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Rhiann
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HIS NAME WAS DAFYDD. Although he was a large person, with hands like serving platters, from the immaturity in his face, Rhiann didn’t think he’d yet reached twenty years of age. Still, he was holding up pretty well for all that. When Rhiann had told him whose company he was now keeping, he’d brightened at the knowledge, while still watching anxiously as Cade covered the twenty yards to where the two of them waited. On his way towards them, Cade again checked the mountains to the east, and then the clouds to the west. By this time, it was light enough to see clearly without a torch, and it didn’t look as if the rain was going to come as quickly as Cade had thought.
“Ride and talk,” Cade said. “We’re two miles from Bryn y Castell. I would hear your story before we reach it.”
Dafydd gathered his horse’s reins. The animal was breathing more easily, having recovered from his headlong rush along the road. Dafydd urged him forward so he could ride beside Cade.
“Thank you, my lord,” Dafydd said. “I feared I faced my death before I’d begun to live.”
“Don’t take heart yet,” Cade said as they returned to the rest of the company. “I haven’t decided if I made the right choice. Your pursuer told us you stole your horse. Is that true?”
“No!” Dafydd said, horrified. “Lord Teregad gave it to me; at least I thought he had.” He swallowed hard. “Please let me explain. I am Dafydd ap Cynin of Ynys Mana—”
“Brother!” Goronwy had twisted in his seat to look back at Cade and Dafydd, and now swung his horse’s head around and stood in his stirrups so he could see them better, a look of complete astonishment on his face. “Sweet Mother of Christ, it’s you!”
“Goronwy!” Dafydd’s voice went high with excitement.
Goronwy threw himself from his horse and ran back to his brother, who also leapt from his saddle. The brothers met in an enveloping hug. “Young pup!” Goronwy slapped Dafydd on the back. “Last I saw, you were hiding in Mother’s skirts as I sailed away.”
“Twelve years it’s been,” Dafydd said. “I set out a year ago from Ynys Manaw to find you, perhaps join you, but my ship was wrecked on the coast of Arfon, and I was taken in at Caer Dathyl.”
“Why did you not send word to me at Bryn y Castell that you were here?” Goronwy said.
“At first I didn’t know where you were,” Dafydd said, “and then I was not in a position to do so.”
“But you must have told them who you were!” Goronwy said.
Dafydd looked sheepish. “I was ashamed to have arrived on the shore with no possessions—no horse, sword or armor. I asked King Iaen if I could work in his kitchen for a year. At the end of that year, if I’d proved my worth, I would tell him my name, and he might give me a horse and sword.”
“His kitchens!” Goronwy said. “That is no place for the son of the king of Ynys Manaw!”
“I learned about myself, there,” Dafydd said, his voice quiet but firm. “At home, I was a pampered prince. At Caer Dathyl, I worked with and among the common people. Their lot was mine. Once I began, I felt a need to persevere, to prove to myself that I could be both prince and pauper if I had to.”
“What changed?” Cade said. “Obviously, you felt you could no longer stay at Caer Dathyl, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
“My year was up,” Dafydd said. “I am the son of a king, and my responsibilities are, in the end, the greater for it. But Lord Iaen died before I could tell him who I was. Instead, I confessed the truth to Teregad, his eldest son and heir. He swore to honor his father’s agreement, but he kept putting off the day. Finally, four days ago, I pressed him hard, and he gave me the horse and sword that Lord Iaen had promised me. I rode away.”
“And he sent men out to reclaim what you’d taken,” Cade said, “never telling them your true name.”
Dafydd shrugged. “It appears so, my lord.”
“I’ve seen Teregad at Aberffraw,” Rhiann said. “He’s eaten at my father’s table many times.”
Cade turned to her. “That is not welcome news.” Then he glanced at the mountains to the east again, for perhaps the twentieth time since the conversation began.
“My lord—” Goronwy said.
Cade held up his hand. “We will speak more and outfit your brother properly once we reach Bryn y Castell. Now, I must ride!”
He kicked Cadfan into a gallop. Within a heartbeat, Cade was ten lengths ahead of the rest of his company. Rhiann glanced at the tip of the mountain to the east, fearing that the sun was already shining above it. There was a small cloud there, filtering the light, but around it was blue sky.
“Why—” Dafydd said.
Goronwy growled and urged his horse to follow. “Never mind.” Soon everyone was riding hard. The company streamed out in a long line behind Cade, racing the rising sun.
A galloping horse can travel thirty miles in an hour, but can’t move that quickly for very long. Cade’s horse flew up the road to Bryn y Castell faster than Rhiann would have thought possible.
Initially, they’d been riding east, such that when the sun topped the peak, it would have shone full onto Cade’s face. Before that could happen, Cade turned north along the path to the fort that led from the Roman road, which they’d followed all the way from Dinas Emrys. Cade slowed to traverse the steep trail just as the sun burst through the cloud. Cade slumped forward—and then his horse carried him through the gatehouse and into the fort.
Rhun cursed as he galloped past Rhiann, racing ahead of the others. “Damn Arianrhod to the deepest, darkest recesses of Annwn.”
By the time Rhiann trotted her horse into the courtyard of the fort, Rhun had Cade off Cadfan. Cade wove a little on his feet, but was otherwise upright, safe for now in the shadow of the gatehouse.
“This must stop, my lord,” Rhun said. “You cannot continue this way.”
“And yet,” Taliesin said from beside Rhiann, calmly straightening his robes after dismounting, “we have arrived in good order, safe, and having rescued Goronwy’s brother from his pursuers. All in all, there have been few nights in my experience that have been quite this successful.”
It hadn’t occurred to Rhiann to look at it that way.
On the inside, Bryn y Castell was much like Aberffraw. It had a high fence which surrounded the wooden hall and provided plenty of room for stables, craft houses, and living quarters for Rhun’s people. On the outside, however, it was very different, and she relished that difference. The fort sat upon a hilltop overlooking the valley they’d come up from Tomen y Mur and was otherwise ringed by mountains. In the distance, she could see the sea, a blue-gray smudge in the morning sun.
Cade stood in deep shadow inside the doorway to the guardroom. “You and Rhiann need rest,” he told Rhun. “Could you find her a place to sleep? I’d like to speak with Taliesin alone. You and I can talk again before we ride tonight.”
Rhun’s face went blank, as if he was holding back something he wanted to say but felt he couldn’t, at least not with others listening. Instead, he turned to Rhiann. In the small space, he towered over her, but she no longer found him intimidating. He was concerned for Cade, and she respected that.
“Come,” Rhun said. The two of them started across the courtyard to the hall in silence. After three strides, Rhiann decided she needed to break it.
“I know there’s little you wouldn’t do for him,” she said, by way of a beginning. Between the two of them, there was no need to clarify who him was. Rhiann walked another pace before she realized Rhun had stopped.
“Why are you here?” he said. “It makes no sense to me.”
“Why are you?” Rhiann said.
“Because all my life I’ve followed Cade,” Rhun said, surprising Rhiann with the simple truth. “I can’t imagine doing anything different now, just because he’s no longer human.”
“He is human,” Rhiann said, “just something more than human too.”
Rhun had begun shaking his head at her words before she’d finished speaking. “No. Cade walks among us, but he died in that cave, just as in the stories. Surely you’ve heard them? Bran, the mighty and terrible, towered over the land of the Cymry, a scourge upon his enemies; until the day she called him, her song beckoning him from across the hills. Into her arms he fell, his soul consumed, a mighty man undone.”
“I know it,” Rhiann said. “And I suppose I even believe it now. Yet, why isn’t Cade a demon like all the others?”
Rhun froze. “Others?” He stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. “What others?”
“Other ... creatures.” Rhiann paused as she searched for the words. “Cade killed a man who wasn’t a man right in front of me the other night, before we arrived in Dinas Emrys. He didn’t tell you?”
“You’re sure the man was a demon?” Rhun said.
“His face transformed into a mask like I’ve never seen on any man,” Rhiann said. “Apparently, Cade has killed many such beings. He says there are more like Madoc and worse as well that he refuses to describe to me.”
“By the goddess, so that’s what he’s been doing every night,” Rhun breathed. “All this time I’ve been worried about him, not knowing where he goes and what he does.”
“What do you mean?” Rhiann said.
Rhun was still shaking his head. “Cade wanders at night. I’ve not known why. I thought he was too ashamed to tell me. Instead, it must be that he felt it would be boasting.”
“You were afraid he was killing humans,” Rhiann said, her understanding growing. “Despite everything you know of him, you feared he’d lost control of his power.”
“The sidhe and their victims were a faery story until Cade came back from that cave. He was cold and clammy—and terrified to find himself without breath or heartbeat. It was only later we discovered the dark light within him that takes all his will to contain.” Rhun shook his head again. “All I can tell you is that despite all that, he is still the Cade I love.”
“Cade the sidhe scares me,” Rhiann said. “I can see the power inside him sometimes when I look at him in a certain way, or catch his eye from a certain angle.”
Rhun focused on her face. “You are the daughter of a king. I ask again: why you are here? Look at you, dressed as a boy, with no possessions save that which Cade chooses to give you.”
“He gave me his word,” Rhiann said. “Isn’t that enough?”
Rhun nodded his head slowly. “Yes. It’s always been enough for me too.”
They studied each other for a count of five, and then Rhun held out his arm to her. Rhiann took it. He escorted her up the steps and through a massive door that opened onto the great hall. The hall itself was unusual in that it was as wide as it was deep. Once inside, the bright sunlight was extinguished because the hall had no windows. Looking more closely, Rhiann could see the places where it once had had them, but they’d been blocked, undoubtedly for Cade’s sake.
Servants—slaves probably, though none wore the collar—were busy laying out a meal. A young woman stood near a door set in the opposite wall, and at the sight of Rhiann and Rhun, came forward, walking straight into Rhun’s arms.
“I’m so sorry, Rhun.” The woman hugged him, her cheek pressed to his chest. “The rider arrived a few days ago with your message. There is much grief here.”
Rhun kissed the top of the woman’s head. “I know, Bronwen. In my heart too.”
Rhun turned to Rhiann. “Rhiann, I’d like you to meet Bronwen, my wife and the mother of my son, Cador. Bronwen, please welcome Rhiannon, of Aberffraw.”
“Aberffraw!” Bronwen looked Rhiann up and down, taking in her masculine clothing, quiver, and bow.
“Rhiann helped Cade to escape from Cadfael.” Rhun paused, and Rhiann wondered if he was debating whether or not he should mention that Cadfael was Rhiann’s father. Instead, he said. “If not for her, Cade would be dead along with all the others.”
Bronwen took Rhiann’s hand. “Thank you, Rhiann. You are welcome at Bryn y Castell.” She gestured with one hand toward the head table, where Goronwy and Dafydd were already sitting. Rhiann and Rhun walked to it and found seats across from them. The two men were discussing Cade.
“Is he ill?” Dafydd speared a parsnip with his belt knife and chewed it. Goronwy, Rhun, and Rhiann exchanged glances, but before any of them could speak, Dafydd went on talking. “Because looking at his symptoms, he looks a lot like our great uncle Dane.” Dafydd waved his knife at Goronwy. “You remember? Late in life he started to have a hard time with bright sun—”
“Dafydd,” Goronwy said. “That’s not it.”
“How do you know?” Dafydd said. “It started in his eyes and then his weakness began to effect his ability to keep his seat on a horse. Do you remember when he fell off his horse into the pig—”
Dafydd!” Goronwy said again. “Shut up.”
Dafydd closed his mouth on the words he’d been about to speak.
Goronwy took in a breath and let it out. “Uncle Dane had syphilis. Lord Cadwaladr has been touched by the gods.”
Rhun growled. “Touched is right.”
“What do you mean?” Dafydd looked confused. “What do you mean by touched?”
“He has become of the sidhe, with the power to take a man’s life merely by touching him.” Rhiann patted one of Dafydd’s enormous hands that he’d laid flat on the table. His food and drink were forgotten. “Despite this, you need not worry. Lord Cadwaladr is not going to hurt you.”
“Well of course not!” Dafydd said. “He’s the Pendragon, isn’t he? Taliesin foresaw that his name would be remembered with Arthur’s among the Cymry for as long as our land endures. I can’t believe I’m actually sitting at the same table where he has sat.” Dafydd looked around. “Does everybody else know?”
“Some do,” Rhun said. “Those we trust. We prefer not to talk about it. We let visitors and the talkative draw their own conclusions.”
“I understand.” Dafydd nodded. “We wouldn’t want it bandied about that the heir to the throne of the High King steals the life-force of other men. What would the common folk say?”
“That’s not exactly it, Dafydd,” Rhiann said. “Cade himself would rather we treated him normally.”
“Normally for the heir to the throne of Gwynedd, anyway,” Goronwy said. Rhun and Rhiann nodded, while Dafydd looked from one to the other. Then he started to smile.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I get it. This is a jest, right? You’re having fun with me, the little brother.”
The three others gazed steadily at him. It was Rhun who shook his head. “No.”
Dafydd opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and then opened it again. He sat, slack-jawed, until Goronwy reached across the table to push up his chin. Instantly, Dafydd leaned forward and spoke in a loud whisper. “There is more to this story. You must tell me!” His bright eyes were alight with interest.
“The goddess Arianrhod lured Lord Cadwaladr into a cave and kissed him. In doing so, she changed him into the being he is now, but leaving him still in this world,” Rhun said. “He is sidhe, yet walks among us.”
“Why?” Dafydd said. “What does she want from him?” He kept going, answering his own question. “For want something she must. Like with Lord Pwyll when Arawn befriended him, for every encounter with the gods, there is a price to pay.”
“We don’t know what she wants,” Goronwy said.
“Well, it could be anything, couldn’t it?” Dafydd rubbed his chin as he mused. “Maybe she just liked him or—”
“She told him that she’d been waiting for him for a long time,” Rhiann said. “She kissed him and left him and he hasn’t seen her since.”
“So is he immortal too? Has he truly become a god?” Dafydd said, his mind skipping from one idea to the next.
“He believes he can die as any other demon—an arrow through his heart or by the loss of his head,” Goronwy said. “Otherwise, if it is true that he has no soul, then yes, he is immortal.”
“That’s incredible!” Then Dafydd sobered. “Is he going to kill you for telling me?” He shifted in his seat. “Or me?”
“No,” Rhun said, shortly. And then a devilish twinkle appeared in his eye. “Or rather, I don’t think so.”
Dafydd’s eyes widened. For the amount of time it took for everyone to take a deep breath, Goronwy, Rhun, and Rhiann studied Dafydd, who’d become uncharacteristically silent, even if his brain was spinning with ideas.
“It just occurred to me that while Lord Cadwaladr is the first sidhe I have encountered, he’s not the first, uh—,” Dafydd paused, searching for the proper word as Rhiann had earlier, “—soulless creature I have come upon, although I didn’t realize it until just now.”
Rhun threw up his hands. “Why has everyone encountered one but me? Where did you see him?”
“At Caer Dathyl,” Dafydd said. “I sat next to him at dinner one day.”
“If he ate dinner,” Goronwy said, “he wouldn’t be a demon.”
“Cade can eat,” Rhun said. “He just doesn’t need to, and it tastes like sawdust in his mouth.”
Goronwy nodded. “Granted,” he said, and then to Dafydd. “Go on.”
“I didn’t think anything of him at first—not until it occurred to me that he was well-dressed and wore fine armor, and yet was sitting with the servants. He ate very little and brought his own flask. He poured the contents into his cup, which he didn’t share.”
“None of which makes him a demon,” Goronwy said.
“How about that he didn’t breathe?” Dafydd said.
“That would do it,” Rhun said.
“Did you notice at the time that he didn’t breathe?” Rhiann said.
“Yes,” Dafydd said. “I did, except I didn’t, if you know what I mean.”
“No, we don’t,” Goronwy said.
“Yes, we do.” Rhiann glared at Goronwy, who was just being a difficult older brother. “Often you notice things that you don’t become fully conscious of until something strikes you as similar. Is that right, Dafydd?”
Dafydd nodded. “It was the way he drank, actually, that got my attention. He tipped up his cup and just ... drank. He swallowed and swallowed and never had to take a breath. And when he was done his eyes were red.”
That prompted another glance between Rhun and Goronwy. “Cade’s eyes turn a glowing green when he becomes a sidhe,” Rhun said.
“Madoc’s were red too,” Rhiann said.
“Who’s Madoc?” Goronwy and Dafydd asked together.
Rhiann sighed, not wanting to relive it all again but knowing she was going to have to satisfy their curiosity. So she told them.
