Uncle Ianto
Now they were out in the open country, Owain was beginning to feel as if he was really coming home. They were climbing out of the farmland around Aberllong on the northern road - he could see the river in the distance, down the slope, broad and dotted with the black and brown sails of river wherries. Ahead of them were the heather covered hills, with stunted hawthorn bushes here and there, and occasional ewes with their new lambs at foot. It was all wonderfully familiar, and very different from the marshlands and the sea he had become used to in the past three years.
He looked around at the other riders. Gwalchmai had one hand under his cloak, surreptitiously rubbing his lower back. The spearsmen, all of them Rhianmelt's cousins, were riding easily, surrounding the higher ranking riders in a loose square. All other traffic on the road had given way to them during the day, but it had been Rhianmelt that they had been deferring to. Owain doubted if anyone had taken much notice of him.
Now the grey sky was beginning to get darker, and if Owain remembered rightly, they were still a long ride from Ravenscar.
"We should be stopping soon," Rhianmelt said, as if reading his thoughts. "It's just a hunting lodge, but we should be comfortable enough there."
"You've prepared everything very thoroughly," Gwalchmai said. he sounded grudgingly impressed. Owain suspected he was still smarting from Rhianmelt's comments on the quayside. He'd certainly been quiet on the ride. They turned off the main road onto a narrow track that led into scrubby moorland. They began to climb, too, until they could see the main road and the valley it followed far below them.
It was almost full dark, and they were keeping the horses to a slow walk on the rutted trackway, when they saw the lights up ahead. Owain got a vague impression of a rambling building tucked into a depression on the side of the hill, with a belt of trees above and to either side. As soon as they rode into the courtyard, there was someone there to take their horses.
Owain dismounted by sliding down the horse's flank. Over the course of the afternoon, he'd noticed how steady the mare was, and he thought he could risk it without worrying her too much. He was aching again, but not as badly as before, and he was just getting the crutch settled under his arm when one of the servants from the hunting lodge came forward to help him.
"It's all right - I don't need any help. If you'd just take the bridle?" It took Owain a moment to register that the man's grip on his arm was much firmer than it needed to be, and someone else was leading the horse away - and then the gates were closed and there was no way out. he didn't waste his energy in struggling. He could see there was no point. That cold knot in his stomach was back, though, and clenched tight. The servant guided Owain towards the hall door, seeming to be courteous. Another had Gwalchmai's harp and was following him towards the door. Gwalchmai didn't seem to have noticed that there was anything wrong yet.
Dinner had obviously been over for some time. There were some platters of cold meats still on the tables, but for the most part they had been cleared in favour of board games and wine goblets. There was no dais here, but the top table was set across the short axis of the hall at the end nearest the fireplace.
A man lounged there in an ornately carved chair, his boots up on a bench while he read a book by the light of a three-branched candelabrum at his elbow. Behind him, secured to a tall perch by a silver chain, was a raven, hunched up and half asleep. The man looked up as the newcomers entered, and smiled. It was the sort of smile that sent a shiver down spines, the smile of a predator who has just found some new prey to play with. Owain tried, and failed, to supress a shudder.
He pulled his guard sideways, towards Rhianmelt. "You were mother's friend," he said fiercely, and as quietly as he could.
Rhianmelt looked back at him coolly. "Why do you think I was so keen to call you an imposter, down at the docks? You shouldn't have been so convincing," she said. "Anyway, Lord Ianto made me a better offer than your mother ever did."
She swept into a curtsey across the table from the man, who had been watching all this with some amusement. "May I present your nephew, Owain Brecca, and the Harper Gwalchmai Morgan, my lord?" she said.
Ianto closed his book carefully and set it down on the table. He moved the candelabrum a little further from his elbow, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table as he surveyed his prisoners. "I hope we'll have the pleasure of hearing you play, Master Harper," he said pleasantly. "It's not every day one has the opportunity to welcome a member of one's family back from the dead, after all."
"We are expected at Ravenscar, my lord," Gwalchmai said stiffly.
"But I'd been so looking forward to meeting you again," Ianto said blandly, looking at Owain. "I'm sure you have some time to spare to indulge me. In fact, I'd really like to make your acquaintance over an extended period of time."
Owain felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a stoat. Back on the island, he wouldn't have dared speak. Here, he knew he had to.
"I just want to see my mother again," he said. "When I've seen her...."
"Ah, but nobody knows you're here yet, do they," Ianto asked. "So, as I said, you have time to be sociable."
"There was the man who checked our papers," Owain pointed out. "He's one of Uncle Liam's men."
"It will take time for the glad news of your arrival to become known, even so," Ianto said. "In the meantime, my humble hunting lodge is at your disposal. Who knows? You could become my favourite nephew."
"Nevertheless, we are still expected at Ravenscar," Gwalchmai said. "My patron will be most anxious to greet us."
"Mother can wait," Ianto said, a little sharply. "First you must allow me to entertain you." He waved them closer. The servants pushed Gwalchmai towards the bench Ianto had been resting his feet on, and Owain was hustled down beside him. As they sat down, Ianto's harper struck up a cheerful tune from his seat on the other side of the fireplace.
Rhianmelt sat on another chair, further along the table. Owain glared at her.
A plate of cold meats appeared, and bread that was already sliced. On the way into the hall, Owain and Gwalchmai had been neatly divested of their eating knives and pouches. Owain glanced from Gwalchmai to Ianto and back again, and picked up a slice of roast beef.
Ianto appeared to be the only one there who was listening to the music. After a while, though, he seemed to grow bored. he drummed his fingers on the table, fiddled with the stem of his wine goblet. he looked at Owain with frank curiosity. "You don't look at all as I expected," he said. "What did happen to you?"
Owain set down his bread and meat carefully and looked down at his clasped hands. He had been considering, as he ate, what he could say to his uncle. "I can't walk without my crutch," he said, "and my leg will never heal straight, now. It suited the corsairs - I could never run away from them."
He paused, trying to find the right form of words, something to convince Ianto that he was no threat, and not worth the trouble of killing. "I know I could never follow mother to rule Pengwern, crippled as I am. I couldn't inherit anything. I don't even know what mother will say when she sees me. She doesn't know yet." Another silence, stretched just far enough. "I just want to go home," he murmured. His doubts about his mother's reaction when she found out she had a crippled son were real enough. He hoped Ianto would hear that in his voice, and believe it too. He didn't dare take his eyes off the floor to see Ianto's expression for himself.
"You think Brecca would disinherit you?" Ianto asked. His surprise seemed genuine.
Owain nodded numbly, not trusting himself to speak. If he was disinherited, he wouldn't have a vote in the family council - so he could be no possible threat to Ianto's claim.
"I must admit, I hadn't considered that possibility," Ianto said. He turned to Gwalchmai. "What a disappointment it would be for you," he said, "to go all that way to find the boy, and all for nothing when you got back." He leaned back in his chair again, steepling his fingers. "On the ot
her hand," he mused, almost to himself, "my sister is very tenacious, and you're the nearest thing she's got left to that hulking husband of hers now. I don't think she'd repudiate you, crippled or not."
"The boy's right," Gwalchmai said. "You may as well accept it, Lord Ianto. He's no threat to anyone. Can't you let your sister have her son back?"
"Ah, if that were the only consideration," Ianto mused. "Unfortunately, that may not be possible."
He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "The Master Harper will have told you, I imagine, something of family politics in recent years. To put it bluntly, mother is an old woman - and when she dies, Ravenscar is worth far more than just her tower on the cliff top, and I have a better claim to it than Porec or Aidan do, no matter how she's favouring them now."
"There will be a vote," Gwalchmai said, "witnessed by Harpers. That is the proper way to deal with these matters. We don't want any innovations fromthe Palatinate to take root here."
"You may not," Ianto said, "but there is something to be said for a form of primogeniture, you know - among the adult members of the family, at any rate. Like you, I see no sense in allowing a child to succeed when there is a competent adult available."
"And you see yourself as competent, my lord?" Gwalchmai asked sharply.
Ianto was halfway out of his chair before he remembered himself and sank back. "One more word from you," he almost hissed, "and I will have you removed from the hall. I am talking to my nephew."
he took up his wine goblet, drank and set it down again very deliberately. Gwalchmai turned his attention to the roast beef.
"As the Harper said," Ianto continued, "there will be a vote of all the adult family members. Which now includes you, and in a couple of years time will include your sister. Now my sister, your mother, has never liked me. She will vote for Porec." He allowed himself a small, chilly smile. "She'd vote for mother's raven before she'd vote for me. And that brings me to you."
"I don't know who I'll vote for," Owain said. "I don't even know if I'll be allowed to vote."
"Oh, you'll be allowed to vote - I'll make sure of that - and you will vote for me, and so will your mother, and so, if she is eligible at that time, will your sister."
Owain got the feeling he wasn't going to like what he heard next. he chewed stolidly on a tough piece of beef and looked at the floor.
"You see, as my favourite nephew," Ianto went on, "you will be staying here with me until such time as my dear mother finally decides to depart for the Summerlands. You will, of course, be treated with all honour due to your rank. And as you remain part of my court, your mother will have no choice but to vote in my favour as well. Her vote will sway others, and I shall have Ravenscar. You can do what you like, after that."
"You want me as a hostage," Owain said bluntly.
"I much prefer the term 'guest'," Ianto said. "A pity your cousin Peredur was not so persuaded, you know. It would be - untidy - to have to arrange a second 'unfortunate accident'."
"I want to go home," Owain said fiercely. "I don't care if mother does disown me when I get there, as long as she lets me stay." He stopped abruptly. If he refused Ianto's 'offer' outright, there was every chance that he wouldn't leave the hall alive. "Maybe if you let me see her first?" he asked.
"I think not, on the whole," Ianto said. "But I can give you time to consider my proposal. I'd far rather have your willing consent. The alternative might be rather uncomfortable for you." He paused a moment to let that idea sink in.
They were separated, of course. Gwalchmai was taken off in one direction, and Owain in another. he caught a glimpse of a neat, if basic, guest room in the light of his escort's lantern before the door was bolted firmly behind him.
It was very dark. Owain groped his way across to the bed and sat down. At least there was a bed. He'd been expecting a lot worse. Ianto, it seemed, valued him far more alive than dead. That was reassuring, but his skin crawled at the thought of another captivity, no matter how comfortable Ianto made it for him.
Would it be so bad if Ianto inherited Ravenscar? Owain had no idea, but Morwenna obviously didn't want it to happen, if she was favouring her grandson Porec. Owain vaguely remembered Porec, the son of his uncle Howell. He must be nearly thirty by now, nearer in age to Ianto than he was to Owain, anyway.
There seemed to be no way out. If Owain wanted to stay alive and reasonably comfortable, he would have to submit to Ianto, and he would have to stay with Ianto until his grandmother died. He curled up, fully clothed, on the bed, and stared into the darkness for a long time.
He was woken by someone shaking his shoulder, and with a hand poised over his mouth. As he threw out one arm to shake off his attacker, a voice close to his ear murmured: "It's all right. It's me, Gwalchmai."
Owain stopped struggling, and sat up, cautiously. "How did you get here?" he asked, keeping his voice as low as Gwalchmai had.
"Bunch of amateurs," Gwalchmai said quietly. Owain could feel the grin on his face. "I knew there was something going on right back at the dockside, when Rhianmelt didn't want to let me go off on my own. That's why I was going on about a litter, lad - it was just an excuse to get away from them. And they just took my pouch - they didn't search me. I still have the amulet. Do you want to get out of here?"
"Yes!" Owain said, as emphatically as he could.
He stood up beside the bed and clasped hands with Gwalchmai. There was a curious lurch in the pit of his stomach.
The quality of the darkness changed. A light breeze stirred dry leaves close by. The ground sloped away steeply on one side, and seemed to rise like a shallow cliff face above them. There were other shapes in the dark, barely visible, the boles of great trees and massy shadows of bushes. Owain was aware that it had suddenly become a lot colder.
His foot slipped on something uneven and he leaned back. Not a hand span behind him was the trunk of a huge tree. He had slipped on one of its roots.
His voice froze in his throat. Unable to speak, he guided Gwalchmai's hand over his shoulder to touch the rough bark.
There was a long silence. Gwalchmai pulled his hand away and took a deep breath. "I could have killed us both," he murmured. His usually well-modulated voice was uneven and rough with shock. He wrapped the amulet and tied it into a corner of his tunic, slowly and very deliberately. "I think in future," he said, more calmly, "I will use the amulet only when I'm absolutely certain of where we are going to reappear."
Owain's fleshe shrank from contact with the tree; he could so easily have materialised inside it. "Where are we now?" Owain asked. He still couldn't manage anything more than a whisper.
"Three miles from the lodge, heading south," Gwalchmai said, only a little louder. "That was my intention, anyway." He sounded tired. "Now, if we could just work out which way is south we can get walking."
Owain was tired, too. His legs were stiff, his backside hurt and his back ached. He suspected Gwalchmai felt much the same. Better to feel tired, though, than to use the amulet again unless they really needed to. Owain didn't entirely trust Gwalchmai's sense of direction now.
"Should we go up or down?" he asked, in a voice that surprised him by its steadiness.
Up, I think," Gwalchmai said. "If we go down, it's a fair bet there'll be a stream to ford, and then we'll only have to go up again on the other side. We need to be where we can see the sky as soon as we can."
It was slow going. They stumbled into invisible brambles. Twigs, and sometimes small branches, caught at them and hit them in the face. Whenever they looked up, hoping for a glimpse of sky, they saw only darkness. Clouds covered the stars, there was no moon, and they had no idea which direction they were going in.
Scrabbling up a muddy slope, digging the end of his crutch deep into the mud to give himself purchase, Owain found himself slightly in the lead. His hand, stretched out before him, found rock, cold and damp and slick with mossy growth. He stopped, and felt upwa
rd until he was standing against the rock face on tiptoe. Gwalchmai sat down on the ground just behind him, catching his breath. He was carrying his harp case over his shoulder, and it seemed to be weighing him down and catching in things to send him off balance. Owain would have ditched it, but Owain wasn't a Harper, and he knew Gwalchmai wouldn't consider leaving it behind.
Owain felt sideways, and the rock extended as far as he could reach in each direction, until bushes grew up so close to the cliff face that he couldn't push through.
"We can't go on," he said. "We'll hav eto go back a bit and then - left, probably."
He reached down to help the old man to his feet. Gwalchmai's hand felt stiff and cold. Owain had hardly noticed how cold it was, but Gwalchmai would be feeling it. There was frost on the surface of the cliff face. Better, therefore, to keep moving. If the old man stopped to rest for too long, he might not get up again.
By the time the sky began to lighten in the east, they were both exhausted.
"At least we've been going the right way," Owain said, indicating the rose and grey glow in the sky. They were at the edge of the trees, moving into rough scrub. Beyond the clumps of gorse and hawthorn, moorland stretched out, grey and uninviting.
Gwalchmai grunted. There was a low rock beside a gorse bush just ahead. He sat on it heavily. Owain sat on the grass next to him and closed his eyes for a moment.
He was dropping off to sleep when he felt Gwalchmai's leg shift behind his shoulder. He looked up blearily. The old man was on his feet, and looking to the east. Owain followed his gaze.
Half a dozen horsemen were following the line of a shallow valley, riding fast. Ahead of them, three couple of boar hounds were breasting through the bracken, making their own paths.
In an instant, Owain was wide awake and on his feet. His heart hammered in his chest.
"That's not the whole pack," Gwalchmai said, "nor all of Ianto's people. They must have split their forces to search for us."
Neither of them considered the possibility that this was some other, innocent party of huntsmen.
Owain knew he had gone very pale. He didn't want to be any closer to the hounds than he already was. "I think it's time to use the amulet again," he said.
Wearily, Gwalchmai nodded. He untied the corner of his tunic and let the amulet fall out onto his hand. They clasped wrists around the green stone. Owain noticed with concern how tired Gwalchmai looked as he concentrated. His face looked grey, and there were dark rings under his eyes.
There was a lurch of displacement, and abruptly they were on another patch of moorland.
A small flock of sheep galloped away from them, bleating in alarm. Apart from the sheep and a couple of crows wheeling high above them, there was no other movement.
The sheep stopped at what they considered a safe distance from the two men and began to graze again. Gwalchmai yawned widely.
"We'd better get moving," Owain said. He glanced nervously over his shoulder tothe north. "How do you think they found us?"
Gwalchmai fell into step beside him, a slow walk. Owain's knee was hurting more than he wanted to admit, and his whole shoulder ached from leaning on the crutch.
"Luck, I should think," Gwalchmai said. "Ianto can't afford an yspridwch, so they can't have been scrying." He sighed, looking out over the deserted land. "I'd hoped to find some sort of habitation before now. We must be further into Ianto's lands than I thought."
Owain thought back to a night of feeling their way from one obstacle to another. "We didn't get very far last night," he said.
"We'd better get as far as we can now," Gwalchmai said. "The amulet only has a range of three miles, and that's when I'm fresh."
Below them, half way down the vally, lay a cluster of grey buildings, and around the buildings, great heaps of pale, loose stone, spilling down the valley in great slides that blocked the stream at the bottom into a series of irregular pools. Leading away from the buildings, and in roughly the direction they needed to go, was a well made road. There was no movement around the buildings, no rising smoke.
"I think I know where we are," Gwalchmai said, starting down the hill towards the nearest buildings. "This was Ianto's copper mine," he said. "The one valuable gift Morwenna ever gave him." He laughed mirthlessly. "Two years after he took over, the copper ran out. I think he believed she'd done it on purpose. We can follow the road towards Aberllong, until we reach the spur to Ravenscar. Easier," he added, "than walking on all this tussocky grass."
Owain made a vague noise of agreement, which was enough to encourage Gwalchmai to keep talking. "We can, perhaps, take a rest inside one of those mine buildings," he suggested, "now there's no-one on our trail for a moment...." He stopped abruptly, and swore viciously.
They could hear hounds baying, just over the hill.
Owain tugged at Gwalchmai's arm, pulling him away from the sound.
"They must have got the scent of something else," Gwalchmai said, following. "Not us, anyway, not when we've only just appeared."
Owain pulled harder. "They're coming this way," he insisted. What he really wanted to do was to leave the old man and run, as far and as fast as he could, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't go any faster than he was going already.
Gwalchmai swore. "Those bloody crows," he said. "That's how they knew. Ianto's got the crows looking out for us."
"Come on," Owain said urgently, "before they get close enough to see us." He tugged at Gwalchmai's arm. "Please - I don't want the dogs to catch us again."
He could see it, all too clearly - the sun shining on the water, Ferdia hauling the dog off his arm as he went under andas he struggled to the surface, Ferdia turning, and the spears - and the blood....
"Come on, Gwalchmai!"
The old man managed a shambling run. He gasped for breath now, in an unsteady rhythm.
"In there - keep them at bay...." He panted, pointing to the nearest building with a whole door. "Ianto wants you alive...."
"NO!" Owain tugged at Gwalchmai's arm, but couldn't shift him. "They want to kill us - they'll let the dogs...."
He gulped, already seeing blood, feeling again the powerful jaws clamping round his arm as he fell back and hit the water.
Gwalchmai was stronger than he looked, though, and he pulled Owain towards the ruins. The whole hillside here was a treacherous mass of loose scree, and they were already setting off small landslides as they scrambled downhill. Gwalchmai was right, the only chance they had was to barricade themselves into one of the ruined buildings - if they could reach them before the hounds caught up with them.
It was just as he had decided this, and almost resigned himself to recapture, that the whole world lurched sideways in a roar of displaced stone and gravel. Hanging onto Gwalchmai's arm as the only stable point in a shifting world, they both fell, unable to avoid being swept by the rockslide into a gaping hole in the side of the hill that hadn't been there a moment before.
*****