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Cade
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“WHO IS HE?” THE WHISPERED voices from the men around me echo in my ears as I sit hunched on a log next to a fire. Beside me sits Rhun, gnawing on a hunk of mutton.
“They’re talking about you,” Rhun says.
“Let them talk,” I say. “They saw me fight.”
“You won the battle nearly single-handed,” Rhun says. “I barely had to lift a sword.”
“I’m learning how to be,” I say. “How to live again.”
“That you are,” Rhun agrees. “That you are.”
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CADE SUPPRESSED A MOAN. Of all the ironies of his affliction, one of the greatest was that he might not feel heat or cold; he might not breathe or have a heart that beat; he might be dead, but inexplicably, he still had a sense of touch and still felt pain. It was pain that Cade felt as the dream-that-was-not-a-dream faded and his surroundings came into focus. He shifted uncomfortably and his head lolled on the hard slats at his back. He was a prisoner.
Idiot! He cursed under his breath, acknowledging that the winter rains had made him complacent and lulled him into forgetting the basic principles of his life. He’d been hunting Saxons in the woods and then walked along the road away from the Rhiw, looking for Cadfan. The day had turned bright within the hour, with the mists of the early morning burning off and leaving the sun brighter than any time since he and Rhiann had escaped from Aberffraw.
He’d known he was weak, but hadn’t taken any precautions, nor turned back to his men who could have protected him. The men who held him now had snuck up on him—Cade, the sidhe who could sense a human at twenty paces and cover that distance in the blink of an eye—and coshed him on the back of the head.
His captors had thrown a blanket over him, covering his body from head to toe. The wool was rough and smelled of horse. It rubbed against his cheek and through it he could feel the sun shining down on him. He checked his inner time sense but didn’t have an awareness of how long he’d lain in the cart, only that he was weaker than he liked to be. It was too close to noon. He longed to feel the heat from the sun on his face, but the physical cost was simply too high.
Cade contemplated escape and then immediately dismissed the thought. Later. He wanted to know where they were taking him and who his enemy was. The cart rocked along a trail; it could even be the same one he’d been walking on in search of Cadfan, although Cade couldn’t be sure of anything at this juncture. Cade sniffed the air, filtering out the smell of horse and the other scents of the natural world. His guards, at least, were human. Unlike the Saxons he’d killed in the woods, however, they were neither drunk, nor injured, nor negligent of their duties.
A boot prodded his thigh. “He’s moving,” a voice said.
“At least he’s not dead,” another replied.
That perked Cade up considerably. Not only were his captors not Saxon, but they hadn’t felt for a pulse or tried to listen for his breath. They didn’t know he was sidhe or the favor they’d done him by covering him up.
“He’s going to wish he was before too long,” a third voice said. “We’re almost there.”
Sure enough, the wagon made a sharp turn and tipped upward as it continued rolling forward. He imagined the ascent to Dinas Emrys or Dinas Bran, the latter fort sitting nearly a thousand feet above the valley floor. Where they were going turned out not to be as steeply protected, however, because the sun had hardly moved in the sky before the cart was running on stones instead of dirt. It came to a halt in shadow.
One of his captors ripped the blanket off Cade and he opened his eyes, blinking against the light to clear them as best he could. Without waiting for him to orient himself, an enormous man grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder such that Cade’s head hung down the man’s back. Cade wasn’t gagged, which meant his captors weren’t afraid of him making noise and calling for help. Llanllugan had been an isolated spot. Cade guessed that his new location was even more so.
After bouncing up and down for twenty paces, some of which were across an open courtyard, the man entered a hall. It was built in stone, paved with flagstones (which were all Cade could see from his position), each four feet square.
“Set him down,” a voice said.
The man who’d carried Cade did as the voice bid him. As Cade’s feet were still tied, he shuffled awkwardly around to face the voice.
The man in front of him was tall, dark, and handsome, or so the ladies of Bryn y Castell had thought when he’d come to visit Cade’s family. Cade had never understood the appeal, but then, Cade’s concern had always been the man’s ambition—and his mean streak. “Teregad.” It was Cade’s cousin who should be miles away in Caer Dathyl.
“Cousin Cadwaladr.” Teregad spread his arms wide in a welcoming manner. “I am so very glad to see you.”
Cade choked on a ill-humored laugh and looked away, not deigning to justify Teregad’s greeting with a response. Instead, he absorbed the room in which they stood. It was magnificent. Above Teregad’s head an archway soared, fifty feet high. Tapestries, weapons of every kind, and amazingly, bookshelves, lined the walls around the cavernous space. A darkened doorway lay at the far end of the hall, and at least three other similar doorways in the sides of the hall also led from the room.
Cade took it all in. In addition to the dozens of books—not even the chapel at Dinas Bran where Joseph of Arimithea had left the cup of Christ had more than four—there was an enormous shield, a set of clothing that looked as if it was made entirely of metal, a chest-high rock, into which a sword was plunged all the way to the hilt, and an entire ship, upon which was raised a standard with ram’s horns worked in gold. There was more, even, but Teregad called Cade’s attention back to him.
“Cadwaladr, son of the Pendragon,” he said. “Welcome to Caer Ddu.”
Deliberately insulting him, Cade took one more look around the room before bringing his attention back to Teregad’s face. “The Black Fort?” Cade said. “I’ve not heard of it.”
Teregad sniffed. “Most haven’t. Some would even swear it doesn’t exist.” He smiled. “Obviously, I don’t concur.”
“Why am I here, Teregad?”
The smile stayed fixed on his face. “Perhaps a look at my newest project will enlighten you. Come this way.” He turned and walked towards an archway behind him that led to another room.
Cade didn’t move.
Teregad looked back at Cade and raised his eyebrows, now openly laughing. “Of course.” He nodded to a man behind Cade. “See to those cords.”
A guard crouched behind Cade. With a few jerks of a knife between Cade’s ankles, his legs came free. Cade stayed where he was and waved his hands at the guard. The man grunted and made to saw at the bonds that held them too, but Teregad intervened.
“Tut,” he said. “We don’t quite trust you that far.”
Cade shrugged. “I had to try.”
“And I respect you for it,” Teregad said. “Come.” He turned back to the doorway and Cade followed him through it.
This was a smaller room, more of an office, although the ceilings still soared twenty feet above their heads. A long table rested against one wall along with more bookshelves with books stacked in them. The floor, like the one in the great hall, was comprised of many colored flagstones, and tapestries lined the walls here too. A different kind of decoration adorned the space above the large fireplace, however. Cadfael, King of Gwynedd, was tacked there, spread-eagled and very dead.
“A gift for you,” Teregad said.
“For me?” Cade said. “How is this for me?”
Teregad’s brow furrowed. “Is he not your enemy? The hated usurper who killed your father and married your mother?”
Cade studied Cadfael. How was he going to tell Rhiann what had happened to her father? A peg held each of Cadfael’s wrists and ankles to the wall, and a collar circled his neck, attached to the ceiling by a chain. His eyes were missing. It looked to Cade that Cadfael had died most painfully. Cade had wanted revenge against him for the murder of his father and Cynyr. But it took a particularly strong strain of cruelty to perpetrate what Teregad had done to Cadfael and a Herculean effort to get him into that position.
“Where were you when his soldiers attacked me and killed Cynyr and all of our men?” Cade said.
Teregad grimaced. “I assure you, Cadfael acted on his own behalf in that endeavor. I didn’t know of it until you’d escaped. Well done, by the way.”
Cade nodded, accepting the accolade, although still completely in the dark as to why Teregad was giving it. “Why am I here?” Cade said again. He tipped his head towards Cadfael’s corpse. “This is a payment in advance, is it, for something you want from me?”
“Oh no,” Teregad waved his hand dismissively. “I couldn’t countenance his independence. This,” he gestured toward the wall behind him, “had to be done.”
Cade observed Teregad, silent. He’d not spent any time with Teregad as a child, of course, since his mother had hidden him so effectively from everyone who would know his true name. When Cade was fourteen, however, Cynyr had felt that it was time he began interacting with his peers, including Iaen’s sons from Caer Dathyl. Cynyr had invited Lord Iaen to visit Bryn y Castell.
He’d come, bringing three of his sons with him. Teregad was of an age with Rhun while Cade had been paired with Siawn. Crawdawg was two years younger than they were and they’d mocked him for it. Siawn, Cade had liked. He was taller than Cade then, as Cade’s growth had come later, and ate more than anyone Cade had ever known, including Rhun, whose mother had sworn that if she didn’t feed him every two hours he would cry, just as he’d done as a baby.
Cade had been named as Cynyr’s son then. It wasn’t until Cade was twenty—only a few weeks before Arianrhod changed him—that Cynyr had informed Iaen that Cade was Cadwallon’s son and thus his nephew, since Cadwallon and Iaen were kindred. The time had come, Cynyr thought, for Cade to take his first steps towards the destiny that lay before him. He was the heir to the throne of Arthur. He was the promised battle leader. Neither Taliesin nor the prophecies of others had mentioned Cade’s current affliction, but Cynyr felt he shouldn’t hide as a result of it, but continue as if it made no difference.
All the world knew that before he died, Cadwallon had produced a son. What they hadn’t known was if that heir still lived. The news of Cade’s existence had spread, faster than Cynyr had truly wanted because he still sought to protect Cade from Cadfael. That Cade was really the son of the Pendragon and not Cynyr’s natural child was a surprise to some people, but others began claiming that they’d known it all along and that there’d always been something special about Cade that had separated him from the other boys.
This was also when men such as Goronwy, Bedwyr, and Gwyn began appearing at Bryn y Castell. It had been Cade’s thought to have them swear their oaths to Cynyr, as his foster father and the lord of Bryn y Castell, but Cynyr had refused. ‘They’re your men,’ he’d said. ‘You are a man now, and a warrior in your own right. It is time for you to take your rightful place in the world. I am loath to stand between you and what is already yours.’ So many of these men—all of the older and more seasoned fighters—had died with Cynyr. Cade felt he was lucky to still have the few who remained, who’d stayed behind with Rhun to guard Dinas Emrys.
Cade turned his attention back to Teregad. “Your men bashed me on the head, trussed me like a pig, and brought me here, Teregad. What do you want?”
“Your allegiance, of course,” Teregad said. “That’s all.”
“You could have had my support without ... this,” Cade wiggled his shoulders to indicate his tied hands, “or that,” indicating Cadfael on the wall.
“Yes, well ...” Teregad said. “Perhaps.”
Cade waited.
Teregad made a face, expressing his ambivalence, and then capitulated. “It isn’t allegiance to me to which I was referring.”
“It’s to me,” a voice rang like a bell from behind Teregad, who turned. A man pushed aside a curtain and strode forward, and with every step Cade’s heart sank further into his boots. The man wasn’t a man at all. Cade should have expected it, given the oddities in the entrance hall and Teregad’s strange behavior.
The man’s shape was the same as a human, but he appeared to shimmer when Cade looked at him, much like Cade himself did when the power was on him. The god physically took up the same amount of space as a normal man, but it seemed that there was an outline of him in light that moved with him, giving him a broader and taller figure. He also was, in human terms, unreasonably beautiful.
“I am Mabon, son of Arawn,” he said.
Son of Arawn and Arianrhod, in her guise as the mother-goddess, Modrun, Cade added to himself, although Mabon hadn’t said it. Cade didn’t know what to make of this turn of events, given that the only other god he’d ever seen—and the reason he’d known what Mabon was before he’d said his name—had been Mabon’s mother.
Cade bowed low in acknowledgement of Mabon’s grandeur and probable power over him. Teregad smirked at Cade’s obeisance and Cade longed to wipe the grin off his face. One touch of Cade’s hand would have changed things around pretty quick. Cade wished Taliesin were with him because he would surely have a couplet or rhyme to mark the occasion. He would probably also have already figured out what Mabon and Teregad wanted, which Cade hadn’t.
“May I assist you in some way?” Cade knew how important it was to be polite to a god, at least until he refused to obey him. He was very glad that he had kept himself in control while speaking with Teregad, such that Mabon hadn’t realized Cade was sidhe himself. Cade would have thought it would have been obvious to another god, but perhaps Mabon was so focused on himself, he didn’t really see anybody else. Besides, as Madoc had pointed out before Cade had killed him, people (and apparently gods) see what they want to see.
“Cadwaladr, son of Cadwallon,” Mabon said. “I can put you on the throne of Wales. Through me, you could become High King.”
Could he? Do I even want him to? “And in return?” Cade said.
“Why should I need anything in return from you, a mere human?” Mabon said.
“Then you offer me this out of the goodness of your heart?” Cade said.
Mabon laughed. “Perhaps, if I had one,” he said, then shook his head. “No, you are correct. I offer you this because the people of Gwynedd already look to you for leadership, and it is a small step from there to ruling all Wales. Disguised as a knight, I have walked among them and listened to their stories. They will follow you when they won’t trust me. I can force them to obey me; wield the power my father has given me like a sword at the back of their necks, but they will never love me.”
“Is that what you want?” Cade said. “For them to love you? Surely you don’t think I can give you that.”
“No,” Mabon said, “but through their love for you, I can rule Wales.”
Cade stared at him. The thought, why? popped into his head. Then he had to laugh at himself for even asking it, when he himself was subject to the same question. Why do I want to rule even Gwynedd? Is it pride or hubris or duty? Is it because my father left a task undone and I have the strength and wisdom to continue it? Then again, am I lying to myself? Am I actually as power hungry as Mabon appears to be?
Cade’s face must have shown some of his internal confusion, because Mabon gave him a petulant look, like a sulky child who has broken his new toy because he played with it too hard.
“You are unsure?” Mabon said.
“I’m not saying I won’t do as you ask,” Cade said. “There’s more here which I must think through, including the consequences if I say no.” Cade gestured with his head towards the body of Cadfael.
“Oh, that.” Mabon shrugged. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“And this.” Cade turned slightly and held up his hands for the third time in case anyone had forgotten that they were still tied.
Mabon smiled sheepishly. Cade found the expression an odd contrast to his obviously cavalier attitude toward human life. “We’ll leave those for now. May I have your oath?”
“I apologize, my lord, for the delay,” Cade said. “But I need time to think.” Cade didn’t want appear too eager, either to join him, or to resist him.
Mabon pursed his lips. “I suppose I can give you time. You humans don’t think very quickly, do you?” He gestured to Teregad and added, “with the exception of my friend Teregad, here.”
Teregad puffed his chest out, clearly proud of his status as Mabon’s henchman. “I seek only to serve you, my lord.”
“Teregad didn’t even balk when I suggested that he poison his father and take his place as King of Caer Dathyl.” Mabon shook his head ruefully, yet with obvious pride. “I regret that both Siawn and Crawdawg weren’t nearly so obliging.”
Cade took a step forward, suddenly afraid. It was one thing for Mabon and Teregad to threaten him, but quite another if innocents were involved. “They are dead?”
“What do you take me for?” Mabon said, indignant. “You’ll find them sharing your lodgings.”
Mabon then reached out and touched a sword that lay on the table beside him. It was Cade’s own sword—the new one that Rhiann had taken from Aberffraw before their escape. Cade had forgotten about it when he’d lain in the cart and not noticed its absence from his waist. Now it lay in front of Mabon. A sudden anger rose inside Cade that Mabon would be caressing it. He quickly damped down the anger—and it’s accompanying surge of power—anxious that Mabon not see that Cade, too, had the power of the sidhe.
“That’s mine,” Cade said.
Mabon looked at him speculatively. He lifted the sword and ran his finger lovingly along the hilt. “Yes. It is your sword and was your father’s before you.”
Cade managed not to choke as he stared at the sword. His father’s?
Mabon still eyed him speculatively. “Cadwallon was quite a soldier.”
Cade didn’t answer. Instead, Teregad signaled to two men behind Cade and he found a guard on either side of him, their hands grasping his arms at the shoulders. They held Cade still as Teregad walked towards him, a smile on his face. It gave Cade an uneasy feeling, which turned to surprise when Teregad reached back and slapped him across the face.
Bloody hell, that hurt!
Cade stared at Teregad, determined to show no expression at all, and stood, rock-steady in front of him. Now, he could feel the anger rising in Teregad whose face twisted into a furious mask, for reasons Cade didn’t know or understand. Cade himself had never done anything to his cousin, but that didn’t seem to matter to Teregad. He punched Cade in the midsection, such that Cade doubled over to absorb the blow. Then Cade straightened once again, not truly hurt. Teregad took the action as defiance and hit Cade again. And again. The guards held Cade’s arms, trying to hold him still, while Teregad did his work.
As if nothing was amiss, Mabon kept his face serene. To quell both the power he wasn’t ready to unleash just yet, and the temporary pain Teregad was inflicting on him, Cade allowed himself to drift, contemplating the twists and turns of fate. Did Mabon realize that in killing Cadfael, he had freed Cade’s mother and set Cade himself on an open road to the throne of Gwynedd? Didn’t he see that his actions had given Cade a stronger base from which to strike back at his enemies, of which Mabon was now certainly one?
After a while, Teregad appeared to lose his concentration. Perhaps he’d wanted Cade to cry out or submit. Cade certainly wasn’t going to fight back, not just yet. He could have killed both the guards and Teregad in an instant if he allowed the power to flow through him. They’d certainly touched him enough. But Mabon had aroused his curiosity. Cade could take a little punishment if it would allow him to learn something in the process.
Finally, Mabon intervened. “Enough, Teregad. You don’t actually want to kill him.”
Teregad giggled. It was a horrible sound coming from a twenty-four-year old man.
Mabon walked to Cade and lifted his chin so he could see his face, as bruised and bloody as it was. “You didn’t know this sword was your father’s did you?”
Cade didn’t answer. It bothered Cade that Mabon could read him so accurately.
“I wonder that you found it at Aberffraw so unerringly. How did that happen? Was it just by chance? Perhaps you’ll tell me later.”
The guards began to haul Cade away, sparing him from the further attentions of Teregad and from having to answer Mabon’s question. They half-carried, half-dragged Cade across the great hall and through the far doorway, which was open. They went down a dozen precipitous steps, lit by one torch at the landing below, turned, followed more steps, and traversed a corridor that opened up onto a guardroom and a set of barred cells.
The door to the central cell was closed. One of Cade’s captors released him in order to put his shoulder underneath the wooden bar that blocked the door. He lifted it up and the door swung outward. The remaining guard slipped a knife between Cade’s hands and finally cut the rope that bound them. He then threw Cade forward into the cell. Cade landed on his hands and knees on the stone floor while the guards barred the door behind him.
“Cadwaladr! By the Saints! I prayed for rescue but had lost hope that anyone would come. What are you doing here?”
Cade sat back on his heels. He was not alone, just as Mabon had said. Siawn, one of Teregad’s brothers, stood opposite, looking at him. He’d been ministering to Crawdawg, who lay huddled on the floor, his face a mass of blood and bruises, much, Cade assumed, like his own. Unexpectedly, Siawn wore the robes of a Christian priest.
“I’m visiting you, apparently,” Cade said, “as a guest of your brother.”
“Teregad.” Siawn spat on the floor. “I’m sorry that you have been caught up in his madness too. Are you much injured?” He inspected Cade’s features and appendages. “Your face looks bad but as you are still able to speak, they must not have damaged you as badly as they hurt Crawdawg.”
“I’ll be fine.” Cade pushed to his feet, walked to the door, and peered through the bars. They were alone, without even a guard to watch over them. Perfect. “It may be that the Lord has answered your prayers,” Cade said, feeling more confident again. “Now that I am here, we won’t be staying much longer.”
