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The Curses of Arianrhod (A Bard Without a Star Book 4) Page 5


  “I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else,” Gwydion said.

  “I didn't say you did,” Garth replied. “But you are a warrior as well as a harpist, as any fool can see. What I don’t know is if you are an honorable man.”

  Gwydion said, “I do my best.”

  “Then I ask you,” Garth said, “As one warrior to another, to travel with me to meet Lord Caxton. Because I know I cannot force you.”

  Gwydion bowed low, and saw Llews doing the same. “We will go with you,” he said.

  Garth flushed at the honor. “I’m just a simple soldier, trying to live another day,” he said. “You don’t have to flatter me.”

  “You are a good man,” Gwydion said. “You deserve to be recognized, and thanked.”

  “So thank you,” Llews said.

  Garth laughed. “You make me think I’ll survive this campaign after all.”

  They started walking again, and Gwydion asked, “What is this campaign exactly?”

  “The king wants to be the high king,” Garth said with a shrug. “I’ve never met the man, so I don’t know if he’s truly capable or not, but he has plenty of us grunts, and we push a little further out every week.”

  “And people like the Lieutenant think it is not only possible, but preferable,” Gwydion mused.

  Garth snorted. “He’s a pompous ass, who hopes to win fame and glory. But they’ve stranded him on the quietest front, and told him not to move. It chafes him fierce, and having me around didn’t help.”

  Gwydion smiled. “Let me guess: you were a better soldier and more effective leader.”

  “Didn’t take much to be better than him in any area,” Garth said. “He’s a coddled son of a rich noble, who’d crap his drawers if you had drawn your sword.”

  “Does he really want you to come back?” Llews asked.

  “Sharp boy you have there,” Garth said. Looking at Llews, he said, “It’s hard to say for sure. He’d like me to be late so he can punish me, but I don’t think he’d mind if he never saw me again.”

  “And how far is it to Lord Caxton?” Gwydion asked.

  “A full day’s hard ride by horse,” Garth said with a grimace. “Going the way we are, it’ll take a week just to get there.”

  They spent the night in a shallow cave warmed by a bright fire. Gwydion sang songs of the Firbolg, and Garth told stories about fighting giants in the south and the Caledonii in the north. “Are the Caledonii not human?” Llews asked.

  “Oh, they’re human enough,” Garth answered. “But they fight like demons, and can’t be reasoned with. They paint themselves blue, and rush at you with bare chests and fearsome war cries, and no matter how many you kill, there always seem to be a dozen more coming at you.”

  “I met a blue woman once,” Llews said. “She wanted to eat me. Was she Caledonii?”

  Garth looked questioningly at Gwydion, who said, “Black Annis was a witch, and barely human at all. I think she was blue from her evil magic, not because she painted herself.”

  “You were captured by Black Annis and lived?” Garth said.

  “My Da killed her,” Llews said.

  Garth paled. “I know of Black Annis. In my home, parents use her to frighten children into obeying, but I never knew she was real. What manner of man are you?”

  “A father who will defend his son until he is old enough to take care of himself.”

  “And then I’ll defend him,” Llews said.

  Garth shook his head. “What if Lord Caxton decides you are enemies?”

  “I’ll do my best to persuade him otherwise,” Gwydion said. “I don’t think it will be a problem.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Garth said.

  It took four days to get to Caer Farannut where Lord Caxton was headquartered. Garth marched up to the guards on duty and said, “Lieutenant Porthy sent these two foreigners to see the lord, to determine if they’re enemies or friends.”

  “Porthy sent them?” the one guard said. “Did he actually capture them?”

  “More like they let themselves be led here,” Garth said. “Don’t I know you? You look familiar.”

  “Yah, so do you. What's your name?”

  “Garth mac Leod.”

  “And I'm Tobiath mac Haron. Were you in the fifth platoon?” The two soldiers spent a few minutes comparing backgrounds and battles, and realized that they had been in different squads in giant country at the same time. “Few of us got out of there whole,” Tobiath said.

  “Too true,” Garth said. “Now I’ve got Porthy giving me orders, and that means getting these two to Lord Caxton.”

  The guard gave them a once over. “You’ll have to surrender your swords, you know,” he said to Gwydion.

  “Of course.” He drew them slowly, and offered them hilt first.

  Tobiath took them and looked at Garth. “Porthy sent just you with them? Was he trying to get you killed?”

  “It’s possible,” Garth said, “but the Lieutenant is a fool, so I think he was just unaware.”

  Tobiath shook his head. “I’d better go with you. Nobody will believe you otherwise.”

  He led them through the caer to the great hall, where Lord Caxton sat at the high table talking to several counselors. Tobiath marched them to the dais and saluted. “Lieutenant Porthy sent these two foreigners to be judged by you.”

  The lord looked them up and down. “Porthy was concerned about a harpist and a boy?” Caxton said. “He needs to feel important, doesn't he?”

  Garth stepped up and said, “By your leave, sir, but these are no ordinary prisoners. This is Gwydion ap Don, from Glencairck.”

  “The Gwydion?” Caxton asked, sitting back.

  “I believe so, sir.”

  “Well?” Caxton said, turning his attention to Gwydion. “Are you the man I have heard so many stories about?”

  Gwydion tried not to sigh. “I do not know what you may have heard, but it is probably me.”

  “Let’s see,” Caxton said, sitting back. “You were heir to Lord Gwynedd, but the two of you fought, and his tower fell, killing him. You tricked the Pooka, and met the goddess Epona. And you were exiled from Glencairck.”

  Gwydion was somewhat relieved that the entire list of his exploits had not been listed, but suspected that it was known. “I am the man that did those things, yes.”

  “What do you seek in the kingdom of the Ventii?”

  Gwydion spread his hands. “I was exiled for twenty years. I’m just trying to live my life and raise my son to be a good man until we can return home.”

  Caxton tapped his chin. “You’re too powerful for me to judge,” he mused. “I am going to send you to King Ardin, and he can determine what to do with you.” He looked at Tobiath and Garth. “I want the two of you to go with him, and make sure he gets there.”

  “Aye, sir!” they responded with salutes.

  “I’ll send you with papers that will get you to Caer Dumlach, and an audience before the throne,” Caxton continued. “My steward will get you horses and supplies. I expect to hear back within a fortnight.”

  “Aye sir!”

  “You are dismissed.”

  The soldiers led him out of the great hall to the stables. Garth talked with the chief steward, while Tobiath looked Gwydion and Llews over with new respect. Gwydion said, “I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”

  Tobiath grinned sheepishly. “It’s just that I’ve never been so near to such a storied man as yourself. I’m not so much concerned for me personally, but I wonder how much you might shake up the kingdom.”

  “I was serious back there,” Gwydion replied. “I’m not trying to change anything.”

  “But you killed Black Annis.”

  “She wanted to eat my son,” Gwydion said, putting his arm around Llews.

  “I’m not saying you didn’t have reason,” Tobiath said. “It’s just that I know of at least two champions who tried to do the same thing, and all they are is examples of how to get yourself kille
d.”

  Garth came back and said, “It’ll take an hour or so, but we should have everything in plenty of time to leave today.”

  “You didn’t say you knew my reputation,” Gwydion said.

  “I didn’t think I had to,” Garth said. “When you told me you had killed the witch, I knew right away who you were, and I had no doubt the stories were true.”

  “And you brought us here despite it.”

  “I didn’t dare do anything else,” Garth said. “Although I certainly felt more like a guide than a captor.”

  They rode for two days towards the coast, where Caer Dumlach sat at the mouth of a wide river. Boats filled with archers plied the water, and squads of soldiers in silver and blue livery passed them regularly, usually going away from them, but occasionally headed towards the Caer like they were. They passed several checkpoints, but each time the letters from Lord Caxton got them through. It all struck Gwydion as alien, but efficient. He knew that no Glencarish king would ever organize his troops in such a manner.

  The guards at the gates of the caer checked their papers, and provided them with an escort to the palace. More guards looked at their documents, and even more took them to the great hall where the King Ardin sat upon a throne gilded with silver and gold. He wore a crown heavy with jewels, and his courtiers all wore fine silks and linens in a peacock display. Llews looked at it all with wide-eyed wonder, and Gwydion understood: the boy had never seen such finery. But it struck him as overdone, and an essentially shallow display of wealth.

  The major domo of the court led them to the foot of the throne where they all bowed low. The king looked them over and said, “Who is this, then?”

  The major domo looked at their papers. “This is Gwydion ap Don and his son, captured on the western front. Lord Caxton sent him here, because he felt that such a powerful person should be dealt with by you personally.”

  “Gwydion you say?” the king asked. “Is it true you defeated a laird in single combat due to his lack of honor?”

  “It is true,” Gwydion said.

  “And that you defeated one of the leading bards of your country because he tried to doom you?”

  “That is true as well.”

  “I see.” King Ardin sat back on his throne. “The stories tell of a wild untempered youth who became an honorable man. What say you?”

  Gwydion spread his hands. “I try to live by the bardic code, sire. We are allowed to judge others, so we must live in such a way that our judgment is not questioned.”

  “Are you a bard, then?”

  “I am not,” Gwydion said.

  “Then why live by their code?”

  “Because I hope to receive the star when my exile is ended.”

  “And do you play the harp well?”

  “I do.”

  “Show me.”

  Gwydion asked for a stool while he unpacked his harp. The one they brought him was gilded and cushioned, which made him shake his head, but he sat upon it and began tuning the strings. Llews stood close by his shoulder. He thought about what he might play while he finished tightening the strings, and decided upon the history of Anghos, king of the Firbolg. As he sang, he spun illusions of the Isle of Innishmor, with its forbidding cliffs, windy fields, and fierce people. He watched for warding signs, but none appeared, and the King leaned forward in interest.

  When Gwydion drew the song to a close and let the illusions fade away, King Ardin said, “You’re a wizard then.”

  “I use magic, yes,” Gwydion said.

  “Interesting,” King Ardin said, sitting back. “Can you counter another’s magic?”

  “Usually,” Gwydion said, though the memory of Arianrhod’s curses came unasked to his mind.

  The king stroked his beard and stared at Gwydion. Not knowing what else to do, Gwydion waited, though Llews fidgeted a bit behind him. He touched his son’s hand, and the restlessness stopped.

  King Ardin finally stirred and said, “How would you like to work for me? I have a group of wizards who help me counter the magic of the Caledonii.”

  “I know very little about the Caledonii,” Gwydion said. “What if I cannot help against them?”

  “Well, I understand you're also handy with a sword.” King Ardin leaned forward again. “I am asking you to join me as I unite this country into a nation, much as Arthur did for Glencairck.”

  “And what would happen if I refuse?”

  King Ardin blinked. “I suppose you would be exiled from another country,” he said. “How many do you think you have left?”

  “You speak truth,” Gwydion said. He stood and bowed. “I would be honored to join your wizards.”

  “Excellent,” the king said. He clapped his hands, and a servant appeared at his elbow. “Introduce Gwydion ap Don to High Wizard Etherton, and have him give him instructions on what the wizards do.”

  “By your command,” the servant said with a bow.

  “I expect great things from you, Gwydion ap Don,” the king said.

  “I will do my best, sire.”

  Chapter 6: The Attack

  High Wizard Etherton looked nothing like Gwydion expected. He wore deep blue robes embroidered with stars and moons, and a high peaked hat. But his rooms were stuffed full of books and scrolls, and although in seeming disarray, Gwydion could sense that Etherton knew exactly where to find whatever he might need.

  Etherton listened to the page’s instructions from the King, then dismissed him with a wave. He looked Gwydion up and down, and said, “So what kind of magic do you use?”

  “Bardic and Cymric,” Gwydion said.

  “And your boy?”

  “Nothing, yet.”

  Etherton harrumphed. “He’s what, nine? He’ll probably never use any if he hasn’t by now.”

  Gwydion said nothing to correct the High Wizard about Llews’ age, or to say that he himself had not learned magic until he was in his teens. Instead, he said, “What kind do you use?”

  “Who me?” Etherton said. “I use mostly spell books, and occasionally potions. Most of us do.”

  “How many wizards are there?”

  “With you, it’ll be thirteen,” Etherton said. “Not a horrible number, and perhaps even auspicious if we work it right.”

  “What can I do?”

  Etherton scratched his armpit. “Get settled. Meet us tonight after you eat, ready to show what you can do. I know a little about your magical systems, and although they have their place, we’ll see how they hold up to the superior powers.”

  They followed another page to their new rooms, and Gwydion noticed Llews biting his lip the whole time. He waited until they were alone and said, “What’s on your mind, son?”

  “I don’t like him,” Llews said.

  “Etherton? Why not?”

  “He thinks he’s better than us,” Llews said.

  “He might be,” Gwydion said. “I couldn’t say yet.”

  “And he doesn’t even see me because I don’t do magic,” Llews said.

  Gwydion cocked his head. “Not yet,” he said. “But I’m thinking you want to.”

  “I want to be like you,” Llews said.

  “And I want you to be better than me,” Gwydion said. “Let’s not rush to any judgments yet.”

  “Yes, Da,” Llews said with a sigh.

  “Are you worried that you can’t learn magic?”

  Llews shrugged. “A little,” he said. “And I also wonder how it might react with the curse.”

  Gwydion nodded, but could not honestly allay his fears, since they mirrored his own.

  They unpacked their few belongings, and then made their way back to the great hall. People were beginning to stream in for the evening meal, and Llews tugged on his father’s sleeve. “There are some kids over there,” he said. “Can I go meet them?”

  Gwydion looked at the group he was talking about, two boys and a girl who all sat talking quietly, not running around like many of the other kids around them. “Yes, you may,” he said.
“Make sure you find me afterwards, okay?”

  “Of course,” Llews said. “Thanks, Da!”

  He ran off, and Gwydion used a bit of Cymric magic to tag him, so that he would know how to find him just in case. He turned and almost ran into a man wearing robes similar to Etherton’s. “What did you do just there?” the man demanded. “I felt you use magic, which is only for wizards. Who are you?”

  “Gwydion ap Don,” he answered with some amusement, “the king’s newest wizard.”

  The man harrumphed. “I am Gaftonius, second only to Etherton. He told me about you, but failed to mention he had not given you robes yet.”

  “He indicated that I needed to be tested.”

  “Oh, well, there is that,” Gaftonius said. “Join us for the meal anyways, and let us get to know you before all that begins.”

  Gwydion followed the wizard to a table just below the king’s, where eleven other men sat in black robes covered in stars and moons. Etherton was easily spotted in his blue robes, and he stood when Gwydion approached. “Gentlemen, this is Gwydion ap Don of Glencairck, who wants to join our ranks.”

  “Hear hear,” the group said, raising their tankards.

  “We will induct him after we eat—providing he passes the Test.”

  The wizards all gave him a pitying glance. Gwydion just smiled and said, “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  Etherton waved his mild words away and sat back down. King Ardin arrived soon afterwards, and after he sat at the high table, the servants brought in platters of beef and pork, taking it to the high table first, and the wizard’s table second. Gwydion said little during the meal, content to watch and listen. The wizards mostly ignored him and gossiped amongst themselves.

  After the tables were cleared, a harpist came out and bowed to the hall. Gwydion listened to the playing with a critical ear, noticing things that he liked, and things he would do differently. After a few songs, King Ardin stood and said, “We would like to welcome Gwydion ap Don to our hall. Would you play for us this evening?”

  Gwydion stood and bowed. “Certainly, your majesty. I am honored by the request.”