Night Birds' Reign(150)

“Which was long enough,” Amatheon interrupted, “for Connan to attempt what he should never have attempted.”

“True enough,” Gwydion said. “For Connan, egged on by Pryderi and Gilfaethwy, gathered the Four Treasures and attempted to take his brother’s place as High King, confident that he could pass the Tynged Mwyr, that test from which a man either emerges High King or dead. But Connan was wrong, for he did not pass the test. As he stood on the stone, the cauldron at his feet, the sword in the stone, the spear in his hands, he burst into flame, the energy in these implements turning him to ashes where he stood.

“But Pryderi would not give up, although his uncle was dead. He left Cadair Idris, sure that he was not safe in that fortress, knowing that his father knew of other ways in and out of the mountain. He marched west toward Prydyn; his plan to reach Caer Dathyl abandoned, for he knew he was not strong enough to take Annon by force. Yet he was too proud to surrender.

“Idris and his army caught up with Pryderi the next day. Idris had brought with him a formidable host, for his other children—the Queen of Gwynedd, and the Kings of Ederynion and Rheged were at his side with their levies. Also with Idris were his Great Ones—Llyr and Penduran, Llywarch and Govannon, and a host of Y Dawnus. Idris was High King, and he had complete control over the Y Dawnus, able to use their combined gifts to his advantage.

“Before the battle began, High Queen Elen rode forth from her husband’s army and pleaded with Pryderi to abandon his schemes. Pryderi heard her out until the end then smiled, almost sadly. ‘Mam,’ he said, ‘are you sorry, then, that you ever gave birth to me?’ ‘Never,’ she cried.’ ‘You should be,’ he said gently. ‘For if I can, I will kill you all.’

“Pryderi rose in the saddle, and threw his spear at his mother. But Idris was faster. He called on the power of the Druids and Shape-Moved the spear, causing it to miss Elen and fly high into the air. He then called on the Druids again and the spear burst into flame, the ashes harmlessly floating back to Earth.

“ ‘Father!’ Pryderi called. ‘If you wish to stop me, you must kill me!’ With that Pryderi and his men leapt forward crying their fierce war cries. The battle began and it was ferocious, brutal. Men died by the score so fiercely did the men of Prydyn fight that superior enemy. Idris fought with Caladfwlch in his hands, cutting his way through the press toward his son. Llyr the Dreamer was by his friend’s side, ensuring that Idris came through unharmed to confront Pryderi. The men who battled around them slowed and then halted as they stepped back to watch the confrontation between father and son, for they knew that this would decide the battle.

“Pryderi swiped viciously at his father with his sword, and drew blood from his father’s side. But the wound did not stop Idris. Tears streamed down his drawn face as he lifted his sword to smite his son. But Llyr, wishing to spare his friend, leapt forward and furiously planted his dagger into Pryderi’s heart. Fast as lightning, Pryderi dropped his sword and plucked the dagger from his chest. He lunged forward and plunged the dagger into Llyr’s breast. The two men fell, clutching each other, their blood mingling together as they died.

“Penduran cried out and ran through the now still battlefield until she reached her husband’s body. She lifted him up from the blood-soaked ground, cradling his head against her breast. Her tears flowed down her face and onto Llyr’s. He tried to smile up at her, but he did not have the strength. Instead he whispered something to her, something that no one else could hear. Whatever it was, it seemed to comfort her, for she tried to smile back at him, so that, as the light fled from his eyes, her smiling face was the last thing he saw.”

Rhiannon was openly weeping now. Trystan and Cai had bowed their heads, touched by this tale of grief. Angharad and Amatheon stood entwined, comforting each other with their nearness.

Only Gwydion did not seem to be having trouble, for his voice was firm and even. Achren glanced over at him and saw that she was wrong. For she saw the anguish, the echo of old grief in his silvery eyes even though it could not be heard in his voice.

She was the only one who seemed unmoved, for she stood dry-eyed. And that was not the case at all. The story always had the power to move her, but never to tears. Rather anger at the waste of it all. And shame for the first King of Prydyn.

“The battle was over,” Gwydion continued softly. “The men of Prydyn threw down their weapons. Idris ordered that they be given quarter, for he had managed to stay on his feet, despite his wound. He ruled Kymru for only one year after that, and then died.”