The Curses of Arianrhod (A Bard Without a Star Book 4) Page 6
He stepped up to the dais and began tuning his harp. He used the individual notes to feel out the magic in the hall, and did not miss the wizards huddling together. When he began playing, the most junior wizard, Aldic, began muttering to himself. Gwydion felt a breath of magic pushing against him, but it didn't even disturb the illusions that he spun in the smoky air. Aldic shook his head, and said something to the wizard next to him, who began trying his best to disrupt Gwydion. He failed as well.
It went from wizard to wizard, each trying their best, but none of their efforts disturbed Gwydion in the least. It reminded him of when he joined the wolf pack when he was learning shapeshifting, where each wolf tested him to see where he fit into the hierarchy. But unlike then, with the wizards he felt both wonder at their lack of skill, and a certain disdain for their arrogance. He didn’t know what might happen if Etherton could not beat him, but he wanted to find out.
Soon the only wizards who hadn’t tried were Gaftonius and Etherton. Gaftonius pulled a book from out of his robes and flipped through it, while Etherton looked on. The High Wizard put his finger on a page, and Gaftonius smiled. He began chanting, and for a moment, the smoky dragon traipsing through the hall wavered, but then it steadied and continued. Gwydion looked to Etherton, but the High wizard just smiled at him.
Gwydion ended his song, and King Ardin praised his skill in both music and magic. He bowed, and returned to the wizards table while a different harpist took the stool. Etherton said, “Well, I think you did a fine job fending off our little efforts. We should have some robes for you soon, although we need to see how you fare against the Caledonii before you can really wear them.”
“And when might that happen?”
“Oh, not until spring, I'd guess,” Etherton said. “For now, though, you may take your place as the most junior of our ranks, and join us in defending the kingdom.”
“Thank you,” Gwydion said. “I will do my best to serve the King.” He kept his face impassive, and his tone respectful, but inside, he knew that they had expected to humiliate him in front of everyone, and that the only reason that Etherton didn’t try was because he wasn’t sure he would have been any more successful than the others. The fact that the High Wizard had then placed him under all the others just irritated Gwydion further. He sighed and turned to look for Llews, who seemed to be having fun with his new friends. It made him smile and helped improve his mood.
Etherton summoned him the next morning. “You didn’t tell me your son was cursed,” he said accusingly.
“It didn’t seem to be any of your business,” Gwydion answered.
“All things magical are my business,” the High Wizard snapped. “Now, tell me: who did this thing, and how are you handling it?”
“His mother cursed him, and I intend to trick her into undoing it. I just haven’t come up with a plan yet.”
Etherton narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure I trust you, Gwydion ap Don,” he said. “You are entirely too full of yourself.”
Gwydion stared at him for just a moment, then bowed low and said, “I apologize, High Wizard. I will try to remember my place.”
“See that you do,” Etherton said. “Dismissed.”
Gwydion kept his head down and his eyes averted as he left, not sure if Etherton was fooled by his display of humility, but unconcerned as long as he was left alone. He would do what it took to keep himself and his son safe, including acting subservient to the other wizards.
As the weeks progressed, with the weather becoming cold and damp, Gwydion found it hard to keep his patience. The other wizards gave him small tasks that didn’t really require magic, like entertaining a visiting lord, helping to strengthen one of the outer walls, or shortening the brewing time on a vat of beer. Gwydion did everything they asked without complaining, and only used magic when he needed to. The other wizards, however, used their magic constantly, muttering spells to get a pitcher of beer from across the table, or to open a spell book. It made Gwydion shake his head and wonder at the manner of men he had fallen in with.
But he also spent as little time as possible with the other wizards. He preferred spending time with his son, and occasionally with Garth, who had joined the king’s guards, where his experience and talent were valued. The other soldiers treated him with professional courtesy, and it helped counter the irritation he felt with the wizards.
One night in the great hall, after the food had been cleared, but before anyone had been asked to play, a strange song filled the air. No one could tell where it came from, but Gwydion started yawning, and saw it mirrored all over the hall. He quickly got up and ran to Llews, grabbing him away from his friends and throwing up two shields, one to keep things out, and one to keep Llews in. Gwydion felt his eyes closing, but could see that he was one of the last still awake. Outside he heard an explosion. Then he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
He awoke still holding Llews tightly, and he almost wept with relief. Others were stirring all around, but he heard yelling from outside the hall, and pounding on the doors. Someone pulled them open, and Gwydion recognized Garth and several other soldiers, yelling something about a fire. A score of men including him and Llews rushed outside to find the smithy in flames. Everyone grabbed buckets and formed a line from the nearest well, throwing water on the fire until it finally sputtered out.
King Ardin appeared in the courtyard. “What happened here?” he bellowed.
A ranking officer ran up and saluted. “The music last night put everyone asleep, sire,” he said. “When we awoke we found the fire—and a hole in the wall behind it.”
“A hole?” Ardin said.
“Like a giant has hit it,” the soldier said.
The king blanched. “I see,” he said
The officer looked uncomfortable. “There's more, sire.”
“More?”
“It's a message, sire, in a language that none of us can read.”
Ardin looked around and saw Gwydion. “Get the wizards out here,” he said. “I want to know what's going on.”
Soon the twelve men in starred robes and Gwydion stood looking at the words, written in bright red beside the gaping hole. Several books were produced, scanned, and argued about, and then several spells were recited. King Ardin watched it all with a deepening scowl. “Well?” he demanded.
“It's nothing that we can decipher, sire,” Etherton said.
“Nobody has asked Gwydion,” the king said.
“This is true,” Etherton said. “Well, Gwydion? Do you understand these strange words?”
“No,” Gwydion answered, but Etherton's smug look turned to anger when Gwydion added, “But I do know how to find out.”
“He is boasting, sire,” Etherton said. “None of the rest of us could figure it out, and we consulted the finest spell books in the kingdom.”
Ardin waved him aside. “Show me what you can do, Gwydion,”
Gwydion bowed and pulled his harp around. He began playing, knowing instinctively that the message was meant to be read and understood. Whoever had written it had left the keys to its translation, and Gwydion felt them respond to the sub-harmonies of his song. The red letters began writhing like snakes, rearranging themselves into legible characters.
“You have offended, and you shall pay the price until restitution is made,” King Ardin read. “What does it mean?”
“If I might be so bold, your majesty—”Etherton began.
Ardin cut him off with a glance and said, “Well, Gwydion? What do you think?”
Gwydion shrugged. “You’ve upset someone powerful. And he means to extract what he feels is his due.”
Ardin nodded. “That’s what I think. Can you help defend us?”
“I will do my best,” Gwydion said. “From what I felt last night, though, it will not be easy. Whoever attacked us possesses powerful magic.”
“As do we,” Ardin said. “Etherton, I want you and the other wizards to do what you can as well. I don't want this to happen again.”
“He hates you for what you just did,” Llews said.
Gwydion nodded. “But it’s not how he feels,” he said. “It’s how he acts that matters.”
“I think he’ll fight you more than whoever did all this,” Llews said.
Garth, coming up beside them, said, “He’s right, you know. I’ve heard from the other soldiers about how vain and petty Etherton can be, and you just cut him to the quick.”
“That may be true,” Gwydion replied. “But we’ll wait and see what happens.”
Later that day, King Ardin summoned Gwydion to the throne room. “I have been thinking,” he announced without preamble, “that you are too familiar with the magics involved with the attack last night. I am concerned that you may be involved, whether as a willing participant or somehow against your will.”
Gwydion said, “I assure you that I have no knowledge of who or what attacked the castle.”
“You say that, but several people saw you run to your son as soon as the music started, and the other wizards say you used magic to protect him.”
“I could tell that the music was magical,” Gwydion said. “As soon as I felt it dragging me into sleep, all I could do was protect my boy. I lost him once while under the influence of a sleep spell, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.”
“Ah yes,” King Ardin said. “Your son. Etherton tells me has been cursed.”
“Yes,” Gwydion said, unsure of where the conversation was going.
“I’m wondering if whoever cursed him might not be the one attacking us.”
“I assure you, she isn’t.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” King Ardin said. “But perhaps you being here, helping our enemy, is the price you must pay to have the curse removed.”
“What are you saying?”
The king gestured, and two soldiers came in, with Llews between them in chains. “I’m not a wizard,” Ardin said, “but I can use your son as leverage as well.”
“You go too far,” Gwydion said, his hands balling into fists.
“I don’t think so,” Ardin said. “Defeat who or whatever is attacking me, and I will return your son unharmed. But let a single stone of my caer be harmed, and I will kill him.”
Gwydion looked at Llews, and saw his son standing defiantly, looking suddenly less like a boy and more like a man. He knew that Llews would fight if he could, and momentarily calculated his own chances against the entire kingdom of the Ventii. He counted a score of soldiers, including Garth, who caught his eye and nodded. But he also saw all twelve wizards watching him. All were muttering spells except for Etherton and Graftonius, who just watched him smugly. Gwydion let his hands relax and said, “Very well. I will do as you wish, sire, for the life of my son.”
“Excellent,” Ardin said. “Do not fail us.”
Gwydion thought of making some grand exit, but he simply nodded at Llews, then turned on his heel and walked unchallenged out of the hall. People in the courtyard scrambled to get out of his way, and he felt like his hair was standing on end from all the rage he was trying to contain. He knew Etherton had a lot to do with the King’s sudden change of tactics, which would not save either of them if Llews came to any harm.
Outside the gates, he looked at the sky, noting that it was still several hours until sunset. He began pacing along the wall, building layers of shields and traps, making sure that he had the entire caer protected without any holes except one at the gates, where he intended to meet the mysterious foe. As the sun neared the horizon, he turned his attention to those within the caer, and shielded himself from any magic that the High Wizard might try to send his way, whether good or bad. He didn’t trust the wizards to help him, and he didn’t trust their skills if they did.
With the caer sealed inside and out, he sat down and leaned against the sun warmed wall. The caer sat high enough that he could see a good distance out across the fields and duns that surrounded it, and the sea sparkled in the sunset to his right. Everything seemed peaceful and calm, and Gwydion wondered if there would be an attack, or if the mysterious enemy would hold off for a few days. He let his eyes close as the sky went from purple to black, trusting his magic to wake him.
Gwydion woke with a start, hearing the soft notes of a harp, but not seeing where they came from. As he strained to focus on anything in the dark, he saw motion out of the corner of his eye, like a will-o-the-wisp, but it took a few more minutes to see the harpist.
Tall and regal, he carried a harp made of white fish bones and golden strings, and wore a cloak the color of moonlit waves. He did not seem to walk so much as glide over the ground, an unnatural movement that just reinforced the aura of magic that surrounded him. Gwydion stood up silently and unnoticed, watching as the stranger approached.
He stopped at the gates of the caer and looked up at the walls. The guards had spotted him and began yelling, and archers appeared all along the parapets. The harpist frowned, and he changed his song; Gwydion felt the wave of magic as it spread, and felt it bounce back from the shields he had set. The archers unleashed a volley of arrows at the strange harpist, but he brushed them aside like gnats.
Gwydion stepped in between the gates and the harpist. The man looked momentarily confused, but the sight of Gwydion’s harp made him smile. “So,” he said in an odd accent, “King Ardin has found a wizard worth his salt.”
Gwydion bowed at the compliment, and said, “My name is Gwydion ap Don, and the King has sent me to stop your attack.”
The man bowed back. “I am Lord Gilantra, master of Loch Ermell, which the king has claimed for himself. He should know better than to try and claim an Atlan kingdom for his own, but that alone might be easily ignored. But the garbage and sewage that he is dumping into my waters is not. I demand compensation, and I will visit destruction upon him until I get it.”
“You will not,” Gwydion said.
The harpist drew himself up and looked down his nose. “Puny human,” he said. “Do you really think that you can do more than deflect a few simple sleep spells?”
“Yes I do,” Gwydion said.
“Then tonight, your destruction will suffice,” Gilantra said. He changed his song, and Gwydion felt the rush of magic aimed at him. He tried to stop it, but he could not find the right counter melody before he was paralyzed from the neck down. He still held his harp, but could not move his fingers. He watched as Gilantra came closer.
“See how easy that was?” the Atlan lord said. “You had no defense, and now you stand here, helpless, waiting for my song to stop your heart.”
“I think you’re overconfident, my lord,” Gwydion replied.
Gilantra laughed. “And you are as pathetic as all your kind, still struggling when you have clearly lost. Even the mindless fish are more noble than you.”
Gwydion felt the Cymiric power building inside, and just smiled. “Are you always this stupid?”
Gilantra backhanded him, knocking him onto his back. “No one speaks to me like that,” he said. “For your insolence, I think I will not content myself with just your death tonight, but instead will reduce this entire caer to rubble.”
Gwydion found the weak point in the spell holding him, and broke it. He stood up, dusted himself off, and said, “I really despise arrogant bastards.”
Gilantra backed up a step. “Impossible.”
“I know,” Gwydion said. “And now I will tell you my demands: leave this caer, and all the Ventii alone, or I will hunt you down and force you to pay tribute for the honor of having their garbage rain down upon your head.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Gwydion nodded. “Then let us put our claims to the test.” He began playing, and Gilantra flew backwards, landing on his back.
He stood up, snarled a curse, and began playing his harp. The clash of powers sent sparks high into the ai
r, and the soldiers on the wall ducked repeatedly. Gwydion played a quick tune that kept his shields strong against the magic thrown at him, while allowing him to slip out his own barbs. He only sought to contain, but could feel Gilantra using magic that would obliterate him if it touched him.
Like he did with Black Annis, he began pushing his shields forward. Gilantra sent a huge surge of magic, looking like a bright green spear, hurtling into the weakest point in Gwydion’s defenses, but it only exploded into a fireball that shot into the night sky and lit the countryside. Gilantra’s expression changed from fury to fear, and he began backing away. Gwydion followed him, sending more and more tendrils to try and trap the Atlan, but he slipped through them like an eel. Finally he broke off completely, turned into an osprey, and flew away as fast as he could.
Gwydion shifted to raven form and streaked after him. Gilantra swerved and ducked, weaving through trees and fields, but could not lose his pursuer. He gave a great cry of frustration and turned south, heading towards a large lake. Gwydion was not surprised when he dove into the water, and he quickly transformed into a salmon and followed him.
Gilantra had become a pike, swimming down into the dark depths. Gwydion kept up, snapping at his tail. The bottom of the lake came into view, punctuated with a mound that reminded Gwydion of the Faerie mounds in Glencairck. As they got closer, the side of the mound split open, flooding the area with bright white light that momentarily blinded Gwydion and allowed Gilantra to shoot ahead. As soon as he crossed into the mound, it began to close, and Gwydion barely made it through before it closed with a boom.
He found himself in a dry cavern, and quickly became a man again. He knew he was no longer in Bangreen, but it did not feel familiar to him in any way. The light remained, coming from all around, and the area inside the mound felt larger than it had looked from outside. The ground sloped down into a bowl, at the bottom of which sat a small palace. It only took a moment to take it all in before he was chasing after Gilantra, who was headed for the palace gates, yelling for his warriors.