“Good night, Iago. And thank you.”
Angharad left, with Emrys right behind her. Gwydion got up from the bed and sat in front of the fire. Disdaining the chair, he huddled upon the hearth, watching the crackling flames. He held his hand out to the fire and did not flinch. For he had taught himself not to do that long ago.
He was psychokinetic and therefore could Fire-Weave, and he often did this elaborately, making a game of it. A necessary game, for, he thought bitterly, how people would laugh at him if they ever found out that the great Dreamer was afraid of fire.
He thought back then, remembering it all as if it had just happened yesterday, instead of years ago. He thought of the last time he almost died—the time when he would have died, if not for Uthyr.
GWYDION AP AWST, the future Dreamer of Kymru, rode nervously on his pony. He was a solemn boy of six years, thin and frail. He despaired of ever becoming as strong and handsome as his father. Awst rode next to him now, laughing and calling out greetings to the people he knew, as they rode down the streets of Tegeingl. They were very close to the fortress of Queen Rathtyen. Gwydion was so nervous he could barely swallow.
He had never met the Queen. And, he had never been out of Caer Dathyl on a trip with his father. His mother had always made sure of that. Of course, his mother had objected strenuously when Awst came to Caer Dathyl to take Gwydion away on this trip. But for once, his mother’s objections hadn’t done any good. Awst had been determined to have his way. Best of all, Gwydion had Awst all to himself, for Amatheon had been far too young to make the trip.
Gwydion worshipped his father, and had been euphoric at the prospect of traveling with him. But he was less happy about their destination. He didn’t think that he wanted to meet Queen Rathtyen. His mother had told him that the Queen was a wicked woman, that she had stolen Gwydion’s father and that was why Awst never came home. She even said that Awst and the Queen had a son—a boy named Uthyr that Awst loved more than he loved Gwydion or Amatheon. His mother even said that the Queen loved Uthyr more than her legitimate children by her husband, King Rhodri, and that was why she made Uthyr her heir instead of her other son, Madoc.
But on their trip Awst had explained very gently that his mother was mistaken. He had explained that he and the Queen were very good friends. It was true that he and the Queen had a son, but Awst loved all his sons equally. It was true that Uthyr was her heir, and that was indeed unusual. But Uthyr had been tested and was not Y Dawnus, and he was the first-born son of the Queen. The will of the Shining Ones was to be accepted, not questioned.
But Gwydion was frightened now. What if his mother was right? What if Awst did love this other son more? Then what would he do? The gates of the Queen’s fortress seemed to loom over the small, frightened boy. The sapphire eyes of the fierce hawk carved upon the closed gates glittered ominously at him.
Slowly, the gates swung open. A woman with rich reddish brown hair and kind blue eyes came forward. She was dressed in a gown of blue and a silver torque, studded with sapphires, hung around her slender neck. The woman smiled into Gwydion’s apprehensive eyes, and all his fears seemed to vanish in that instant.
She came up to his pony, followed by many people, but Gwydion had eyes only for her. “Welcome, Gwydion ap Awst, to Tegeingl,” she said in a rich, melodious voice.
Quickly Gwydion slid off his pony and bowed. Smiling, she held out her hands to him and raised him to his feet. “I am Rathtyen and I am so glad to meet you at last.”
Gwydion gulped audibly. This was the Queen! The Queen herself had greeted him as an honored guest. And he knew then beyond all doubt that all his mother’s harsh words about the Queen were lies.
Rathtyen turned to Awst, who had dismounted by then, and the two embraced. She then gestured to the man who stood a small distance behind her. The man was tall, with reddish golden hair and a stiff expression. “This is my husband, Rhodri. And this,” she gestured to a young boy, “is my oldest son, Uthyr.”
The two boys studied each other. Uthyr was taller and broader than Gwydion, for he was two years older. He had reddish brown hair and dark eyes. ‘You are welcome here, brother,” Uthyr said formally. “Do you like to ride?” he went on in a friendly tone.
Shyly, Gwydion nodded.
“I like riding, too. I have a new pony. But he’s not as fine as yours,” Uthyr said cheerfully.
Gwydion smiled tentatively at his half brother and an answering grin lit up Uthyr’s face. And that was the beginning for them of a bond that only death would break.
For the next few days the boys were inseparable. Gwydion met Madoc, the son of the Queen and her husband, Rhodri, but he did not like the boy. There was something sly about him. Madoc was only five and his little sister, Ellirri, was just three. Uthyr was unfailingly kind and patient with Ellirri, and the little girl worshipped her brother, following him everywhere.