“Both?” Duach asked.
“Ygraine and her sister, Queen Olwen of Ederynion.”
“But why?”
“Oh, just a little misunderstanding I had with Olwen, once. A long time ago.”
“A little misunderstanding?” Duach asked curiously. “About what?”
“Um, it was regarding a personal matter.”
Duach’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t! With Queen Olwen?”
“She wasn’t Queen, then.”
“And you didn’t freeze your—”
“Never mind,” Gwydion said hastily.
Duach grinned. “My lips are sealed. But you are a brave man, Gwydion ap Awst. I’ll say that for you. I would not have thought anyone to ever trifle with Queen Olwen.”
“I didn’t trifle with her,” Gwydion said irritably. “How was I to know that she would expect more than I had to give?”
“Ah, Gwydion, they all do. Didn’t you know that? Now, let’s go back to Caer Gwynt and put you to bed.”
“No, I must go to the grove. For the birth.”
“Gwydion, you’re drunk.”
“Not any more,” he said absently, looking down the road that headed back to the grove. As the two men started back down the road, Gwydion grabbed Duach’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
Duach cocked his head, listening intently. “I don’t hear anything. Just the wind.”
Just the wind, Duach had said. But Gwydion had heard more than that. It seemed to him that far away, rushing on the wind, he heard the sound of horns—the horns of the Hunt, calling across the sky.
Calan Llachar—early afternoon
GWYDION STOOD BY the Calan Llachar tree waiting for the runners to come into sight. The marketplace was filled with people talking, eating, drinking, and singing. Occasionally some craned their necks to the west road, looking for signs of the men competing in the race to the tree. The bright colors of the fine, spring morning stung Gwydion’s eyes, and it was hard to separate the pounding in his head from the noise of the crowd that surrounded him.
Several hours had passed since Ygraine’s labor had begun. Gwydion had followed Uthyr and the rest to the grove, but Ygraine had sent everyone away except for Uthyr, Amatheon, and Cynan. Gwydion had tried to remind Ygraine that since he was the Dreamer, and as Dreamer’s had all the gifts he was as fine a doctor as Cynan and Amatheon. But Ygraine was adamant that Gwydion not be present. Uthyr had quickly asked Gwydion to take his place and judge the race to the tree.
Uthyr had meant that as a kindness, but Gwydion could have strangled him. The day was far, far too bright. Gwydion gingerly turned his aching head to Susanna and Griffi, who were standing next to him.
“It’s taking a ridiculously long time. Does it always take this long?”
“The runners have practically just left.” Susanna answered, surprised.
“I don’t mean that. I mean the birth.”
“Oh. It’s not taking long. First babies can take up to eighteen hours or more.”
“I don’t think I could stand waiting that long,” muttered Gwydion.
“Just think how Ygraine feels,” Griffi grinned.
Across the square a group of young men and women had started an impromptu dance. People were buying food and drink from the gaily colored booths that lined the square. Some booths sold drink such as ale and cider; others sold skewers of highly seasoned meats, along with cheeses and freshly baked bread. This time of year there was no fresh fruit to be had, but people polished off their meals with nuts and pastries.
Watching all those people eat made Gwydion feel a little queasy. Susanna noticed it, of course. “Not feeling too well are we?” she asked loudly.
Gwydion winced. “There’s no need to shout.”
Susanna grinned. “Perhaps I should fetch Arday. She might want to do something about the hangover of yours.”
“If you so much as think about it, Susanna, I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” she challenged.
“Now, now, children. No fighting.” Griffi said in a paternal tone. “I think I hear the runners now.”
A shout went up from the crowd. People rushed to clear a space for the runners. Twelve men sprinted across the square, legs pumping, sweat pouring down their faces.
Griffi and Susanna took up their positions next to the tree, a purple ribbon stretched between them, held tightly in their hands. Gwydion saw that Cai and Madoc were in the lead. He wondered what had possessed Madoc to enter the race. He had always thought the man far too indolent to do such a thing.
Neck and neck the two men raced to the finish line. At the last moment, Cai, in what seemed to be a superhuman burst of speed, pulled ahead and broke through the purple ribbon a fraction of a second before Madoc did.