They sounded angry.

Chapter Five.

Winter did not stop the training. Even when conditions were too foul to ride, it was the responsibility of the warriors-in-training to take the horses out to the paddock, turn them loose, clean the stalls, then give their feet a thorough cleaning and put them up again. Normally the grooms did this, but when the horses were confined to the stable, rather than running loose, the stalls fouled that much faster. A horse standing in a fouled stall was in danger of thrush. And a horse with thrush was in danger of having to be put down. As the horsemaster told them all sternly the first time they were set to this task, "Every horse in this stable's worth three of the likes of you, an' ne'er ye forget it." stop the training. Even when conditions were too foul to ride, it was the responsibility of the warriors-in-training to take the horses out to the paddock, turn them loose, clean the stalls, then give their feet a thorough cleaning and put them up again. Normally the grooms did this, but when the horses were confined to the stable, rather than running loose, the stalls fouled that much faster. A horse standing in a fouled stall was in danger of thrush. And a horse with thrush was in danger of having to be put down. As the horsemaster told them all sternly the first time they were set to this task, "Every horse in this stable's worth three of the likes of you, an' ne'er ye forget it."

It was true, too. So foul weather only meant another sort of work with the horses.

As for warrior training . . . well, foul weather meant that some of their "training" involved ax work . . . against the firewood. The trainers had very clever ways of making sure that every stroke accomplished some wood-splitting. Gwen built quite a set of muscles over the winter. And once they could be safely trusted with bows and arrows, they became part of the army of hunters that provided meat for the king's table. And a miss there, against rapidly moving targets, had more serious consequences than a miss at a wand. Gwen learned to appreciate every bite of rabbit pie and to look on goose, duck, venison, and boar with an appreciation she'd never felt before.

After a month of punishment, Little Gwen finally broke down and repented . . . or at least made the motions of repentance. Gwen was expecting some other form of retaliation, but at least where she was concerned, nothing happened. In fact, Little Gwen left her alone for the first time in memory. Perhaps it was nothing more than the fact that from Gwenhwyfach's perspective, Gwen's training regimen was worse than any sort of revenge. It hardly mattered, really; the only time she ever saw her little sister was at meals and bedtime and often not even then. Gwen ate early, rose early and went to bed early, so tired from the physical work that she was dead asleep from the moment she got under the blankets.

But once back in the king's good graces, Little Gwen seemed to be putting most of her effort into becoming his favorite-and to making herself as unlike Gwen as possible. She began walking and talking as daintily as any girl trying to catch the eye of a boy, kept herself fastidiously neat, and for the first time volunteered to do things, as long as they were womanly. The king found this very amusing; as for Eleri, she was too preoccupied with her own matters to pay much attention. And Gwen was just relieved that Little Gwen had finally found something to keep her from plaguing her older sisters.

The winter was not as harsh as everyone had feared, and most took that as a sign that the High King's marriage had had the desired result on the land. Certainly at the Year Turning and Fire Kindling, the Midwinter Solstice, word crept across the kingdoms that the new queen was properly increasing, and that was a good omen indeed.

Someone else was increasing as well, although the queen had kept it to herself until almost February, revealing it only when her women threatened to tell the king themselves. But again, this had little impact on Gwen's life; now one of the warriors-in-training, she was effectively out of Eleri's household.

Strangely enough, now that she spent less time within within the household, she came to know more of her older sisters. In many ways, she saw them now through the eyes of the older boys, hearing things from them she would never have guessed. That made her watch them, pay attention to them, in a way she had not before. the household, she came to know more of her older sisters. In many ways, she saw them now through the eyes of the older boys, hearing things from them she would never have guessed. That made her watch them, pay attention to them, in a way she had not before.

All four of the girls were fair, like their mother. This alone set them apart among most of the darker-haired people her father ruled. And now that she came to think about it . . . it was very possible that Eleri's blood was all, or part, Saxon. But if that was true, no one even whispered it; she was the queen and their Wise One, and those two facts eclipsed any mere question of blood.

Or . . . just maybe . . . there was other blood entirely in her. But if that was the case, no one would even whisper about it.

Gwen and Little Gwen were the fairest of the lot, with Gwen's hair now mostly shorn off, and Little Gwen's waist-length locks being tightly braided every morning by old Bronwyn. Cataruna had more than a flavoring of their father's red hair, but she did not have the high temper to go with it. She also had his square face, where Gwen and Little Gwen had inherited their mother's pointed chin and tiny nose, and Gynath had something in between. Cataruna was usually grave and quiet; Gynath was usually merry, and while not a flirt exactly, had discovered that young men were very interesting a year before her older sister did so.

And both of the older girls fitted into the domestic and busy life of the household as Gwen, increasingly, did not.

She found she did not miss it; she did not wish herself back in skirts nor regret trading the ch.o.r.es she used to do for the harder-in the physical sense-labor of the training and the sort of work the boys were expected to do. Even in the worst weather, cleaning the stable, cleaning out her horse's hooves with bare, freezing hands, chopping wood as she practiced her ax swings, she would not have traded this for sitting and learning the making of clothing, how to weave, spin, and embroider, the lore of herbs (other than those needed for battlefield medicine and horse doctoring), the management of a household. No, not even for learning magic.

She found that last growing less and less attractive with every day that her body strengthened, her skills with weapons sharpened, and her ability to understand her horses deepened. Not that magic revolted her, far from it-but where once she had longed to see herself in the rites, taking the part of the Maiden in the Circle beside her mother, learning to control and use the Power . . . now that grew distant. Just as she could look at Little Gwen playing with a lapful of poppets and feel not even a twinge of envy, now she would watch her mother beckon Cataruna off into a conversation with the other Wise Women and no longer even wonder for very long what they were talking about.

Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps it was being around so much Cold Iron in the form of the swords and axes had blunted her need for magic. Perhaps it had even driven the magic from her.

Or perhaps Braith was right, and she never really was suited for that sort of magic in the first place.

And on the Midwinter Solstice, that change in her position was solidified, when she celebrated the night with the other young would-be warriors and not among the women. She thought her mother looked obscurely disappointed, but the queen had two other daughters both of an age to go to the Ladies. Three, if you counted Little Gwen.

And after Midwinter Solstice, Cataruna's demeanor toward Gwen changed.

Mostly, the eldest of the siblings had ignored Gwen, which was fine. They weren't even close in age, after all. Even before Gwen had gone to the squires, they hadn't had much in common. But now, as if the Solstice had signaled some change in Cataruna's mind, she began to do small kindnesses for her sister. When Gwen came in with half-frozen hands, Cataruna would beckon her over to a pot of warmed water to thaw them. When she went to bed, far earlier than anyone else, all worn out with the work, she found that Cataruna had put a fire-warmed stone in her place. When it was her turn to serve at table, Cataruna saw to it that her portion was kept warm at the fire and kept Little Gwen's greedy fingers off it. Some might have been by Eleri's orders, but not all of it. Gwen found herself exchanging grateful and slightly conspiratorial smiles with her eldest sister, and she got them in return. Cataruna's square face seemed unaccountably happier this winter than Gwen had ever seen it before. Whatever was the reason for it, it made Gwen unaccountably happy too.

While the days lengthened again, and winter lost its grip on the countryside, Gwen found herself outstripping the group of youngsters she'd started with. Not drastically, but enough that by Gwyl Canol Gwenwynol, the Spring Equinox, she was given her second horse.

All warriors had more than one horse. Charioteers needed two, of course, but riders had more than one as well. If your horse was lamed, or killed, or ill, you couldn't count on one of the chariot drivers to be able to take you to the battlefield. The chariot was already considered by some old-fashioned, although Gwen's father used it, and used it well. Many commanders were slowly abandoning it in favor of purely mounted cavalry, following the lead of the High King, who fought Roman fashion. Chariots broke, they needed highly skilled drivers, when accidents occurred they could be terrible and generally involved more than just the driver and his horses. And a single mounted man was always faster than a chariot.

Nevertheless, King Lleudd wanted his cavalry trained in chariot work, and that required two horses. All the more reason for every warrior to have two, or more than two, if he or his lord could afford it. So just before the Equinox, the horsemaster Bran came himself for her and presented her and her mare with the gray stallion that had been one of his two original choices for Gwen.

This time when she called him across the paddock, the mare was at her side. The stallion stepped carefully toward them both and diffidently bowed his head a little at the mare. Adara looked the poor fellow over with thinly veiled arrogance, as was to be expected in a lead mare of the herd, then snorted and perfunctorily touched noses with him. The stallion Dai was to be permitted to partner with Gwen. It was very hard for Gwen to keep a sober face and not laugh out loud at the two of them, but poor Dai had been humiliated once by Adara, and he wasn't going to forget that in a hurry.

So now Gwen would learn chariot driving and the trick of switching from one horse to another when riding. The High King Arthur had made a name for himself with his mounted knights who could move swiftly to any part of the land where trouble was brewing by doing just that-stopping for only the briefest periods, or not at all, by switching from a tiring horse to one that was fresher. Though her father might favor the chariot, he was no fool, and as a good commander he could easily see the advantage this brought him.

This was a well-omened time for her to have such recognition, for along with the rites of the seed blessings, the Spring Equinox was the moment when the young G.o.d of Light took up his weapons for the first time, and slew his rival of Darkness, the young Prince of Spring eliminating the killer of his father, ridding the world of the murderous Winter King. As such, Gwen's father generally called for another feast like the one at the Fall Equinox. It was not yet time for planting-the ground was still too cold, and the frosts still too certain for that-which meant that the men were not yet bound up in the sowing and tending. Lambing time was mostly over, and though calving and foaling time was on them, such were the responsibilities of horsemasters and herdsmen, not the warriors. So it was a good time to take stock of what the winter had taken and trade news and rumors.

The women, of course, and the Druids, all had magic to do. So it was a good time for them to gather also. There were the seed blessings . . . and there were other things.

For this feast, Gwen was not required to do any of the hearth ch.o.r.es, although she did, in fact, pitch in. With the other squires, she went to gather fallen wood in the forest. She gathered cress and the young sprouts of the cattail plants, which were delicious when quickly dunked in boiling water. She caught and cleaned fresh fish. There was, of course, little fresh game at this feast-this was the time of year when birds were about to nest and animals were giving birth, and careful custodian of his lands that the king was, he forbade any springtime hunting except for the very old-and those made for tough eating, and required stewing.

But mostly Gwen did the ch.o.r.es that her warrior band did-endless wood chopping for the cook fires and ovens, the hauling of water, which was regarded by their trainers as yet another fine way to build their strength, building temporary paddocks for the visitors' mounts, and a thorough cleaning out of the stables down to the bare earth, which was then sprinkled with lime to sweeten it before sand was brought in to cover the lime, and straw laid down over that.

The castle underwent a thorough cleaning too, with the winters' rushes hauled out, the stone floor scrubbed, and new rushes brought in, but that was mostly the work of the servants.

And Gwen had learned that for her, at least, the time of the celebration itself was going to mean still more work.

Peder ap Duach, Gwen's chief instructor and one of her father's most trusted captains, called all of his particular charges together just before the first visitors were to arrive. "I've a.s.signments for some of ye," he said, shortly, looking them all over with a stern eye. "And no whinging do I want to be hearing. Not all the king's honored guests will be bringin' their own pages and squires, and that'll be the job ye'll be doin'. 'Tis a great honor to be chosen, an' a great trust. So here now. Here'll be the ones that'll be servin'."

Never in a thousand years would Gwen have thought she'd be picked, but to her astonishment, she heard her name called; she would be serving Hydd ap Kei, Braith's lord.

She didn't question the a.s.signment, however, nor did she complain about being put to work when some of the others were free to enjoy the relative freedom they'd have while the celebrations were afoot. For one thing, it gave her rather a thrill to have been picked over those older than she. For another, well, this was Braith's Braith's liege lord, which meant that she would almost certainly be spending a lot of time in the company of the real warriors and chariot drivers, without needing an excuse to try to hang about. liege lord, which meant that she would almost certainly be spending a lot of time in the company of the real warriors and chariot drivers, without needing an excuse to try to hang about.

So as soon as it was possible to do so, once Hydd had arrived, she presented herself to him as his page. Since the weather was fine, he'd set up a tent, as had many of the lords and captains. She didn't blame them; sleeping conditions in the Great Hall were beyond "crowded." His bodyguard nodded at her and pulled the canvas flap aside for her.

"Lord Hydd, I am to be your page," she said, as the man turned away from something he had been unpacking from a small chest to look at her.

"Peder sent ye?" he asked. She bowed, as was proper, and kept her eyes on her toes, as was also proper. The king's daughter could look boldly into the face of a High Lord and one of the king's favored captains, but a page had to be respectful and show humility. "Then go to the king and give him my compliments, an' ask when he wishes me t' attend him. Bring me back his answer. Is Lord Gwyddian here yet?"

"Aye, milord, I will," she replied immediately. "I don't know about Lord Gwyddian, my lord."

"Then unless the king wants me urgent, go to him and tell him we need to speak about that handfasting at his leisure. Find out about Lord Gwyddian. Then return with the king's word; I'll have more work for ye then."

She bowed again, and ran off at high speed; she suspected sending her to her father was on the order of a test; if she hadn't hadn't been sent by Peder, and was only trying to find a way to lurk about and eavesdrop on the adults, this would uncover the ruse. But of course, she had been; so she'd pa.s.s the test, if test it was. been sent by Peder, and was only trying to find a way to lurk about and eavesdrop on the adults, this would uncover the ruse. But of course, she had been; so she'd pa.s.s the test, if test it was.

Her father returned the compliments, as impa.s.sively as if she had been anyone but his daughter. There was no urgency, he would gladly receive Hydd at supper. Lord Gwyddian was not yet arrived. She ran back as quickly as she could-without arriving in an unseemly, untidy, and panting condition.

Hydd accepted the answers she brought back without comment, and immediately put her to work in truth. Mostly the work involved a lot of fetching and much more message-taking. In fact, by the time darkness fell she was about run off her feet.

Her duties to Hydd should should have included serving at his side at table, but she hadn't yet been trained in that, and with a chuckle he dismissed her. "Go and sup with yer family, little page," he told her, kindly. Near starving, she was nothing loathe to obey him. have included serving at his side at table, but she hadn't yet been trained in that, and with a chuckle he dismissed her. "Go and sup with yer family, little page," he told her, kindly. Near starving, she was nothing loathe to obey him.

She found herself seated between the same two boys as at the Samhain feast, but this time word had mysteriously spread that she was now one of their peers. Instead of ignoring her, they included her in their chatter, and despite the long day, she found herself having a lively conversation with them about tricks they had all learned for managing their horses. Though she was younger than they, she discovered she had great status in their eyes, not because she was the king's daughter but because she was "Braith's girl." And that she could entirely understand. Sometimes the fact that Braith had singled her out made her feel giddy.

She had had learned how to pour, so when the last of the supper was carried away and the tables set to the side, she stood behind Hydd and saw to it that his flagon was never empty. It was ale, not mead, they were drinking tonight; serious drinking would happen later. learned how to pour, so when the last of the supper was carried away and the tables set to the side, she stood behind Hydd and saw to it that his flagon was never empty. It was ale, not mead, they were drinking tonight; serious drinking would happen later.

The talk was of nothing particularly serious; that, too, would wait until the morrow, when all the guests would be here. The only thing that Gwen heard of any interest was that Braith would not be racing tomorrow; the best of Hydd's mares were all in foal (the king looked envious), her team included.

Long before the men were prepared to take to their beds, Gwen and the other pages began to droop. She was willing to hold out as long as she had to, or at least to try, but the king took pity on them all and dismissed them. "My own servants can see our cups stay full," he said with a laugh. "And we'll get no work out of these youngsters tomorrow if they cannot keep awake."

As was usual now, Gwen was the first into the big bed. Now she could could have claimed the choice spot in the center, but she kept to her old place instead. This endeared her to her older sisters, who in their turn saw to it that Gwenhwyfach got not so much as a hope of interfering with her. Little Gwen might have outwardly reformed, but it was clear that Cataruna and Gynath were not convinced of her sincerity, have claimed the choice spot in the center, but she kept to her old place instead. This endeared her to her older sisters, who in their turn saw to it that Gwenhwyfach got not so much as a hope of interfering with her. Little Gwen might have outwardly reformed, but it was clear that Cataruna and Gynath were not convinced of her sincerity, Nor was Gwen, but since her return to the king's good graces, Little Gwen seemed to have wormed her way back into the position of "indulged baby." Gwen didn't much care, given that she had had everything she could ever have wanted, but the two older girls were not so happy about it. everything she could ever have wanted, but the two older girls were not so happy about it.

And in fact, they woke her up when the three of them came to bed, arguing about it.

". . . Father thinks it's amusing," Gynath was saying, the disapproval so thick in her tone that it surprised Gwen into complete wakefulness. "But it's a disgrace. You shame all of us, acting like that. You're too young to be putting on such a show and old enough to know better."

"But Father likes it," Little Gwen said insolently. "So you you have nothing to say about it! I'm his favorite, and I can do what I want! You heard him!" have nothing to say about it! I'm his favorite, and I can do what I want! You heard him!"

"We heard him," Cataruna said darkly, then laughed. "But you won't be his favorite for much longer, you wicked little changeling. You just wait till harvest. Ha!"

"Why?" Little Gwen's tone was suspicious.

"I'm not going to tell you!" Cataruna taunted. "Because you are so full of yourself that you haven't paid any attention to what's going on right under your nose!"

"Tell me!" Little Gwen demanded. "Tell!"

"Oh, tell her before they hear her out in the Hall and we all get in trouble," Gynath interrupted, crossly. "Oh-never mind. Brat, by the time harvest comes around, Mother will have had a baby, and it's going to be a boy. Which means not only will you not be the youngest anymore, Father won't care a straw about what you want. Not when he has a prince to fuss over. So there! Chew on that a while, and enjoy yourself while you can, because by this time next year you'll be lucky if he even notices you!"

The bed creaked and moved as the two eldest girls got in.

"You're lying!" Little Gwen finally burst out. "I don't believe you!"

"And I don't care. We're going to sleep. You can stand there all night stamping your foot if you want, it's not going to change the truth." The bed bounced and shook a little more as both of the older girls turned their backs on the youngest. Little Gwen stood there for several moments longer, before finally coming to bed herself. But she said nothing, so Gwen fell quickly asleep.

In the morning she was the first awake, and none of the other three even stirred as she slipped out of bed. They must have come to bed much later than she had supposed, and far past their usual bedtime. Could that have been the cause of the quarrel? Or had it been something else?

Well it hardly mattered. Gwen had work to do.

The first thing was to make sure her horses were properly tended for the day. The grooms would ordinarily take care of that, but they would have their hands full with all of the visitors' horses. So Gwen got into her older clothing first and went out to make sure they were fed, watered, groomed, and turned out for the day. Then she returned to the castle, changed into her good clothing, ate quickly, and went to present herself to Lord Hydd.

She spent the rest of the day in a state between anxiety and bliss. Anxiety because she was terrified lest she do something wrong and disgrace herself, or worse, her trainers and her father. Bliss because of the company she was in and all the things she was hearing. She didn't understand more than a quarter of it, as the talk ranged from politics to horse breeding, but she tried to consign as much of it to memory as possible.

Again, at dinner and again at supper, Lord Hydd sent her to sup at the High Table with her family rather than waiting on him. She had a.s.sumed that tonight, the night when the women would gather to work the magic that would bless the seeds and the soil, she would be expected to serve as cup bearer. But no, once the remains of supper were cleared away, all the pages were dismissed as her father and his chief lords took themselves to the solar and closeted themselves away from any and all ears, including those of the pages.

Full of nervous energy, for she had keyed herself up to see the night through and not get sent to her bed like a sleepy baby, she was at a loss as to what to do with herself. This not being a great festival like Midsummer or even Beltane, and not being a feast of plenty like the Autumn Equinox, there were no bards, nor even itinerant musicians, only those among her father's men and the villagers who could play a few tunes. That was good enough for dancing, but she had no interest in dancing. Some of her own lot of young warriors were taking advantage of the absence of their elders to dip as heavily into the ale and mead as they could; that held no appeal for her either. Cataruna and Gynath were each enjoying the attentions of several boys, an activity that seemed a pointless waste of time.

Then it occurred to her.

She could spy on the rites.

It wasn't precisely forbidden; she wouldn't have dared such a thought if there was any chance that the G.o.ds would take offense at her curiosity-so why not? In a few years she would be old enough to partic.i.p.ate anyway, so what was the harm? Even if you weren't one of the Wise Women, there was always a place in the Circle for you.

It certainly wasn't going to be difficult to find them. All rites were held at the stone circle not far from the thicket where she had seen the bear and serpent fight.

She took a quick glance around the hall, and saw no one-no adult at any rate-who was paying much attention to what the youngsters were doing. She got up and walked out as if she had some errand she had been sent on.

No one stopped or questioned her, and once she got out past the tents and the fires, she made a sharp turn towards the stone circle. Once away from the fires, she looked back to make sure she was not being followed, waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then carried on. With all the people about, she was not concerned with wild beasts; all the noise had probably frightened most of them into hiding, and the rest would be very cautious.

She saw the light of the fires within the circle reflecting up on the stones long before she caught sight of the figures within the circle or heard their voices. She knew where there would be a good vantage point, and as silently as a stalking fox, she slipped into it. Her heart raced with excitement; she had never seen any of the rites before, and she was hoping that there would be real magic.

Somewhat to her surprise, for she had thought that only women were permitted at the rites, she saw that there were two men and a boy within the circle. One of the men was cloaked and hooded, and stood well back from the rest. The others seemed to be a bard and his apprentice. The bard was speaking as she moved into place, and she held her breath to listen to him, when her mother answered him, but in a voice full of Power.

Now, she had heard the tale of Gwydion and Arianrhod, of Lleu and of Goronwy, often enough to know within hearing a few words that this was what they were playing out, with Eleri taking the part of Arianrhod and these men the other parts. But then something happened- The world about her shifted.

She felt incredibly dizzy, hot and cold at the same time, as if she had struck her head in a fall. Everything blurred for a moment.

It was no longer night, but broad day. And she was not on her father's lands near the stone circle; she was on the top of a bluff that fell off abruptly to end in the sea. At least, she thought it was the sea, though she had never seen it herself; there was water to the horizon, an unfamiliar tangy scent in the air, and a roaring sound from the waves coming to sh.o.r.e below her. On top of the bluff was a castle easily five times bigger than Castell y Cnwclas; maybe ten times, it was so big she couldn't rightly judge. And the woman standing before the castle was so beautiful she took Gwen's breath away.

Her hair was a ruddy gold and fell to her feet; her eyes were bluer than the sky, and her face was terrifying in its perfection. She wore a rich gown of some shining, red stuff that Gwen couldn't identify; there was silver at her wrists and her throat, a silver chain served her as a belt, and she wore a silver filet in her air.

Before her was a man as like to her as could be; vaguely Gwen realized that if this was Arianrhod, then he must be Gwydion, her brother. With him was a boy, hovering on the edge of manhood. Both the boy and Gwydion were clothed in rough, churlish clothing with the leather ap.r.o.ns of cobblers.

Arianrhod was angry; but more than angry, she was near tears. And no wonder. This boy was her son, and his birth had been the cause of her shame, for she had been thus exposed by the magic of Math, Gwydion's king, to all as being no longer virgin. It was Gwydion who was the cause of that, so small wonder she was angry at him and angry at his bringing before her the boy, who had until this moment been nameless and whom she had repudiated, abandoned, and denied. "He shall get no name unless he gets it from my own lips, and that will never be!" she had told her brother.

And now he had tricked her again. She had called him "the bright and clever handed," which served very well as a name, so now he was Lleu Llaw Gyffes.

She had just at this moment seen through the deception. "Oh, perfidy!" she cried, and Gwen could see how hard it was for her not to cry. She was so angry with her brother for raising this child, for presenting the source of her shame to her, that she could scarcely form the words. "You have tricked me twice, but there shall come no third time, and this your protege shall never be a man." man." She all but spat the word. "Hear my will on this! You have got him a name by trickery, but he shall never bear arms unless I give them to him with my own hands! Now go! And find him a fit place among the churls or the women!" She all but spat the word. "Hear my will on this! You have got him a name by trickery, but he shall never bear arms unless I give them to him with my own hands! Now go! And find him a fit place among the churls or the women!"

A darkness pa.s.sed over the scene as Gwen shuddered at the misery in Arianrhod's voice. She sensed how deeply wounded the G.o.ddess was, how it wounded her that this beautiful boy, whom she would gladly have cherished, was the cause of the worst experience of her life. And when the darkness faded into light, the scene remained the same, but it was clear some time had pa.s.sed. Two bards, an old, old man and his apprentice, approached the castle and were welcomed inside. Somehow Gwen found herself in the Great Hall with them, as if she were some sort of bodiless spirit. And while part of her knew that the bard and his companion were, in fact, Gwydion and Lleu in disguise, she she could not see it and, clearly, neither could Arianrhod. could not see it and, clearly, neither could Arianrhod.

Gwydion was a famous bard in actuality, something that his sister seemed to have forgotten as he regaled her and her court of mostly women with song and story. But behind the storytelling, there was magic afoot; Gwen felt the Power stirring, could almost see it as Gwydion wove it into the tales of battle and tragedy that he chanted. She felt the Power stretching the very fabric of the air tight, as a drumhead was stretched tight, until at last it took shape from those very same tales just as Gwydion had intended.

The roar of an a.s.saulting army shook the walls of the castle; startled into panic, Arianrhod and her women screamed in fear-as well they might considering how few men were in Arianrhod's retinue. In terror, Arianrhod turned to the "bard," who could be expected to have some idea who might be attacking her all unprovoked and who might well have some strong magic to defend his hostess. "I have given you my hearth and bread!" she cried. "I beg you, help me!"

Gwydion had only been waiting for this, and he thrust Lleu toward the queen. "This fellow is a doughty fighter," he said, "Worth ten of any normal man. Arm him, my lady, and I will strive to make magic in your aid."

Arianrhod called for a sword and armor to be brought, and with her own hands buckled sword and scabbard onto Lleu. In that moment, the clamor from outside ceased, and the seeming dropped from both Lleu and Gwydion, and Arianrhod's fear turned to fury.

"Three times tricked!" she spat. "But this, I swear, will pay for all. Never, Never, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, will you have lover or leman or wife that is a mortal woman! Enjoy that sword you got of me, for that is all the bedfellow you shall ever have!" Lleu Llaw Gyffes, will you have lover or leman or wife that is a mortal woman! Enjoy that sword you got of me, for that is all the bedfellow you shall ever have!"

But Lleu did not care, for now, at last, he had the arms he needed to slay the man who had tried to slay him. His face was alight with a fierce exaltation, so that it outshone the sun, and his eyes burned so brightly that for a moment, Gwen was blinded.

When her sight came back, the scene had changed. A dark but handsome man cowered before Lleu, the treacherous Goronwy, who had plotted with Lleu's faithless wife to slay him.

But now it was Goronwy's turn to be slain. Standing where Lleu had stood, he pleaded for his life. "I have no magic to protect me as you did!" he was begging, as Gwen took in the scene. "Let me at least have a paving stone between us!"

Lleu laughed. "Never let it be said that I was less than fair!" he replied mockingly. "You may have your stone."

Desperately Goronwy pulled up a flat stone and huddled behind it, as if behind a shield. And Lleu stretched his arm back- As the sun stretches his strength come the Year Turning- And flung his spear with all his strength- As the warming spring is flung against the cold and weakening winter- -and the spear hit the flagstone so hard that it pierced straight through and killed Goronwy in the instant.

Lleu's shout of triumph shattered the world into a thousand, thousand bright splinters.

And with that, Gwen fell back into herself and found herself once again hiding in the shadows of three ma.s.sive oak trees, watching the rite take place within the circle of standing stones.