Night Birds' Reign(75)

Anieron rose from his chair before the hearth. He was a tall man, and, although in his mid-sixties, he did not stoop. He wore a robe of blue and the ornate Master Bard’s torque of sapphires studded over a triangle of silver. His hair was a distinguished gray and he was clean-shaven. His green eyes were alert and piercing. He had a genial smile and a razor-sharp mind. Anieron radiated charm, as did his brother, Dudod. Unlike Dudod, however, he also radiated a sense of power.

Anieron smiled. “Ah, Gwydion, how very good to see you. Please sit down.” Anieron motioned to one of the chairs before the hearth. Elidyr withdrew, not even waiting for Anieron’s dismissal.

Still smiling, Anieron poured wine into one of the goblets and handed it to Gwydion. Then he sat down again in the other chair. Casually, he put his feet on the hearth and crossed his ankles. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit, Gwydion?”

“Why bother to ask? Don’t you already know everything?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth Gwydion realized he had made a mistake by showing his irritation. He tried to mask it by casually sipping his wine, but it was too late for that.

“Do I detect a note of censure in your voice?” Anieron inquired softly. “Is that any way to talk to an old man?” Anieron still smiled, but his green eyes were cool.

Gwydion cursed himself for a fool. “Sorry,” he said with a smile. “To tell you the truth—”

“Yes, let’s try that, shall we?” Anieron interjected smoothly.

Gwydion took another sip of wine and tried to get a hold of himself. He had been very rattled by the news that Anieron had known he was coming. “To tell you the truth, Anieron,” Gwydion repeated, “I’ve come here for your help.” There, he thought, that should appease the old man.

But Anieron, his eyes cool as ever merely asked, “With what?”

“I’m looking for Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. I need to find her.”

Anieron leaned back and took another sip of wine. “Why?”

“I had a dream.”

Anieron waited with a look of polite attention of his face. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what was the dream?”

Gwydion took another sip. He had suspected that Anieron would choose to question him. There seemed to be nothing for it than to give Anieron a somewhat edited version of his need. Anieron would find out one way or another, if he didn’t know already.

“The Shining Ones sent me a dream. In it Bran the Dreamer indicated that I must find Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. She carries a memory, a clue, passed down subconsciously through his descendants.”

“A clue to what?”

Gwydion took a deep breath. “A clue to the location of the High King’s sword.”

He watched as Anieron, so dreadfully quick, pieced together the clues.

“Ah,” Anieron said. “So, Kymru is to have a High King again. Of course.”

Gwydion waited for Anieron to ask him who the High King was to be. But Anieron did not ask. Which only worried Gwydion more. No doubt that meant Anieron didn’t need to ask, because he already knew.

“In truth, Gwydion,” Anieron went on, “I don’t know where Rhiannon is, but—”

“But you know someone who does,” Gwydion finished for him.

“I believe so.”

“Dudod.”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Traveling. I’ll get in touch with him and see if I can persuade him to talk. I make no promises.”

“I ask for none,” Gwydion said. “But I thank you for your help.”

Anieron smiled genially and sipped his wine. But did not answer.


GWYDION HAD BEEN back in his room for only a few moments when he heard a knock on the door. Elidyr poked his head in. “Visitor for you,” he said, his face expressionless.

“Who in the world—” Gwydion started, but got no further. A young girl ran in and leapt into his arms. Gwydion laughed with delight and hugged his daughter close. “Cariadas! What are you doing here?”

Smiling, Elidyr left, shutting the door softly behind him as Cariadas replied, “I came over with Elstar and her son, Llywelyn. And when I got here, they told me that you had shown up. Oh, Da, I’m so happy to see you!”

“Let’s take a look at you, my girl,” Gwydion said as he stepped back to gaze at his daughter. Cariadas was now almost ten years old and her face contained the promise of beauty. She had his gray eyes and her mother’s red-gold hair. At the moment her thick hair had come out of its careless braid and fallen down her back in tangled waves. She was slender and her skin was fair. She wore a plain Dewin apprentice robe of gray, bound at the waist with a leather belt. She was a sunny-tempered child and her delighted grin was infectious. Gwydion found himself smiling, as he hadn’t done for some time.