Glen of the blackberry, wild plum and apple.
Glen of the tangled branching yew,
Glen of mists and white-winged swans.
Glen of the clear brilliant sun,
Glen of the graceful women, perfect as pearls.
As she sang softly of this perfect place, a place that only love could make she had a new thought, startling in its truth and simplicity. Poor Da. He had found such a glen with Mam, and then lost it when she died. Poor Da.
Her father had been a broken man. He had not been able to bear the blows that life had dealt him. He had lost the only thing that was dear to him and the loss had hollowed him until he was nothing but an empty shell. It was not a father who had rejected her, but a walking corpse—a body that had continued to breathe long, long after its death.
In the end he knew. But she was too prideful, too stubborn, too set on revenge. Oh, Da, forgive me, she thought. I didn’t understand.
And as she forgave him she made the turning at the crossroads.
She sighed and set the harp back on the shelf. She knew what she must do. She lifted the blanket that shut out the waterfall and stepped out into the night. She swiftly made her way down the slippery rocks and knelt by the pond. The full moon rode the sky proudly overhead. Nantsovelta, she prayed silently, give me the strength to do what I now must do.
It was the Lady of the Waters herself who saved Rhiannon’s life that night. For at that moment she felt the sense of danger, of death lurking just behind. She raised her hand to her throat, and it was that which kept her alive. For her hand kept the descending garrote from instantly strangling her.
She struck at the figure that stood behind her kneeling body, aiming with her elbow into his groin. The man grunted and his hold on the garrote loosened slightly. She sprang up, pulling her knives from her boot tops and whirling to face her assailant.
He crouched in knife-fighting stance as he dropped the garrote and pulled a knife from his belt. They circled each other, each looking for an opening. He feinted and she leapt back. But she knew better than to let him follow it up and she feinted left while she kicked out with her right foot, catching him on the knee. He went down and she leapt on top of him, burying her knife in his chest.
Blood spilled from the wound, over her hands and onto the damp grass. “Who are you?” she panted. “Why did you try to kill me?”
She did not think he would answer, but he did. “For the clue you hold,” he rasped. “For the memory from Bran.”
“To keep me from helping the Dreamer. How did you know he did not get it today?”
“I saw him leave,” the man gasped, “in a rage. He would not have been angry if you had given it to him.”
“Who sent you? Who seeks to keep the Dreamer from finding the sword?”
But the man did not answer. Instead, he gave a sigh as blood bubbled from his lips. And he died.
She got to her feet, her other knife still clutched in her hand, the first knife buried in the dead man’s chest. She would bury him tonight, in the woods. Gwen must not find out what had happened.
Tomorrow she and Gwen would start for Arberth. Gwen would be returned to her father before going on to Y Ty Dewin and then to Caer Duir for the training she needed to have. Rhoram would care for Gwen during this first, most difficult time of adjustment.
And she? She would not, could not, stay in Arberth. She would not, could not, take Gwen with her where she was going. For she had a task to complete. A payment to make for running away all those years ago.
She would journey to Caer Dathyl, to the Dreamer. She would give up the memory she held. She would do whatever she needed to do to find the sword.
She would run no more.
Chapter Fifteen
Arberth, Kingdom of Prydyn and Dinas Emrys and Caer Dathyl, Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Gwinwydden and Ysgawen Mis, 494
Addiendydd, Tywyllu Wythnos—early evening
Preparations to leave the forest took two weeks, for Rhiannon was not certain when she would return. Gwen would not come back. She did not tell her daughter that. She only said that they were going to see King Rhoram for an indefinite period of time.
She packed all the perishable food and sealed up the barrels of flour and meal. She altered one of her dresses for Gwen. She hauled out the old saddlebags and packed them full with their best clothes, her Dewin’s torque, some things that Rhoram had given her long ago, and her Da’s harp, carefully wrapped in a length of woolen blanket.
When all was ready they left the wood. They traveled for some days on foot to Cil, where they purchased horses. Rhiannon traded her golden bowl for two fine mounts and a few other items.
During their trip Rhiannon talked of Geriant and Sanon, Gwen’s half brother and half sister, and how they had loved Gwen when she was a baby. She spoke fondly of Achren, of Tallwch, of Dafydd Penfro. She spoke of Rhoram in glowing terms. She said next to nothing about Queen Efa, only that she had not known her well.