Night Birds' Reign(87)

“Rhoram looks much better, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Better than I’ll look tomorrow after hunting down five wild boars,” she said dryly.

“It worked,” Gwydion replied.

Achren smiled slowly. “Yes. It did.”

“When was the last time you saw Rhiannon?” he asked suddenly.

Her dark eyes became distant with memory. “The night she left. I was on guard duty that night, near the outer gates of the city, when I saw her riding up. She had Gwen in a sling around her neck.”

“So she rode up to the gates,” Gwydion prompted. “What did she say?”

“Why, nothing. We looked at each other for a moment, then I opened the gates, and she rode out.”

“And that was it? Nothing else?”

“She stopped and smiled at me after she rode through. Tears were streaming down her face. But she smiled at me. And she waved good-bye.”

“And so you just let her leave.”

“She was my friend,” Achren said simply. “And it was what she wanted. That was good enough for me.”





Chapter Twelve


Llwynarth, Kingdom of Rheged and Coed Aderyn, Kingdom of Prydyn, Kymru Draenenwen Mis, 494



Alban Haf—late afternoon

Thirty days later, weary and travel-stained, Gwydion arrived outside the gates of Llwynarth, the capital city of the Kingdom of Rheged.

He had left Arberth soon after his arrival, spending only a few days with Rhoram, withstanding the melting looks directed at him by Rhoram’s daughter and enjoying the spectacle of Achren ur Canhustyr returning muddied, exhausted, but triumphant, with the heads of five wild boars (and a few extra scars).

Despite his growing anxiety that he would never find Rhiannon, his trip across Rheged fed something in him. Rheged was renowned for its honey, its beeswax candles, its superb mead and ale, its golden wheat. The land itself seemed to be made of fire—wheat fields glistening under the hot sun, rich honey glowing with an inner light. Gwydion was the Dreamer and, as such, he owed his primary allegiance to Mabon of the Sun, the Lord of Fire. And Rheged was Mabon’s land.

Yet he did not expect to find any answers here to his most pressing problem—where to find Rhiannon. For here in King Urien’s court there were none who had known her well. Still, this trip throughout Kymru was giving him the chance to reconnect with all the Rulers of this land. Since it had recently become clear that he needed Kymru’s Captains at his side, it was as well that he had already determined to visit each Ruler. He needed the support of all of them both now and in the uncertain future. So he reconciled himself to this long journey, in hopes that it would bear fruit at a later time.

The gates of the Llwynarth were still open for it was only late afternoon and people were still going in and out of the city. Many of the people were from the outlying areas around the city, coming in to celebrate Alban Haf, the festival of Modron, the Great Mother, which would take place later tonight.

Llwynarth was built in the shape of a circle. Four watch-towers stood equidistant from each other around the circular stone walls. The stones had a golden cast to them, causing the walls to glow in the late afternoon sun. As he rode through the southern gate he left the main road, passing Nemed Draenenwen, the sacred grove of hawthorn trees. As it was early summer, the trees were coated with clusters of delicate white flowers.

“You honor us, Dreamer, with your presence.”

Gwydion recognized the call of Esyllt ur Maelwys, the King’s Bard. “How kind of you,” he answered.

“I’ve orders from Anieron to help you in any way I can. Do you need anything?”

“I need to see Urien and Ellirri.”

“I’ll send Trystan to escort you,” Esyllt replied.

Of course she would send Trystan. Trystan ap Nap was the Captain of King Urien’s teulu—and Esyllt’s lover. Everyone knew that. Everyone except, perhaps, March, Esyllt’s husband.

“Thank you Esyllt,” Gwydion said. “Remember me to March, won’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied shortly, and then the contact was broken. Apparently she and March were still married. He wondered why. In Kymru a couple could be divorced if they declared their marriage over by mutual consent, at any one of the eight festivals. If Esyllt didn’t love her husband, why didn’t she divorce him? And if she did love her husband, why did she keep Trystan as her lover?

He rode by Crug Mawr, the burial place of the Rulers of Rheged. The stones stood dark and silent—an incongruous note on this beautiful summer afternoon.

Gwydion was looking forward to spending some time with King Urien and Queen Ellirri. King Urien was a generous, good-natured, talented warrior, not overly clever or subtle. Subtlety came from his Queen, Ellirri of Gwynedd. She was full sister to Madoc and half sister to Uthyr. Gwydion had known Ellirri since childhood and he remembered her well—and fondly—from his visits to Tegeingl as a boy.