Night Birds' Reign(139)

The men seemed to spring out of the earth itself, although they had surely simply been hidden in the long grasses. They leapt up silently, daggers in their hands. There were at least fifteen of them, maybe more, and they seemed to come straight for Trystan, disdaining the others. The only reason he did not die in that first moment was because of Achren and Angharad.

For quicker than thought these two captains had their weapons out and began fighting the men off so swiftly, so impossibly, it took Trystan a moment to realize he wasn’t dead. Rhiannon’s shout alerted the others and Cai, Amatheon, and Gwydion turned their mounts and rode swiftly back to where Trystan and the three women fought.

Gwydion gestured and fire sprung up between Trystan and the man who was closest to him, forcing the man to back away. In that moment Rhiannon plunged her dagger into the man’s neck and he fell. Another man leapt at Trystan, forcing him from the saddle as the two struggled. Trystan lost sight of what the others were doing as he rolled on the ground, fighting off this attacker. At least the others were drawing the men off him, for he only had the one man to contend with at the moment. Trystan drew his dagger as he rolled on top of his assailant and plunged the blade into the man’s throat. Blood spilled over Trystan’s hands. He rose to his feet, crouched in fighting position, just in time to meet another attacker.

Although he had only a second to take it all in, he clearly saw the entire battle. Achren and Angharad were fighting valiantly, their swords drawn, holding four of the men at bay. Cai was fighting three off at once, a dagger in his left hand and his sword in his right. Amatheon and Rhiannon held their own but they were not as experienced as the captains of Kymru were and Trystan knew they wouldn’t last much longer. Gwydion laid about him with Druid’s Fire, holding his dagger but not using it as much as he did the flames. But Trystan knew that calling fire was not easy, even for the Dreamer, and knew Gwydion could not continue much longer either. There were still eleven attackers on their feet and Trystan could see it would only be a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

Hoof beats laced the edges of his awareness as he continued to fight. Had the herd come to help them, called, perhaps, by Gwydion or even Rhiannon? He would not take the risk of glimpsing around but he hoped that was what it was.

But it was not, for out of the corner of his eyes he saw ten mounted men riding to them from the west. This was, no doubt, more of the enemy and he knew they were done for. He spared a last thought for Esyllt, for his King and his Queen, and for their children whom he loved and would not see again.

It was the war cry that the lead rider gave out that changed everything. For Trystan knew that cry, knew that voice, knew that rider. He answered the cry with a like one, and realized that he would live through the morning after all.

For the rider was Cynedyr the Wild, son of Hetwin Silver-Brow, Lord of Gwinionydd. Cynedyr was one of Trystan’s dearest friends, and one of Amatheon’s, too, for Amatheon served in the court of Hetwin.

Cynedyr and his men fell on the attackers, mowing them down as a scythe mows through wheat. Within moments the attackers were dead. All but one, for Gwydion had cried out and pointed to one of the men, shouting that he was to be spared, and Cynedyr’s men had obeyed instantly.

Cynedyr sprang from his horse and gave out a whoop at the sight of Trystan and Amatheon, who returned Cynedyr’s call, pounding each other on the back in exuberant welcome.

“I see I came just in time,” Cynedyr grinned as he eyed Trystan and his companions. “I may never forgive you for trying to have a party without me.”

Trystan laughed. “It seems that the gods themselves invited you all the same. What do you here?”

“Why, I came to see the Gwarda, Eiddon ap Dalldef.”

“For what purpose?” Trystan asked.

“To collect the galanas, the blood-price, his man owed to my Da,” Cynedyr explained. “Two weeks ago, in Llwynarth, Eiddon’s men and my men ended up engaged in a friendly brawl. But things were awry, and one of my men was killed. I came here and spoke to Eiddon’s court yesterday. They were in agreement that the accused clan was in the wrong, and have granted the galanas I had asked for.”

“And what did you ask for?”

“As this is Maenor Deilo; I of course asked for horses,” Cynedyr replied, his eyes alight with glee.

“How many?”

“Four—three for me and one for the King, as his share of the galanas. King Urien is looking for a new mare for Princess Enid. It was sheer luck that I was nearby at this moment,” he went on, more soberly. “We were west of here, eyeing the herd when the stallion began calling out. He wasn’t looking at us, so we knew we weren’t the cause. We rode east as swiftly as we could and saw your battle, though I was as yet unaware who you all were. Though I know it now. For some of you I know well, some of you only by sight, and one of you not at all.” Cynedyr bowed specifically to Rhiannon, his brows raised, his eyes alight with curiosity and something else.