Night Birds' Reign(123)

“Indeed,” Gwydion said. “We must hurry.”

“Who are these Guardians?” Cai asked. “The horse and hawk, the wolf and the swan. These are the symbols of the four kingdoms. Could that mean our Rulers?”

“I think not,” Gwydion said with a frown. “I think it refers to the animals themselves.”

“Going to what appointed place?” Achren asked. “It says that the trees—which means us—shall bend them to our will. But what do they guard? The sword itself? Or a clue to its whereabouts?”

“Who can say at this point?” Amatheon put in. “No doubt it will become clear to us as we search.”

“That is a search,” Gwydion said sharply, “that you will not be taking part in.”

“But I will, brother,” Amatheon said quietly. “For why else was I called here?”

“I do not believe for one moment that you were ‘called’ here,” Gwydion lied. For, in his heart, he thought that Amatheon had indeed been compelled to come to Caer Dathyl as he had said. In his heart he knew that his brother was meant to accompany them. But how—in the name of all the gods—how could he possibly let his brother come? For the last stanza of Rhiannon’s poem was burned into his brain:

One winter’s first day,

The one who is loved shall die.

And tears will overwhelm

The lonely heart.

Was his heart not already lonely? And whose death would surely overwhelm him? Whose death if not Amatheon’s? No, he could not let his brother come with them. He could not.

“You do not believe I was called here?” Amatheon asked incredulously. “You think that I am lying?”

“I did not say that—” Gwydion began.

“How could you believe that?” Amatheon went on, his blue eyes wide with shock and distress. “How could you?”

Gwydion floundered, for he did not mean to hurt Amatheon. But then he hardened his heart. He was going to save Amatheon’s life, no matter what. Even at the expense of his brother’s love. But he had reckoned without Rhiannon.

“He does believe you,” Rhiannon calmly explained to Amatheon. “He’s just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Amatheon asked, astonished.

Rhiannon nodded down at the poem. “Of the last verse. The one that says someone will die.” Her emerald gaze met and challenged Gwydion’s silvery one. “He is afraid, Amatheon, that you will die if you come with us.”

“I see,” Amatheon said quietly. He rounded the table until he stood directly in front of Gwydion. “But if you do not let me come, I will follow anyway. So you see, you really have no choice. I’m sorry.”

Gwydion clenched his fists in fury to keep himself from lashing out at his brother, so angry was he. Because he knew Amatheon would do that—he would follow. And perhaps be in more danger because of that.

“He was sent here, Gwydion,” Rhiannon insisted. “You know that’s true.”

He knew, but he did not want to admit it, so he did not answer, merely staring at his brother, their gazes—silver and sapphire—challenging each other.

“He must go with us,” Rhiannon continued. “There must be a reason he has come here now. The gods themselves require Amatheon’s presence in this quest.”

“You say that,” Gwydion said, not taking his eyes from his brother, “because you do not understand. You say that because you do not believe that the last verse refers to him. You say that because you do not care for him as I do. You say that because he is not your brother.”

“I say that because it is true,” Rhiannon said, her voice cool. “And you know it.”

The trouble was that he did know it. He knew it, and hated the knowledge.

“You must let him go,” Rhiannon pressed. “You must.”

Please, Mabon of the Sun, he begged silently. If there was one moment where you were pleased with your Dreamer, remember it. Remember it, and do not let this thing happen.

“Gwydion,” Amatheon said quietly. “Brother. Why was I called if not to go?”

Then he had a thought. Perhaps, if he was very careful, if he was vigilant, he could see to it that Amatheon survived. Amatheon would not be in danger until the Guardians—the hawk, the swan, the horse and the wolf—showed themselves. Until then, his brother would probably be safe. And then he thought of something else that might help. A deal he could make. Then they would see.

“Very well, brother,” Gwydion said quietly. Amatheon’s eyes began to sparkle. “But before you rejoice in your victory, hear me out.”

With an effort Amatheon composed himself, and looked back solemnly.