Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1) Read online

  The audience sighed, and Gwydion stood up. His uncle’s words confused him, and made him feel guilty somehow. Math took him by the hand. “You have a great destiny,” the old man said. “Be careful.”

  “I will,” the boy answered.

  Kyle stepped forward, and in his booming voice said, “As an ollave of Glencairck, I will take witness of this to King Fergus in Taris.” He drew breath to start another speech, but a mischievous breeze tickled the back of his throat, and he fell into a fit of coughing. Math did not even smile, but motioned for Gwydion to help the ollave, and for Talys to finish the ceremony.

  The bard teulu strummed another chord on his harp and said, “Lord Dathyl now invites the people of his cantref to a night of feasting and dancing in celebration. Let all retire to the feast!”

  The people streamed out the wide doors to the courtyard, where long trestle tables held roast deer and lamb fresh off the spits, whole cows ready for carving, chickens by the cackle and geese by the gaggle, huge pots of corn, potatoes, and stewed apples, pies and pastries, loaves of steaming bread and crocks of fresh butter. Barrels of wine and cider were broached, and pails of milk poured. Back inside the hall, a group of colorful musicians set up their flutes, pipes, harps, fiddles and drums.

  Gwydion pounded Kyle on the back while the ollave coughed and sputtered. A servant brought a cup of water, and after he drank it, the bard recovered some of his poise. “Thank you,” he said to Gwydion. “It’s very embarrassing, having that happen in front of everyone.”

  “Nobody will think worse of you, I’m sure,” Gwydion said.

  “Yes, well, still.” Kyle straightened his cloak, and cocked an experienced ear towards the players as they tuned their instruments. “It should be a wonderful night; the talent of Gwynedd musicians is well known.”

  “We try, ollave.”

  The big man clapped his hand on Gwydion’s shoulder. “I’ve even heard tell that you would make a fine candidate for the Bardic Academy.”

  “You are too kind, ollave.”

  “Well, possibly. But I would be interested in hearing you play later.”

  “I might be persuaded.”

  “Good lad—” He stopped and made a sweeping bow. “I mean, with my lord’s permission?”

  “Of course.”

  Gwydion watched the big man disappear into the human maelstrom with relief. Then he sat down on the steps of the dais and tried to figure out what he had felt during the ceremony.

  It had come while he knelt, like a flame blown into life, right in the middle of his chest. He didn’t understand what his uncle meant by a destiny, but one thing seemed certain: his responsibilities would extend past his own cantref. He worried about it for a moment, and then a soft touch on his shoulder made him look up.

  “You seem upset, my lord,” Lanali said. She had her hair in a single braid down her back, and he had a sudden desire to see it falling unbound around him.

  “It’s nothing my love,” he said, jumping up and catching her about the waist. “Would you like to dance?”

  “Here? By ourselves?”

  “We’re hardly alone.” He pulled her close and whispered, “But we can be later, if you’d like.”

  “My lord!” she giggled, but she allowed him to swing her around. The musicians noticed and set up a lively jig for them, and Gwydion tucked Math’s words away for contemplation at some later date. Then he lost himself in the revelry of the day.

  Chapter 2: Training

  Gwydion dreamt that night of a certain lady he had seen at the ceremony that night. Lanali had surrendered early in the evening, and Gwydion had returned to the celebration full of confidence and eager to find his next conquest. The lady he found had held herself aloof, with an icy calm that matched her platinum blond hair. He didn’t know her name yet, but he knew he would find out soon, and then he could find the fire that he was sure raged inside her. His dream self had just started the seduction when a voice interrupted.

  If you want to be my heir, you need to start now.

  Gwydion woke instantly and sat up in bed. Math, shrouded in a glowing nimbus, floated at the foot of his bed and watched his nephew fight free of the last fogs of sleep. “Uncle? What time is it? Are you really here?”

  “Does it matter?” Math asked. “I assume that you still want to learn.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then get up. You have plenty to do.”

  Gwydion dragged himself out of bed and began stumbling around the room, trying to get dressed in the dark. “I don’t understand,” the boy complained. “Why couldn’t we start this at a reasonable hour?”

  “The hour is eminently reasonable for training,” Math replied. He cocked his head to one side and said, “Your tunic is inside out.”

  “Thank you.”

  The old man smiled briefly. “You might also want to wear more comfortable shoes. The first thing you’re going to do this morning is run from Caer Dathyl to the Sayont bridge, and back, and you must be finished before sunrise.”

  “A run?” he groaned, feeling twinges of protest from muscles still sore from Gilventhy’s beating two days before. “But I thought I was going to learn magic.”

  “If you are going to have control over your mind, you must have control over your body. This is your first lesson. Every morning, you will work both by yourself and with others, learning all the skills of a warrior.”

  “But I want to be a sorcerer like you.”

  Math smiled grimly. “Do not let this old body fool you. My power is not limited to my mind, although that is now the strongest. But I also know the ways of war, and can hold my own with a sword or a spear.”

  Gwydion finished dressing and stood before his uncle. “I’m ready,” he announced.

  “Then start!” Math barked.

  The boy jumped at the unexpected command, and jetted out the door and down the stairs. He figured that he could go about halfway to the bridge and back, and save himself some time and trouble. Crossing the courtyard, though, he realized that his uncle still hovered nearby. He tried to ignore both the old man and the stitch that had already started in his side, but Math began to talk.

  “Magic is powerful, but very dangerous,” he said. “Without proper control, it will rule you instead of the other way around. As I said before, my body was not always as frail as it appears now, but during that time, my mind was not as strong as it is now. You must strengthen both while you are able, and keep both hard and ready for whatever may be demanded of you. Your body will eventually begin to fail, but your mind will remain as sharp as you care to keep it.”

  Shut up, you old goat, Gwydion wanted to say, but he had no breath to spare.

  “Keep your head up,” Math said. “Pull your arms in, too; you look like a scared chicken.”

  Sweat ran down the boy’s face and into his eyes. He stopped trying to think, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Math continued to give him advice and comments, but he did not try to listen.

  “Stop!” Math commanded, and Gwydion skidded to a halt.

  “What did I do this time?” he asked.

  “You almost went over the bridge,” Math said. “Get a drink, and splash some water on your face before you start back. Hurry! We still have a lot to do.”

  Gwydion waded into the shallows of the Sayont River and scooped handfuls of water over his head and neck, and let it dribble into his mouth. The shock of the cold water made him more alert, and he noticed a man fishing from the bridge. He felt embarrassed, but the man just nodded at him. Red faced, Gwydion returned to the shore and looked at the specter of his uncle. “I’m ready.”

  “Go ahead, then.”

  The sun stood a hand above the horizon when Gwydion stumbled back into the caer’s courtyard. He collapsed on a stone bench, breathing hard and wondering if he would ever cool off. Math said, “You have an hour to eat, and then Dylan expects you to be at weapons training. And he will tell me if you’re not.”

  Gwydion
made a rude gesture after his uncle had winked out of sight. With a grunt, he levered himself to his feet and made his way to the hall. Halfway there, the smell of warm bread made his stomach rumble, and he thought that he might break into a run if his legs could handle it.

  By lunch, he wondered if would ever be able to move again. It didn’t help that Gilventhy had spent the whole morning working even harder than he had, and yet seemed energetic and ready for more.

  “So what do you want to do after we eat?” the tall boy said after Dylan had dismissed them.

  “I’m going to die,” Gwydion answered. He sat down on a bench, and quickly laid down flat on his back. “How do you do it?” he said.

  Gil shrugged. “Practice, I guess. I’ve been training for years, so it seems like no big deal.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Come on,” Gil said, pulling him upright. “We’ll bathe, and eat, and then you’ll feel ten times better.”

  “Leave me alone,” Gwydion said, although he let himself be led to the bath house. He peeled off his sweat soaked clothes and stood under an icy sluice of water for as long as he could stand it. Gil laughed at him as he raced out to dry off, but he was past caring what his cousin thought.

  “My sisters are joining us for lunch,” Gilventhy announced as he dressed.

  “Today?” Gwydion said. “Can’t they wait for a year or so until I feel better?”

  “What are you worried about? They’re my sisters; you don’t have to impress them.”

  “Sure I do. I haven’t seen them in years, and the last time, I think I pulled Mari’s hair.”

  “I’m sure she’s forgiven you.”

  “And I think I hit Arianrhod with a mud ball.”

  Gil shook his head. “That was a mistake. She remembers everything. But come on, I haven’t seen them in a long time either. And you have to be hungry.”

  “True. Help me up.”

  They went to a small dining room separated from the main hall by a wicker screen, where a table had been set for them. The girls were nowhere to be seen, so they slid the screen back and watched the people file in for the noon meal, talking about who was doing what with whom, how, and whether or not they might get caught.

  A brown haired girl appeared in the doorway and said with a smile, “And they call women gossips.”

  Both boys stood. “Mari,” Gilventhy said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Where’s Arianrhod?”

  “Oh, you know her,” Mari said.

  “Actually, no, I don’t,” Gil said. “It’s been five years since I’ve been home.”

  “She’s giving some poor dolt a good dressing down.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, Ari has only gotten prettier, and all the men are making fools of themselves trying to get her attention.”

  “I’m sure they do the same for you,” Gwydion said.

  “You’re sweet, cousin,” she answered. “But when Ari’s around...”

  “What about when I’m around?” said an arch voice.

  Gwydion turned and saw the same blond he had been dreaming about that morning. “You,” he said.

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

  “You could have said hello last night.”

  Arianrhod shrugged. “I knew we had plenty of time to get reacquainted.”

  “You’re still mad at me for the last time I saw you.”

  “I don’t like having my hair pulled.”

  “I thought I pulled Mari’s.”

  “You pulled both of ours,” Mari said.

  Gwydion bowed deeply. “Then I apologize to both of you for the offenses of my youth.”

  “You’re still young,” Arianrhod said as she sat down. “Perhaps you will offend us again?”

  Smiling faintly, Gwydion said, “Perhaps.”

  “Would you two stop fencing?” Mari asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “Me too,” Gil said.

  “Some things never change,” Arianrhod said dryly, and her sister laughed.

  Gwydion spent most of the meal trying to draw Arianrhod out, and she spent most of it rebuffing his advances. Though frustrated, he found himself intrigued; he sensed that she was as well, and every comment had layers of meaning. Gil and Mari seemed oblivious to the game they were playing, throwing in comments and jokes that barely scratched the surface of what the other two were discussing.

  When the dishes had been cleared away, Mari said, “Gwydion? Would you show me the gardens?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Would you like to join us, Arianrhod?”

  “Perhaps next time,” she said with a secretive smile.

  Without showing his disappointment, Gwydion stood and offered his arm to his brown-haired cousin. “What about you, Gil?” he said before they left.

  “Gardens bore me,” the tall boy said. “I think I’ll go practice my archery for a while.”

  “The brave warrior,” Arianrhod said. “Always cultivating the art of violence.”

  Gil shrugged. “It’s what I love.”

  Gwydion led his younger cousin out of the hall to the terraced gardens, walking along the gravel paths that wove a complex pattern through shade trees and manicured flower patches. They spoke little; Mari was looking around at the plants and the few other strollers, while Gwydion repeatedly analyzed everything that Arianrhod had said during the meal.

  “You really made Ari’s day,” Mari said, interrupting his thoughts

  “Excuse me?” Gwydion said.

  Mari laughed. “You were thinking of her, weren’t you?”

  Gwydion thought about denying it, but finally just smiled and nodded.

  “Well, you two are well suited for each other,” she said.

  “How can you say that? You barely know me.”

  “I saw enough today,” she said.

  “You didn’t say anything during lunch.”

  “I didn’t want to confuse Gil,” she replied. “I don’t think he could have comprehended someone treating his sister—either of his sisters—as a woman. And then there’s a way that you and Ari have about you that Gil will never understand. There is something devious about both of you, like a river that looks peaceful but has a swift current running under the surface.”

  He looked at her sideways. “There seems to be more to you than meets the eye as well.”

  “Me? Oh, no,” she said. “I am open and honest in everything I do.”

  Gwydion thought about that. “You must have a lot of freedom,” he said.

  She said something else, but he didn’t hear it because his head was buzzing with a summons from his uncle. “I’m sorry,” he said, bowing to her, “But I have to go. Thank you for a delightful stroll and a revealing conversation.”

  Mari smiled, and for a moment, she looked just like her sister. “Anytime, cousin.”

  Math sat on his tower throne, a look of intense concentration on his face when Gwydion came in. The boy waited patiently, looking at neither his uncle nor his foot holder. Arianrhod remained in his thoughts and he tried to remember everything that she had said again, but the exertions of the morning began to creep up on him, making his mind fuzzy.

  “Can you hear it?” Math said softly.

  Gwydion snapped out of his stupor and said, “Hear what?”

  “The voices on the winds.”

  Cocking his head, Gwydion strained to find the voices, but all he heard was his own breathing. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  Math shook himself and focused his eyes on his nephew. “You will.”

  “But when?”

  “Patience, lad,” the old man said. “Great sorceries are not accomplished in a day, or even in a year. Like any talent, it must be nurtured and developed over a lifetime.”

  “Aye, uncle,” Gwydion said with a sigh.

  “Did you have a nice lunch with your cousins?”

  “I did, thank you.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Could you hear everything we said?”

  “I could if I ha
d wanted to. For today, it was enough to know where you were and who you were with.”

  “So how do I learn how to do this? I mean besides exhausting myself all morning long?”

  Math fixed him with a steely glance. “The exhaustion of your body will be nothing compared to what we will put your mind through. Every afternoon, you will go down to the library and meet with Bethyl. She will begin your tutoring, and you will do everything she says or you will answer to me. Is that clear, nephew?”

  Gwydion wanted to get angry, but he thought better of it and bowed his head. “Yes, uncle.”

  “Then you may go and begin.”

  Math and Goewin watched him leave, back stiff. “He’s so strong willed,” the foot holder said.

  “I know,” the old man said. “But he will come around, and grow into the type of man I can be proud of. You know, I was not too unlike him at that age.”

  Goewin looked skeptical. “He’s too clever. Devious, even. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully trust him, and I don’t think even you will live long enough to see him change.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Math sighed. “It’s my cantref, and my concern.” His eyes focused on something that only he could see, and he fell silent for a while. Goewin thought he had gone back to listening to the winds, but he began to speak. “Actually,” he said, so softly that she had to strain to hear it, “he seems destined for things beyond my ability to ken.”

  Goewin waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing else. She stifled her own sigh, and went back to her own thoughts.

  Chapter 3: Librarian

  Bethyl had long pale hair pulled back in a tight braid, and pale skin from working indoors. The combination made her look almost bald, and did nothing to endear her to Gwydion.