Night Birds' Reign(144)

“And whose idea was the monument?” Angharad asked.

“Macsen’s,” Amatheon replied before Gwydion could answer. “For with Macsen’s power as High King the Druids raised this stone from the bowels of the Earth that very day. And carved it, too, with the power of their minds amplified through Macsen.”

“Who was, no doubt, holding the sword we seek at the time,” Achren mused.

Gwydion nodded. “Yes, for all High Kings must do that for their powers to succeed.”

“Then let us do what we must to find this sword, then,” Trystan said. “For my turn has come and I am ready to take it.”

Rhiannon, Gwydion, and Amatheon knelt and joined hands as they did so. Then Achren, Cai, and Angharad clustered around them, laying their hands on their shoulders, leaving space for Trystan to come forward.

Trystan took a deep breath. Cai and Angharad gazed back at him with sympathy, for they knew the feeling he would soon experience. Achren waited patiently, knowing her turn would soon come. Trystan walked forward, and placed his hands on the shoulders of the three Y Dawnus.

And the darkness swallowed him whole.


HE SAW TWO armies spilling across the plain, one from the north, the other from the south. Hundreds of warriors with their antlered helmets galloped to form two lines that stretched across the plain. Their hair was braided and bound for battle. The tunic and breeches of those from the south were red and white, while the clothing of those from the north was sea green and white. The warriors in red wore the badge of the rearing stallion, while those in green wore the badge of the white swan. Each man and woman, no matter which side they were on carried bows with quivers of arrows slung over their shoulders, as well as short spears, small shields, and swords.

Men and women seemed to be taunting each other, shouting the kind of cries that were preludes to battle. But Trystan could not hear them, for everything was silent. The silence in his ears seemed to press against him, thundering in his head.

Overhead the sky was clear, the bright blue unmarred by even the smallest cloud. The sun beat down almost mercilessly over the plain, as though Mabon, King of the Sun and Lord of Fire was himself displeased. As well he might have been for he was the god most revered in Rheged and that land had been invaded with no cause.

At last the warriors were ready and they faced each other, their weapons gripped firmly, their horses rock-steady as they waited for the signal. A man rode to the front of the line of the northern warriors. On his head he wore a helmet fashioned of silver in the shape of a swan with outstretched wings. The swan’s eyes were two emeralds that seemed to glitter viciously under the golden sun and the entire helmet was studded with luminous pearls.

A second man rode to the front of the southern line. He wore a helmet of bright gold covered with gleaming opals and fashioned like the head of a fierce stallion. The stallion’s eyes were fiery opals that flashed fire at the swan.

A herald rode forward from the northern line and spoke some words Trystan could not hear. The man in the golden helmet laughed, throwing his head back to the sky. The man in the pearl-encrusted helmet stood in his stirrups and shouted something. Then both lines were on the move, leaping forward to shed each other’s blood. They engaged fiercely, and the blood began to flow, soaking into the once pristine ground.

Then a bright blue and orange line of fire sprung up from the very bowels of the Earth and the two armies halted, confused and frightened. Horses bolted and men could not control them. Brown robed Druids poured onto the plain, pooling like a shadow on the edge of the battle. One robed figure detached itself from its fellows and made its way to the center of the line of fire. Then the figure threw back its hood.

Her hair was rich gold, streaked with veins of bright silver and tumbling down her slender shoulders. Her eyes were like the blue of cornflowers but the expression in them was anything but flower-like. This woman was intensely determined. She would not be stopped, would not be turned aside. The warriors would bend to her will, and that was the end of the matter.

She walked forward toward the northern line and the man in the pearl helmet sat stiffly on his horse and watched her come. The two spoke for a long while and then the man leapt from his horse, tears streaming down his face, into the woman’s arms. He threw down his weapons and walked forward, past the woman, across the plain, heading straight for the golden-helmed man.

When the man with the helmet of gold saw the first man coming, he instantly leapt from his mount, also divesting himself of his weapons. The two men met in the center and threw their arms about each other. They wept, their tears mingling together. The woman walked forward and joined them and they swept her into their embrace.