Night Birds' Reign(154)

“The god and goddess to whom it is said the High Kings owe their allegiance,” Gwydion said.

“And Afalon is their island,” Amatheon said gleefully. “It all fits. We’ve done it!”


THE WOLF SPRINTED through the woods of Coed Aderyn, hunting for his dinner. He moved swiftly and silently through the trees, like a silent shadow after his prey. The scent was strong and he followed it, sure-footed and graceful.

The rabbit bounded from cover up ahead and the wolf leapt. But the call took it by surprise and he twisted in midair at the strength of it.

He landed on all fours, crouched, his head cocked, his green eyes wide, his dinner forgotten. For it was time. Time to go northeast, to the place whence the call came, to the place he had been born to go.

He howled once, his head thrown back and lifted to the lowering sky. Then he turned away from his prey and loped off through the woods.





Chapter Twenty-one


Isle of Afalon Gwytheryn, Kymru Ywen Mis, 495



Addiendydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—noon

Not so fast,” Gwydion said at Amatheon’s statement of victory. “The well itself has yet to be found.”

“And the Guardians subdued, whoever they are,” Rhiannon reminded them.

“That is the task of the captains of Kymru,” Achren said proudly. “In this, as in all else, we will not fail.”

“None of us will!” Amatheon declared, his eyes shining.

Gwydion’s face became suddenly stern. “Us?” he inquired, his brow raised.

Amatheon’s bright smile faded. “Gwydion—”

“You are not going with us to Afalon,” Gwydion said firmly.

“You can’t do this!” Amatheon cried.

“Can’t I? Did you not promise me that you would leave us at my command?”

“Yes, but—”

“I command it. You will not come with us to Afalon.”

“But you need me there! The verse says:

The trees covered the beloved dead,

And transformed the Y Dawnus,

From their faded state,

Until the two were one,

In strength and purpose,

And raised up that which they had sought.

“Only two of us are needed to raise the sword from that well,” Gwydion pointed out. “Rhiannon and I can do it without your help.”

“Gwydion,” Amatheon said, his face pale. “You can’t mean to send me away.”

“You promised,” Gwydion said implacably.

Amatheon’s bright blue eyes pleaded with Gwydion, to change his mind, to not do this thing, to forget the last stanza of the song that spoke of death.

But this Gwydion would not, could not do.

Amatheon turned and mounted his horse. Angharad, her face pale, went to him, reaching up her hand to gently touch his face. He bent down and kissed her, long and slow. At last he released her. “When you are done send for me at Hetwin Silver-Brow’s court. I will come to Dinmael as soon as may be.”

“I will,” Angharad said softly. “Safe journey to you.”

“Rhiannon,” Amatheon said, “take care of my pig-headed brother. He needs looking after.” Before she could reply he turned to Gwydion. “Good-bye, brother.”

“Good-bye,” Gwydion replied his face still stern.

Amatheon turned his horse and rode east. Gwydion never took his eyes from his brother until the Earth’s curve took him out of sight. His face never changed as he watched Amatheon go.

It was his eyes that betrayed him.

Calan Gaef—early afternoon

TYBION WAITED PATIENTLY on the shore of Llyn Mwyngil. He knew the Dreamer and his companions would arrive any moment now. He knew that the instant they would have realized Afalon was their final destination they would have ridden hard, stopping only when too dark to continue. They would have risen at first light this morning, which would put them here at any moment.

He was right, for he saw them crest the rise on the horizon. There were only six of them now, for Gwydion had already sent his younger brother away, as Tybion had known would happen.

Tybion dismounted from his horse and walked to the boat moored at the edge of the lake. He loosened the rope that bound it to the shore. This was not the first time this morning that he had done this, of course. Earlier today he had rowed a passenger across the lake and to the shore of Afalon. He hadn’t wanted to, but he had been given no choice. For what would be, would be, as his father was fond of saying, and it was not Tybion’s place to affect events.

Still, he wished he could have prevented the passenger from going to the isle. And he wished he could warn the Dreamer.

But he could not. So when they reached him he silently handed the rope to Gwydion. Gwydion did not even bother to ask him how he had known to be there, how he had known to have a boat ready and waiting.