When the meal was done, and the goblets filled, he sat back in his chair, anticipating the nature of the evening’s entertainment. He assumed it would be a continuation of the earlier part of the evening—wrestling, dice, and music. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—it was Achren who took it upon herself to provide the night’s merriment. Years afterward, he was never sure exactly why she had done it. To enrage Efa, certainly. To jolt Rhoram, definitely. To irritate Gwydion, possibly. Perhaps all of the above.
“Gwydion is looking for Rhiannon ur Hefeydd,” she said in a penetrating tone. “Anybody have any ideas?”
Gwydion choked on his wine. Efa stiffened and dug her nails into the arms of her chair. And Rhoram slowly lowered his goblet set it gently on the table. He turned to Achren. “What did you say?”
“I said, Gwydion’s looking for Rhiannon,” Achren answered calmly, as though she had said nothing of great importance.
Blankly, Rhoram turned to Gwydion. “Why?”
“A dream I had told me to find her,” Gwydion said between gritted teeth.
“Why ask here? Why ask us?” Rhoram’s voice rose until he was almost shouting. “Do you think I know anything? Do you think that if I knew where to look I’d still be sitting on my backside in this gods-forsaken hall?”
“A miracle,” said Achren, her voice cutting through the air like a dagger. “It actually speaks. Just like it was alive.”
In fury, Rhoram turned to her, his once dead eyes glittering with rage. “You dare to mock me?”
“It even talks,” Achren went on, her tone was full of inexpressible contempt, “like it has a backbone. This is truly amazing. I wonder how it’s done?”
Rhoram threw his goblet at her, but she ducked. The goblet crashed against the far wall and rolled away. Everyone in the hall froze, staring at Rhoram. “You will pay for this, Achren. I promise you,” Rhoram said, his tone deadly.
“It speaks,” Achren repeated calmly. “Like a King. Finally. After all these years.”
Rhoram, quick as thought, grasped a knife from one of the empty platters. He leapt across the table, grabbed Achren by the arm and twisted her around, until his dagger was at her throat.
“What, Achren, do you think the payment should be for mocking me? You’re death, perhaps?” Rhoram asked, coldly, clearly, implacably.
“If I die, Rhoram,” she said calmly, as though she did not have a knife at her throat, “it will be payment enough just to know that Prydyn has its King again.”
For a long moment, it hung in the balance—Achren’s life and Rhoram’s living death. In the end, what happened in that moment was forever burned into Gwydion’s memory. For he saw the King of Prydyn choose to return to life.
Rhoram’s blue eyes began to glitter. Color returned to his face. He released Achren, spinning her away from him. She straightened then faced him, her head high.
In a carrying tone Rhoram said, “Achren ur Canhustyr, Captain of my teulu, PenCollen of Prydyn, you forget your place. I shall remind you. Tomorrow, at dawn, you will lead my warriors in a hunt. And you will bring back to me the heads of five wild boars. Five, mark you. I will accept nothing less. You will bring them to me by noon, tomorrow. Or you will leave Prydyn and never return.”
Rhoram turned to Gwydion, “Come with me, Gwydion ap Awst, we have business to conduct.” Then he firmly strode out of the now silent hall.
Gwydion followed swiftly. He looked back behind him as he went out the door. He saw that Achren was smiling with genuine pleasure, and that Queen Efa was looking at her husband’s Captain as though wishing her dead.
GWYDION HURRIED AFTER Rhoram, who marched down the steps of the Hall and suddenly stopped by the well in the deserted courtyard. Rhoram lowered the bucket into the well and pulled it up brimming with cold, clear water. Then, without further ado, he plunged his face into the water and came up again, gasping. “Gods that’s cold,” he said, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“What are you doing?” Gwydion asked in bewilderment.
“Waking up,” Rhoram replied. “Waking up after years and years.” He began to hum a little tune, still mopping at his wet face.
“Rhoram, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about what Achren did. What did you think I was talking about?”
“What exactly did she do?”
Rhoram’s smiled faded. His eyes were very blue and very serious. “She made me see myself and I didn’t like what I saw.” Rhoram returned to the hall steps and sat down, motioning for Gwydion to sit down beside him. The ceaseless song of the crickets could be heard in the distance. Overhead the stars gleamed impossibly bright in the night sky.