Night Birds' Reign(125)

“Gwydion,” Amatheon put in, “I don’t think Rhiannon was—”

“If you don’t like it,” Gwydion went on to Rhiannon, “you could always go back to your cave.”

“Except for the fact that you need me here,” Rhiannon pointed out.

“Unfortunately,” Gwydion said.

Cai sighed. The journey was going to be very long indeed if these two kept at it like this. They had only been on the road for four days, but it felt like much longer.

The band of horsemen came to a halt in front of the party. There were about twenty men and women in the warband. They wore tunics of stiff leather and carried bows and arrows as well as short spears and small shields. The lead horseman urged his horse forward until he was just a few feet from Cai. The man bowed in his saddle.

“Cai ap Cynyr, PenGwernan of Gwynedd, I bid you welcome to commote Creuddyn in the name of Diadwa ur Trephin.”

Cai, in turn, bowed in his saddle. “I thank you for your welcome, Berwyn ap Cyrenyr, Captain of the teulu of Diadwa the Fair.”

“May we know the names of your companions?” Berwyn asked politely, as formality dictated. But Cai knew that it was not really a question.

“Of course,” Cai said, and would have gone on to introduce his companions if Gwydion had not taken over.

“I,” Gwydion said, “am Gwydion ap Awst, the Dreamer of Kymru. And we are on an errand of some urgency.”

Berwyn bowed. “But of course, Dreamer,” he said, still very polite. But his brown eyes were keen. “Nonetheless, I long to know your companions.”

Cai cleared his throat. “Naturally,” he said, giving Gwydion a warning glance. He quickly introduced the rest of them—Rhiannon and Amatheon, Trystan, Angharad and Achren.

“Such exalted company must receive the best that Creuddyn has to offer,” Berwyn said, again all politeness. But they fully understood the underlying implacability of his tone.

Nonetheless, Gwydion tried to argue. “Captain, I must insist—”

“You are all welcome here today,” Berwyn went on smoothly. “For this very afternoon we are celebrating the marriage of our Bard and his lovely lady. We already have a feast planned. Your presence will make the marriage ceremony and the feast even more special to our lady and the happy couple.”

“Very well, Captain,” Gwydion said, at last admitting defeat.

“We are greatly honored,” Cai said formally. “Lead on.”


LESS THAN AN hour later they rode up to the fortress of Diadwa ur Trephin. The huge wooden doors set into the large stone walls of the fort were flung wide open, and a great many finely dressed people were milling about the sizeable courtyard talking and laughing, eating and drinking, calling out cheerful greetings to each other.

Autumn flowers decked the courtyard: clusters of white alyssum and bright, yellow tansy; rose-purple fireweed and red and white snapdragons; white chamomile and yellow corydalis.

Berwyn and his men dismounted, motioning for Cai and his party to do the same. As they did so a small, slender woman in a rich gown of dark blue descended the steps leading to the Great Hall. She had long, dark brown hair frosted with silvery strands and held back from her face by a band of blue cloth embroidered with silver and tiny sapphires.

“You are welcome here, Cai ap Cynyr,” she said, her powerful, rich voice incongruous coming from such a tiny frame. “As are your companions.” She inclined her head to the rest of the party. “We are particularly honored to have the Dreamer himself with us.”

Gwydion cocked a brow at Cai. “The man who rode on ahead gave the word, no doubt,” Cai said, answering Gwydion’s unspoken question.

“Ah,” Gwydion said, then turned back to Diadwa. “Lady Diadwa, we are honored to be your guests. I understand from your Captain that a wedding is due to take place here today.”

“It is,” Diadwa said proudly. “And a feast after. I beg you to be my guests here. You are welcome to spend the night under my roof.” True to the Laws of Hospitality, Diadwa did not ask them their business. Only the glint in her keen, gray eyes showed that she wished to.

“We would be honored,” Gwydion replied.

Cai was relieved. After Rhiannon’s comment about warm beds he was afraid Gwydion would stubbornly insist that they camp out again tonight.

“The wedding is for my Bard, Jonas ap Morgan to his lady, Canna, and begins within a few moments. Dreamer, do you care to officiate or shall my Druid perform the ceremony?”

“I defer to your Druid, Lady,” Gwydion said politely.

Diadwa’s smile told Cai that Gwydion had guessed rightly—that to take the place of the lady’s Druid would not have been wise at this late hour. Marriages and other ceremonies were normally conducted by Druids and, although custom dictated that the Dreamer took precedence over them, in some cases it was best to leave the ceremonies to the local Druids.