The arch-shaped chamber had a square window in the center of the far, rounded wall. A bed with a woolen spread of azure and green stood against the left wall, while a tiny wardrobe stood against the right. A small table was set beneath the window. On the table was a pitcher of wine and a golden goblet chased with emeralds. The floor of black stone was dotted here and there with rugs woven in shades of green.
With a sigh Gwydion put his saddlebags on the bed.
“Would you like to rest a while before seeing Cathbad?” Aergol asked.
“No,” Gwydion said. “I think a quick visit now would be better. I’ll have a quick wash before dinner.”
“As you wish,” Aergol said quietly. “Come with me, then.”
They returned to the corridor and turned left, passing the stairs. They came to a massive door of oak and Aergol knocked lightly then opened it.
A massive hearth covered the curved, opposite wall. All across the remaining walls hung tapestries of black, worked in silver, each showing a different portion of the night sky above Kymru. Just below the tapestries, which hung halfway down the wall, were massive oak tables, all covered with papers, books, and scientific instruments.
The highly polished floor of black stone was covered with huge carpets woven in green and brown, showing the many fruits of the earth—apple trees and vines, plum trees and wild-flowers. Jeweled vessels of gold and emerald were strewn throughout the room—bowls and cups, combs and necklaces, plates and pitchers.
Cathbad sat in a massive oak chair set before the hearth. He was dressed in a rich robe of green with brown trim. Around his neck was the massive Archdruid’s Torque of gold and emeralds, clasped at the center with a square inside a circle. Cathbad’s hair was a thick, silvery gray and his eyes were dark.
When Aergol ushered Gwydion in Cathbad rose with a smile on his benevolent face. “Gwydion!” he exclaimed and moved forward to embrace Gwydion. “You are well?”
Gwydion returned Cathbad’s embrace. “I am well, Archdruid,” he replied.
Cathbad gestured for Gwydion to sit. “Be sure you have a place set next to me at the table tonight for Gwydion,” he said to his heir.
Aergol nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Well, now, Gwydion, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Cathbad asked with a genial smile. “And how long can you stay?”
“Just tonight, I’m afraid,” Gwydion said. “I must leave in the morning for Neuadd Gorsedd.”
“To visit Anieron?” Cathbad guessed. “Be careful, Gwydion, of Anieron, unless you want him to know your thoughts themselves before you even have them.”
“How do you mean?” Gwydion asked, startled.
“Well, you know how he is. If there is anything happening in Kymru he doesn’t know about—often even before it happens—then I’d be surprised.”
Gwydion would, too, which was why he had some concerns about talking to Anieron. But there was no way around it. He would never be able to find Rhiannon without Anieron’s help.
“I must go to him. For the same reason I come to you. I must find Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. And I must do it before Ysgawen Mis.”
Cathbad’s silver brows shot up. “That is quite a task, Gwydion, considering that we’ve been looking for her for eleven years.”
“I know,” Gwydion said tiredly. “But it must be done.”
“Tell me why.”
When Gwydion hesitated, Cathbad shrugged. “Well, of course you don’t need to. I simply thought—”
“You are right,” Gwydion said with a sheepish smile. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you.”
“Yes,” Cathbad said, his mouth twitching. “I can see that.”
Gwydion laughed. “Very well! I must find Rhiannon because she holds the key to a clue left by Bran many years ago. A clue to the location of Caladfwlch.”
“The sword of the High Kings? Why, that means . . .” Cathbad’s voice trailed off as he understood Gwydion’s message. “I see. A High King for Kymru.”
“Yes. And I must find Rhiannon. She alone knows the clue to the sword’s whereabouts. And without the sword—”
“The High King can’t fully utilize his powers,” Cathbad finished.
“That’s right,” Gwydion agreed.
“I wish I could help, Gwydion,” Cathbad said. “But I have no idea where to begin to look for her. But I feel certain that Anieron knows something.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gwydion said.
Alban Awyr, Cynyddu Wythnos—late morning
AS GWYDION DREW closer to Neuadd Gorsedd, the college of the Bards, he saw that it seemed to be in an unusual state of activity. Apprentices in plain, white robes scurried in and out of the huge, triangle-shaped three-level building. The light reflected off the blue-hued stones and the huge silver doors. On the left side of the door two crossed lines had been carved, the symbol of the birch tree, the tree sacred to Taran, King of the Winds. The right door was studded with sapphires that outlined the shape of that god’s constellation. The sapphires danced before his eyes as he dismounted and looked upon the stone steps that approached the doors.