“Where did she grow up?” Gwydion asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
“Geneur. It’s the chief town of cantref Gwarthaf, in Prydyn.”
“She would know the area well, then?”
“Probably. But when she first disappeared, Rhoram searched that area thoroughly. Are you open to suggestions?”
“From you, yes.”
“You should go to Neuadd Gorsedd. Speak to Anieron. Dudod’s his brother, and if Dudod really does know anything, maybe Anieron can convince him to speak.”
“I’d rather stay out of Anieron’s way. I never know what he’s up to.”
Myrrdin shrugged. “I don’t share your suspicions of Anieron. But if you want to find Rhiannon you’re going to need his help. No way around that.”
“True enough,” Gwydion admitted.
“While you’re there, talk to Elidyr. He’s Dudod’s son and Anieron’s heir. Before he was sent to Neuadd Gorsedd he and Rhiannon both lived with Llawen. When she used to slip away to Neuadd Gorsedd she would talk to Elidyr. He might know something.”
“All right.”
“You should probably consider stopping by Caer Duir, also,” Myrrdin went on. “Cathbad knows a great deal and might have some good advice for you. And, Gwydion, one last word that I am sure you will ignore. When you find her, go easy. Her life has been very difficult. Try charm. If you’ve got any.”
“Why, Uncle, you know that women love me,” Gwydion laughed bitterly.
“Not that kind of charm,” Myrrdin said sharply. “I’m just suggesting you try to understand her. If you need her, it would be foolish to antagonize her.”
“I’ll do my best, Uncle.”
“That’s just what I’m afraid of,” Myrrdin muttered under his breath.
UTHYR AND HIS son walked slowly up the mountainside beneath the gathering dusk. The moon had not yet risen, and they picked their way up carefully to rest upon an outcropping of rock halfway up the rough hillside. From their vantage point, they could see the fitful lights emanating from the tiny village. One by one, the stars began to come out. In the gathering gloom Uthyr could just make out Arthur’s young, fresh face.
“So every day I take the sheep up the hillside. And I have to be careful with them because sheep are very stupid, you know. They can get themselves in the stupidest situations. I remember one time . . .” Arthur hadn’t stopped talking the entire time, but Uthyr was content. Just to hear his son’s voice was enough for him, after listening to the silence in his heart for so many years.
When Arthur had first been taken away Uthyr had buried his own grief to keep his wife from going mad. Night after night he had held her as she wept. Day after day he had comforted her by his very presence, his calm demeanor. He had rarely left her side for months. The responsibility of holding Ygraine together had helped him through that terrible time when he felt as though his right arm had been torn away from his body. As a man with a missing arm feels the phantom pain from a limb that is no longer there, so he had sometimes thought he heard Arthur’s bright laughter from far away. He had sometimes thought, while riding home to Caer Gwynt after a day of hunting, how pleasant it was going to be to take Arthur hunting when the boy was old enough. He sometimes woke in the middle of the night, wondering if Arthur was warm enough and almost getting out of bed to go to his son’s empty chamber to see. But then he would remember that Arthur was no longer there.
Just as he thought she would, Ygraine clung to Morrigan, the child they had left, hardly letting her out of her sight. But his precocious daughter seemed to instinctively understand her mother’s need and had done her best to fill the empty place in her parents’ hearts.
“So he had caught himself in a thorn bush. Stuck fast, he was, and bleating like his throat was being cut,” Arthur was saying. “But he saw me and he knew I would fix everything. So he quieted right down and let me help him.”
“Do you truly like being a shepherd?” Uthyr asked. And, oh, how it galled him that his son, his only son, lived in a hut and herded sheep. Arthur should have grown up in Caer Gwynt. He should have had a fine horse, and fine riding leathers, and a chance to learn the ways of a warrior. But Uthyr let none of this show in his voice.
“Oh, yes,” Arthur answered. “Every day I am up in the mountains, with no other person around for miles. And the hills are quiet and you can feel the wind on your face. And the crocuses bloom up in the meadows. And there are streams and tiny waterfalls running through the mountains. And no one bothers you. It’s all very peaceful.”