to-"

"Count them now," Tegid commanded.

I turned and nodded to two men behind me; they disappeared at Dflce. "What happened? What could.. ." I strained for words, "what ould do this?"

 

 

 

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STEPHEN LAWHEAD

Before he could answer, someone shouted from the hillside below. We hurried at once to the place and found a second display just like the first: the body of a horse. Though, like the first, it scarcely resembled a horse any more.

The dead animal's hide was wet, as if covered with dew, the hair all bunched and spiky. An oddly colorless eye bulged from its socket, and a pale, puffy tongue protruded through the open mouth. But the remains were those of a creature starved to death whose corpse has collapsed inward upon itself-little more than skin stretched across a jumble of sharp-jutting bone.

The horse's ribs, shoulder blades, and haunches stood out starkly. Every tendon and sinew could be traced with ease. If we had starved the hapless beast and left it exposed on the hilltop all winter the sight would have been no more stark. Yet, as I knelt and placed my hand against the animal's bony throat, the sensation was so uncanny my hand jerked back as if my fingers had been burned.

"The carcass is still warm," I said. "It is freshly killed."

"But I see no blood," Scatha observed, pulling her cloak high around her throat.

"Och, there is not a drop of blood left in the beast," Cynan pointed out.

Appalled by the wizened appearance of the animals, it had not occurred to me to wonder why they looked that way. I considered it now. "It looks as though the blood has been drained from the carcass," I said.

"Not blood only, I think," Bran mused, answering my own thought. So saying, he lifted the point of his spear and sliced into the belly of the dead horse. There was no blood-no bodily fluid of any kind. The organs and muscle tissue were dry, with a stiff, woody appearance.

"Saeth du," Cynan grunted, rubbing his neck. "Dry as dust."

Tegid nodded grimly, and glanced around the long slope of hillside as if he expected to see a mysterious assailant escaping through the trees. There was little to be seen in the thin early morning light; the mist-draped trunks of trees, and a thick hoarfrost

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covering grass and limbs and branches bled the color from the land until it looked like.., like the stiff and bloodless carcass before us.

The horse lay where it had fallen. Aside from a few strange, stick-like tracks around the head of the carcass, I could see no prints in the frosty grass. Nor were there any tracks leading away from the kill.

"Could an eagle do this?" I wondered aloud, knowing the notion absurd as the words left my lips. But nothing else suggested itself to me.

"No natural.born creature," Bran said; he held his chin close to his chest. A good many others were unconsciously protecting their throats.

"Well?" I asked, looking to Tegid for an answer.

"Bran is right," the bard replied slowly. "It was no natural creature."

"What then?" demanded Cynan. "Mo anam, man! Will you yet tell us?"

Tegid frowned and lowered his head. "It was a stabur." He uttered the word cautiously, as if it might hurt his tongue. I could tell by the way he gripped his staff that he was badly shaken.

The men returned from counting the horses. "Two tens and eight," was their census.

"Thirty-three men," I remarked, adding, "and now we have horses for twenty-eight. Great. Just great"

"This siabur," Scatha wanted to know, "what manner of creature is it?"

Tegid grimaced. "It is one of the sluagh," he told us reluctantly. E-Ie did not like speaking the name aloud.

Ghost? Demon? I tried to work out the meaning of the word, but :ould get no further than that.

"The Learned call them siabur. They are an order of spirit beings that derive their sustenance from the lifeblood of the living."

"Blood-sucking spirits?" Cynan blustered, his tone forced and his voice overloud. He was holding fear at bay the best way he knew, and only half succeeding. "What is this you are telling us?"

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"I am telling you the truth." Tegid jerked his head around defiantly, as if daring anyone to gainsay him.

"Tell us more, brother," Bran urged. "We will hear you."

"Very well," the bard relented, flicking a cautionary glance in Cynan's direction. "The siabur are predatory spirits-as you have seen with your own eyes. Upon finding their prey, they take to themselves a body with which to make their attack, devouring the very blood as it flows."

I did not blame Cynan for his disbelief; Tegid's description was incredible. But for the two dead horses, sucked dry and cast aside like withered husks, I would have dismissed it as little more than whimsy. Clearly, there was nothing remotely fanciful about it. And Tegid stood before us solemn and severe.

"Nothing like this is known in Albion," said Scatha. "Nothing like this. . ."

"That is because the Island of the Mighty remains under the protection of the Swift Sure Hand," Tegid said. "It is not so in Tir Afian."

"What can be done?" I wondered aloud.

"Light is their enemy," the bard explained. "Fire is light-they do not like fire."

"Then tonight we will bring the horses within the circle of the campfire," Cynan suggested.

"Better than that," I replied. "We will build a circle of fire around the entire camp."

Tegid approved. "That will serve. But more must be done. We must burn the carcasses of the horses and the ashes must be scattered in moving water before the sun sets."

"Will that free us from the siabur?"

"Free us?" Tegid shook his head slowly. "It will prevent them from inhabiting the bodies of the dead. But we will not be free until we set foot in Albion once more."

No one was willing to touch the dead horses, and I had not the heart to compel any man to do what I myself abhorred. So we heaped a mound of firewood over the unfortunate beasts and burned them

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where they lay. The carcasses gave off an excess of thick, oily black smoke with the same rancid cheese smell I had marked earlier.

Tegid made certain that every scrap of hide and bone was burned, and then raked the coals and gathered the ashes in two leather bags. After that we turned our attention to finding a stream or river into which we could strew the ashes.

This proved more difficult than anyone imagined.

Tegid considered the turgid seepage in the ravine unacceptable for our purposes, and we were forced to look elsewhere. Leaving Bran in charge of the camp, Tegid, Scatha, Cynan and I set off in the bright light of a dour, windswept morning in search of a stream or brook. We soon discovered that the hilltop we were camped upon was not a natural hill at all.

Scatha first tumbled to the fact that the plain on which we stood was strikingly flat for a natural plateau, and furthered this observation by remarking the peculiar regularity in the curve of the horizon. We rode a fair portion of the circumference just to make certain, and found as we expected that the rim of the plateau formed a perfect circle.

Despite this evidence, Tegid remained hesitant and withheld judgment, until he had examined the center. It took considerable effort just to find it, it was no simple matter to quarter a circle that large. But Tegid lined out a course and we followed it. After a lengthy survey we found what we were looking for: the broken stub of a massive pillar stone.

So immense was the thing, we had failed to recognize the hill for what it was: a gigantic mound, ancient beyond reckoning, raised by human hands. Sheer size obscured its true nature. But the presence of the pillar stone removed all remaining doubt. The mound was the o~np halos, the symbolic center of hr Aflan. Judging by the size of the circular plateau, it was something in the order of twenty to thirty times larger than the sacred mound of Albion on Ynys Bâinail.